The Three Graces Collection E-Book

Laura du Pre

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

Seitenzahl: 608

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Travel back to the court of the French Renaissance!

Mingle with the royal court of France with the Cleves sisters.  Now get the stories of each sister: Marie, Henriette, and Catherine, in a single volume.  

Book One:  Almost a Queen. Who wouldn't want to be Queen?

Cousins to the King of Navarre, the Cleves sisters witness the glamour and danger of the French royal court firsthand. Youngest sister, Marie is trapped in an unhappy arranged marriage with her cousin, Henri, Prince de Conde. Determined to make the best of her situation, she awaits the wedding of the King of Navarre in Paris.

Paris of 1572 boils with religious war, and few will make it out of the wedding celebrations alive. Those that do survive face an impossible choice: convert or die. Will Marie and Conde make the decision to abandon their Protestant faith in order to save their lives? Will it cost them their souls?

Along with the threat of death comes a chance for true love with the king's younger brother, the Duc d'Anjou. Yet Marie promised to love honor and cherish her husband till death did them part. Will death soon part them? Is it possible to find love in the midst of tragedy?

Book Two: Lady of the Court.  

What do you do when your world falls apart?

Eldest sister, Henriette, sits at the apex of the royal court, wife to one of King Henri III's most trusted advisors

In a country torn apart by religious war, things can change in an instant, and no one in France is safe. Henriette is desperate to hold on to her life, and hand it on to the next generation. To do so, she must have an heir, something that she has so far failed to do.

Book Three:  Fate's Mistress.  Fate can be a cruel mistress...

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.

Leseprobe

The Three Graces Collection

Laura du Pre

Contents

Who’s Who at the French Court

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Epilogue

Lady of The Court

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Fate’s Mistress

Hotel de Guise, Paris, January 1586

36. Chapter 1

37. Chapter 2

38. Chapter 3

39. Chapter 4

40. Chapter 5

41. Chapter 6

42. Chapter 7

43. Chapter 8

44. Chapter 9

Epilogue

Also by Laura du Pre

About the Author

Researching the Renaissance

Who’s Who at the French Court

The Royal Family

Catherine de Medici, Queen Mother of France, wife of Henry II.

Charles, King of France, Catherine's son

Elizabeth of Austria, Charle's wife

Henri, Duke of Anjou, Catherine's son

Louise of Lorraine, Henri's wife

Francis/ Hercules, Duke of Alençon, Catherine’s youngest son

Margot of Valois, Catherine's daughter

The Bourbons

Jeanne, Queen of Navarre, first cousin of Henry II, due to France's Salic Law, she cannot inherit the French throne, yet her descent through a male relative means any of her male decedents can.

Antoine, King of Navarre. Jeanne's husband

Henry, King of Navarre, Jeanne's only surviving son and heir

Catherine of Bourbon, Henry's only sister

Henri, Prince of Conde, Henry's first cousin

Marie of Cleves, Henri the Prince of Conde's first cousin and his wife

Henriette of Cleves, Duchess of Nevers, the eldest of the Cleves sisters and close friend of Princess Margot of Valois.

Louis Gonzaga, Duke of Nevers, an Italian who became a naturalized French due to his association with Catherine de Medici. He inherited the title Duke of Nevers from his father-in-law.

The Guise

[Descended from Claude, a younger brother of the Duc de Lorraine, the family retains the epithet “of Lorraine,” and strong ties to their Lorraine cousins.]

Anna, Duchess of Guise and Nemours, a granddaughter of Louis XII.

Francis, her deceased first husband and the second Duke of Guise

Mary of Guise, Francis's sister and mother of Mary, Queen of Scots

Henri, Duke of Guise, Anna's eldest son and heir to Guise dukedom

Catherine of Cleves, Henri's wife and older sister of Marie of Cleves. Became Princess de Porcelian through her first marriage.

Catherine of Lorraine, Duchess of Montpensier Anna's only daughter

Louis II, Cardinal of Guise, younger brother of Henri

Charles, Duke of Mayenne, brother of Henri

The Court

Simon, Baron de Sauve, Catherine de Medici's secretary who rose to become one of Charles IX's Secretaries of State.

Charlotte, Baroness de Sauve and later Marquis of Noirmourtier, his wife.

1

Louvre Palace, Paris, 1572

I cannot keep the ribbons for the Queen's dress from tangling as I walk. It is as if they are conspiring to knot and defy me. Amused at my predicament, the Queen's guards nod at me and try to suppress a smile. I try to hurry to my mistress' chambers, but the extra effort sends a wave of air and what progress I had made tangles into a loose braid.

Entering the Queen's antechamber, I bob into a curtsey, “I'm sorry, Madame, they seem to have gotten the best of me.” Like the guards, she cannot suppress a giggle at my frustration. Recovering herself, she shrugs her petite shoulders.

“Perhaps it wasn't meant to be, Marie.” She answers me in Latin, our shared language. Since coming to the French court, Elisabeth of Austria has attempted to speak French, but she has as much difficulty as I have found in maintaining her wardrobe this morning. “If you would, please fetch my gown.”

Thankful for the reprieve, I place the ribbons on the nightstand and quickly forget them. As Queen of France, we would usually expect Elisabeth to rule over the court, but we all know that the true Grande dame is her powerful mother-in-law, Catherine de Medici. A quiet, pious and studious young girl, this arrangement suits Elisabeth well and she appears at court whenever the circumstances warrant it.

