“I would be happy for some company, however, if Your Majesty would be so kind as to send someone.” I deliberately fail to name a choice of companions, hoping to impress upon my mother that I have no fear of spies.
Alone, I try to think what is best to be done. I cannot send a note to the Duc. Yet, as long as he does not know Anjou makes trouble, Henri is likely to unwittingly provide fodder for my brother’s wicked campaign. I would warn him, yes, and more than this I would reassure him that my health is no longer in danger. The pain in my breast when I recall his face as it looked in the courtyard reminds me that resolving to give up the Duc did not render me suddenly unfeeling toward him. I must be pitiless with myself in rooting out the unwise affection, but to feel no pity for Henri would be both impossible and unchristian.
A knock announces the arrival of the Baronne de Retz, always Mother’s first choice when I must be spied upon.
She greets me with a kiss before settling down in a chair. “Shall I read to you?”
She has barely begun when Henriette enters with Charlotte and followed by a dozen servants bearing a copper tub and vessels of steaming water.
Baronne de Retz gives the Duchesse a questioning look. Without missing a beat, my darling friend says, “Her Highness’s physician recommends a bath.” How glibly Henriette lies. Someday I hope to be able to equal the feat. It is a marvel, and very useful. The room is filled with bustle as the tub is screened from the door and filled. Relaxing into the water, I seek an excuse to send my gouvernante far enough away to converse with my friends.
“Baronne, if you would be so kind as to continue reading…” The moment the lady returns to her chair on the other side of the screen, Henriette whispers in my ear, “Is it true you are quits with Guise?”
“It must be so,” I whisper back.
“Madame de Sauve,” Henriette says more loudly than necessary, “will you bring those last pitchers.” Then, dropping her voice to a level certain to be masked by the sound of the pouring water, she says, “I am glad you recognize that no man is more important than your own fortunes, but surely the appearance that you have given him up would be sufficient. The Duc is heartbroken.”
The Baronne de Retz pauses to turn a page. I sit silent, a lump rising in my throat. When the reading begins again, I take Henriette’s hand and whisper, “I am sorry for it. Tell him so. But my sorrow changes nothing. Tell him that as well.”
“And I thought you were falling in love with him.” I avert my eyes. “Well, my sister will be glad to hear you are done with him.”
My glance snaps back to Henriette and she nods. “I thought so.” She lets the topic die and I lie back and close my eyes, struggling to keep from crying. Why is it so painful to do what is right?
*
Her Majesty comes to collect me for Mass in the morning. The walk to the chapel is the longest I have taken since I fell ill. I find myself revived by the sight of the altar and the colored light streaming through the windows that tinges my flesh with a holy glow. Charles is delighted to see me and fusses over my comfort. I do not see my Duc. And that is good. Then the Cardinal de Lorraine climbs to the altar—a jarring sight. His face is too much like his nephew’s. Once His Eminence opens his mouth, however, his words and not his looks become my focus.
I know that God is everywhere, always, but while often I must take that on faith, this morning I feel His presence. A great calmness comes upon me. Even Anjou, only a few places from my own, cannot spoil the hour. Fortified by the Blessed Sacrament, I find I am able to catch sight of the Duc as I leave the chapel without undue inquietude. This is just as well, for while I have forsworn any inappropriate contact, I will surely need to meet with him on common occasions. If only he will not accost me, I believe all will be well.
I am taken back to my room and arranged, semi-recumbent, before the fire. I am reading in company with the Baronnes de Retz and de Sauve when Anjou swaggers in. Guise is with him.
“My dear sister,” he says, “look whom I have brought to you. How fortunate we do not find you in bed, for that would breach propriety.” He winks horribly and my stomach lurches. My brother is a veritable demon.
Charlotte begins to rise to make way for the gentlemen. I make a desperate, darting grab for her hand and pull her back down beside me.
I am not so fortunate with the Baronne de Retz. Before I can turn in her direction, she says, “Will Your Highness sit?”
“Oh, I must insist my friend take the seat.” Putting an arm around Guise’s shoulder, Anjou draws that gentleman forward. “He is as dear as a brother to me—would he were one—and he has been in agony over the Duchesse de Valois’ illness.”