Free Enchantress of Paris by Marci Jefferson Page B

of rank mingled with the wives of playwrights. They kissed my cheeks, studied me up and down, and I pretended I didn’t hear them whisper about me behind their fans. At Rochefoucauld’s house, he tried to get us to exchange witty maxims. But the gossip on everyone’s lips was the cardinal’s alliance with Cromwell.
    â€œKing Charles left France.”
    â€œNot without asking to marry one of the Mancini girls so he wouldn’t have to go. Is it true, Marie?”
    It was. “Every man adores Hortense.”
    The women were all atwitter.
    â€œWell, I heard the cardinal let King Charles down easy, saying it would do the Mazarins too great an honor. Can you believe it?”
    Everyone laughed, but it was exactly what my uncle had told Hortense.
    The next gathering at Sévigné’s was no better. She brought out her astrolabe and insisted we discuss astrology. Instead, everyone turned to me and asked about Olympia. “What is the secret to her hold on King Louis?”
    Before I could think of a clever response someone said, “He visits the Hôtel de Soissons nightly.”
    Another woman threw her hands in the air. “They spend hours together in her room alone. ”
    â€œHer new husband will get angry,” someone insisted.
    â€œAnd risk losing royal favor? Never!” insisted someone else.
    My friend Somaize finally spoke up, “It’s not royal favor her husband has to worry about, it’s the cardinal’s. ” Everyone turned spiteful eyes to me.
    I shrugged. “Don’t we all?”
    They laughed, and I felt myself relax. If my uncle thinks I’ll glean secrets from these gossips, he is mistaken.
    *   *   *
    Weeks later the gossip was entirely different.
    An excitable young woman fluttered her fan so hard I thought her wig would blow off. “King Louis only goes to the Hôtel de Soissons out of courtesy now. Last night he invited Anne-Lucie de La Motte d’Argencourt to dine with him, and they played cards for money late into the night.”
    Another lady rolled her eyes to the heavens. “You call that juicy on-dit ?”
    The young woman put down her fan. “When she ran out of money, Mademoiselle d’Argencourt bet her partlet and lost it.” A collective gasp went up around the salon.
    Mine may have been the loudest. Modest ladies and old-fashioned women wore such collars from neck to décolletage. “Did King Louis actually take it?”
    The woman shrugged. The ladies placed wagers of their own. Most bet d’Argencourt would be in the king’s bed before Lent was over.
    Later that night, I crept into the cardinal’s study. “We have a problem named d’Argencourt.”
    He rifled through a casket of papers and waved me away without a word.
    *   *   *
    But the next week, when I returned to Palais Mazarin from a salon one evening, the cardinal met me in my antechamber. He handed me a tiny pearl ring. “Take this to Olympia with my compliments. Tell her I said to make the king forget d’Argencourt.”
    â€œI tried to warn you.”
    He frowned. “D’Argencourt’s mother made it clear she would allow the girl to become the king’s maîtresse-en-titre. In exchange for a fortune.”
    I cringed. “How far has it gone?”
    â€œThat’s what you’re going to determine.”
    Moréna peeped out from the front door, and I signaled her to join me. In the carriage she freshened my rouge and dotted perfume to my wrists and neck. At the Hôtel de Soissons, Olympia had spared no expense on entertaining the king. A great bonfire burned in the middle of the courtyard, and liveried footmen lined the stairs to the front entrance. The cardinal’s page announced me to the musketeers guarding the front hall, and they broke rank for me to pass.
    Olympia sat in a chair by the fireplace in her state bedchamber, arms crossed.