This hot August morning, her presence is certainly justified in court, as is mine. My cousin Henry, the young King of Navarre, is about to be married and we are eagerly awaiting his arrival in Paris. The bride to be is the king's sister Margot, the Princess of France and one of the most celebrated beauties of Europe. At first glance, their match seems perfection, but as the bride and groom do not share the same faith, the betrothal has been fought with difficulties. The largest hurdle the two have faced, was the lifelong hatred between their mothers. Their hatred is due in no small part to my Aunt, Jeanne, the formidable Queen of Navarre.

I should not speak ill of my aunt; she took me in after my mother's death and my father's inability to raise his youngest daughter, a girl of nine. Married to my mother's brother, Antoine of Bourbon, Jeanne of Navarre did not hesitate to send for me and offer to bring me up within her home. Of course, life with my aunt came with certain conditions, amongst them the requirement that I follow her Reformed faith. Unable to imagine what to do with me on his own, my father readily agreed, and I was packed off before my tenth birthday to an unfamiliar home with its odd and alien faith.

So I was raised, like my cousin, the King of Navarre, as a Protestant, although little of the Reformed faith appealed to me. My loyalty to my aunt meant that I followed her religious instruction, and I have spent my life as a Protestant. My older sisters, Henriette, who is eight years older than I and our middle sister, Catherine, five years older than I, were raised in the Catholic faith. As a result, my family feels very alien to me sometimes. After ten years with my aunt, I returned to the French royal court to become a lady-in-waiting to the new Queen, whom I found an easy mistress to serve.

I had not seen my aunt in months when she traveled with my cousin, Catherine to Paris to negotiate the marriage between Henry of Navarre and Margot of Valois. Our reunion was tense, as I felt she judged me for falling from the faith she had instructed me in since childhood. Within weeks, however, my aunt died I had lost the second mother I had known in my short life. Aunt Jeanne was determined to see her children married well and safely, while furthering the reformed faith and that included not only her son's marriage to a Catholic princess. My aunt had seen that I also married well and married within her faith.

My aunt chose my other first cousin, the Prince of Condé, to be my groom almost a year ago. Condé's Christian name was "Henry" in honor of the king's father. I had known my cousin since I came to the Navarrese court, as he also came to court as a motherless orphan adopted by Jeanne of Navarre. Many people criticized her for being harsh and calculating, but one could never say Jeanne of Navarre abandoned a child in need of a motherly figure. Rather than hold her generosity over our heads, she seemed to relish her opportunity to be the mother of more than the two children of her body.

Because of her generosity in taking me in, I felt obligated to go along with the match she had made for me. Protestant princesses were rare in Europe, Save the foreign ones from German principalities. It was a foregone conclusion, therefore, that I would marry and become the Princess of Condé as we forged a new Protestant dynasty. Despite any misgivings I might have about our marriage and mourning the death of my surrogate mother, I went ahead with our ceremony this past July and Condé and I married according to Protestant rites.

Now, almost a month later, I struggled with adjusting to married life. My royal mistress, herself, married for less than two years, became a genuine friend and a source of support for me. Elisabeth was in the final months of her first pregnancy and as her stomach expanded, we worked to expand her gowns. As I placed the rose-colored one she had selected for the evening's reception on the bed, my wedding ring hung on the silk of the bodice.

“I'm sorry, Madame,” I grimaced and looked at her helplessly.

“It's all right; you aren't used to wearing it. It will become second nature to you, eventually.”

“It feels heavy,” our time together had taught me that I could be honest with her without fearing her judgment.

“I miss wearing mine. It's been months since I've been able to get it on my finger.” Her hand went to her belly absentmindedly. All of France eagerly awaited the birth of the royal heir. Like any other woman, Elisabeth only hoped for the birth of a healthy child.

“I suppose it won't be long before I'm in the same situation.” I tried to keep the edge out of my voice, but looking at the expression on her face, I knew that I had not succeeded in doing so.

Elisabeth smiled at me, the compassion showing on her face. Like me, she had no control over the man she married. She fulfilled her duty as a royal princess and her current condition was a fulfillment of her obligation to supply an heir. Unlike me, she accepted her role without complaining, a choice I secretly envied.. Although officially separated by our religious beliefs, the devoutly Catholic Elisabeth never held my faith as a strike against me. We were inseparable most of the time, except for the times we worshiped our Lord. The Queen accompanied the king to Mass daily while I attended sermons from the leading Protestant preachers who were allowed to remain at court.

As soon as I entered my private apartments within the vast Louvre palace, I removed my hood and attempted to smooth my brown hair. I had wanted a few quiet moments alone, but as I entered the bedchamber, I saw that my husband was already sitting beside our bed. Since going from cousins to husband and wife, our interactions had been awkward. Every new bride must take some time to adjust to married life, but I felt as if my adjustment period took me more time than most.

I was determined to work to make our marriage a success, but the truth was that my husband and I were very different people. Like my Aunt Jeanne, he had taken to the Protestant religious with relish and embraced the dour and restrained nature of the most ardent followers. As a result, his character was often dark and brooding, which made it difficult for us to connect with one another. A life stripped of the gaiety and spontaneous nature of most Frenchmen seemed an empty life to me. I was determined, however, to do my duty to make our marriage work, if not for our shared for faith, then for our family's sake and to honor the memory of my Aunt Jeanne.

“I've just come from the Queen's rooms; we've done all we can to prepare for Navarre's arrival. If he decides to come at all.”

I raised an eyebrow, “Do you think that he will back out of his mother's promise?”

“If he knows what's good for him, he will. None of the Papists can be trusted to keep their word.”

I held my tongue, choosing not to remind him that my closest friend at court was a Papist. I had no desire to pick a fight that moment, exhausted as I was from the continual preparations for the upcoming wedding.

