“Jane likes you fine. And her mother definitely likes your title. If they can’t have me, they’ll settle for you.”
“How flattering,” Dominic muttered.
“Look, I know that whoever this one beautiful woman is that John Dee claimed is in your future, it isn’t Jane Grey. But it would be an outstanding marriage for both of you. And she’s a nice, sweet girl. She’ll make a pleasant home for you, give you lots of children, and not be unduly difficult when you find your beautiful woman.”
“Can we not have this conversation right now?” Dominic asked. Because if it went on much longer, he was going to have to think seriously about hitting his friend in order to shut him up.
William sighed. “Just think about it, all right? We’ll talk it over at the end of the summer.” He hesitated, then said, “I do hope…that is, if you are already in love, Dom…I don’t know if you are, but if so, clearly it’s with someone unsuitable or you would tell me about her. And if you are…”
Dominic thought his heartbeat must be audible not only to his king but to the entire household. “If I am? Say what you mean, William.”
“I do hope it’s not Elizabeth.”
After a long, blank moment, Dominic laughed aloud. William at first looked affronted, but then joined in. “I take it that’s a no,” he said merrily.
Dominic shook his head. “I am not in love with Elizabeth. I like her very much, but that is all.”
“I’m glad. Not that I don’t think you good enough for my sister, but there are always political complications.”
“Always.”
“And truly, Dom, if you are going to love just one woman, I want it to be a woman who will love you as you deserve. Perhaps it won’t be the woman you marry, but I suppose we’ll see.”
The laughter died. “I suppose we will.”
CHAPTER TEN
Dominic’s first visit to France had been as a poorly concealed spy for Lord Rochford in 1553. He had been greeted courteously, treated generously, and watched endlessly. His second visit had been with the English army in the summer of 1554, and that had entailed more than four bloody months of sieges and battles and their aftermath.
This third visit in three years was by far the most dangerous. Dominic was the senior peer escorting a gaggle of females ranging from Elizabeth and Lady Rochford to six young girls, none of them older than fifteen, who would be taken into Elisabeth de France’s household for the foreseeable future. All of them came with their own maids and attendants, and between seasickness and feminine sniping, Dominic figured his most difficult task was simply getting all of them from England to the French court. Without tossing one of them overboard or making more than three of them cry in any given day.
He could swear that every time he saw her, Minuette was laughing at him.
After the voyage from Dover to Le Havre—conquered and garrisoned by the English armies last year—it took nearly a week to get them to Paris by river. They were accompanied by officials from the French king’s household, supervised by Cardinal de Guise, and treated to every courtesy and comfort along the way.
The French court itself welcomed them exuberantly at the great royal château of Fontainebleau. The present King Henri’s father had expanded and decorated it extensively, and Henri was continuing that work. Dominic, usually indifferent to style and décor, had to admit to awe at the Salle des Fêtes, newly completed in the Italian Mannerist style (or so he was told—he didn’t know Mannerist from Gothic). The gallery was flooded with light from the tall windows, the better to appreciate the frescoes between the windows and the paintings that filled every wall. The geometric design of the ceiling was highlighted in gold gilding. It was the most impressive single room Dominic had ever seen, and a stunning setting for the elegant, languid grace of the French court. The royals themselves did not attend this opening reception—Elizabeth was dining privately with King Henri II, Queen Catherine de Medici, and William’s betrothed princess. But everyone else of importance was in the Salle des Fêtes on this late afternoon in June, and once Dominic got his bearings, he amused himself with watching Lady Rochford, who stood out amongst the others like a crow in the midst of peacocks.
Minuette detached herself from two of the young ladies-in-waiting who had come from England and moved to Dominic’s side. “Lady Rochford does look as though she cannot decide whether to allow herself to be dazzled or if it would be better to behave as though all this is nothing to her.”
“Which do you think it is, really?”
“Envy,” Minuette decided, after a considering moment. “If she didn’t frighten me so much—and if she wasn’t so relentlessly offensive—I would feel sorry for her. She is always seeking to make people pay attention. It can’t be easy to be married to someone who spends so much of his time in other women’s beds.”
Why did their every conversation turn to marriage? Dominic said abruptly, “Have you met Madame de Poitiers yet?”
“No. Is she here?” Minuette craned to try to see Europe’s most famous courtesan.
Oh, she was here. Dominic had felt her keen gaze the moment he’d entered the room. He’d had only one private conversation with the French king’s mistress during his last visit, but a rather memorable one. He was quite sure Diane de Poitiers would want to speak to him, so he might as well get it over with. In public, where perhaps she would not be so bold.
Or perhaps she would be so bold. Her first words, as Dominic bowed, were, “Could this possibly be the young lady we once discussed?”
He felt his face begin to flame and wished he could openly curse a woman. Or at least tell her to keep her mouth shut. “Madame,this is Mademoiselle Genevieve Wyatt. She is the principal lady to our own fair Princess Elizabeth.”
As Minuette curtsied, Dominic wondered what her impression would be of King Henri’s notorious mistress. In her mid-fifties now, Diane had the figure and vigor of a much younger woman and her skin was still radiantly fair and lovely. She knew how to turn every gift to an advantage, from her beautiful shoulders and bosom to the styling of her dark hair to the exquisite detailed embroidery done in threads of gold along the lower skirts of her brocade dress. But it was not her looks alone that had kept the much younger French king at her side for twenty years. She was a brilliant advisor and administrator who was known to sign state papers with the joint namesHenriDiane.
Also, Dominic had seen the royal initials everywhere represented in the Salle des Fêtes, and Henri’s bold H was not joined to his wife’s C, but twined with his mistress’s voluptuous D. That was the action of a man truly in love.
Diane de Poitiers had expressions that could hold entire conversations on their own. Now she favoured Dominic with one that saidI see straight through you but perhaps I’ll humour you for the young lady’s sake.
