Fate’s Mistress E-Book

Laura du Pre

• Herausgeber: Laura du Pre
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: The Three Graces Series
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 230

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Travel back to the court of the French Renaissance

Fate's Mistress: Book Three of the Three Graces Trilogy

Fate can be a cruel mistress...

Cousins to the King of Navarre, the Cleves sisters witness the glamour and danger of the French royal court firsthand. Middle sister, Catherine, is married to the Duc de Guise, the most rabid Catholic in France. Ambitious and well-connected, Guise is the main rival for the French throne, which is currently occupied by an unpopular Henri III.

Guise managed to win concessions from Henri, but concessions come with a steep price on his head. As his Duchesse, Catherine is in a dangerous position of her own. Determined to play her part in bringing about the downfall of the Valois and the rise of the Guise, Catherine will risk her own safety.

But is the risk worth the rewards? Will either of them escape with their lives? Catherine has to take a chance for herself, and the consequences will change French history.

Based on a true story

The Cleves sisters' story concludes with Catherine, who stands in the middle of court politics in France of the 1500s. Like most great noble families of the period, the web of intermarriages and alliances made enemies out of blood relatives. It also meant that the stories of the people who served the Valois monarchs were as intertwined and as complicated as their marriages.

Led by the ever-vigilant Catherine de Medici, Queen Mother of France and a force of nature, the members of the court shaped the political and religious future of France of the Sixteenth Century. In the trilogy, you'll meet the often- derided Charlotte, Madame de Sauve, and enough royal mistresses to satisfy your need for scandal.

˃˃˃ Don't miss out!

France will never be the same by the time Catherine's story ends. So don’t wait, scroll up and grab your copy today. You'll instantly be front and center at the world of the Valois court, and all of the danger and splendor of Renaissance France!

Leseprobe

Fate’s Mistress

Book Three of The Three Graces Trilogy

laura du Pre

Contents

Escape to the Court

About Fate’s Mistress

Hotel de Guise, January 1586

Epilogue

Also by Laura du Pre

Who’s Who at the French Court

Historical Note

About the Author

Preview of Safe in my Arms

Further Reading about the French Renaissance

Escape to the Court

Join Laura’s mailing list and receive a complementary copy of the sequel, Safe in My Arms.

About Fate’s Mistress

Travel back to the court of the French Renaissance

Fate's Mistress: Book Three of the Three Graces Trilogy

Fate can be a cruel mistress...

Cousins to the King of Navarre, the Cleves sisters witness the glamour and danger of the French royal court firsthand. Middle sister, Catherine, is married to the Duc de Guise, the most rabid Catholic in France. Ambitious and well-connected, Guise is the main rival for the French throne, which is currently occupied by an unpopular Henri III.

Guise managed to win concessions from Henri, but concessions come with a steep price on his head. As his Duchesse, Catherine is in a dangerous position of her own. Determined to play her part in bringing about the downfall of the Valois and the rise of the Guise, Catherine will risk her own safety.

But is the risk worth the rewards? Will either of them escape with their lives? Catherine has to take a chance for herself, and the consequences will change French history.

Based on a true story

The Cleves sisters' story concludes with Catherine, who stands in the middle of court politics in France of the 1500s. Like most great noble families of the period, the web of intermarriages and alliances made enemies out of blood relatives. It also meant that the stories of the people who served the Valois monarchs were as intertwined and as complicated as their marriages.

Led by the ever-vigilant Catherine de Medici, Queen Mother of France and a force of nature, the members of the court shaped the political and religious future of France of the Sixteenth Century. In the trilogy, you'll meet the often- derided Charlotte, Madame de Sauve, and enough royal mistresses to satisfy your need for scandal.

