Turning back my covers she says, “Your Highness danced a great deal with the Duc de Guise.”
Sitting on the edge of the bed I busy myself removing my slippers. “His Grace is a good dancer.”
“I suppose he is. The question is, is he something more?”
“He is a commander in His Majesty’s army, a cousin by marriage, and a friend of my brothers. Is that what you mean?”
“No. I mean: Is he of special interest to you?”
Sliding beneath the covers, I am furious at myself for the blush that rises to my cheek. “And if he is?”
The Baronne sits down on the edge of my bed and looks at me earnestly. “Your Highness, you mistake me. I do not censure you. I merely wish to know your situation. It is the province of the young to fall in love—so long as that love is pure and the behavior it occasions blameless. It is my duty to make sure that your behavior is as it should be. Dance with the Duc. Promenade with him. Discuss music, art, even politics—quietly. I will be content.”
I feel quite guilty for the way I snapped at the Baronne. Then she speaks again. “Only pray be cautious in who you seek counsel from lest an innocent flirtation turn into something worthy of censure. Remember I am the gouvernante Her Majesty selected for you.”
“Madame, I hold myself ever open to your instruction. As for inappropriate counsel, I cannot pretend to know who you mean.” If the Baronne will defame my friends, she had best be willing to be explicit.
Tucking the covers around me, she says, “We will speak no more of this … for the moment.”
Good. I have more pleasant things to ponder—like the taste and feel of the Duc de Guise’s lips. I have barely extinguished my light, however, when the very friend my gouvernante cautioned me against slips into my room.
“Henriette!” I cry, sitting up to be embraced. “I thought you were going to the Rue Pavée.”
I am not embraced. Standing at the foot of my bed, her face illuminated by the light she carries, the Duchesse shakes her head. “And so I am. But I must keep Bussy waiting because you found it prudent to dance all night with Guise.”
What? Is this to be my second lecture of the evening? “I let the Duc kiss me with your blessing,” I say, confused.
“That kiss was not the problem. Your lack of common sense afterwards was. Discretion is Cupid’s best friend, Marguerite.” Walking around my bed, she sets her light on my table and takes the same spot where the Baronne sat to deliver her admonitions. “Do you wish to be able to steal the occasional kiss before the wars have the gentlemen and we do not?”
“Of course.” I would be embarrassed if my friend knew how much.
“Then do not make a spectacle of yourself by dancing all night with the Duc, or, mark my words, you will be watched as you are not accustomed to being.”
“Baronne de Retz has already made that clear.”
“I am not surprised. She holds her honor very dear, and her position as gouvernante means she must hold your honor dearer still. Your maidenhead is coin of the realm, to be saved and then spent by the crown in pursuit of its interests. If she fails to keep you chaste and Her Majesty discovers as much, punishment will be severe.”
“But a kiss—”
“A kiss soon leads to other things.”
“Then why do you aid me?”
“Because”—the embrace comes at last—“I adore you. And because I believe in pleasure where pursued with caution.”
“In other words, I may kiss Guise in secret but ought not to favor him too greatly in open court.”
“You learn love as quickly as Latin.” She smiles.
“All right, I will be circumspect. Only tell me, when can I see the Duc again?”
“Goodness, you are eager! And you are not alone. The Duc asked me the very same question.”
How glorious to know that Guise too is smitten! “What did you tell him?”
“That tomorrow he ought to come to Anjou’s wrestling matches, make certain he loses, and depart early.”
*
“Did it cost you very much to lose to my brother?”
“Not at all.” Guise draws me into an embrace. “Let the Duc d’Anjou crow over his victory and the paltry sum he took from me. I am about to be richly rewarded.”
“Shh,” Henriette hisses from nearby. “Can you not make quieter use of your lips?”
The Duc dips his head to kiss me. Impatient, I rise to my tiptoes. His kiss is even better than I remembered.
Most of the Court—or at least those who are not old—are in Anjou’s apartments for the evening’s sport. Mother gave me permission to go with Charlotte. More than a dozen other ladies went, but not the Baronne de Retz, who doubtless felt safe staying behind because so many would be present at the event and because the Duchesse de Nevers had left the Louvre early, indisposed.