Henri turns to look at himself from a different angle and the golden bow hung over his shoulder nearly catches me in the eye.
“Careful! If you blind me I will be in no state to perform.” We head to the evening’s festivities, Gillone trailing a few steps behind.
Henri looks over his shoulder twice as we descend the stairs.
“Does my little shadow unnerve you?” I ask.
“I am just wondering if she ever speaks. My gentlemen are far livelier.”
“If by ‘lively’ you mean drunken, I concede as much.” Henri’s boon companions are some of the wildest young men. I wonder if the Duc de Guise will join them now that he is back.
The ballroom is full when we arrive. Henri likes it so. Whenever possible, we enter en retard so as to be seen by as many people as possible. Mother smiles at our approach.
“My dear ones,” she says, holding out her arms.
“Can you guess who we are?” Henri asks. “I will give you a hint. By our costumes we make you Leto.”
As my brother predicted, Mother is touched.
“I thought you were to be one of the muses.” Charles, who sits beside Her Majesty, has apparently been listening.
“I’ve found a substitute to play Terpsichore,” I reply. “Can you blame me for not wanting to be compared side by side with your Erato?”
The King smiles. His mistress, Marie Touchet, is dressed as Erato. She stands with a hand upon the arm of his throne. “I thank you for the compliment,” she says, “and for sparing me a comparison which I could not hope to win.”
Letting go of Henri’s arm, I embrace the woman who has held the King’s affections for nearly two years—ever since he first laid eyes on her at Blois during our return from the Grand Tour. “I love your golden curls!” she says.
“I will have some made for you,” I declare enthusiastically. I like Marie. She may be only a petty noble, but her love for Charles is so obviously driven by her heart and not her self-interest.
“How very sweet, but pray do not trouble yourself, as I do not have your complexion and should look unnatural in them. I will leave it to you to be charmingly blond.” Then, looking over my shoulder, Marie lowers her voice. “You appear to have charmed someone already … someone with fair hair of his own.”
Turning, I see the Duc de Guise standing between his uncles, the Cardinal of Lorraine and the Duc d’Aumale. His eyes are definitely upon me. When he sees I perceive as much, he nods slightly, apparently not embarrassed to be found out. Will he present himself? I have no time to ponder the question, for Henri lays a hand on my arm. He clears his throat and raises his hand. A trumpeter I had not noticed before steps forward and sounds. Trust Henri to think of such a detail when he wishes to perform!
My brother begins to speak, “Seven arrows did Apollo use, and so many his sister, to honor the mother beloved of both…”
I hold forth my bow and draw back its string on cue, letting fly an imaginary arrow. Henri continues to recite and many pairs of eyes are upon me. Doubtless those witnessing my performance are thinking of Artemis. I know, however, that at the moment I would be Cupid. I have no desire to kill, not even to avenge an insult to Mother; I desire to captivate. I make certain to catch Guise’s eye, but I am careful not to let my glance linger as I continue to pantomime. I have observed Her Majesty’s ladies sufficiently to know that if one would entice, it is best to be arch.
When Anjou finishes, the assembled company applauds. Mother embraces us each, then retains Henri’s hand to offer him words of praise. I take the opportunity to wander in the direction of my friends, keeping my back purposefully to Guise. Do his eyes follow me?
“So this is the reason you abandoned us,” Henriette says. She is dressed as Thalia with her comic mask tucked under one arm, while Charlotte plays her counterpart Melpomene. “Not that we blame you,” she adds, “but to offer Mademoiselle du Lude your role!”
“Was that meant to amuse us?” Charlotte asks. “Surely, you will cede that while the Mademoiselle has talents, dancing is not among them.”
Fleurie de Saussauy covers her mouth in mock horror at Charlotte’s remark, and the four of us laugh merrily. I feel a touch upon my sleeve and know from Charlotte’s widened eyes who it must be. I turn.
“Your Highness, I am lately returned to Court and would take this opportunity to present myself.” His expression is appropriately earnest, his bow perfect, but when he straightens an impish smile dances across his lips. “I trust this approach is more satisfactory than my last.”
“Not entirely, Sir. You were going on well, but alas, you could not resist being flippant. By your last comment, you leave my friends with the impression that you have accosted me in some inappropriate way.”