By Honor Bound by Helen A Rosburg Read Free Book Online

cast-iron pan was hot enough Honneure added a dollop of goose fat and then the rabbit, piece by piece. She turned the parts over once and added a handful of freshly chopped herbs. As the meat browned to her satisfaction, she poured a pitcher of dry red wine over all. Steam curled upward from the pan, and a delicious aroma filled the room.
    “Smells wonderful .” Jeanne put an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “I just came in to do that, but I’m glad you beat me to it. I think you’ve become a better cook than I am.”
    “Never!”
    “Well, all right … almost as good.” She kissed Honneure’s cheek. “Shall I make a dandelion salad to go with it?”
    Another of Philippe’s favorites. The two women exchanged knowing smiles, and Honneure nodded.
    “You run along then and arrange your flowers, my dear. I’ll take care of the rest of dinner.”
    Honneure grabbed her basket and fled the kitchen’s heat. She had already placed vases with fresh water about the château and had merely to arrange the fragile stems. She began in the chapel, near the front doors, and bowed her head reverently as she placed the flowers gently on the altar. She paused to admire the soaring vaulted ceiling and stained-glass windows. To the right of the altar stood a finely carved credence table, and for the hundredth time she read the motto of the husband and wife, Thomas Bohier and Katherine Briconnet, who had built Chenonceau: “ S’il vient a point, me souviendra .” “If I manage to build Chenonceau, I will be remembered.” How correct they had been. It was their coats-of-arms that decorated the front doors.
    From the chapel Honneure went to the Louis XIV living room, so named in honor of a visit the late king had made to the château. It was her favorite room, and its colors were glorious. Deep pink fabric lined the walls, and the furniture was covered with Aubusson tapestries. She thought of her mother, Mathilde, and how she would have loved the aura of the ornate chamber, where Madame Dupin had entertained such dignitaries and intellectuals as Voltaire, Rousseau, Montesquieu, and Diderot. She glanced at the portrait of Samuel Bernard, her mistress’s father, Louis XIV’s banker. Though he had left his daughter fabulously wealthy, she had squandered nothing. Her generosity and kindness were legendary. Honneure herself would always be grateful to her.
    Honneure’s last stop was Madame’s bedroom. Near the center of the corridor she pushed open two finely carved oaken doors, revealing the curving staircase. It was always a pleasure to climb the steps and gaze at the coffers decorated with human figures, fruits, and flowers. At the curve in the stair was a loggia with a balustrade from which she was able to see the Cher. Late afternoon sun glinted sharply on the somnolent greenish waters, and Honneure hurried.
    Of the many bedchambers in the château, the one Madame Dupin had chosen for her own was known as the Five Queens’ Bedroom, in memory of Catherine de Medici’s two daughters and three daughters-in-law, all of whom had become queens. The coffered ceiling displayed the five different royal coats-of-arms, and the walls were covered with a Flemish tapestry suite that had always fascinated Honneure. Around the walls of the room she could see the siege of Troy and the kidnapping of Helen, Circus games in the Coliseum, and the crowning of King David. She arranged the last of her flowers atop her mistress’s desk and on her way out straightened the rich red bed-curtains. Her house duties for the day were done.

    The sun was low and at the perfect angle to enter her dormer window in a straight line, filling the tiny room with heat and light. Stripped to her underlinens, Honneure sat on the edge of her narrow bed and pinned the luxuriant masses of honey-colored hair atop her head. She poured water from a pitcher into a cracked basin, took a linen cloth and, eyes closed, washed away the day’s toil. When she came to her