The Queen's Dollmaker Read Online Free PDF Page B

respectfully nearby and offered Count Fersen her hand to kiss, which he did with flourish. The feel of his lips and soft breath on the back of her hand created a strange sensation in her stomach she had not felt through thousands of subjects paying homage to her.
    “I am certain you have not been presented at court before,” she said, thinking that she would have remembered the feel of her hand in his.
    “Alas, Your Highness, I have been on the grand tour and have just recently made my way to France. But I am here now, and had been hoping for an opportunity to meet you.” His large eyes darkened as he fixed his gaze on her again. Marie Antoinette could feel the room receding away from her. Was she about to embarrass herself by fainting?
    “La, monsieur.” She laughed in recovery. “It seems that the music has started again and I have no dance partner.”
    He offered his arm. “Please allow me to escort you and be your partner.”
    The pair twirled around the floor together in the contredanse allemande and other large group dances. Whenever she was passed through the line back into the count’s arms, he would subtly rub her back or stare down intently at her. She pretended to ignore him, but she was barely able to concentrate on her steps. She was dimly aware of courtiers whispering behind cupped hands whenever she was partnered with the count. Marie Antoinette remained at the ball until nearly dawn, departing only with a commitment from her new friend Axel Fersen to attend her next salon. She returned to the palace in a state of excited tension she had never before known.
    Soon, though, the tension would lose its excitement, as King Louis XV died May 10, 1774, and she and Louis became king and queen of France.
    The couple was terrified of taking the throne, falling on their knees and praying together upon hearing of the king’s death: “Dear God, guide and protect us. We are too young to reign.”
    The long reign of Louis XV—who was once called “Well Beloved”—had begun in admiration of the splendor of the monarchy, and ended in contempt and near-bankruptcy mingled with bitterness due to the crushing taxation that fell heaviest on those least able to bear it—the poor. This was the France that these two young, ill-equipped people had inherited and were hardly prepared to guide.

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    Walking toward the vessel, which was sloshing gently in the Seine, Claudette approached a group of three women who appeared to be slightly older than she. “Are you bound for England, as well?”
    The tallest of the group nodded condescendingly to Claudette. The second member of the group did not stop talking long enough to notice Claudette, but the third woman turned aside to address the bedraggled teenager, who was already starting to look much older than her adolescent years.
    “I’m Elizabeth Preston.” The woman, whom Claudette guessed to be about twenty, stuck out her gloved hand in a gesture of friendship. She was in a traveling outfit of pink trimmed in fur, with a matching hat jauntily resting on a mass of upswept ebony hair, and her wrist-length gloves had embroidered flowers on them. She was one of the most fashionably dressed women Claudette had ever seen. Claudette looked down at her own sorry state of attire, and apologized for her own appearance.
    “Never you mind,” said Mademoiselle Preston. She leaned over to Claudette and whispered confidentially, “They tell me sable is all the rage, but do you know I think I’m getting a case of fleas?” Claudette laughed despite her misery and introduced herself.
    “Well, Miss Laurent, it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance. Have a safe journey.” She turned back to listen to what the other women were saying.
    Claudette saw another young woman on the dock, standing alone except for a small girl clutching her legs. Realizing that they looked even more pitiable than she did, she walked up and initiated another conversation. The young woman seemed eager for