“We are expected to be at the Admiral's house this evening to hear the Reverend Challoit.” His imperious tone grated on my nerves and this time, I chose to say something.

“When have I failed to join you for a sermon at court? Do I not come faithfully as a believer and as your wife?”

He shrugged, and I imagined that he got some thrill out of bating me. “I sometimes feel as if you are not as sincere about our faith as I am. One might think that the Catholic flavor of the court is rubbing off on you.”

Would that be so bad? In my mind, toleration was better than the extremism that my husband seemed doggedly determined to display. The king himself was willing to allow those of both faiths to worship without molestation at court. Both the king and his mother had encouraged toleration amongst the two groups of Christians within France and within the court. Still, men like my husband seemed determined to provoke hostility between themselves and the moderates of the court. Sometimes I felt as if my fellow Protestants only wanted to play the part of the persecuted party to garner sympathy abroad. From what I had seen so far, my countrymen enjoyed an unusual degree of religious freedom.

“We both serve at the pleasure of the king and his mother; we cannot forget that. Attempting to incite hostility between the Catholics and Protestants does nothing to help either side.”

He snorted, “Now you sound like Catherine.”

I shrugged, weary of his baiting. “Perhaps she is right.”

2

I fidget in the room, as always, feeling uncomfortable. In front of me, another “preacher”, whose name I struggle to remember is droning on and on about “atonement” and other lofty concepts that I have heard since childhood. These meetings and prayer nights are a stripped-down version of the Mass that the Catholics attend daily and officially, they are meant to encourage discussion and personal understanding of the word of God. I have never confessed this to anyone, but for me, these meetings are more like being scolded for being a naughty child. The men who run them seem angry and spiteful, and I rarely feel the presence of God during them. Instead, I feel as if I were watching a performance or lecture. After the man designated as the “minister” concludes his sermon, the congregation is encouraged to speak of their sins openly and confess them to one another. I am far from a shy woman, yet the idea of having my privacy violated in front of virtual strangers horrifies me.

The entire experience feels more like an excuse for a gossip session like those that run rampant amongst the lords and ladies of the court, except this is supposedly sanctioned by God. My bit of rebellion is to list demurely some shallow “sin,” such as loving my shoes too much or feeling as if I am unable to return my husband's love that he gives me. This ploy seems to satisfy the overbearing men who run the meetings and for a few moments at least, I am left alone.

Still, I long for an hour of solitude to be alone with my thoughts and for the blessed quiet to hear God's voice, not that of a preacher whose performance is scheduled for a given night. I wonder what it would be like in the hushed halls of a Catholic mass. But of course, as a Protestant princess, I am not allowed to know. I am not allowed to confess even that I am curious to learn. If I were to ask the Queen to allow me to accompany her during Mass, she would leap at the opportunity to bring her dear friend along, but she is wise enough to never put me in the position of “violating” my professed religious beliefs. Without any other options, I am forced to wince as the noise and din around me swirls until the meeting is over.

Condé and I take our places in the massive throne room of the Louvre palace. Navarre and his gentlemen have finally arrived in Paris safely, and to our relief, the formal betrothal will be held as planned. The ceremony demonstrates the tangled web of relations and religious preferences across the country; while the groom is Protestant, his cousin is the very Catholic Cardinal Bourbon, who will conduct the betrothal ceremony and the strange wedding ceremony that is to come. In deference to Navarre, they will be wed on a platform erected outside of Notre Dame Cathedral. After their vows, the new Queen of Navarre will be escorted by her brother the Duc d'Anjou, known as “Monsieur,” who will stand in the groom's place for the Catholic Mass that will follow the ceremony.

I cannot help but flash back to my wedding ceremony a month earlier, as Condé and I were wed in a thoroughly Protestant ceremony in the formidable Chateau Blandy near the village of Melun. Navarre had stood nearby while I was wed and now I would watch as he likewise was united in matrimony. Like the ring on my finger, our marriage had failed to settle upon me, being more of an intrusion than a comfort. I hoped that as time passed, this would no longer be so. I wished the same for Navarre.

The appearance of so many new people in Paris had also meant that the court had been reshuffled in our housing arrangements. My husband and I were allowed to move out of the Louvre and lodge in my sister's home with her husband, the Italian Duc de Nevers. Henriette was the heiress of our family, our elder brother having died a few years earlier, and her husband took her title, but not the management of her finances. Thanks to Henriette's wily use of her financial assets, she was fast becoming one of the most important creditors in France.

Perhaps every new groom is uncomfortable being lodged with his new wife's family, but I sensed that my husband tried little to integrate himself with mine. Henriette and her husband, Louis were devoted Catholics, like our other sister, Catherine and that brought no small amount of scorn from my husband. I would have thought that the idea of having so many fellow Protestant allies in Paris weeks after meeting for our ceremony would make Condé happy, but he seems so dour and determined to be quarrelsome that I doubt anything could make him happy. Even during our shared meals, he took the opportunity to criticize my sister and her studious husband.

“Must we sit here while the two of them continue crossing themselves?”

“Husband, it's simply in thanksgiving of their food. We should all be grateful for the bounty of God's providence,” I quoted a minister's lecture from a few weeks earlier, hoping that he would use the parallel to find some common ground with Louis and my sister.

“It's idolatry,” he sneered, poking at his fish.

“Making the sign of the cross is not creating an idol. We all revere the cross as the instrument of our Lord's torture and resurrection. Surely we can all agree on that?”

“I will be glad when this spectacle is over and we can get back to our regular lives.”

