“I am going to my room. If you believe my misery needs another witness, you are free to follow.”
Charlotte must have expected me to collapse as soon as we are out of the sight of the rest of the Court, for she casts me curious sidelong glances as I press on rapidly toward my apartment. When we are nearly there, we come upon Henriette. “He is safely away but he is shaken,” she says. There is none of the delight in her eyes that usually accompanies narrow escapes.
“We are all of us shaken,” Charlotte says as we enter my anteroom. “Whatever people imagined about the quarrel between the Duc and the King, I will wager none imagined His Grace being turned away from the Louvre.”
“Yet now they doubtless imagine much worse,” Henriette says.
“Because of me,” I say, at last finding my tongue.
“No!” Charlotte replies. “You are not to blame.”
“What use is there in assigning or accepting fault?” Henriette asks impatiently. “What is to be done?”
I open my mouth but no sound comes. I take a deep breath, which catches, then try again. “Henri must marry. He must close the matter with your sister at once.” The words come out broken, like my heart. Part of me hopes Henriette and Charlotte will express disagreement, but while both look stricken, neither raises an objection.
“He will need persuading,” Henriette says. “Likely more persuading than I alone am capable of.”
I hope so. Dear God, I hope so. If Henri is not as horrified by the idea of his marrying the Princesse as I am, I will be inconsolable.
“I will write to Claude. Henri is not alone in his danger; the entire House of Lorraine should care deeply what befalls him.”
“Yes!” Henriette nods approvingly. “The Duchesse’s husband will wish this disgrace resolved quickly. Ask the two of them to come to Court.”
A lump rises in my throat at the thought of what I must say. I must reveal much that is painful—not only the depth of my own love and loss, but the betrayals and cruelties of my family. There is a small measure of consolation in the fact that such Valois sins will be confided fully only to another of my bloodline.
*
I am as nervous as a cat. I have counted and recounted the days until Claude could be expected in Paris. She did not come yesterday, so this day must certainly see her arrival. True sister, she replied at once, saying that she would rescue me from my disgrace and put my beloved on the path to his salvation. I care nothing for myself. I am content to be ruined so long as Henri is no longer in peril.
Mother knows that the Duchesse and Duc are coming. How could it be otherwise? A leaf does not drop in the garden of one of the great chateaux without her knowing. She goes about whistling softly, anticipating the company of a daughter more satisfactory than I—one who married where she was bid and lives blamelessly. I wonder, watching the Queen clicking her tongue against her teeth, then smiling as she feeds her parrot, whether she has guessed in part the purpose of Claude’s visit. I suspect she has. It would be unnatural if the Duc de Lorraine did not come to counsel his kinsman.
The door opens. I glance in that direction with anticipation. It is only Anjou. Doubtless he comes to borrow Mademoiselle de Rieux. He has taken her up again and is very indiscreet. I turn back to my embroidery.
“Look who I found making her way from the courtyard,” Anjou says.
My eyes rise again. Claude!
“Daughter.” Mother offers my sister both her hands and both her cheeks in turn. “Did you bring the children?”
Claude now has six little ones.
“No. Charles thought it best they stay at Bar-le-Duc, as our visit will be short.”
Mother puts an arm around Claude’s waist and guides her toward the settle across from me. “He is right, of course,” Mother says. “Coligny and his ilk make the roads less safe by the day. I received word this morning that he closes on La Charité-sur-Loire. But let us not talk of the war. I spend nearly the whole of my time considering it, to the detriment of my health and, I fear, without substantial benefit to your brother’s kingdom.”
“Madame,” Claude replies, “you are too modest. The conduct of the war may not progress as quickly or as definitively as His Majesty’s most devoted subjects would wish, but the King and his troops would be lost without your good counsel.” Then, looking across at me, she says, “Sister, I hope I find you well.”
Mother gives me a chastising look. “Your sister has been involved in a bit of folly—not uncommon in the young—and suffers from low spirits in consequence.”
Her trivialization of my heartbreak grates, but I bite my lower lip and keep silent.
“I am sure Marguerite is chastened whatever her transgression, Madame. She has a true Valois heart.” She rises.