The question stings. Mother has shown me precious little attention since my arrival. I certainly do not wish to garner maternal notice in a negative manner.
“What do you mean?” I stammer. “I only spoke as Her Majesty’s other ladies do. I heard Mademoiselle de Saussauy use that quip this evening. She is a dame d’honneur from one of the finest houses in France. How can it be wrong for me to speak as she does?”
The Baronne gives a deep sigh. “You must conduct yourself with more decorum and aloofness than Fleurie de Saussauy. You may pass your time with the ladies of Her Majesty’s household, but you are not of them. You must understand the difference.”
“But I do not,” I reply. “I see that Her Majesty’s ladies behave differently than I have been brought up to do by you and Madame at Amboise, but theirs are the manners of Court. Why may I not adopt them?” I am warming to the injustice of my situation. “Why,” I challenge, “may they wear their gowns without a partlet while I remain covered to the neck? Why may Renée de Rieux flirt shamelessly with my brother while I am made to feel ashamed for joking with his friend?”
The Baronne is silent, contemplating my face earnestly in the dim light. “Your Highness, every woman in the Queen’s household has a duty to Her Majesty, a duty of obedience. If they are not content to serve the Queen as she will be served, they may leave Court. If they are derelict in their duty, they will be sent. The specific duties of Her Majesty’s other ladies are not for me to say, nor for you to speculate upon.
“The duty you owe the Queen is different than that owed by the others. Yours is the duty of une fille de France and a daughter. The nature of your duty—to reflect well upon your royal house and to marry to the crown’s advantage in due time—has been clear since your infancy. Such duty, set upon your shoulders by birth, cannot be declined. You may, however, fail in it.”
My defiance collapses instantly. Tears gather in the corners of my eyes. “I do not wish to fail.”
“Of course not. No more do I want you to.” She places her hand upon my shoulder. “Her Majesty has not announced it yet, so perhaps I ought not tell you, but Madame is growing old. Her Majesty has adjudged it time for that lady to be relieved of her duties and allowed to enjoy leisure in recompense for years of service. As we depart on progress, I will take Madame’s place as gouvernante charged, officially, with overseeing Your Highness.”
I draw a sharp breath. I cannot remember a time when Madame was not with me. The tears which a few moments earlier merely stung my eyes roll down my cheeks.
The Baronne hands me a handkerchief from her sleeve. “My appointment gives me great pleasure. And I hope you will learn to view it as a positive good. You are lovely by God’s gift, but if you will be more—if you will be a lady of refinement, witty and cultured—then you must take pains to develop the best qualities and eschew other less desirable ones. I shall endeavor to guide you, and I hope to see you flower into the first among Her Majesty’s ladies. The one admired by all.”
Dabbing away the last of my tears, I smile. To be thought capable of such attainment by a woman oft called “the tenth muse” is flattering. I mean to comport myself in accordance with the Baronne de Retz’s direction from this moment forward.
CHAPTER 2
March to June 1564—On the Roads of France
We are a city in motion. Nay, larger than many of the cities we will pass. For weeks Henri and I watched the royal train assemble, but never could I have imagined the true enormity of our party. Leaning out of the coach, I regard with wonder the people and conveyances stretched as far as my eye can see. Litters, coaches, riders on horseback, pikemen, men-at-arms, foot soldiers, and a multitude of servants—the variety, colors, noise, and movement of the train are entirely overwhelming.
“Henri!” I call. “Can you see the end?”
Pulling up his horse, my brother allows the window at which I sit to draw even with him. “I cannot. I’ll wager there are still riders inside the gates of Fontainebleau.”
“Really? But we have come miles already.”
“Yes, but we ride at the head of more than fifteen thousand souls.” The pride in his voice is pronounced.
I have never seen fifteen thousand anything, let alone fifteen thousand people traveling together. I am jealous of my brother’s view and of his relative freedom. “You are fortunate to be on horseback,” I say.
“There will be plenty of time for you to ride beside me when the weather is not so cold. We will be on the road for months—for years.”
Years. The thought of everything I will see and all that might take place on such a long journey excites me to the point of agitation. How different I will be when we next see Fontainebleau! I will be a woman.
I feel a hand on my arm and turn to the Baronne de Retz. “Your Highness,” she says softly, “pray close the curtains, the other ladies are shivering.”