Ma Petit Princesse (aph Marie Antoinette fic)

Mademoiselle, part 2

For the 2nd week in a row, young Marie's legs were weary from inactivity and in need of a good stretch. They'd travelled for miles and miles without so much as a simple bathroom break. As she peered out the delicate glass window, Francis, who was sitting on the opposite side of the carriage, studied the Dauphine's form. 

Her eyes were bright, intelligent, young, and yet they lacked something... could it be initiative? Francis wasn't quite sure. Her face was rather pretty, but it seemed that she'd inherited the 'dreaded Habsburg lip', the big, puffy, dramatic lower lip which made her look distainful, which was not necessarily a bad thing. She had lovely honey-colored hair, and lots of it, which would be a plus in the eyes of the court, along with her relatively healthy-looking body. To be honest, she quite reminded him of the last Dauphine, Princess Maria Josepha of Saxony, who was very beautiful but lacked the normal rivalry with the royal mistress, Madame de Pompodour, though she and her husband did begot the current Dauphin. They shared the same thoughtful gaze.

"Sir Bonnefoy?" 

Francis jolted himself out of his trance, sitting up straight and softening his gaze at the young girl who'd just spoken to him. 

"Yes, your Highness?" Francis smiled.

"I think were almost here," Marie stated in a small voice. Francis chuckled at this and looked out the window. They were surrounded by a thick, enchanting forest. Francis nodded.

"I believe we are too, ma petit princesse. This looks to be the forest of Compiegne. How do you feel?"

"Nervous," she admitted, playing with the white lace decorating her blue sleeve. "I don't know what to expect. I expect King Louis to be kind, but I'm not sure about Louis Auguste. What is he like?"

Francis paused for a moment. How could he describe young Louis?

"Well," Francis laughed in an awkward way. "Young Louis is... how do you say... an earnest being. He strives for betterment, but is rather socially awkward. He enjoys the hunt and metal work...You'll be fine, little Marie. As soon as he sees you, his heart will melt."

As a soft blush began to appear on the Dauphine's face, the carriage came to a hard halt, making the young princess jolt forward. She sighed and attempted to fix her hair as Francis straightened his attire, then helped Marie as best he could when she didn't seem to be making too much progress. Once her hair was in better shape, Francis raised the curtain covering the window and looked out. Outside in the forest, King Louis XV, along with his grandsons, including the Dauphin, more close relatives and countless other noble men and women and numerous guards were standing in wait of the Dauphine and her party's arrival.

"Well, ma petit princesse," Francis said, taking a deep breath. "I believe we've arrived. Are you ready?"

"Ready enough," Marie stated, her voice barely wavering. She opened her small silver purse and took out the pretty fan which she had received earlier and flashed it open, fanning herself quickly before putting it back in it's place and sitting on the edge of her seat.

"Shall we, my Lady?" Francis asked, bringing one hand to his breastpocket and the other out to Marie in front of him. Marie weakly smiled and took his hand. With the other, Francis knocked on the door for the footman to open the door for them. 

A small, pale man opened the door, revealing the royal party. A tall, plump man dressed in black and gold finery and a long, powdered wig stood outside, his pink cheeks pulled back in a grin. He extended his gloved hand for the Dauphine to take as she exited the carriage, which she did gratefully.

"May I present," Francis said, plopping out of the carriage. "the Duc de Choiseul, the foreign minister who was instrumental in this union between you and Louis Auguste. Without him, the Pope would have never granted permission of your marriage."

"I shall never," Marie began, curtsying lowly, looking up at the Duc through her dark lashes. "forget that you were responsible for my happiness."

"And that of France," the Duc replied, bowing lowly, and smiling as he took the young girl from Francis and lead her over to the Royal Party. Francis followed closely behind. 

As the three approached the Royal Party, Francis couldn't help but feel a sort of anxiousness he'd never felt before in introducing a Dauphine or Dauphin to the King; the gravity of the situation was too great to ignore. If this didn't go well, the future of both France and the Austrian Empire may lie in ruin. Francis let out an inaudible sigh before putting on a bright smile and hurrying to catch up to the Duc and young Marie.

"King Louis XV," Francis said cordially, extending his arm towards the Dauphine. "Let me present to you Marie Antoinette."

Marie's face lit up as she approached the King. She batted her eyelashes sweetly, then curtsied as gracefully as possible, all while keeping eye contact with the old man.

"My dearest king," she sang, beaming from ear to ear. King Louis chuckled deeply, his large nose wrinkling. The old King bowed to her, then took her small hand in his and kissed it gently.

"Welcome to France, Dauphine Marie," Louis grinned. "I wish you a life of happiness and contentment with your betrothed. Speaking of which-Louis Auguste! Come here and meet your wife!"

From behind a large group of young men, a boy barely older than 15 stepped out and crossed the leaf-littered lawn of the forest to his grandfather and to Marie Antoinette. His face still had a child-like chub about it, his nose large and very French in nature as his grandfathers, with dark powdered hair and a diveted chin. The air about him was that of a nervous, gawky, awkward boy and he lumbered on towards them with a slight waddle. He walked slowly, each step seeming as if it were agonizing. Francis looked back to Marie to see her slight form stiffen for a moment, then recompose itself.

Young Louis eventually made his way to his betrothed, and within about 30 seconds of the two looking each other over anxiously, Louis uttered a small, simple, "Hello, Madame," as greeting. Marie smiled politely and reciprocated the greeting, saying, "How nice it is to meet you, Monsieur," then stiffly hugged her husband to be, who looked as if he'd rather be dead than in the arms of the girl before him. After the  hug affair was over, the Dauphin and Dauphine both turned to King Louis, who, without another word, ushered the two towards the Royal carriage, where they would ride with their mutual cousins until they reached Versailles.

Francis stood and watched the noblemen and ladies gossip and chat about the couple's clumsy first meeting. 'Surely this is a bad sign,' Francis thought. 'Hopefully young Marie and Louis can overcome their differences soon, especially after the wedding.'

"Bonnefoy," a large voice boomed. Francis looked to his left to see King Louis strut over to his side. "It's great to have you back. The past 4 weeks have been...interesting, that's for sure. What do you think of la petite Dauphine?"

"She is," the country began. "A dainty little creature. Smart, I'm sure, but she seems to be more interested in the latest fashions rather than the duties that come with Dauphine-hood. I do, however, have a feeling she's destined for greatness. And you, Your Grace?"

"I think she's pretty," Old Louis snorted. "And that her bosom is nicely developed for her young age and short stature. Hopefully she'll bear many a son for my grandson."

Francis's eyes widened at the comment King Louis made about the young lady's bosom, but chortled along with him, trying to relieve himself of his uncomfortable state. The old, demented King had an... interesting way of addressing women, that was for sure.  After they'd had a good laugh, the two men began to walk on to their own carriage, in which they would travel to Versailles, ahead of the rest.

"Francis?" Old Louis yawned as they settled into their compartment for the 4 hour ride. "Wake me when we reach Versailles."

"Will do, your Highness," Francis sighed, resting his chin upon his knuckles and staring out the glass window. "Will do."

Little goes to say, Francis Bonnefoy was sick and tired of carriages.

As was young Marie.