“And back to our rooms at the palace?”

He shrugged, “As far away from Paris as we can get.”

My husband's sulky attitude notwithstanding, we all felt the uneasiness surrounding the two factions stuffed into Paris that hot August. The stifling heat, bereft of any rain or wind to bring us relief, and the overcrowded streets turned the city into a tinderbox. I waited on Queen Elisabeth as best I could, but the crowds and our continual obligations to attend banquets, fetes, masquerades and dinners meant that I rarely had time to speak with her. I had hoped to be with her when her child came and like me, she had hoped to go into confinement in quiet.

The Queen's quiet descent into confinement was not to be; her sister-in-law's marriage demanded her attendance and despite their different natures, the two women were close friends. No matter how many demands pregnancy or decorum placed on her body, Elisabeth was determined to attend as many events surrounding her Margot's marriage as possible.

As I had suspected, the wedding ceremony was odd, to say the least. The platform gave the half-Protestant half-Catholic wedding a cobbled and confusing flair, and the fact that it was held outside meant that the atmosphere was more like an open market than a solemn rite. We held our breath as the vows were said, Navarre readily agreeing to the marriage and Margot holding her tongue. The King in his anger pushed her head forward, forcing her to give her assent to the marriage. In a typical wedding, this would have been suspect, but this was far from typical. Rumors abounded that Catherine had resorted to trickery and bribes to attain the dispensation from Rome for the close cousins to marry and few, if any of us, had seen the supposed letter from the church.

At last, the Cardinal Bourbon pronounced his kinsman and the Princess of France man and wife, and Navarre stepped aside to allow his new wife to celebrate the marriage mass. Dressed even more splendidly than the bride, the Duc d'Anjou led his sister into the cathedral and out of propriety, we Protestants in the assembly waited outside until the mass was over.

“Let the pompous boy take her inside. That's half an hour that I won't have to spend looking at him.” My husband mumbled in my ear and I turned to glare at him.

“This is hardly the time to resurrect old quarrels.”

He looked at the Duc de Guise, whose eyes were on Margot instead of my sister, his wedded wife. “Tell that to Guise.”

After the ceremony, we all sighed a sigh of relief that the feared violence that could stop the wedding from happening had not occurred. The streets of Paris stayed blissfully quiet through the following evening. Perhaps the Protestants were silly to worry that they were in danger.

3

The Sunday evening following the wedding we were all invited to a banquet given by the King. Given the Reformed faith's belief that to be joyous on the Sabbath was disrespectful, none of the Protestants accepted the King's invitation. Yet to decline the invitation was to insult the King himself. When I heard that they had planned to risk offending the King, I was horrified.

“You cannot just refuse to go,” I trailed after my husband as he stumbled around our bedchamber, looking for last minute items before he left. I shoved his hat and shoes into his hand, impatiently waiting for him to finish dressing himself.

“We have gone above and beyond in our willingness to be polite to the King and we have the right to attend our services. This debauchery is against our beliefs and we will not compromise on them in fear of offending an earthly monarch.”

I exhaled a sigh. King Charles had been more than accommodating towards his Protestant guests and now they were thumbing their noses at him. As one of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting, I could ill afford not to attend the banquet. As far as I was concerned, my husband was acting rude and downright childish.

“I will attend the banquet while you attend the service at the Admiral's house.” Compromise seemed better than continuing the argument. My husband was intransigent as always.

He snorted in response, raising my ire even further. “Absolutely not—you will not attend an event without me there beside you. I will not have it said that my wife is a wanton woman.”

“And I am to offend both the sovereign and my mistress?”

“You are to explain that your husband commanded you to accompany him, as any dutiful wife would.”

At the meeting, I seethed and did my best to avoid contact with my husband. What would the King think of our absence? I was sure that his arrogance would place both of us in danger. During the seemingly endless sermon, I turned over in my mind what I would say to the Queen to explain our absence.

Afterward, Admiral Coligny took my elbow and asked to speak with me. Despite his decision to become a firm Protestant, unlike my husband, the elderly admiral was willing to work towards reconciliation between the two faiths. In fact, the King considered the Admiral to be a close friend and mentor, calling him “father” after the death of the King's actual father. It was difficult not to like the admiral; while he was an accomplished soldier, he was also a fair and kindly man. He was one of the Protestant leaders I had always had respect for, going back to my days as a child in Aunt Jeanne's court when the Admiral would visit.

“I hope that all is well between you and the Prince of Condé.” Such an innocent question, spoken without malice, caused me to wince. Unwilling to upset him, I chose to lie. “I think that we are still getting used to one another. We'll take time to settle into married life.”

He nodded, whether out of an understanding of what I meant or simple kindness, I could not tell. “It was your aunt's fondest wish that her family remain united in marriage. She had high hopes for both of you and your marriage was one of her triumphs. I'm sure she is looking down from Heaven, smiling with pride at both of you.”

Guilt coursed through me. Had I been acting with ingratitude and judgment towards my husband? Was it just as difficult for him to adjust to married life? Was a being disloyal to my Aunt in my constant unhappiness about my marriage? After all, few women were allowed to choose to marry for love and perhaps I was also being unreasonable.

I looked at the admiral who in turn looked at me without a hint of judgment in his eyes. “I think that I am asking too much of my marriage so far. Perhaps I'm being too harsh on Condé.”

“Ah, we are all sinners with a multitude of faults. Thankfully, we can ask our Lord for forgiveness.” He winked at me, “Even for a Bourbon princess.”