Hotel de Guise, January 1586

“Henri, for God's sake—slow down! I cannot keep up. My legs are too short!” I watched as my husband's wide shoulders trailed down the hallway before me, his enraged voice booming from the thick, stone walls. I scurried behind him, doing my best to keep pace with him. When he was in one of his rages, there was no reasoning with him. Yet, that fact had never stopped me before. I was in the third month of my latest pregnancy, my twelfth, and could still scamper behind my husband.

His hulking legs continued to put him further away from me, taking one step to match my two. I was far from the shortest woman at court, but Henri, the Duc de Guise, was a giant of a man. No man in France could measure up to his height, the blond giant towered over every man at court. Unfortunately for me, he had a personality to match his oversized body.

“Henri!” I screeched at the top of my lungs, taking my turn in the game that we had perfected in the almost two decades of our marriage. Neither of us would fit a priest's view of a Godly or virtuous man or woman, but then, neither of us had made an effort to pretend that we were anything other than what we were. This arrangement made it easy to be honest with one another. Of course, our determination to be ourselves frequently meant that we found ourselves in screaming matches with one another, but on this one occasion, I was not the person who had enraged my hulking husband.

The person in question was his August Majesty, King Henri III of France, Duc d' Anjou and only surviving son of Catherine de Medici. Last summer, my husband and his Catholic League had successfully compelled the King to agree to place him in charge of the armies of France. My husband immediately appointed his younger brother, the Duc de Mayenne to attack the Protestants that swarmed across France. When the terms were set in the heat of summer, we breathed a sigh of relief that the King had finally come to his senses and decided to protect France from invasion and the threat of heresy from the Protestant Queen of England and my heretic cousin, the King of Navarre.

Today, however, my husband received word from his spies in Normandy that the King had spent the last three months in secret negotiations with the Protestants behind his back. All of the work that Mayenne did on the battlefield was for nothing. Worse still, the King casually broke his promise to the Guise brothers to follow their advice in leading the armies of France.

I continued to try to catch up with him, but he stormed out of the front door of our house and onto the courtyard below, where a saddled horse always waited for him. Watching him so, I seethed. I knew where he was going. He was going to see that strumpet.

Do not misunderstand me—I am no moralist who chafes at the idea of a philandering husband. I have had my own share of lovers myself. I am too lively to be satisfied with a single man, even if that man is my husband; even if he is arguably the most handsome man at court. I have never begrudged Henri for his mistresses as he has rarely objected to my lovers. I object to the idea that he is going to take out his frustration with another woman, while blatantly ignoring me. I have spent too many years in service to the Guise family to be shut out today.

I storm back to my own rooms, passing one of the many retainers who have sworn loyalty to the Guise and the Catholic League. Our cavernous home, the Hotel de Guise, purchased by the previous duke and my mother-in-law, has more than enough room to house the people necessary to sustain a rebellion. Every person in this house has been party to the seditious acts against the King and his favorites. As one of my husband's most ardent allies, I do not take well to being shut out of his council.

Once at my desk, I pulled out pen and paper and began composing letters to allies across France. My husband might not want to acknowledge my usefulness to the League, but there were numerous people who would. After he finished having his sport in bed, we would have words.

“Every time that I think Henri Valois cannot sink any further, he manages to surprise me!” My sister-in-law, the widowed Duchess de Montpensier, sat her wine on the table before her, careful not to spill any on the intricate lace cloth before her. Her wording was deliberate; while the rest of us still continued to refer to the man on the throne of France as the King, she insisted on insulting him by referring to him as “Henri Valois” as if he were an ordinary citizen. If Montpensier had her way, he would soon become an ordinary citizen. Amongst the noblewomen who ran the female contingent of the League, she was the most ardent. There was no moderation in her tone or in her actions. If she ran the League, Catherine of Lorraine would gladly march upon the Louvre and burn the King in his bed as he slept.

