“Your Grace,” I say, accepting his outstretched hand and wishing my own hand ungloved when it touches his. “I am surprised to see you smiling. When you were last at Court you were all scowls.”
“My spirits were oppressed by that detestable treaty,” he says, leaning a hand upon my horse’s withers and looking up at me, “and by the company I was forced to keep.”
“Condé and Coligny excused themselves from Court before you did, and yet still you were unhappy. Or do you refer to Valois company?”
“Never,” he replies. “To be in the company of my king is an honor.” Moving his hand from my horse to where my foot seeks my stirrup, he takes that foot in his hand and guides it in—failing to release it even as I twitch my skirt to cover my momentarily revealed ankle. “And to be in your company is my greatest delight.”
“How long will you and the other gentlemen be with us?”
“I cannot say, but, regretfully, I doubt it will be long.”
“Regretfully? Come, Duc, do not tell me a falsehood. When you leave, you go to chase the Protestants—an errand that will delight you.”
“True. And yet I do not lie, for every pleasure requires sacrifice. I will have the pleasure of doing battle against the King’s enemies but will sacrifice the happiness of being near Your Highness.”
Does his hand move slightly upward? Yes, it rises to my ankle and I can scarcely attend to anything, so overwhelming is the sensation. For a fleeting moment I imagine what it might feel like for the Duc to press onward, sliding his hand over my calf and coming to rest on my knee. Then the Baronne de Retz arrives and the Duc steps back, taking his hand with him.
“Your Highness,” the Baronne says, “we do not wish to be left behind.” She turns her horse in the direction of Mother and I follow.
In the courtyard of the Louvre, Anjou lifts me down. “The first dance is mine this afternoon,” he says.
“Indeed not. I fear you will have to give it to Mademoiselle de Rieux, for I have already promised mine to the Duc de Guise.”
“Really? I hope Guise is as prompt in pursuing my orders once the fighting starts as he is in pursuing his interests.” He offers an arm. “I am sure you promised him just to vex me, but you need not have: I am done with Renée. My time in Orléans has taught me she is not worth the trouble.”
“Oh, Henri.” Impulsively, I rise on my toes and give him a kiss. “I believe I must shift the Duc to later in the order and dance with you first after all.”
Before he can say another word, I run off. I begin calling for Gillone as I open the door to my rooms. I look over at the garments laid out on my bed for the banquet as Gillone undresses me. They may have met with my approbation before I left for the Basilica, but I am no longer satisfied.
Stepping out of my farthingale, I say, “I have changed my mind about my gown. I want the rose-colored one, my new partlet with the rolled-back collar trimmed in lace, and the silver jeweled pomander the Duchesse de Lorraine gave me.” These selections will surely increase my chances with Guise. The color of the silk will impart a glow to my complexion. And the partlet—well, I have learned from observation that when one seeks to attract the attention of a man as handsome as the Duc, it is wise to draw his eye to more than your rosy cheeks.
Gillone dutifully picks up the rejected items she so neatly arranged and heads for my wardrobe.
Going to my dressing table, I unstop bottle after bottle, searching for just the right scent. I wish I had some of the perfume just arrived from Florence for Mother. Her ladies passed it around and it was universally proclaimed to be enchanting. I certainly wish to be enchanting. I resign myself to a scent I already own, pour a generous amount between my hands, then plunge them through the neck of my chemise between my breasts. I finish by rubbing the last of the scent up either side of my neck to the base of my hairline.
Gillone returns. Moving in to lift off my chemise and replace it, she stops, sniffs, and looks at me wide-eyed.
“I am not a little girl,” I say, “and tonight I want to smell like the other ladies of the Court.”
I want to flirt like them too. And I desire help in doing so. So the moment I am dressed I go to the wicket to wait for Henriette. She spots me from her litter and motions for me to climb in as the conveyance comes to a stop in the courtyard.
“Marguerite, what is it?”
I look in the direction of the drawn curtains.
“Have no fear, I select my litter bearers and I pay them from my own purse. They are, therefore, willingly deaf, blind, and dumb.”
“The game with the Duc de Guise begins again, and I know precious little of what comes next.”
“What do you want to come next?”