I laughed at his joke, thankful to have a moment of levity. “Still, I worry that our absence today is going to be seen as a sign of stubbornness and disrespect. The King has been a close friend to you and as Protestants, I fear that we are trying the limits of his goodwill.”

He nodded, “King Charles has proven to be a generous monarch towards us and it could be that we are acting paranoid at the supposed threat in Paris towards those of our faith. His mistress is a devout Protestant, and he willingly gave us the freedom to worship two years ago.”

“Shouldn't we be doing all that we can to work towards reconciliation?”

“I will speak with the King and assure him that we meant no insult by missing the banquet.” He squared his shoulders, “As an elderly man; I can attest that I am almost worn out from the endless fetes surrounding the King and Queen of Navarre's wedding. Perhaps the Catholics have more stamina than we do.”

That evening, I resolved to be more generous towards my husband. Motivated in part by the shame I felt in neglecting to appreciate what my aunt had done for me, I thought of ways to repay her. After all, those acts were motivated out of concern for my welfare. Also, I had neglected to show compassion for my husband who felt as ill at ease in our marriage as I did. We had one another to depend on upon and perhaps I should try harder to be his helper in our marriage.

The following Wednesday evening, the court held another ball and masque and this time, the Protestants had no objection to attending. Mindful of the strain the event would place upon her in the late stages of her pregnancy, the Queen had decided to sit by her husband and preside over the banquet. “I'm pleased to see that our Protestant guests will be here tonight,” she squeezed my hand and for the moment, I was assured that the King had not felt slighted by our absence.

Still, despite the King's efforts to bring the two sides together, most of the Protestants sat in a corner, dour and grimacing at the celebrations laid out before them. They seemed poised to find insult and offense at every corner, and I had no doubt that they would eventually find it. Perhaps it was the influence of those angry, brooding men in black who had influenced my husband in his dark nature. If I put my mind to it, perhaps I could use our time at court to show my husband that life could be brighter by moving him away from their heavy influence.

Despite the Queen's assurance that she and the King bore me no anger for missing the ball on Sunday, I felt as if I should do everything that I could to tend to her, particularly since she had two scant months before her child and the heir to the throne was born. I resolved to remain seated beside her and attend to her every need. I was accompanied by Madame de Sauve, the wife of the King's chancellor, who had been called out of town for state business. As married women, we enjoyed a bit more freedom in our movements than the unmarried girls who formed the Queen's household.

“Princess, you should take a break and enjoy the masquerade. I can sit with the Queen.” Although Madame de Sauve's offer was made without a hit of artifice, I was reluctant to go. I still felt that I had to make up for my earlier absence.

“Yes, do Marie. While I am barely able to move and Madame sits here in Paris bereft of her husband, there is no reason why you should not enjoy yourself.”

Unwilling to offend the Queen for the second time in a week, I rose and made my way to the dance floor. As this was a masquerade, I wore a masque depicting the Queen of Hearts. Scanning the ballroom, I looked for my husband to ask him to dance. After several minutes, however, I realized that he was not to be found in the cavernous ballroom. Feeling foolish, I decided to return to the Queen.

“Madame, you must do me the honor of a dance.” The lilting voice beside me caused me to turn. I saw a man richly dressed and sporting Lion's head for a mask.

“I must return to the Queen, Sir; she will be expecting me.” Embarrassment mixed with annoyance at my inability to find my husband when I most needed him. I had no intentions of fighting off unwanted attentions from another man to add to my problems of the night. I looked desperately at the Queen to try to catch her eye; to my horror, I found that she was being attended to quite sufficiently by her other ladies. My heart sank as I failed to come up with another excuse.

“Ah, I see that the Queen is well taken care of. Excellent, you must dance the next dance with me.” Taking my hand, he led me to the center of the ballroom where the couples were already lining up to begin the next dance. I was trapped.

4

Despite my initial misgivings, my partner turned out to be a welcome diversion. We spent the dance in amiable conversation and he even managed to get a few laughs from me. By the time the dance had ended, I was sorry to see him go. With a courtly bow and a chaste kiss on my hand, he reluctantly left my side. I began to scan the room again for my husband and eventually, my eyes alighted on him. Stalking towards him, I grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the men he had been speaking to earlier.

“I believe that we should spend at least one dance together tonight.”

“Now? I am in the middle of a conversation with the Seignior--”

“Henry, we both have duties to perform and I think that one dance is not too much to ask of my husband.” I could hear the angry edge in my voice and no doubt the men he had been speaking with earlier could hear it as well. I cared little for their opinions, however, as our standing at court was more important than whatever he was talking about with them.

He gave a heavy sigh, “Very well. Gentlemen, if you would excuse me.” I gave a coquettish courtesy and allowed him to lead my out onto the ballroom floor. As he methodically led me through the dance, I noticed the man in the lion mask dancing in the corner with his partner. He gave me a slight nod which caused me to blush. I tried to cover it, but not before my husband noticed it.

“What is the ass doing now?”

“Who?

“Anjou. He's taunting me, just as he did with my father.”

Thankfully, my mask hid my surprise. I had no idea of the identity of the man I had danced with earlier. Part of me enjoyed the mystery of not knowing who my gallant partner was. Now I knew that it was the King's younger brother who had partnered me. Despite myself, I felt a thrill that he had chosen me out of all the ladies at the masquerade for a dance.

“Stay far away from him; there is no telling what kind of mischief he is up to.”

“At a ball? I hardly think that he is plotting as he dances.”

My husband snorted, “There is talk that he is plotting an assassination of one or more of the Protestants in Paris.”

