Chapter 12
There is no justice in France. None. If I, the queen, cannot find impartial judges in a matter that sullies my name, how can anyone else hope for justice in matters that touch their honor?
How can they only punish that vile Lamotte woman and none other?
How can the cardinal escape any guilt from his aims to belittle and humiliate me?
The courts did not see a criminal in him.
They only saw a Prince of the Church, a Prince de Rohan, when he was just a greedy man who needed money.
And to bear all of this while suffering with child, my days of confinement being numbered, is simply too much to endure.
Antoinette
One should never have to bear the expected end of a fourth pregnancy alone. One’s body was not what it once had been, bringing a greater strain to every aspect of the frame and mind than previous pregnancies had. One’s energy was more easily depleted, particularly with three older children around.
And when one was also the queen of France, the confinement stage of a fourth pregnancy was wholly inconvenient to be endured alone.
But alas, Antoinette was without her husband for the moment, and she was certain her body could not withstand any additional stretching, pulling, or growing. Her fourth child needed to vacate the premises of her body as soon as possible, but only after baby’s father returned.
Antoinette was not enduring labor pains and the birthing process well.
Louis had been in Calais for eight days now, and while it had been a good thing for him to go, he was scheduled to return any day. It may have taken several reminders of that fact to ease Antoinette’s agitation about his absence, but it was true nonetheless.
Ever since the diamond necklace affair had been resolved, unhappily in some respects, Louis had become more preoccupied with his reign and his ability to make wise decisions.
He was discouraged by the state of affairs in France in several areas, even issues over which he had no control.
He engaged in fewer social occasions and opportunities for sport.
He was wholly devoted to working with his ministers to better his kingdom.
She could not fault him for that, but she could see the strain of such single-mindedness. His slender shoulders seemed weighed down constantly, his once-proud stature growing more stooped. His only true smiles were for her growing bump; all the others were forced and never reached his eyes.
Antoinette was also struggling with the outcome of the diamond necklace trials.
Cardinal de Rohan had been acquitted of his crimes, which gave the general populace reason to blame the king and queen for the sequence of events, despite their never being involved.
Claims of falsifying charges against the cardinal were shouted, Antoinette was deemed silly and spoiled, Louis was considered weak.
The truth had no bearing on opinions, and the general man’s opinion was growing louder and louder in France.
It did not matter that Louis was achieving great things in their lands, that he was attentive to their needs, that he was working tirelessly to make necessary changes.
Nor did it matter that Antoinette had not been a woman of excesses and frivolous parties to any extent they claimed.
Rumors were taken as truth and speculation as scripture.
At least Antoinette had her confinement to keep her occupied and out of the public eye for a time.
Louis had no such luck, if it could be called that, but even with the tides of reputation spinning this way and that, he was still well-liked as himself.
People still wished to see the king among his people, and they attended events where he would be present.
But the air seemed filled with a new tension that made both royals uneasy.
Antoinette missed her husband. The children had their governess to assist and entertain them when lessons had concluded, but Antoinette’s only task was to wait for her child to be born and see them delivered safely.
The palace was a lonely place with nothing to do, and though she and Louis were often apart for most of the day, he was always attentive to her in the evenings and took great care with her when she was with child.
He made Antoinette feel precious and treasured, like a goddess who had blessed him with the greatest good fortune possible, and the raw honesty of his attentions never ceased to move her.
When he was not with her, she felt ungainly, conspicuous, and burdensome upon everyone around her.
There was nothing glorious or awe-inspiring about the pain in her lower back, the swelling in her feet, the heaviness in her body, or the sharp pains from the child’s movements within her.
She felt as lovely as a cow when she was alone, and those unhelpful, discouraging thoughts only grew louder and more convincing without her husband to counter them.
Her ladies-in-waiting were close friends, but Louis saw her as a woman, not just as his wife and queen. She was a person to him, not a figure. An individual, not an ideal.
And she missed feeling like a woman, a person, an individual.