“You would think that for his own survival, he would occasionally take advice from someone other than that useless fop Epernon.” As soon as the man's name was out of my mouth, I ground my teeth. Epernon enjoyed the place that rightfully belonged to my husband and the members of the Guise and Lorraine families. As the highest-ranking nobles of France, their place was at the King's hand. Yet, Henri III had decided raise up virtual peasants to the lucrative posts that kept the nobles from going into virtual bankruptcy. Far too many of our retainers and allies had been forced to sell land and assets to make up for the loss of offices that were rightfully theirs.

“If he had a bit of common sense,” she absentmindedly picked at the ruffs at her wrists, “he would listen more to your brother-in-law.” I groaned inwardly at her accusation. My brother-in-law was the man who had risen with the King's ascension to the throne; and a man who had long-served the Valois kings of France. Louis Gonzaga, who took over my father's title of Duc de Nevers by marrying my older sister, was the only voice of reason left in the King's Privy Chamber. Louis' continued presence there gave us hope that eventually he would get through to the King. Yet, judging by the King's past decisions, he would probably ignore Louis as soon as Epernon whispered into his royal ear.

I shook my head, “I never know what is in Louis' mind. I know that part of him agrees passionately with the League. He is as loyal a Catholic as we are. Yet, he is determined to remain as neutral as he can. It's as if he's terrified to stand up and make a decision.”

She shrugged, “Then, speak to Henriette. She is your sister, after all.” I can no more control my sister than my husband can control his, I thought, as I avoided Montpensier's gaze. As controlling as the woman who sat before me was, Henriette was just as nebulous. I never knew her mind either. Sometimes, I felt as if my sister was a cold, calculating fish.

“My relationship with my sister is complicated and the King himself made it so.” Henriette once was the most senior woman of the Queen's household, as well-placed in the King's court as her husband. In a characteristically stupid move, however, the King decided one evening to trap my sister in a fake affair and “expose” her before the court. She fled from the court in humiliation and has barely made any effort to return. If I wish to see her, I usually have to drop by the Hotel de Nevers and make a sisterly visit. Even though it is selfish, I am very put out by her self-imposed exile from court. Without her, I have few real friends to rely upon, save my radical sister-in-law. Montpensier is quite a handful, angrily railing against the King at every opportunity. I count myself as a radical, but her extremism gets on my nerves on a regular basis.

“Catherine, you mentioned the new printing blocks—would you show them to me?”

She clapped her hands. “Of course! I was afraid you would never ask. Come!” Standing, she pulled me up from my chair and dragged me outside as I struggled to put on my heavy cape. The damp cold settled on Paris this time of year, bringing with it a heavy fog over the river. With an almost gleeful bounce to her step, she led me to the stables of her Hotel de Guise and at an empty stall, she glanced both ways and opened the padlock.

“Here they are.” The carvers finished just last week. They were well-paid for their silence.” Throwing back a horse blanket, she showed the wooden printing blocks to me. One of them depicted the King of France as a priest, shorn of his hair and shorn of his crown. “The price of betrayal of Gaul” the inscription screamed in bold lettering. Another featured a Protestant army, marching upon the familiar walls of Paris, with babies hanging aloft on pikes. I glanced at Montpensier, “Isn't that a bit much?” My stomach lurched at the sight and the wave of nausea caused by my pregnancy.

“Innocents suffer in war, and if the Protestants and their mercenaries from Germany and Switzerland are allowed to march across France, there is no telling what horrors the city will endure. It is best that we acknowledge the danger and do something before this image comes true!” Her eyes shone with the passion of a fanatic. In those brown depths, I saw a touch of madness. Still, I knew that I had few friends and allies in Paris, and given how Henri had pushed me away a few days before, I could not afford to alienate his sister. Instead, I turned to look at another plate.

“This one doesn't have an image,” I frowned, trying to make sense of it. She made a reverse nod, acknowledging my confusion.

“This is blank so that we can create pamphlets from it. The lines are there to make the sentences straight. Here,” she rummaged around in the hay until she found a small sack, “are the individual letters that the printers will use to make the pamphlets. The beauty of this, is that we can use any number of combinations of letters. We can make several different pamphlets and we can do it quickly.”