I rolled my eyes, weary of the plotting and paranoia. “You have been convinced that there is a plot going on for days and we have seen no evidence of it. I am growing tired of all of this.” My husband said nothing, choosing to end our argument at the point. We spent the rest of the dance in silence and he returned to his place with the black-clad men for the rest of the evening.

I, however, marched straight to the Queen and sat beside her, determined not to leave her side for the rest of the night. Waiting on the Queen could hardly lead to any trouble, or cause my husband to object to my behavior. I would play the part of the respectful matron to perfection. My resolve lasted for about an hour until I saw a tall figure walking towards the raised dais and straight towards the Queen. My heart sank as I noticed the lion's mask covering his face.

“Your Majesty,” he sank to his knees before the Queen, giving his sister-in-law a courtly bow that would put the most ardent actor to shame. When he rose, I noticed the wide grin splitting his face. To my horror, he plunked down beside me, taking the seat that Madame de Sauve vacated eagerly. I was trapped and decorum dictated that I could not ignore the King's brother.

The Duc turned to the Queen and began a lively conversation that made her smile. Perhaps he was not there merely to speak with me or to cause mischief, which caused me to relax in his presence. “Sister, you are at quite a disadvantage. How do you feel?”

The Queen fanned herself and exhaled a long breath. “I feel unwieldy, waddling and sitting constantly. The heat is not helping my discomfort; I would be happy once my condition is over, to be truthful.”

He crossed himself and took her hand tenderly. “Would be to God that your son is born soon and all of France can rejoice in his birth.”

I was touched by his kindness and concern for the gentle Queen. I was in the midst of deciding that I had misjudged the Duc when he suddenly shot to his feet and bowed again to the Queen. “You look parched; I will get you some wine.” He bounded off and for a quarter of an hour, we had a respite.

“Majesty, do you feel up to staying? I can help you back to your apartments.” If I could convince the Queen to retire early, my problem would be solved. To my chagrin, however, she simply patted my hand and fixed a smile on me.

“Absolutely not. I will remain here to support my husband. And as you were deprived of the opportunity to attend the last ball, I will not force you to leave early.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but the Duc appeared suddenly in front of us, cutting off my response. In his hands, he carried two cups, one for the Queen and another for myself. Once again, decorum dictated that I could not be rude to the Duc. “Thank you, Sir,” I replied, trying to keep my voice as level as possible.

“Madame, I don't believe I have had the honor of introducing myself.” He once again settled next to me and by his behavior, it was obvious that he was determined to carry on a conversation with me.

“You have been on the battlefield for the King, your brother, is that not so?' The rivalry between my late father-in-law and the Duc was an open scandal and I hoped that bringing it up might cool his enthusiasm. Anjou led his armies against Protestant strongholds, including the city of La Rochelle, against my family members. One of those armies surrounded and fatally wounded Louis, the previous Prince de Condé. To be fair, Anjou did not do his duty purely out of bloodlust. Despite the King giving us freedom to worship across the kingdom, some Protestant enclaves like La Rochelle were unwilling to bow to royal edits. We were on very different sides and I hoped that chasm would discourage him from attempting to continue to flirt with me. Earlier, I had the excuse of ignorance of his identity, but now I could not claim to Condé that I was unaware of who I consorted with as I sat beside the Queen. I hoped that my husband would storm to the dais to reclaim me and remove me from this awkward situation, but once again, my husband was nowhere to be found. For all I knew, he was out planning a counter strike to answer the feared attacks by the Catholics.

“Yes, we have been dealing with rebellions against the throne for some time and my brother has entrusted me with putting down any insurgents. It would seem that no matter how many concessions the King makes towards the Protestants, they are determined to show no loyalty to their King.”

That had my ire up, I may not be the most dedicated to the Reformed faith, but his casual retelling of the royal attacks on Protestant strongholds was going too far. “I beg your pardon, Monsieur. Some of those 'insurgents' are my kinsmen.” Ignoring decorum, I glared at him, daring him to say anything more offensive.

He was immediately contrite, “Forgive me, my lady. It is the extremists that I am talking about. And the Protestants are not the only ones who suffer from extremists.” His gaze alighted on the Duc de Guise, my other brother-in-law, who held a view that rabid Catholicism was the only way to unify France. Guise and my husband continued to circle warily around one another, but Catherine and I had no idea how long their uneasy truce would last. Or when Protestant would decide to attack Catholic.

Still, I refused to concede any point to Anjou. Snapping my fan open, I began to wave it wildly, moving his flowing golden brown hair out of place. “I take it that you agree with your mother that moderation in both faiths is the best way for all Frenchmen.”

“Aye, I do.” He said it with such a soft voice that I could not help but look at him. His expression was contrite and gentle. His bravado from a moment earlier was gone. I immediately felt guilty myself for being so harsh with him.

The Duc d'Anjou was determined not to leave his perch beside me, although he took pains to appear as if the reason was that he was loath to leave the King's pregnant wife without a male champion to take care of her. He kept her plied with wine and sweetmeats, feeding her from his own plate. From all appearances, we were simply seeing to the Queen's needs and her comfort.

The truth was that the more time I spent with Anjou, the more I grew to enjoy his company. He was solicitous and kind to both of us, seeing to our every need as if he were a suitor. Despite my earlier reservation, I found myself laughing at his quick jokes. Perhaps it was the mulled wine that went to my head, but in his presence I relaxed more than I had in the previous months. Unlike my husband, the Prince of Condé, Anjou was a lively and quick-witted man, one more than capable of flattering a young girl looking for attention and appreciation. The longer we sat together, the more I began to resent my husband in his treatment of me. I had brought some prestige to our marriage and unlike Condé, my family was well connected at court. My position as a lady-in-waiting to the Queen furthered our position at court. If my husband were unwilling to appreciate me, perhaps other members of the court would be willing to do so.

