The French Bride Read Free

left her estates in the hands of a bailiff and set out for Versailles. Almost at once she attracted the attention of the Duc de Richelieu; it was not only advisable but a pleasure for Louise to become his mistress. He was attractive and charming and he enjoyed intrigue as much as she did. Also he was an intimate of the King’s new mistress, the Comtesse du Barry, and that opened the door to many things.
    In a court where everyone powdered, two women were conspicuous for wearing their hair naturally. One was the royal mistress, whose hair was a ravishing golden red as fine as silk, and the other, the Baroness de Vitale, whose beautiful hair was so dark that in some lights it seemed touched with blue. With this sable hair, she possessed a skin as pale and smooth as milk, and her body was of the same texture and colour as her face. Her eyes were very large and black with heavy, painted lids above them, and a mouth which was full and red. She was beautiful and she dressed superbly, and she had been Charles Macdonald’s mistress for over a year. He was the first man to whom she had ever been faithful, and while she waited for him that night, she was so restless that she walked up and down like an animal in a cage. She had a maid who had been in her service since she married, a sharp-eyed little Breton who shared all her secrets.
    â€˜Don’t worry, madame. M. Charles will come.’
    â€˜What time is it?’ Louise demanded. ‘He’s never as late as this!’ That was another oddity, Marie thought, taking out her watch. He often kept the baroness waiting, whereas all the other gentlemen would sit outside her door for an hour before she was ready. Marie did not like Charles Macdonald. He was a foreigner for all that he was born and bred in France; there was an arrogance about him, a brutality, which she had seen in his quarrels with her mistress, that was definitely not French. Once he had come to the baroness’ apartments drunk, and when she reproached him, he struck her and dragged her into the bedroom and locked the door. When he left the next morning, her mistress was more abjectly in love with him than ever. Marie had a lover of her own; he worked as a footman for the Duchesse de Gramont and together they were saving every sou to get married and open a small shop in Paris.
    â€˜It is nearly eleven o’clock, madame. Perhaps he isn’t coming this time?’
    â€˜He would have sent a note, some word,’ her mistress said. ‘He’ll come, he’s been detained by something, that’s all it is.’ Louise went to the looking glass on the wall and examined herself in it. Charles was the only man she had ever met who made her unsure of her beauty; she stared at herself anxiously. Her dress was pale yellow and made of the soft, thin silk which the Du Barry had brought into fashion; worn without panniers it clung to the body and it showed every line of her beautiful figure; her breasts were almost exposed, only a gauze fichu covered them. She was one of those rare women who looked as beautiful in déshabille as she did in the most magnificent ball gown.
    From the beginning of their relationship, when they had met at a card party given by the Duc d’Aiguillon who was at that time Du Barry’s lover and political protector, Louise decided that it was useless to expect him to behave like other men. She had begun the intrigue because he was attractive and at first he had paid her no attention. The moment he took her in his arms, he established an absolute mastery of her; in bewilderment she submitted to a sexual domination she had never imagined could exist. Its power over her was such that as she waited for him, she was trembling.
    â€˜Madame,’ Marie whispered, ‘I hear him coming!’ Louise heard his voice, talking and laughing to another man as they walked down the corridor, and then the other set of steps went on, and the door opened and he came towards