“And are you absolutely certain that you want them taken from your house? At least there, you can have complete control over the printing process.” Something told me that the wooden blocks in front of me were a portent of trouble, but I did not know just how troublesome they would later prove to be. For the moment, my main objection, was the added activity that they would bring to my home.

She shrugged, “Henri promised. As I am a widow, it would not do for me to be seen instigating rebellion against the King's policies.” My mouth snapped open in shock. Was she serious? There was no woman in Paris better known for instigating and fermenting rebellion against the King! Why would she bother to stop now? Had she finally realized that she had gone too far? Did she know that the blocks were too dangerous? Yes, there was a chance that her sex would cause the King to have mercy on her if the blocks were found at her home, but it was not a given. She faced just as much danger as the rest of us.

Still, I was determined to demonstrate my usefulness to my husband. Having control of the words printed by the League across the city of Paris, did carry with it an irresistible amount of power. Despite my earlier sense of foreboding, I turned to her.

“I'll see that Philobert finds a place for him at the Hotel de Guise.” At least inside my home, they would be under my control. I would see to that.

Life at the court was very taxing for me. Since 1579, my husband and the King openly quarreled, and the King constantly took pains to make little insults towards my husband and every member of his family. Once the two were playmates, a reflection of the vaunted position that the Guise and my mother-in-law, a granddaughter of a king, enjoyed at court. Soon after the King came to the throne, however, he allowed other men to poison his once close friendship with my husband.

Never at a loss for ambitious men to fawn over him, the King had selected a man named Quelus and another, Charles de Balsac sieur d'Entragues. as his particular favorites in the fashionable sport of dueling. This dueling was not a method of satisfying honor, more a form of playacting to amuse the King and his close friends. Having the King's favor made more than one man reckless, none more so than Quelus. The men were stupid enough to engage in a duel, killing both of them. For his part, the King mourned Quelus to such an extent that the city came out in droves to mock him. d'Entragues sought and received sanctuary at the Hotel de Guise. Thinking that he was doing his old friend a favor, my husband readily tended to the King's favorite, working in vain to keep the man alive, despite his injuries. To our horror, the King turned on both d'Entragues and my husband.

Demanding the body of d'Entragues, the King raged against my husband, accusing him of rebellion against him. When my flabbergasted husband replied that he was doing the King's will, the King went to even more extremes. He stated that d'Entragues came to our home because he was carrying on an affair with me and he sought my aid. I have never been completely faithful to my husband, but even I would never be desperate enough to lie with one of those effeminate favorites. I would sooner lie with a peasant from the fields of Navarre. My husband did not fall for the ruse and buried the man without releasing his body to the King. From that point on, we became a continuous target for the King's ire.

As if this ongoing unpleasantness were not enough, there are enough base individuals at court to make me question the standards of the court. At the forefront of these individuals, is the woman I know to be my husband's current mistress.

Charlotte de Beaune-Semblancy is nothing more than the descendent daughter of a silversmith and the great-granddaughter of a known traitor. By her first marriage, she became Baroness de Sauve. By her second marriage, she had finally ascended to the nobility to become the Marquise de Noirmoutier. She is coarse and without any breeding at all. Every time I am forced to see her, I feel the bile rising up in my mouth.

It is easy to blame my hatred of the woman on her common origins. Yet, I have many more reasons to hate her. She is the Queen Mother's creature, one of her Flying Squadron who spend their days and evenings in various men's beds, coyly plying information from them at the Queen Mother's behest. While most women at court choose their bedfellows for passion or for sport, these women do it for money. Charlotte is one of Catherine de Medici's most accomplished whores, managing the feat of juggling two lovers at once. Even in France, that was quite a task. At her mistresses' command, she jumped between the beds of my cousin, the King of Navarre, and the King's younger brother and heir, until she had alienated the men to a degree that they barely trusted one another. I blame her for alienating them from the King's youngest sister and my own sister, Henriette's close friend, Queen Margot of Navarre. Thanks to Charlotte's machinations, Margot was stripped of her allies at court and left with few friends at court, save my sister.

