The Porcelain Dove by Delia Sherman Read Free Book Online

Of course we'd return to Port Royal. How could I think otherwise?
    Well, I did think otherwise, and with more certainty when I saw a little liver-and-white spaniel awaiting us in Mlle Adèle's bedchamber. Pet animals are not welcome at Port Royal, particularly pet dogs that squeak like rusty doors and make great puddles on the floor when they are excited. My mistress, ignoring the crudity of its welcome, scooped the puppy into her arms, where it wriggled happily, licked her chin, and whined. Delighted, my mistress named the pretty scrap Doucette and carried it down in her pocket to dinner.
    Next morning, well before noon, I opened mademoiselle's chamber door to Mme and M. du Fourchet, who, despite the earliness of the hour, were fully dressed. M. le baron marched up to the bed andfrowned at his daughter, who had just taken the first sip of her chocolate. Doucette, curled in a liver-and-white ball on the pillow, was still snoring gently.
    "Well, girl, not up yet? Dull work to lie abed alone, eh? You'll soon have something better than chocolate and a fat puppy to keep you there, hmph, hmph. Yes, indeed you will. Yes."
    With an exclamation of impatience, madame pushed past her husband, cast herself on the bed, and took possession of her daughter's free hand.
    "What your father wishes to say, darling child, is that we have been looking out a husband for you, and have settled upon M. le duc de Malvoeux, who is a
most
estimable gentleman, a creation of Godfrey de Boulogne's, we are told, with no fewer than sixteen degrees of nobility—a true noble immemorial—and such a droll motto: 'Je veux ce que je veux.' His mother being dead, you are to have
all
the family jewels, my pet, the diamonds of a queen, and such emeralds as can only be imagined, if sadly old-fashioned in their setting. I am persuaded you will make a lovely duchesse and be splendidly happy."
    Mademoiselle tried to reclaim her hand from her mother's bosom. M. du Fourchet cleared his throat importantly.
    "Hmph, yes, my dear, Mme du Fourchet has the right of it, indeed she does. He's only middling rich, mind you, and he came very dear —don't scowl so, Claire, the girl has a right to know how high a price we put on her happiness." For a moment, M. du Fourchet puffed thoughtfully to himself with his hands laced across his little round belly, looking, for all his brown satin and his fine Holland neckcloth, more like a farmer of corn than a Farmer of taxes.
    "Hmph, yes, where was I? Oh, the dowry. Five hundred thousand livres, not a sou less, so he was very dear, as I said, but the dukedom of Malvoeux is a very respectable honor—five or six towns of some size, a dozen villages, some forty tenant farms, as well as the seigneuries of Beauxprés and Montplaisir. His landed revenue alone is ten thousand livres, and should he take my advice, well, he could easily grow as rich as de Guise. I hear the château at Beauxprés was rebuilt from the ground in 1690, so you needn't think you'll languish in a draughty donjon when you're from Paris. And as for his hôtel here in the rue des Lions, 'tis very fine, I assure you, very fine indeed."
    "Yes," broke in madame impatiently. "And his mother was
very
highly placed, maîtresse en titre to the old king's Master of Wigs until ill-health forced her to retire to Beauxprés, where his father was cultivating his gardens, which are, I believe, among the most extensive in all France. He is a famous naturalist, I hear, a great collector of birds, which is
most
acceptable, for 'tis good for a husband to have an interest, ma chère, you must always remember that. I confess I could wish the young man more political: there's both money and position in office, you know, and he'd surely be preferred, an old family like that. Ah, well, husbands are seldom
entirely
satisfactory, and 'tis a small point, to be sure.
    "Now, as to his person, he is very distinguished—Hortense will be eaten alive with jealousy. He's freehanded, doesn't game above the