“And yet yon expect me to intrigue him so that he will bare his innermost thoughts to me? My lord, I fear we are all doomed to disappointment, for if the elegant and sophisticated beauties of the French court cannot hold the Duc de Lambour’s interest, how on earth do you think I can?”
“My dear madame,” her companion said, “have you no serious idea as to your beauty, and how that beauty can be used to ensorcel a man?” He chuckled. “If you are truly innocent of the wiles you may employ, I shall advise you. Simply, but sweetly, refuse all offers of a licentious nature until he sincerely begs. Be exactly what you are, and you will, I promise you, succeed beyond our wildest dreams.”
The carriage was drawing to a stop.
“You will not leave me?”Arabella felt a trifle panicky.
“I will be at your side the entire evening, my dear, although I imagine my behavior will disappoint the many who will see and covet you. I shall make it clear, however, from the start that we are not lovers, although I regret the fact. I am simply a sympathetic countryman.”
The coach came to a full stop and a footman leapt down to open the door and hand them both out. About them were other carriages and a swirl of elegantly-garbed people within the courtyard of the Hotel de Valois, which was built about a quadrangle, one end of which opened onto the street, and the other end of which opened into a garden. Lord Varden offered Arabella his arm, and they began to thread their way through the crowd. He nodded and bowed as they went to many of their fellow guests, whose eyes widened with speculation at the beautiful woman on his arm.
“There is the regent, the Duchesse de Bourbon,” he murmured low to Arabella, tilting his head just slightly to his left. “Be brave, my dear, for I am about to introduce you.” He stopped before the duchesse and swept her a bow as Arabella curtsied low. “Bonjourto you,madame la duchesse,” Lord Varden said. “May I present my fellow countrywoman and fellow exile, Lady Arabella Grey?”
“You have left England of your own free will, madame?” the regent inquired.
“I have left England because that miser who calls himself our king has robbed me of my small property,madame la duchesse, and all because I am a woman. He said a mere female could not hold a small keep, and so he stole it from me,” Arabella said, her voice bitter.
“And he did not give you another property of the same value in return, madame? Why is this?” Anne of Beaujeu demanded.
“Non, madame la duchesse,” Arabella said, “he gave me nothing in return, for my family, all of whom are dead but for me, were related to our late King Richard.”
“Ahhhhh,” the Duchesse de Bourbon replied understandingly. “‘Tis the way of kings, I fear,ma chere madame,to wreak their vengeance upon the families of their rivals, but this English king of yours shows a lack of chivalry to disenfranchise a helpless woman with no man to defend her. I wish you better fortune here in France.” The regent turned away from them to greet others, and dismissed, they strolled about the gardens.
“She is no beauty,” Arabella remarked of Anne of Beaujeu, “but she is most elegant.”
“She favors her mother more than her father,” Lord Varden said, “but she does have the Valois nose and thick neck. Fortunately, she possesses her mother’s sense of style. Charlotte of Savoy was a great lover of luxury and had an excellent eye for fashion.”
“What is King Charles like?” Arabella looked about her for someone who might be France’s king.
Lord Varden chuckled. “Charles? Look, my dear, over there. The lad with the flaming red head.Thatis the king.”
“That puny, ill-made boy!” Arabella was astounded, for there was nothing royal about France’s king at all. He was short, and yet his legs were too long and spindly-shanked for his torso. His head was far too large for his body, and the globular eyes that stared out at the world were just a trifle nearsighted, giving him the vague appearance of someone who was not particularly bright. He had a large and long hooked nose which came near to touching his upper lip, lips that were thick and wide. His round chin was pierced by a deep cleft. “God’s bones, sir, tell me that this king has something to recommend him, for he is surely the ugliest man I have ever seen!” Arabella whispered.
“He has little to recommend him,” Anthony Varden said, restraining the laughter, which threatened to well up and burst forth. Lady Grey was most outspoken. “The king is of a nervous temperament. He is hasty and headstrong as well, yet he is a strangely affable young man for it all, my dear, but look! There is the Duc de Lambour just entering the garden. We must contrive to reach the king’s presence at almost the same time, that he may get his first look at you,” Lord Varden said, suddenly serious.
Arabella turned and her heart beat just a little faster with her nervousness. The gentleman coming through the stone archway from the courtyard was tall and extremely well-favored. He was garbed entirely in crimson, a color that well suited his fair skin and dark hair. He was the height of elegance with his doublet embroidered richly in gold threads, small pearls, and black jets. One leg of his hose was solid red, but the other was striped in black and gold. There were large pearl buttons decorating his sleeves. His girdle was of delicate gold links, and from it hung a pouch called anescarcelle,which Arabella knew would contain a knife and a spoon. About his neck he wore a heavier gold chain with a circular pendant upon which was engraved a coat-of-arms, and upon each of his fingers the Duc de Lambour wore a ring. His hair was cut short and close in front of the ears. He was clean-shaven.
Arabella was not even aware as she stared at the duc that Lord Varden was propelling her inexorably toward the King. She almost started visibly when she heard him say, “Your majesty, I would present a fellow exile, my countrywoman, Lady Arabella Grey.”
Fortunately, she had the presence of mind to curtsy low, even as the king said in a beautiful voice that was totally at odds with his undistinguished person, “We welcome you to France, madame.” A large hand reached out to tip her face up to his. “Why, Anthony, she is as fair as I am ugly,” the king noted with a wry laugh. He turned to the Duc de Lambour. “Is she not exquisite, Adrian? Even you who collect beautiful women like butterflies must admit that she is outstandingly beautiful.”
Arabella blushed prettily, to the king’s delight. “And modest as well, thispetite rose d’Anglaise. How charming to find a woman who can yet blush at a compliment here in my court. Well, Adrian, what do you think of her?”
He had azure-blue eyes, Arabella realized, as the Duc de Lambour looked directly at her. Beautiful light blue eyes the color of a summer’s sky. She blushed again at his frank scrutiny.
“A rare beauty indeed, my liege,” Adrian Morlaix said quietly.
“You must beware of this rogue, madame,” the king playfully warned her. “He is a seducer of beautiful women.”
“Onlybeautiful ones, my liege?” Arabella said, and the king laughed heartily.
“She has thorns, thispetite rose d’Anglaise!” He almost sounded as if he approved.
“Do not all women have thorns, my liege?” the duc drawled lazily, but he was unable to conceal the flicker of interest in his eyes as he gazed anew upon Arabella. “You are married, madame?”
“I was, once,monseigneur,” she answered him, not feeling it necessary to explain further. He would assume, of course, that she was not a virgin, and therefore, fair game.
“Be warned, my lord duc,” Anthony Varden said, but half in jest. “Lady Grey is not only my countrywoman, but my distant kinswoman, which is why she came to me for succor. You will have to seek elsewhere for this evening’s seduction.”
