“You will see him again soon enough.” Guy spoke sharply, as if out of temper with me.
“That is not…I simply…” My voice trailed off and I made a gesture of helplessness, uncertain as to what I did mean.
“If you have nothing to contribute, I have work to do.”
His curt dismissal hurt my feelings, but I did not let him see it. “I will leave you to it, then. How early do you depart?”
He gave a short bark of laughter. “When did you ever know the duke to rise before eight?”
Like the king, Longueville rarely went to bed before midnight, but those of us who served royalty often had to be up and about earlier, no matter how late we had stayed up the night before. By the hour of seven, when the morning watch of the yeomen of the guard relieved the night watch in the king’s presence chamber, attendants on duty for the day with king, queen, or princess had long since dressed and broken their fast.
Still in disbelief that he had not told me personally of his leaving so soon, I vowed to rise before dawn the next day, to be sure I did not miss the duke’s departure.
IN THE MORNING I had no difficulty locating the French party. The duke and his six servants were leaving with ten horses and a cart bearing presents to the value of two thousand pounds, including the gown King Henry had worn the previous day. Its value, Guy informed me, had been estimated at three hundred ducats.
“Presents for the king of France or for Longueville?” I asked.
“For the king, for the most part.” But my question provoked a smile.
Although clearly impatient to be on his way, when the duke caught sight of me he left off giving instructions to young Ivo and crossed the courtyard. Drawing me a little aside, he bent his head and kissed me full on the lips. “I was disappointed not to find you waiting in my bed when I returned to my chamber last night.”
“I was not certain I would be welcome.”
My words were true enough, and he might have come in search of me, had he truly desired my company. But in all honesty, I had been glad to sleep alone. It was becoming more and more difficult to pretend to feelings I no longer had. I looked forward to returning to France, but not as the duke’s mistress. I would be the queen’s lady. I would not be dependent upon either Longueville or Guy.
“Ah, well,” the duke said, “soon we will have all the time in the world. When you come to France, I will show you wonders.”
“My duties to the new queen will keep me busy.”
“Do you truly wish to remain in her service? I can offer you something better, Jane. At Beaugency.”
It was as well that he chose to kiss me again, for I did not know how to reply. For months now, I had gone to his bed more from duty than desire. Like a wife, I thought, as Mary Tudor sprang to mind.
With a final clinging touch of lips to lips, Longueville left me, returning to his preparations for departure. I had thought to discourage his attention once we left England. I’d assumed he’d lose interest quickly. After all, he’d once offered to give me away. Now I was not so certain of that.
“You will like Beaugency.” Guy still stood nearby. His sour expression had returned.
“He has a wife in France,” I murmured. “He must go back to her.” The statement sounded naive even to my own ears.
Guy shrugged. “The duchess does not care what he does or with whom he does it. Since she has already borne him four children, three of them sons, she considers that she has fulfilled her obligations as a wife.”
Did that mean she had a lover of her own? I was not quite brave enough to ask that question, but I ventured another. “Where does she live?”
“At the French court when she can, or on the lands that came with her upon their marriage.”
“At…court.” I frowned. I was certain, then, to meet her when I arrived with the new queen. In spite of Guy’s assurances, the prospect made me uneasy.
“I will not be at court or at Beaugency,” Guy said without looking at me. “I plan to tend to my own lands.” He started to turn away, but I caught his sleeve.
To my surprise, tears filled my eyes. “I have grown accustomed…I will miss you.”
Guy reached out to caress my cheek, then took my face between his palms. “I want to remember you,” he whispered. “The golden gleam in your eyes—”
“They are brown.”
“With golden flecks, and your hair is the deep, rich color of ginger.”
“It, too, is brown.” But I had to smile. “What next? Poetry to the dimple in my lady’s chin?”
He laughed, dispelling the last of the awkwardness between us. “You have no dimple.”
An hour later, I watched the little cavalcade ride away, but I had the strangest feeling I had not seen the last of Guy Dunois.
THE FRENCH KING sent gifts to his bride. Dozens of them, and a special attendant whose duties were to familiarize Queen Mary with French manners and customs and help prepare her trousseau—King Louis did not intend to permit his bride to arrive in France wearing Flemish fashions. There were lessons, fittings, sittings, too, since the king also sent his favorite court painter, Jean Perréal.
Perréal brought with him a portrait of Louis, the first Mary had seen. Instead of the elderly, sickly looking creature she had been led to expect, it showed a well-favored man of middle age. His face wore a sober expression but did not have the appearance of someone who was grievous ill. Nor did he look likely to die anytime soon.
King Louis’ other gifts, borne into the great hall on a handsome white horse, proved more pleasing to the new bride. Two large coffers contained plate, seals, devices, and jewelry. First among the last was the chief bridal gift, the Mirror of Naples, a diamond as large as full-size finger with a huge pear-shaped pendant pearl the size of a pigeon’s egg. King Henry at once sent it out to be valued. The experts reckoned it was worth sixty thousand crowns.
Shortly after the Frenchmen arrived, Mother Guildford returned to court. She had been appointed to take charge of Queen Mary’s maids of honor. The new queen of France was overjoyed to have her, remembering her as a doting governess during the years she had been in charge of the nursery at Eltham. I was less enthusiastic, especially when she made a point of taking me aside to lecture me.
“Well, girl, you have ruined yourself. I always feared you would.”
“I cannot see how. I am as high in favor at court as ever I was.” Longueville’s parting gift to me had been to ask that I be allowed to keep my private lodgings until I left for France. The king had agreed.
She stared pointedly at my belly. “No consequences?”
I pretended not to know what she meant, meanwhile struggling to hold on to my temper. Fortunately, Mother Guildford had too many other duties to bother much about me. There were to be over a hundred people in the queen of France’s permanent household, some thirty of us female. Queen Mary also would take along her own secretary, chamberlain, treasurer, almoner, physician, and the like.
AFTER SEVERAL HECTIC weeks, we at last set out for Dover. Dresses, jewelry, and other goods came with us, transported in closed carts drawn by teams of six horses. They had fleurs-de-lis—the emblem of France—painted on the sides and were emblazoned with Mary’s arms and her newly chosen motto, La volantée de Dieu me suffit—“To do God’s will is enough for me.”
Queen Mary traveled in a litter borne by two large horses ridden by liveried pages. The litter was covered in cloth-of-gold figured with lilies, half red, half white. The saddles and harnesses were also covered with cloth-of-gold.
I rode on horseback, as did many others. I was glad of it. Litters, even those padded with large cushions and hung with rich curtains, were devilishly uncomfortable. The carts called charetas, drawn by two or more horses harnessed one before the other, were even worse.