The Prince of Navarre shrugs. “I have never conspired with anyone, and I would rather see the savages or even the satyrs riding goats from yesterday’s procession than stand around watching diplomats sign things.”
Finally something my cousin and I agree on. Not that it matters. Given the size of our party, I am seldom in close company with him.
“Which would you rather see?” the Prince of Navarre asks as if he is quite content to have me settle the question.
“Neither. I want to see the Duchesse de Lorraine’s new baby, just like Her Majesty.”
“Girls! There is no accounting for them.” And without waiting for a reply, he runs off, doubtless to look for savages.
*
“The city fathers of Lyon know how to impress.” Charles sits on his horse gazing at the splendid boat waiting for him. Waiting for us. Not all of us, but for those selected especially by my brother and mother to accompany His Majesty down the Sa?ne from Chalon-sur-Sa?ne to Lyon. The rest of the train must go on as they have come this far: by horse, litter, coach, and foot. I cannot wait to get on the boat. As I am climbing aboard, I see the Prince of Navarre among those waiting to embark. Well, family is family, I suppose. I notice that the young Duc de Guise and his mother will also travel with the King. Unlike my cousin, the Duc is a fine-looking young man whose clothes hang easily upon him. He never looks out of place or discomforted whatever the occasion. And he is handsome, nearly as handsome as my brother Henri. His Grace’s eyes catch mine for a moment and I feel a fluttering in my stomach. I wonder what he thinks of me. Apparently nothing, for his glance quickly moves on; he is merely, I decide with disappointment, taking stock of who has sufficient royal favor to be included on the voyage.
“Come, ladies,” says the Duchesse de Nevers to Charlotte and me. “Shall we sit down before all the places furthest from Her Majesty are taken?”
Her Grace’s quip is shocking but entirely accurate. The youngest and most adventurous of Mother’s ladies generally try to keep the farthest distance, desiring the freedom that comes with less supervision.
We fall in behind the Duchesse, who makes her way along the deck briskly, then stops short and turns to cross to the other side. I notice Her Grace’s sister, the Princesse de Porcien, walking in the direction we were originally going.
“You will not sit with your sister?” Charlotte asks.
“No, indeed, for did you not notice the Prince de Porcien beside her? I doubt even she will bear his company for long.”
“Because he is a Huguenot?” I ask.
“Because he is a terrible bore,” the Duchesse replies with a smile. “I know His Majesty wishes us to love the Protestants. How many speeches has he made en route urging the people to obey his edict of pacification? I have lost count. But I do not believe I shall be found in violation of his decree merely because I snub my brother-in-law.”
Charlotte and I both laugh appreciatively. Truth be told, I think being a Protestant a greater sin than being tedious, but I would never say such a thing aloud, as I wish to have a sophisticated air. Piety, it seems, is not particularly fashionable, and so I keep mine to myself as much as possible.
We settle into seats close to Mademoiselle de Saussauy. “What of scandal have you to tell, ladies?” the Duchesse asks the moment we are comfortable. “Come, I mean to be entertained, and I am not one to find scenery fascinating.”
“Do you not wonder why the Baronne de Limeuil is left ashore?” Fleurie seems well content to begin the gossip. “Well, I have heard that, for all his stern looks and piety, Don Francisco de álva has shown marked admiration for her.”
“The Spanish ambassador! He would be a feather for her cap and increase her value to the Queen,” Charlotte says.
The Duchesse de Nevers nods. “There cannot be another gentleman whose opinions are more important to Her Majesty as she wheedles for a meeting with King Philip.”
I know that the diplomatic centerpiece of this tour, for all it is intended to show Charles to his subjects, is a rendezvous with my sister Elisabeth and her husband—the details of which have not yet been entirely agreed upon.
“Exactly!” Fleurie says. “He is the plus important, but when the Queen urged Isabelle to take him up, she refused.”
“Refused the Queen!” I realize the moment I have spoken that my voice is too loud. But my shock is such that I did not think to whisper. Verily, I believe if Mother told me to jump from the ship, I would do so without question.
“She did.” Fleurie leans in. “Her Majesty told the Baronne she could walk to Lyon for all the Queen cared.”
“I wish I could have Don Francisco,” Charlotte says.
“Ambitious.” The Duchesse nods approvingly. “But do not overreach. You are too young and too unmarried for such a task. Do not insert yourself there thinking to gain royal favor; be patient and await the Queen’s will. For obedience to Her Majesty generally comes with a wealthy husband.”