“Heavy thoughts, Madame?” Anjou cut into my reverie and I blushed at the thoughts that had been going through my head.

“No, I was thinking about how difficult it would be to make it to her majesty's chambers early tomorrow morning after tonight's festivities.” I smiled at him despite myself and I was rewarded with a laugh from the Queen.

“You are dismissed until tomorrow afternoon, Marie. I could not ask for a more attentive servant tonight.”

“And what am I? Simply a decoration?” Anjou's mock offense caused both of us to laugh and the Queen rolled her eyes at him in mock disgust.

“Well, you did get us some refreshments, so I believe that you have been somewhat useful. But not as useful as my ladies.”

“Perhaps I should visit your rooms more often, Sister, to learn how to serve you better. It appears you have the best attendants in France.” The meaning of his words was clear, and I felt a sharp sense of foreboding. I would do nothing to encourage the King's brother to visit me on such a pretense, but once again, I was trapped and had no means of extricating myself from the situation.

We spent the rest of the evening in easy companionship, as I tried desperately to downplay Anjou's obvious ardor. Finally, at two in the morning, the musicians played their last dance, and we were all instructed to remove our masks. The moment was quite anticlimactic for me and I used the end of the festivities as an excuse to find my wayward husband.

I found him once again scowling, but this time deep in conversation with the King of Navarre. While my cousin took pains to greet me, my husband barely spared a glance at me. “Well, I see this bit of frivolity is finally over.”

“I am glad—attending the Queen in her condition is quite challenging. She was kind enough to allow me to join her later in the afternoon.” I motioned for my husband to place my cloak on my shoulders and as he spun around, he caught the eye of Anjou.

Anjou inclined his head as if the gesture were for my husband, but I knew it was intended for me. I balled my hands and drove my fingernails into my palms as I waited for his Condé's ire. “I wonder what Anjou is up to now.” His comment, made so casually, made me realize that he had not noticed the hours that we spent in each other's company. For now, at least, I was safe.

“I have no idea,” I tried to appear as disinterested as possible.

“We'll find out soon enough; I'm sure of it.”

5

Despite the extra hours of sleep, I struggled to make my way from the Hotel Nevers to the Louvre Palace in time to begin my service to the Queen. Upon entering her rooms, I found that she looked even more exhausted than I felt. I felt a bit of relief in that fact; if the Queen did not feel up to attending any more events, then perhaps I could avoid running into Anjou altogether.

The Queen and I spent an hour together as she and her Catholic ladies embroidered altar cloths for the churches of Paris. As a courtesy to my Protestant faith, I was excused from working on the altar cloths, although my skills with a needle were quite good. I was tasked instead to read from the Psalms as the rest of the Queen's suite continued their work. While the Queen took great pains to keep me from feeling like an outsider, activities like these still caused me to feel isolated from the rest of her household.

A few hours into our work, the Duc d'Anjou swept into the Queen's inner rooms, just as he had promised to do the night before. As was just my luck, there was an empty stool beside me and the Duc quickly settled upon it. “Ladies, I believe that I would like to begin my education on the proper attention to be paid to a Queen this very day.”

Elisabeth's slight eyebrows shot up, “Would that have anything to do with your election to the throne of Poland?” Faced with an unstable government, the Poles had made overtures to Anjou to take the throne and strengthen the ties between the two countries. Once upon the throne, he would need to marry and secure a Queen of his own. His departure from the court would be a welcome occasion for my husband and the other leaders of the Protestant faith.

“Ah, the negotiations are going very slow, I'm afraid. My mother fears I will never find a throne upon which to sit. Besides,” he shot a knowing look in my direction, “the process of finding a suitable bride is not the easiest of tasks.”

“And what would your highness be looking for in a bride?” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. I don't know if jealousy or stupidity motivated them, but there they were, hanging in the air for all to hear.

He stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles. Appearing to be deep in thought, he scratched his chin. “Well, I would prefer a well-bred French bride to all others, of course. .Alas, I would have to be of one religion and the Poles are Catholics like us. If I were to order her from Heaven, I would wish for a small woman with dark hair, a fair complexion. If it pleases God, I would like a well-educated wife who has no trouble with gaiety. I would need her to preside over our court, of course.”

One of the teenage demoiselles let out a peal of laughter. "Good heavens, Monsieur, that sounds like our Marie!" A furious blush covered my entire face and I could have slapped the stupid creature.. I stood up to avoid looking at her or anyone else in the room.

Sensing the tension in the room, the Queen quickly put in, “Yes, but alas the Princess of Condé is married. Brother, you will have to find another ideal woman to be your Queen.”

She turned to the ignorant girl and waved her hand to the ones sitting near her, “Girls, would you do me a favor and pick some roses out in the palace garden? I would love to smell them this afternoon.” The girls rose and quickly filed out of the room. My gratitude to the Queen for relieving me of the presence of those quacking geese was immeasurable.

Anjou broke the silence moments later, “Madame, I hope you won't think me too forward, but your piety and grace is a standard that any great lady would be wise to emulate.” As he spoke, he took olives from a tray and popped them one by one into his mouth.

How did he have the ability to put me completely ill at ease, then follow with a compliment that threw me off balance? The combination was maddening, but I would be lying if I claimed that I did not enjoy his presence. Sensing he had the advantage, he pressed further. “Tell me, Princess, how do you enjoy being at court?”

