“A kiss.”
Henriette laughs. Then, sensing my mortification, she lays a hand over mine. “My dear, I am not laughing at your ambition. I am delighted by the moderation of your demands. It has been a long time since I have been in the company of such innocence in a woman of fifteen. It is utterly charming—and, I might add, precisely what will make you irresistible to the Duc. I have told my sister more than once that with a man of his sort, fervently pious, bound by tradition, and wishing to uphold all that is good in France, brazen availability will get her nowhere.”
I am very glad to hear it.
“Surely you know how to kiss.” She pauses and considers me. “Or if you do not, believe me, it is a thing entirely natural and you will need no instruction. So the only help you will need is in creating an opportunity. One may receive a kiss on the hand at a ball without raising scandal—even where one is a princess—but no more. Hm. Well, I will make an opportunity for you. Leave it to me.”
She raps on the ceiling to put the litter in motion so that we may disembark near the steps. “But promise me, my dear friend, that we will speak again should you want more than a kiss,” she says as we draw to a stop.
I do not know how to feel about her casual mention of things beyond kissing. My understanding of them is limited and the impressions I have received so disparate. The ladies Mother employs in seduction often joke about the burden of it, but clearly many enjoy their love affairs. Henriette certainly does. She is seldom without a lover and appears to relish each until she tires of him. Yet I have been made to feel that my value lies in my chastity and certainly it is a biblical virtue. Finally, the unfortunate glimpse I had of Anjou in flagrante delicto turned my stomach. I cannot imagine wanting a man to pin me against the wall and paw me. Perhaps I ought to admit all this to Henriette, but she is so much more sophisticated than I, and while she might find my na?veté charming, I wish to be perceived as knowing more than I do. So I merely toss my head and try to look bored and knowing.
We go in arm in arm. There is a different energy in the salle vo?tée today, a very masculine one. Men seem to become more so as they prepare to go to war. They swagger more. They drink more—though in the case of Anjou’s friends that is nearly impossible. They jest more loudly. Dinner is a boisterous affair. I sit next to Anjou and he reflects the general mood.
“How good it feels to be merry,” he says. “We gentlemen must stock up on the civilized pleasures. In a few days we will be marching through autumn rains, looking to draw blood and cover ourselves in it. There will be no fine wine, no music, no soft forms and faces.” Under the table his hand brushes my knee.
“I happen to know you take wine with you.” I smile at him while trying to decide how I feel about his hand where it rests on my chair, next to my thigh.
“I wish I could take you.”
“I would like that very much. Not the mud, but to see a battle—how exciting.”
“It is exciting. But too brutal for your eyes, Margot. Would you like me to bring you a trophy? Perhaps Condé’s head?”
“Oh, please! I could keep it in a box.” I laugh at the idea and Anjou laughs with me.
“If I get his head, I suspect Her Majesty will wish to have it for a pike.”
“Only return safely and that will be enough for me.” I know it is a bit of a faux pas to turn things in a serious direction, but the danger my brother faces is real, and his life precious to me.
“Returning will not be enough,” he replies, maintaining his own cavalier tone. “I must return victorious. I cannot bear to repeat the disappointments of the second war.”
“My poor darling!” I lay my hand over his where it still rests against my skirts. “Do not even think of such a possibility.”
He leans in to kiss my cheek and lingers there. “What is that scent? It is mesmerizing.”
I am pleased to hear this. If my brother finds it so, then I pray the Duc will as well.
“Shall I send you my bottle to take with you?” I ask, looking for Guise. He is but a table away. His eyes are on me. I meet his gaze boldly, then half lower my lids and purse my lips slightly.
“Please.”
“Consider it done.” With my eyes still met by the Duc’s, I imagine the hand resting on my chair is his and it suddenly seems to radiate heat.
I turn my gaze back to Anjou. “You may still have the first dance as well.”
“I am favored indeed. Or do you do this only to anger Mademoiselle de Rieux? Jealous fool.”
“Which of us is the fool, Mademoiselle or I?”
“Both, in different ways. You were a fool to ever be jealous of her, for she was nothing to me other than a means of exercise, just as my horse or my sword might be. I never loved her. She because she cannot accept being set aside with grace.”