Minuette did not speak another word, and Dominic could not choose where to begin. How to explain what had happened last night? How to assure her she had no reason for jealousy? (But doesn’t she?his conscience whispered.That last kiss in the corridor was as much you as Aimée.) Words were never his strong suit, and besides, Minuette was wilting fast from the unaccustomed effects of too much wine.
When they reached her chambers, Dominic said shortly, “Have Carrie bring you some water. You’re going to be sick, and we have a long journey home.”
And this, he thought blackly, is a perfect end to another stay in France. He hoped devoutly he would never lay eyes on this wretched country again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Getting the women out of France was even worse than getting them there in the first place. They were fewer than half in number: only Lady Rochford, Elizabeth, Minuette, and their attendants. The young girls remained at the French court to serve in Elisabeth de France’s household. But the women who departed were all of them difficult. Lady Rochford was restless and discontented at leaving the French court (or perhaps at having to return to her husband), and Elizabeth was at her most exacting and capricious.
Minuette refused to speak to him at all, which he did not find surprising, for when they left Fontainebleau she was wretched from the aftereffects of immoderate drinking. Good, Dominic thought. She will not make that mistake again. So he had let her alone, and letting her alone became easier the farther they traveled and the quieter she remained. She rode in a carriage with Lady Rochford until they reached the Seine, not once joining Elizabeth on horseback, and on the river she always contrived to be in a different barge than he was.
They spent one night in Harfleur, Dominic rounding the garrison and making notes on their readiness against possible French incursions in future. Harfleur, Le Havre, and Calais were all that remained of England’s once vast holdings in France, and Dominic did not mean to lose them through any oversight of his. They took ship at Le Havre and Minuette went below before they’d even lost sight of the coast. He stared after her bleakly, wondering if she ever meant to speak to him again, wondering how he was supposed to apologize for a most private matter when they were always in public.
Elizabeth came noiselessly beside him and, with her characteristic insight, observed, “You’ll have to settle this before we return to court. William will want to know why you two are quarreling. I know you don’t want to tell him she got drunk and slapped you.”
“You don’t think someone else will report it?” Dominic said savagely. “Lady Rochford is no friend of Minuette, and surely your uncle has informants in France.”
She shrugged, steady on her feet despite the rolling of the ship’s deck. “My brother can ignore everyone but you. Fix it, Dominic. Otherwise, he will be displeased.”
At the moment, he didn’t particularly care if William were displeased. In fact, he was tired of everything being about William all the time. But for his own sake he desperately wanted this fixed, so he went below and knocked on Minuette’s door.
Carrie opened it. “May I speak with her?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, my lord, she is resting and does not wish to be disturbed.”
She smiled helplessly, as though in sympathy with him but bound to follow her mistress’s orders. Dominic swore under his breath as she closed the door in his face.
Elizabeth must have appreciated his attempt—or at least recognized he was out of his depth—because she took the matter out of his hands once they landed at Dover. There were royal men and horses at Dover Castle prepared to ride on with them the next morning, but Elizabeth took Dominic aside. “My aunt and I will be quite all right now. I thought you might like to visit your mother, since we are somewhat near Maidstone. Take Minuette with you.”
He would have protested, but in a move remarkably like William, she simply walked away. Knowing the folly of arguing with a Tudor, Dominic set his jaw and had Harrington arrange horses for a separate small party.
Minuette, however, was prepared to argue with the princess. The next morning, when Dominic approached them in the courtyard of Dover Castle, he heard her say sharply, “I do not need to be sent off like a child because you think I’m in a temper.”
“Then prove you’re not a child and do what I ask.” Elizabeth’s reply had the ring of royal steel in it. “I will make it an order if I must.”
Minuette whirled so suddenly that she stumbled into Dominic. He put a hand out to steady her. It was the closest they’d been since that last night at Fontainebleau, and her eyes held more than anger and disdain—though those were present. But there were also tears, like a deep well that has been troubled by a stone and not yet come to rest.
“Minuette,” he said beseechingly, and his tone must have warned her of his wish to take her in his arms right here, princess and royal guards be damned.
“Not here, Dominic.” She lifted her chin and her eyes blazed with fury. “People will talk.”
And so they rode together to his mother’s home, Dominic not sure which fears to focus on: his mad mother, his need to set things straight with Minuette, his duty to return to William and persuade him of the importance of the French marriage…
He’d once worried about his mother burning the house down around him. Tonight he would almost welcome it. At least it would be a distraction.
In preparation for dinner, Carrie brought Minuette a simple gown of moss green with embroidered cream flowers. Minuette shook her head. “I need something more…elaborate.” As armour, she meant.
“I’m sorry, mistress, it’s what there is. Most of your things went on to court with the princess.”
She searched Carrie’s guileless face and knew that her maid wanted her vulnerable tonight. Fine, she would prove that she could hold her own without finery and jewels. And since when do I need to hold my own against Dominic? she thought, a little forlornly.
Of course Carrie was right, for more reasons than one. When Minuette joined the table, she knew that she would have been wildly inappropriate dressed as a court lady. Dominic’s mother, Philippa, wore a simple dress of midnight blue and no jewelry except a rosary that her son tactfully ignored. It had a familiar look to it, and Minuette wondered if, like her mother’s, it had been a gift from the late Queen Anne. Philippa Boleyn Courtenay had been Anne’s cousin, and as young girls they had been very close. Before Philippa’s unhappy marriage and Anne’s turn to Henry and Protestantism.
There was also a clerk at dinner, a man named Michael, dressed with equal soberness. A skillful conversationalist, he had traveled extensively in Europe and entertained them with stories of scholars and sailors. Dominic, as usual, spoke little and seemed absorbed in watching his mother. Philippa appeared a little distracted and unworldly but not dangerous.
Until she brought up a dangerous subject. “I see you took care to be out of the country when your king burned a saint,” she said to her son.
Bonner was dead? Minuette opened her mouth in surprise, but Dominic cut her off. “Bonner was no saint, Mother. He preached treason, and would gladly have practiced it at any opportunity.”