This behavior was despicable enough, but no act is too shameful for that Circe. I hold Charlotte directly responsible for breaking my sister's heart over a decade ago. While Henriette mourned the sudden death of her only son, she found solace in the arms of a lover. Charlotte schemed to find evidence that sent Henriette's lover to his death. My poor sister was forced to endure those losses within a month of one another, at the time when I thought she might die as well of heartbreak. For these reasons and more, I have no reservations in admitting my hatred of Charlotte.

As I attended the Queen Mother, I kept a wary eye out for Charlotte. I was in no mood to deal with the snake. “Madame de Guise, please hand me my ruff,” the Queen Mother gestured to me and I moved forward.

“Here, your Majesty.” I spread my hands over the foamy folds, doing my best to straighten them so that they would sit high around her fleshy neck. The Queen Mother nodded her approval of my efforts and I stepped back from her.

“Someone is missing,” I heard a sly voice whisper behind me. It was one of the sharp-tongued Mademoiselles. Most of the women my age and older in the Queen's household knew better than to engage in gossip directly in front of her. She publicly decries any hint of scandal, while meeting with her Squadron behind closed doors. It is one of the many hypocrisies that Catherine de Medici has created during her long years at the French court.

“It's Madame de Noirmoutier.! I wonder where she is!” A giggle spilled out from a mouth behind me and I fought the urge to turn around and slap the offender.

“I think it's better to ask where she's been!” This time, the laughter is louder, drawing the Queen's annoyance.

“If you girls have anything to say, I suggest you say it out loud so that we can all hear. No? Then, I suppose you are simply gossiping. That is a sin and you are both to go to confession to absolve yourselves of your sin.” Catherine's words were directed at the two offenders and I was quite impressed at her ability to hear. Craning my neck around to witness their humiliation, I saw one of the girls' mouths snap open. The other girl only blushed furiously. Wordlessly, they both curtsied and made their escape from the Queen Mother's privy chamber.

I was mercifully spared Charlotte's presence until that afternoon, as the ladies of the Queen Mother's retinue sat and played cards. I exhaled loudly, annoyed as she floated into the room and made her reverence to the Queen. “Forgive me, Madame. My son is sick and I was called to tend to him.”

Catherine searched her face, as if looking to detect a lie. “I will pray for your son's health. See that it does not happen again, Madame de Noirmoutier.” The Queen Mother's behavior surprised me; was Charlotte acting independently of her Mistress' instructions?

Like the other ladies of the court, I was smart enough to know not to openly quarrel with Charlotte, which meant that I was forced to be civil to her in the Queen Mother's presence. Away from the sharp eyes of Catherine de Medici, however, the woman was fair game. I would have to bide my time. Spying my mother-in-law across the chamber, I rose and took a seat next to her. She was reading a book in Italian. Like the Queen Mother, she was an Italian and they often spoke in their native language to alleviate their homesickness. While I could speak and read Italian, I was far from a native speaker.

“What are you reading?” I gazed over at Anna d' Este, the Dowager Duchess de Guise and Nemours, who smiled to acknowledge my presence. She gave me a quick motherly squeeze on my forearm.

“Plutarch.” Anna was one of the most educated women at court and she had imparted her love of history to her son. While my husband preferred reading the history of warfare, his mother preferred the philosophers. Her taste in reading material made it much easier for me to talk to her.

“How many times have you read it?'”

She shrugged, “Not enough. I get more out of it each time I read it. You look uncomfortable.”

