“Who will Your Majesty play next?” Bussy asks.
“You play in my stead,” the King replies. “Perhaps you will play better against the next opponent than you did against me.”
Leaving Bussy puzzled, Charles drifts toward Mother. “Out of our place,” he says to Anjou with a wave of his hand. Anjou avoids rising and bowing by slipping from chair to floor and leaning against the leg of Mother’s seat as if to say to Charles, You may have the throne but I will always come between you and our mother.
Angoulême, having broken free of the knot of noblemen, makes his way toward us.
“Remember, Your Majesty, your business with the Chevalier is private. I urge you, therefore, to keep your displeasure private as well.” Mother speaks low. She tries to catch my eye to dismiss me, but I am careful not to see her.
Reaching us, Angoulême makes a bow, clears his throat, and says, “Your Majesty—”
“Please,” Charles interrupts, holding up a hand, “do not tell us you have brought us back a boar or a stag. You knew the tribute we wanted, and, failing that, nothing will satisfy.”
“The man has two score eyes and twice as many friends.”
“And you have too many excuses.”
“If Your Majesty desires it, I will continue my pursuit.”
“We do desire it, but if you could not bring down the beast in the forests, why should your luck be better in the streets of Paris? What might pass as an accident where many are shooting will hardly look like one in the Rue du Chaume.”
Mother puts a warning hand on Charles’ arm, apparently thinking his mention of the street in which the H?tel de Guise stands too explicit.
“There are ruffians about everywhere, Your Majesty. A man may be set upon for his purse and lose limb or life instead,” Angoulême says.
Unwittingly I give a little gasp. Turning in her seat, Mother says, “Baronne de Sauve, would you and the Duchesse de Valois return to my apartment and tell my ladies I will be there soon to dress for dinner.”
I am loath to go, and have my own lack of self-possession to blame. As we make our way out, I console myself; it is beyond imagining that the details of whatever my half brother plans next would be discussed beside the tennis court. It is enough for the moment to know that Charles’ anger is not spent.
That is what I tell Henriette later in the afternoon while all the ladies of the Queen’s household are in the gardens of the Tuileries. Henriette and I have retreated to Monsieur Palissy’s grotto. It is an excellent spot for privacy, as the ceramic frogs, snakes, and lizards he fashioned, which I find delightful, repulse most of the ladies. As an extra precaution Charlotte sits outside, prepared to sound a warning before any can overhear us.
“Leave it to Entragues and me,” Henriette says confidently. “We will keep the Duc one step ahead of the King’s men. I will see Guise this evening.”
“How I wish I could go with you.”
“I know. I know too that the Duc would bless me a thousand times over were I able to transport you secretly to the Rue du Chaume. But, alas, such subterfuge lies outside even my considerable powers.” She seems genuinely regretful, though whether at disappointing me or at being forced to admit there are limits to her machinations, I cannot be sure. She begins to leave, then stops short. “Why not?”
“Why not what?”
“Help you see your Duc, of course.”
Rushing forward, I take both her hands in mine. “Do you think it possible? Do not raise my expectations cruelly without hope of fulfillment.”
“I never raise anything cruelly.” She laughs. “I have planned to meet Entragues at that little house in the Rue Pavée that I have taken expressly for the sort of rendezvous my husband cannot know about. But instead I shall give up my hours of amour so that you can steal one with Guise. I will bring him here.”
“Here?”
“The weather is warm. The moon will be nearly full. All the Court will be at the Louvre, and these gardens deserted. You have only to contrive to be here.”
*
Henriette was right. The moon is very bright, though not so bright as to justify the care with which I dressed. I have not been so fastidious in my toilette since my love left to hunt. Removing my cloak, I lay it on a bench, pinch my cheeks, straighten my necklace, and wait.
Henriette has arranged for Henri to give a long, low whistle before entering the grotto, and never has my ear been more eager for a sound. When it comes, and before it stops reverberating from the rock around me, I am in Henri’s arms. His lips close over mine. His hands caress my cheeks, where they find moisture. He breaks off our kiss.
“Are you weeping?” He draws me into the moonlight so he can see me better.