when Duval smiles at her, I realize that I have never seen him truly smile. Not like this, where it warms his entire face. “It would appear so, dear sister. But I would warn you not to speak of it to anyone. Gisors’s men followed us today, but we evaded them.” Duval glances over to where Madame Dinan is attending to Isabeau. “Nor do we want word to get back to d’Albret. who knows what mischief he could make for our plan.”
The duchess quickly nods her understanding. “I will say nothing to anyone, but I cannot deny it will give me something to cling to during the meeting with the barons tomorrow. I cannot tell you how much I am dreading it.”
Duval’s face settles back into seriousness. “I think the simplest course is to plead your grief over our father’s death. It is too fresh right now for you to consider marriage to d’Albret or anyone else.”
The duchess’s mouth trembles ever so faintly. “It is not even a lie,” she says, and I am struck by how few choices she has for all that she is a duchess.
Chapter Twenty-six
The great hall, which once seemed impossibly large, now seems impossibly small, stuffed as it is with this many bodies. Oh, they are noble enough bodies, but ripe with sweat and perfume and unbridled anticipation. I cannot tell if they are expecting disaster or farce. My sincerest hope is that my god will marque all the traitors today and my duty will be clear.
I worm my way to a spot by the far wall, and my shoulders press painfully into the carved paneling at my back. even so, I am glad for the space and am all too happy to defend it with my elbows when others press too close.
As the main players assemble on the raised dais in the front of the room, I scan the crowd. The men have left their swords with guardsmen at the door so that none may be drawn during the meeting, but no one has been searched for knives or daggers. My hand drifts to my own hidden weapons at my wrists, and I wonder just how many other blades are nestled inside sleeves or hidden in folds of satin.
Once all of Anne’s councilors have taken their place, the assembly rises and the duchess herself comes into the room. Her chin is high, her spine rigid with determination. Of their own accord, my eyes search out Duval, who sits at the far end of the dais. He is dressed in his customary black and is the very picture of somber reason. De Lornay and de waroch stand near him at the front wall. They have kept their swords, most likely at his insistence.
D’Albret sits directly before the dais, sprawling in his chair, trimming his nails with a knife, either a subtle threat or a sign of just how uncouth he really is. I study him carefully, but no matter how much I will it, there is no visible marque upon him.
Chancellor Crunard calls the meeting to order, and the room grows quiet. Before the chancellor has finished the formal opening remarks, Count d’Albret puts away his knife and rises to his feet. There is the swish of skirts and creak of boot leather as the courtiers lean forward to hear better. The duchess eyes him shrewdly but gives him her full consideration, much as one gives a venomous serpent.
“My lords.” He runs his gaze along the dais, then turns to the crowded room. “I am here to collect what was promised to me by your late Duke Francis. Namely, marriage to his daughter — my rightful payment for lending aid against the French last fall.”
“A war we lost,” Chancellor Crunard is quick to point out, and I cannot help but think of his two sons who died in that war.
A rumble reverberates around the room, but whether it is one of outrage or approval, I cannot tell.
The duchess’s clear young voice carries over the crowd and they grow quiet once more. “My lord d’Albret. while your offer is worthy of our consideration, I am afraid I am too consumed by my family’s recent loss to turn my thoughts to marriage, and I beg your understanding a little while longer in this matter.”
“You do not have the luxury of time, my lady. Your very country is at stake.”
“You do not need to remind me of that, sir,” the duchess snaps.
“But perhaps I need to remind you of your duty. Dukes and duchesses do not have the luxury of long mourning periods. The needs of their kingdoms come first, even before their grief.”
Of course, he is right, and the duchess knows it as well. “I have always put my country first.” There is true anger in the duchess’s voice now.
D’Albret’s tone softens in an attempt to coax. "With this marriage I offer, you will be able to turn your attention to more womanly concerns and let me shoulder your burdens. Then you may mourn all you want.” He glances briefly at the dais, but I cannot see who he is looking at. Madame Dinan? Marshal Rieux?
There is a long quiet moment during which it looks as if the duchess is considering the idea. “I see you have thought of all my needs, Lord d’Albret. even so, I must beg more time.”