I shifted in my chair and tried to find a way to sit without pressing against the nerves of my back. I was carrying my twelfth child, proof that my marriage had been a fruitful one. Our children provided the Guise family with plenty of sons and daughters to marry across France. Five of our children lay buried in the family crypt back in Joinville, close to the eastern border of France. Losing a child was a common event, but the loss of each one was agony for me. After carrying a being dependent upon me for almost a year and caring for it after its birth, the sudden loss was excruciating. I never got used to the threat of losing a baby, no woman ever did.

Of our healthy children, most were sent to the nursery, where my husband's formidable grandmother had raised generations of children, both Guise and noble families who entrusted their daughters in Antoinette de Bourbon's capable hands. A year ago, the aged Antoinette died, which meant that my youngest, Renee, lived with us at the Hotel de Guise. I was thrilled my daughter was with me in Paris and hardly missed an opportunity to tend to her myself.

“I understand that my daughter is off making mischief again.” Her sharp eyes missed nothing. It was not my place to shield Catherine of Lorraine from her own mother; if Anna planned on upbraiding her for her actions, that was her prerogative. Still, I did not want to implicate myself and put myself in an awkward position with my influential mother-in-law.

“She's still dealing with Louis' estate. She's cleaning out his personal items, finally.” That was partly true—the elderly Duc de Montpensier had crammed their home with items and now, Catherine faced the task of dispensing with them. Many items were packed off to the far corners of France to her step-children as part of their inheritance. Others were collecting dust until Catherine could find a way to sell them and make a profit. Overall, she was luckier than most of us—her husband had left her quite a fortune and she at least was not faced with paying off the taxes from her father's death over a decade ago. That duty fell to his heir, a burden Henri had faced when his own father died suddenly in 1563.

“I doubt that everything in that house qualifies as a priceless antique. Some of those items might bring another kind of price, no?” She continued to scan my face and I squirmed.

“This child will not get off of my back!” I cried out loudly enough that the entire room could hear me, hoping to change the subject. The matrons in the Queen Mother's entourage gave me tight smiles of sympathy. Anyone who had carried a child before knew the daily discomforts that came with the condition. Beside me, Anna snorted, but chose to let the subject drop.

I could not avoid Charlotte de Sauve for long. Most women would have the common decency to avoid the wife of her lover, but Charlotte was hardly most women. I had stepped into the role of the wronged wife who was forced to coexist with the harlot who seduced her husband on an ongoing basis. Charlotte simply refused to be discreet, breaking the unspoken rules of etiquette at the French court.

The icy February weather had forced the court to conduct its activities inside and on days where the crowds swelled, it was difficult to avoid one another. This particular evening, we were crammed into the banquet hall of Fontainebleau, which was larger than most royal residences, but even the sprawling chateau had its limits.

I sat between Anna and Montpensier, my usual dining companions, along with ladies of the Queen Mother's household, who were forced to sit at the second-tier table with us. A social climbing woman might feel offended by the slight, but we Guise women took it as an opportunity. Away from the Queen Mother's ears, we could carry out our own conversations and make deals that bound us to interests that did not include Valois influence. This power was what the Valois feared most about the Guise, our ability to wield power in France independent of their control.

Even at our table, I had an excellent view of Charlotte de Sauve winding herself like a snake around my husband's body.

“I could throw my tankard and break that creature's nose,” Montpensier whispered into my ear.

“No, wait until she does something to deserve it.” We collapsed into giggles, causing the other women at the table to stare at us in curiosity.

“Still, you have to wonder what she does in order to stay in the game at her age. How old is she now, thirty-eight?”

I shrugged, as if it were the least important thing in my mind. “Diane de Poitiers kept the King's father wrapped around her finger well after forty.”

“Are you suggesting that I should be impressed by the fact that my husband has an older mistress?” I raised an eyebrow to her and she waved her hand in dismissal.

“I was just wondering what it takes in order to stay in the Queen Mother's Squadron for so long. She has so many nubile young things,” she gestured to the young women who swarmed around the men in the room, looking for prey to ensnare. Catherine used those women to keep herself well-informed, achieving the same thing that most royal torturers could do with much less violence.