Free BLUE BAYOU ~ Book I (historical): Fleur de Lis by Parris Afton Bonds

the accuser, if he could prevail upon the monarch, secured the right of administration of whatever property was involved.
    Fabreville had hoped that Fra nce’s largest estate would naturally pass to him, and his son Robert, since for years Hélène’s son had seemed bent on leading the gay life of a bachelor. When Philippe finally took a wife, Fabreville was relieved to find that the woman apparently was barren. Such was not the case, after all.
    He scanned the letter with satisfaction. The order was a simple one:
    On behalf of the king: the Marquis de Marchesseau, Philippe du Plessis, and his wife, Natalie, are ordered to take themselves to the Bastille and the Salpêtriére, respectively, His Grace forbidding the said husband and wife to depart until further orders on his part, under pain of disobedience.
    Signed this the 13 th day of February 1720, the Duc d’Orléans, Regent .
     
     
     
     
    Natalie was with her wardrobe mistress, Emilie, when Philippe rushed into the petit appartement . His face was waxen; his lips taut. “The Royal Musketeers,” he said, shutting the door behind him. “They are waiting below with a lettre de cachet for us both.” The wardrobe mistress put her hands to her mouth in a smothered scream. Natalie blanched. The large folio containing fabric swatches of her gowns dropped from her suddenly inert fingers.
    Philippe caught her clammy hands in his and said, “You must escape while I delay them!”
    She shivered uncontrollably but said in a raw whisper, “No, I’m staying with you.”
    He shook her shoulders with fearful impatience. “Listen, Natalie. With you free, there is the hope of discovering our accuser and clearing my name.”
    When she opened her mouth to argue, he pressed, “For the love of God, Natalie, consider our child!”
    Reluctantly, she nodded in compliance, too stunned to disagree. Quickly, he laid plans for the loyal Emilie to don one of Natalie’s cloaks and to descend on his arm to meet the waiting guards. The ruse would be discovered all too soon, within minutes, but with luck Natalie would have a chance to get away.
    Her husband had to pull himself from her grasp. “Philippe!” she cried when he turned to leave. Her lips quivered, and tears brimmed unchecked over her lids. For too long a moment, she stood in the suddenly empty room, trying to find the strength to will herself to move. Her body seemed to have grown too heavy for her legs. The child! She grabbed another cloak from the immense armoire, any cloak—it was an ermine and velvet one— and hurried through the servants’ corridor.
    Fearing that the coach’s crest of arms might attract unwanted notice, she took a chaise à porteurs . As the porters carried her through the crowded rue de Sevres, she was assailed by the ghastly recollection of a man rumored to have been imprisoned under a lettre de cachet by Louis XIV for forty years until the man’s death— his identity concealed behind an iron mask. Could that really happen?
    With grief choking her breath, she urged the porters faster toward the Hotel de Soubise, the residence of Claude Fabreville. Surely, he, if anyone, would have the power to have the regent revoke the letter!
    The old knight received her in his petit cabinet with the calmness she lacked. She babbled out her story, ending it with, “You must help Philippe!”
    He removed her hands from where they clutched his robe, distorting the eight-point cross. “I will do everything that I can, Natalie. I will go at once to the du c and petition him for clemency. In the meantime, you must rest and conserve your strength. All this excitement cannot be good for the child you carry.”
    Feeling some measure of relief, Natalie obediently accepted the warmed wine brought by a servant. She paced the room, little noticing the art collected with discrimination: Poussin, Titian, Raphael, Veronese, del Sarto. Her steps slowed, her lids blinked away the sudden weariness. Then, with sudden suspicion,