“Lips forget their restraint where kisses are involved, daughter. When you are older you will know the truth of this. Your brother says you have been flirting with Guise. There is nothing unusual in a girl your age playing at love, but if you will make your lips available to the Duc and others for amorous enjoyments, can you blame me for making certain they have nothing of political significance to whisper?”
“Others”—the word stands out in Mother’s accusation. I am so angry that for a moment I cannot see. My face burns and angry tears sting the corners of my eyes. “Who else does my brother accuse me of?” I know the answer, but the question must still be asked. Oh, Henri, after all my devotion, how can you be so willing to believe and speak ill of me?
“Anjou asserts you tease the Seigneur du Guast and make a fool of yourself in pursuit of him.”
“I detest the Seigneur and would rather have no lips than kiss him!”
“That is well, but I fear it is at odds with what your brother tells me.”
“My brother has been misled!”
“Why should the Seigneur spread rumors about you?”
Because I spurned his advances. I want to speak the words, to shriek them, but they simply will not come out. The thought of where they might lead stops my tongue. How can I bear to describe my encounter with du Guast to Mother? The mortification would crush me. And if she should not believe me … in that event, I think I would die.
After a moment or two of silence, Mother rises and, putting a hand on my arm, turns me in the direction of the door. “Go to bed, Margot.”
“Madame, I beseech you, have more faith in me. Do not distrust me on Anjou’s word alone.”
“You forget that I trusted you first on his word. If he has withdrawn his confidence, that is sufficient to shake mine.”
“And everything that passed between us is to be forgotten? All the good service I did for him set aside because someone tells him lies about me or he tells them himself?”
Mother slaps me. “Never call your brother a liar.”
I can taste blood, but I stand my ground. “Betrayer, then. Strike me again if you like, I will not take it back. I have offered Anjou nothing but loyalty and he defames me mightily in a manner calculated to cause me injury. I will not forget it.” I lift my chin defiantly, eager to see what Mother will say. Without a word she turns her back. It is worse than the slap.
*
“You are getting water on my carpet.” Anjou’s voice is maddeningly calm.
“Is that all you have to say?” Rage and disappointment rise like twin fountains inside me.
“What else should I say?”
“You might tell me why, though I have honored our pledge in every particular since Plessis-les-Tours, you have slandered me to Mother.”
Henri rises with his ordinary fluid grace as if nothing were wrong, and moves forward until he is very close. “You know why. The Duc de Guise. He moons over you. Everyone says so.” He reaches out his right hand and runs the back of it along my jaw in a caress before taking my chin between his thumb and first finger.
“And if he does? Do you think a little flattery is sufficient to make me forget my duty to you?”
“Ah, but it is more than flattery, is it not? You have fallen in love with the Duc.” He gives my chin a vicious squeeze, then releases it.
“No.” I raise fingers to my face where it aches from his touch.
“No? Come, Margot, your blush tells the truth that your lips will not.”
“If I admire the Duc, so do half the women of the Court,” I reply defiantly. “Where is the betrayal in that?”
“You are not the other women of the Court. You are as far above them as I am above Guise. How can you debase yourself with him?”
“I do not debase myself! The Duc is not”—I struggle to make myself say the word, to contradict directly what I am sure my brother has heard from Guast—“not my lover. I do not take lovers. You cannot say the same.”
“My mistresses have meant nothing to me. But Guise means something to you.” Anjou leans in until his lips brush my ear. His breath makes me quiver. “Does he mean more to you than I do? Will you torture me by embracing my enemy?”
I take a step back. “The Duc is not your enemy. He serves the King under your command.”
“He serves himself, and ignores my commands whenever it suits him. Or have you forgotten La Roche-l’Abeille?” My brother’s face is fierce. Despite months and intervening battles, the embarrassment of that occasion clearly remains a fresh wound.
“I have not, but surely everyone else has. It is time you do too. Your many victories since are spoken of throughout France.”
Anjou does not appear placated. I cannot understand why he fails to see any affection I have apportioned to Guise leaves plenty for him. “The Duc is an ambitious man,” I continue. “It would be unusual if he did not husband his own interests. But I have promised to safeguard yours and you can trust me to do so because I love you.”
“Do you?”