Her Silk Prison

1665.

Once upon a time, a young French noblewoman is laying on her bed, reading letters in her crown moulded apartments at Versailles. Being cousin to the king, she was an important political pawn. Someone to strengthen trading ties with Alençon. Famous for their lace which was beautifully gilted with silver, there was such a high demand at Versailles that the king decided to bring someone else in to ensure fair prices and consistent delivery: Jean-Baptiste Colbert, who had recently been made Comptroller-General of Finances, and planned to bring merchants to Versailles to sample materials. But the Duchess of Alençon refused to bring any samples unless a marriage was made between her son, Jean-Henri de Rochefort, Duc de Saint-Cloud and the daughter of the Comte de Saint-German, Mademoiselle Charlotte-Elisabet de Saint-Germain-en-Laye, when the two parties had met in the forest of Fontainebleau for negotiations. Louis XIV’s case was pleaded by his ambassador, but offers of gold, jewels, and even a beautiful diamond necklace, with it is extravagant cascading rows of almost 650 diamonds, each diamond catching the sun with a blinding gleam which would make any jeweller jealous. But to no avail; the Duchess of Alençon demanded a marriage. It would be the only way Jean-Henri could access his naval base in Rochefort. For him, it was the only way to undermine English influence on the silk trade.

At 22, she was being married off when her father had assured her freedom from the very start. He had promised her she would marry for love, but by order of King Louis XIV, that promise was made moot. The famous lace was ordered for her wedding dress, lined not with silver, but with pure gold from the region of Arras.

Maids scurried around carrying layers and layers of fabric, the royal seamstress, Mademoiselle Françoise Boucher, worked on her dress day and night, hand sewing through the night with layers and layers of fine, delicate silk, the material being stretched on racks while countless amounts of servants embroidered a special symbol on in her wedding collar: a Prince Charles toy Spaniel, Fleur. Called the baby of the family and loved by all, she was a sweet, harmful darling who would not hurt a fly. Her father had insisted on pleasing the king by sewing the crest of the house of Bourbon, but she refused; and the matter was kept private as to not provoke the king’s famous anger. He had once imprisoned his finance minister, Nicolas Foquet, for holding a banquet more extravagant than his own.

But as she met the tailor who would be planning her dress, Maître Jacques Dubois and his seamstress who worked under him, Elisabet wanted more. She wanted to become a ballerina. She did not a dreary life with some boring duke who spent his days dealing with constantly ailing health and gout. And to think that she would have to give him heirs! She decided to rant to her mother regarding this, but she simply brushed off her daughter, told her she would understand, and walked away to speak to the king about her dowry.

She even tried the princess of the blood, who had been her only friend in an environment which had always tried to squash her into a role which restricted her as a woman. They had promised each other that they would never marry and disappoint their mothers, and she thought they had a promise, only to learn that Anne Therese-Marie de Bourbon was not only engaged but had already left for sea to be married, to live separately before the wedding night. While her mother used this as an example as to how Charlotte herself would love her new husband, but all Charlotte felt was complete betrayal. She stormed out of the room furiously in the middle of her private fitting and ran down the hall, grateful that Versailles was empty that day. She intended to climb over the garden wall and run away, disguise herself as a lady’s maid. Yes, she would practically live in destitution, but it would be better than this. She began to climb, putting in all her strength and energy to try and get out of this. And she was still strategizing.

And that was when she met him.

It was just a regular day for him. René le Juste had just finished trimming the rose bushes, and as a group of sneering noblewomen walked past, he ducked into the private gardens... as a beautiful young lady scaled the garden wall as it scraped at her dress, thorns ripping the intricately sewed seams that had been applied to her dress.

He stared in complete confusion and awe; as someone who rose from the ashes of 6 generations of criminals who suffered from life sentences in Paris’ infamous, brutal galleys, he didn’t understand why someone in her position, with all the trappings of wealth and power would try and escape. So, he decided he was being helpful by keeping her in her space.

He cut the thorns she was a climbing.

A shriek ran out, and she fell four feet down the garden wall, seeing her ruined state as her arms started flailing in front of her. Then she fell into a stranger’s arms who was not her betrothed. But as René was holding this beautiful lady with her torn skirts, he saw some good in her. Maybe she was trapped. Maybe she was trying to escape something horrible.

But could he see it? How could someone born into such wealth be so ungrateful as to try toe scape everything her father had worked hard to give her? But still, maybe there was a reason, maybe she would explain herself eventually. So, he decided to try a relationship, even if he had to risk his respectable job and rising from the ashes of criminality.

So, they arranged a night. One night. One night of passion, of tangled sheets, of messy hair. But he still could not see it. His thoughts were resentment entirely. How could a lady born into such wealth and luxury try to escape? It was unacceptable, and he had seen the wedding invitation from a distance from a noble woman in there Versailles gardens 3 months ago, and René le Juste couldn’t accept her actions nor let her live a life of poverty where he couldn’t provide for her on a gardener’s salary; so he told on her. Her bedsheets, which had blood on them from the night before, were taken to her father by the maids, who reluctantly followed his orders under bribery.

The next morning, under the sweet sun from a bustling Versailles, Charlotte-Elisabet’s father dragged her screaming and resisting and kicking. But no one heard her.

For 3 days she paced her room, locked in, and only allowed out to maintain appearances and prevent ‘’talk’’ to maintain the engagement. René le Juste? No where to be found. Elisabet asked maids to find any letters he may have written, but her father had forbidden contact. Before any virginity tests were performed, he covered up the story, and he told the king she had a frequent habit of horse-riding. She passed the virginity test.

As the wedding bells rung and the fireworks went off in celebration over the Grand Canal of Versailles, Charlotte sat in her newlywed’s tight but loving grip on her hands, tears secretly streaming down her face as everyone ooed and awed over the fireworks shaped like hearts and wedding bells, she received a letter from a maid who had a letter to be delivered privately. As her husband let go of her hand, she opened the letter to see it was from a secret admirer. But the seal was of the house of Bourbon. But there were many men in the family who had that family crest. She started to think she could have a happily ever after, after all.

But her husband looked at her, and it was not a look of mercy or compassion.

She knew it. There would be no passion.

She was trapped.