Charlotte mixes Mother’s wine while the rest of us undress Her Majesty. As Mother slips into a velvet nightgown lined in sarcenet, Anjou enters. The cluster of bodies surrounding Mother parts for him and he kisses her on both cheeks.
“You may go,” she says, dismissing the others. As they pull on their cloaks, I mix glasses of wine for my brother and myself.
Anjou leans in and says something in Mother’s ear.
She hesitates, then says, “Margot, you as well.”
Oh, no. Henriette, at the tail of those departing, glances back. Trying to seem unruffled, I take up my cloak and bustle to join her.
I stop just outside. Henriette and Charlotte do as well. The three of us stand silent in the circle cast by the lantern in Henriette’s hands. Only when the others are out of sight do I speak. “Something is wrong.”
“Nonsense!” Charlotte squeezes my arm. “You know how they are, Her Majesty and the Duc: they have merely been apart too long and each craves the other’s undivided attention.”
Henriette, however, clearly believes me. Raising the lantern so that she can see my face, she asks, “Can the reason you are dismissed be the same that sees you off your food and out of looks?”
“I believe so.” My mind races. I fear more than ever it is Guast. But how can I be entirely certain without speaking of my encounter with that gentleman directly? Because if I am wrong I would not have either Anjou or Mother know of Guast’s attack.
“Come away and tell us all. We will devise what is best to be done,” Henriette urges.
I shake my head no. “Leave me.” Standing in the rain, I resolve to probe the cause of Anjou’s pique first with Mother, who, loving me as she does, will surely tell me. I must wait for my brother to depart.
Henriette shrugs, knowing I can be as stubborn as she. She offers me the lantern. When I make no move to take it, she slips an arm about Charlotte’s waist and the two move away. Charlotte looks back before they disappear, her pale face a mask of concern. I am sorry if I have hurt her. She and Henriette are my dearest friends, but this is a Valois matter.
Left alone in the dark and rain, I cannot say how long I stand, only that it is long enough for my shoes and cloak to be soaked through, long enough for me to feel as if the rain will drown me. Then a shaft of light cuts the darkened ground. My brother, lantern in hand, turns back to the interior of Mother’s tent. “Bon nuit, my beloved.” He hurries off as I stand perfectly still so that he will not see me.
Mother does not look up when I enter. Likely she thinks I am a servant. She sits calmly before her brazier, arms crossed over her chest, lost in thought. I clear my throat.
“Marguerite, what do you do here?” Her use of my full name is telling.
“Madame,”—I hasten forward—“I would speak with you.”
“Speak, then. I am tired. This day has been more trying than expected.” She looks at me as if I ought to know why and my heart skips a beat.
“For myself as well, Madame. Can you tell me why my dearest brother disdains me? Why you break our comfortable habit of spending a few quiet moments together before you retire? I cannot account for the coldness on either of your parts.” Or rather, I will not if I do not have to.
“I well believe that, daughter, for you are young and foolish.”
“Young I may be, but this past month you have praised me many times for my clarity of thought and maturity of action. To my knowledge I have done nothing to alter your opinion.”
Her face softens. “I am willing to believe that what you have done you have done unwittingly—”
This confuses me, for if Henri reports to Her Majesty that I have flirted or worse with Guast, how could such immodest behavior be unwitting?
“—but the plain fact is you have attracted the amorous attentions of the Duc de Guise. Do you deny it?”
For a moment I am relieved. I am accused of Guise, not Guast, and here I may defend myself without mortification. Then a darker thought intrudes: for the second time in less than a fortnight my flirtation with the Duc brings unpleasant consequences.
“The Duc admires me, Madame, but how can that affect your opinion of me?”
“I cannot permit the House of Lorraine to use your ears to hear matters of state. They held sway over your brother King Fran?ois. They will never have such influence with another Valois king while I draw breath.”
“Madame, I assure you, my ears are my own and my lips know better than to repeat matters important to my king or my kin.”