They followed François up a set of stairs while the men continued to chat and then down a hallway with carved wood embellishments that matched the entrance. The hallway opened into a large room with flowing curtains that led to an oversized balcony. Everything in the room showed wealth, from the gold-gilded chairs to the plush cushions. A well-dressed young valet shuffled in. François gave the young man instructions, and Eve watched as he went off to the kitchen. Michel indicated for her to sit on a silky green cushion as he relaxed into a chair.
Eve folded her knees beneath her and perched. She wasn’t exactly sure why Michel had brought her with him, but she preferred to stay close. She could learn more about his plans this way. She could learn more about him.
Looking around at the finery, she suddenly realized one reason Michel could have brought her along. Here she was, dressed in clothing he had bought her. Cleaned with oils he had given her. Wouldn’t caring for a “peasant” girl cultivate good favor? Make him seem all the more important in the eyes of another? After the way he had spoken about her…well, he had found a way to get some value out of her after all. Despite the gestures he made to appear kind to her, what he really had in her was another trinket to put on display.
The valet returned with a carafe of coffee on a tray and placed it on the low table between the men.
“Do you still take your coffee the same?” François asked.
“Two sugar cubes, if you have them.” Michel nodded. “Did you receive my letter?”
“Yes, son, but I have no ideas for you. The markets are all tapped.”
“I have an idea,” Michel said, leaning forward.
“It seems you didn’t come for any advice then.” François chuckled at the younger man.
“I want to find a cashmere dealer.”
Cashmere?she perked up, listening.
François leaned forward to take his cup. He held his head to the side and let out a long whistle through his teeth before taking a sip and setting the cup back down. “That’s going to be difficult.”
“It’s the only solution,” Michel affirmed. “What else can I bring home that France doesn’t already have? That can bring in substantial revenue?”
François leaned all the way back into his deep chair and surveyed Michel as he stroked his chin. “Cinnamon?”
“Ah,” Michel threw up his hand. “The Portuguese have a lock on spices, and it is too easy to trade with them already.” Then he leaned in. “Consider it. Cashmere. What do you think?”
“Michel, yes, you would be a hero if you set up a line of cashmere. You know they keep the market very tight, though. The sources are well out of our reach, deep into the steppes.” He held out his hands and shrugged. “I could perhaps get you a few rolls if you were willing to do some illicit trading.”
“No,” Michel asserted. “I can’t do anything illegal. And I need a sustainable source.”
“This is coming from Cardinal Mazarin?” François asked as he crossed one knee over the other.
This caught Eve’s attention—a name she recognized. Michel had mentioned the Cardinal the day before at the river. She lowered her head to seem uninterested, though she continued listening closely.
“He is looking to cover the debt he incurred fighting Spain,” Michel said. “He wants to keep it from the king.”
“This is what happens when you appoint a king when he is a child.” François went back to stroking his chin.
“I met with the Cardinal in Versailles,” Michel continued. “Just before I began this journey. He said he would tax Chevalerie and the rest of the duchies if I am unable to provide a solution.”
François laughed and shook his head. “Your father won’t stand for it. That is exactly what he and I rebelled against in our day. Does he know of the Cardinal’s intentions?”
Michel leaned forward and took his coffee. “No, of course not.” He shook his head. “I am doing what I can now to avoid it.” Michel sat back again with his cup. “You know my father. He’ll wage war on Paris if he finds out about this.”
François nodded. “I’m sorry I can’t give you better news, son. I will send out correspondence and see if we can locate anything. I fear you will need some luck to find someone willing to work with you.”
“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Michel defended. “I will figure something out.”
“I’m sure you will. You always do.” François leaned forward to take his cup of coffee in his hands, then indicated toward Eve. “Now,” he began. “What’s going on here?”
“A man was trying to sell her at the whorehouse in Merv.” Michel sat up straight, a proud look on his face. “I just couldn’t let it happen.”
His self-satisfaction caused her nostrils to flare before she was able to regain her control.
“Ah, Michel. You have a big heart.” François smiled and eyed her in a curious way.