Especially when she felt like a cow.
“Majesty!” Henriette Campan, one of her ladies, rushed into her sitting room, her eyes and color bright. “Your Majesty.” She curtsied quickly. “The king is arriving, ma’am. He is back.”
Tears sprang into Antoinette’s eyes with an unexpected ferocity, and she choked out a sob of relief and happiness as she reached out a hand for help to rise from her seated position.
Once she was upright, the two ladies made their way toward the family entrance, Henriette keeping a careful hold on Antoinette’s arm as she attempted to race despite her present condition.
Gabrielle had the children with her, hastening them all toward the balcony where Louis would meet them.
Louis-Charles was in her arms, as his strides were only slightly slower than an ungainly and heavily pregnant Antoinette’s, but Louis-Joseph and Marie-Thérèse ran with all the eagerness of ages five and seven, respectively, already calling for their papa.
“Out in the air, children,” Gabrielle encouraged with a laugh. “He will not hear you in here.”
The doors were opened, and they all rushed out at their individual speeds, decorum entirely forgotten as the person they adored most in the world was drawing nearer to their waiting arms.
The carriage rolled into the drive, and the family waved cheerily at Louis, who actually flung himself out of the carriage, nearly stumbling as he did so. He grinned, waving as he ran toward them, his face flushed and his hair untidy. But he looked strong, healthy, and happy.
Happy. At last.
“Papa! Papa!” the three children called out in chorus, not quite in unison, but with the enthusiasm any father might wish for.
Antoinette held her tongue, tears flowing down her cheeks and clogging her throat.
He was here. He was home. He was hers.
Louis dropped to his knees in front of the children and gathered them in closely, kissing their hair and cheeks, laughing at their choking hugs and almost aggressive clinging.
“Was I gone for days or for months, my little ones?” he chuckled. He took Thérèse’s hand and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles as though she were a fine lady, which never failed to make their daughter giggle and grin.
He raised his eyes to Antoinette, and his smile softened, his eyes glassing over as they wandered her frame before settling on her face. He rose, his fingers slowly leaving the clutches of the children as he reached for Antoinette. His throat bobbed visibly.
“My beautiful wife,” he rasped as he reached her.
Antoinette released a sob and flung herself into his open arms, clutching her hands around his neck and burying her tears in the fabric of his coat.
His arms came tight around her, though the bump of their child prevented her from getting as close as she wished. His hands slowly and tenderly traced up and down her back as he held her, soothing her cries and grounding her anxious soul.
“I am here, my love,” he whispered against her ear. “I am home.”
“I missed you so much,” Antoinette squeaked through tears, her body shuddering with the relief and comfort of his touch.
His hold tightened almost painfully, and she felt his lips at her temple, less pressing and more branding against her skin. “I missed you as well, Antoinette. Lord knows, I missed you desperately.”
He pulled back and cupped her face, his thumbs brushing her tears away as he met her eyes. “Are you well? Is the child well?”
Gripping his wrists, Antoinette nodded and sniffed. “Yes, we are well. I did not . . . I did not want the child to come without their papa here to welcome them. I was so afraid that would happen.” Her chin trembled, and she clenched her teeth to keep from renewing her sobs. “And now you are here.”
Louis swallowed hard, his eyes searching hers. “I am. For you and for them. Always.” He closed the distance between them, touching his lips to her brow before moving them gently to her lips.
She arched into him, the motion difficult with her added weight, but she had to reach for him in any way she could. Had to connect with him. Had to reassure herself that this was no dream, that he was home, that all was well.
In this little secluded world of their family, without the rest of the kingdom and the general public, all could be well.
Louis pulled her back into his embrace, holding her close until her cries finally faded into nothing, and then they made their way into the palace, the children eagerly telling their father every single detail of everything he had missed while he was away.
Once they had settled and the family had taken their evening meal together, they said their farewells for the night, and Louis promised the children that he would take some time to play with them on the morrow. Then and only then did the children retire to their nursery without complaint.