“Je comprends,” Charlotte replies, threading her needle. “The Baronne de Sauve is in a most attentive mood as well. Fortunately, I have been able to allude to some business of the Queen’s and thus keep myself out of my house and out of his way. But tonight I suppose I must give him a proper send-off.”
“Oh, you are a good wife,” Henriette laughs. “And a good liar too! You have no royally sanctioned amour at present.”
I have wanted a husband for years. Listening to my friends, I begin to wonder why. But surely where a lady has a husband who suits her heart as well as he suits the interests of her family, she does not view him as a burden.
“Henriette,” I say, “if you are with me, you cannot be with the Duc de Nevers.”
“Nicely played. But what excuse could I have for being at the Louvre this evening? Every family dines at home to bid farewell to sons, husbands, and brothers. A certain someone will be with his mother. She has come from Annecy to see him off.”
“And to remind him to kill Coligny,” Charlotte adds.
Exasperated, I rise, taking Anjou’s finished shirts. Mother looks up as I place them beside her. If my friends are not sorry to see their husbands go, it is clear that Mother will miss her son.
“Can I not go with you to see off Anjou?”
“Marguerite, we have discussed this. It is not a pleasure trip. I go to make certain the King’s orders and Anjou’s commands are obeyed as the army heads to Estampes.”
Everyone seems determined to thwart me. Scooping up the entire pile of shirts, I say, “I will take these to Anjou.” Mother nods. I am in no very good mood as I make my way toward my brother’s apartment. Then I hear voices and one in particular—the Duc is nearby! Sure enough, I open the next door to find Charles, Guise, and several other gentlemen laughing and talking as they walk toward me.
“Sister!” Charles says jocundly. “Does Her Majesty have you carrying laundry about now?”
“They are shirts for Anjou. He is packing.” Guise looks at me and my cheeks grow warm. I hope the gentlemen will think I am embarrassed by Charles’ jest.
“Nonsense, his valet de chambre is packing. Find a servant to take those shirts and come with us to the armory. I will show these gentlemen how I wield a hammer.”
“Ought you to exert yourself so?” Charles still looks drawn from his bout of illness this past summer. Mother has been planning special menus for him and seeking to curtail his exercise, even his hunting—a restriction Charles has not accepted gracefully.
His Majesty smiles indulgently. “Here, gentlemen, you see true sisterly devotion. If only my brother’s concern for my health were as genuine.”
I am glad Mother is not here to hear him speak so of Anjou, but his words can hardly surprise his companions, all of whom know there is increasing rivalry between Her Majesty’s sons.
“If you would rather, sister, we can go see the new stallion that has arrived for me. He was bred at Her Majesty’s farm.”
“I will meet you in the stables, after I have found someone to deliver the shirts.”
The Duc speaks up, “Your Majesty, shall I accompany the Duchesse de Valois?”
Clever, clever man.
“Yes, do.” Charles nods.
I move past the gentlemen. The Duc falls in behind me. When the next chamber is empty, I half hope Henri will stop me and take me into his arms. But of course that would be the height of imprudence. Instead he moves to walk beside me.
“I am glad of this chance to see you privately,” he says. “I came to the Louvre hoping for such a moment.”
“I am thankful you did. I feared we would have no opportunity to make our farewells.” I do not like the feel of that last word on my tongue: there is a possible finality in it which evaded me in the past. Quite unexpectedly I begin to cry.
“Marguerite, don’t.” He puts a hand on my arm and we both stop. “Do not send me off with tears but with smiles—they are luckier.”
“You will not need luck,” I say. “I know you will acquit yourself bravely, and I will wait for news of your gallant deeds, and thrill to them. But I will wait even more eagerly for your return and, though I know you will enjoy being in battle, will pray daily that the fighting is swiftly concluded.”
“I should not have thought so even a week ago,” he replies, “but I too will be glad if the prosecution of this war can be counted in weeks rather than months. So long as I have victories to enhance my reputation, and Coligny’s death to my credit, I will be very happy to be back at Court.” He lowers his voice. “Back in your arms.”
The attraction between us is nearly suffocating. I curse the daylight and the very public nature of where we stand. How can a chateau so large have so few private corners?
“I wish you could be in my arms now, that I could send you from here with a kiss to remember me by.”