The subject was a safe one, and I was thankful for it. “I have been lucky to win the Queen's friendship. France is lucky to have such a generous and humble lady.” Elisabeth turned to smile at me, embarrassed a little by the compliment.

“Marie has the opportunity to get to know her older sisters. She grew up under Jeanne of Navarre's loving care,” both she and Anjou crossed themselves at the mention of my late aunt. “Now she has time to get to know her family.”

“And you are living with your sister, are you not?” I was surprised to hear that he knew so much about my living situation, but I suppose the court's penchant for gossip meant that no topic was off limits.

“Yes, my husband and I have happily moved to the Hotel de Nevers during the wedding celebrations so that we can relieve the strained accommodations in the palace.” The Duc's grandfather, Francis I had decided to turn the former fortress of the Louvre into a palace and his son and grandsons worked constantly to bring the structure up to royal standards. That work meant continuous construction and half-filled rooms that could only accommodate a typical sized court. The amount of wedding guests in Paris that August had spilled out of the city's walls and into the surrounding countryside.

“I do so enjoy spending time with both Louis and Henriette. In fact, I don't think that I spend enough time with them.” I held in a breath—was he once again making plans to rendezvous with me for less than honorable purposes? I prayed not. When my husband caught wind of Anjou's plans, he would be furious.

“I'm afraid that their home is bursting with people right now. You would be lost in the crowd. My husband is entertaining members of our faith and some of our other relations.”

“Yes, space is at a premium in Paris these days.” His comment seemed so offhand that I barely took any notice of it. It took most of my resolve to keep the blush that crept up my face from spreading to my hairline and betraying my discomfort. The fair complexion that he had praised earlier worked to my disadvantage.

When I returned to my sister's home that evening, my husband met me at the door of our bedchamber. He paced the room, and I prepared for a lecture. Did my husband know I had spent the day with Anjou? To my surprise, his agitation was not directed towards Anjou or me. “Marie, I insist that you stay home for the next few days.”

“Whatever for?”

“We have heard rumors today that there is a credible threat towards Protestants. We don't know who they will target or when they will strike. For your safety, you must remain in the house at all times.”

I wanted to protest that he was becoming more and more paranoid, but my relief in his failing to discover the time that I spent with Anjou led me to agree to his absurd demand. I could not control whether Anjou pursued me at the palace, but perhaps he would not make good on his plan to visit me at my sister's home. A few days apart might cool his ardor and I would no longer have to worry about his attentions towards me.

“Fine,” for once, I decided that there was no need to argue.

6

To my horror, my husband's prediction turned out to be correct. Only two days later, the following Friday, an attack on a leading Protestant did occur on the open streets of Paris. As the elderly Admiral Coligny walked from a worship service to his lodgings, a shot rang out. The bullet grazed him, but fearing for another attempt on his life, his men dragged him inside and to safety.

No one knew for certain who fired the shot, or in whose interest the assailant acted, but most placed blame at the feet of my brother-in-law, the Duc de Guise, and his mother, Anna. The Guise blamed the Admiral for the death of the previous Duc de Guise and Anna had many times been overhead threatening to take her revenge on Coligny. Whether the Guise had a hand in the assassination attempt or not, this put our family in a delicate situation that we had been dreading for months. While my husband considered Coligny a close mentor, my sister firmly stood in defense of her husband and his family. Henriette and her husband fell in the middle, with both sides eying each another with distrust.

As soon as he heard of the attack, my husband went with Navarre to check on the admiral, staying throughout the night. I would learn later that the leading Protestants formulated a plan to go directly to the King and ask that the guilty party be punished for wounding Coligny. It was short work to discover that the signor De Maurevert, who Coligny had learned months earlier was working undercover for Guise, was the man who fired the shot. The fact that the shot came directly from a window of Guise's mother, implicated him further. As soon as Henriette and my brother-in-law heard of this, they insisted that I remain in their home and admit no guests whatsoever. As I planned to avoid Anjou for the sake of propriety, I readily agreed.

The next morning, the twenty-third of August, Henriette received a message from my husband that Coligny's wounds did not seem to be life-threatening and after a quick amputation of parts of his fingers he should make a quick recovery. Condé added that he and Navarre were meeting in Navarre's chambers to discuss what they would say to the King and not to expect him. By that afternoon, I felt terrible, and I went to bed, caring very little what went on around me. My lungs felt heavy and congested, a problem tha had plagued me since I was a child. Usually, this condition occurred during colder months, but the excitement, stress and lack of sleep lead me to feel weak. I was asleep before the sun set on that day, oblivious to what was transpiring at the nearby Louvre palace.

How can I describe the horror that took place the next morning, that Sunday, as the people of Paris were supposedly going to church? In truth, I can tell you nothing about it firsthand. I witnessed none of it, shut up in my sickbed as I was, but later I would hear the gory details from both Protestants and Catholics alike. I think that both exaggerated, but from what I can reason out, the King that we had put our trust in to offer us safe passage and hospitality turned on the Protestants and ordered the mass killings of those of our faith.

Why did he allow it to happen? His mother and her allies were later blamed; the guilt having passed from Guise alone to the woman who wore her son down with the threat that the Protestants would quickly kill His Majesty in retribution for the attack on Coligny. There were many whispers that Catherine and even Anjou were behind the plot against Coligny; and to Save Catherine, Coligny and his followers were slaughtered. Whatever the truth of that day, when I heard of the Protestants cut down without regard to their age or sex, I wept and my condition worsened by the day. I may not have been the most ardent follower of the Reformed religion, but no man or woman deserved to be slaughtered on the feast day dedicated to St. Bartholomew.

My first concern upon hearing of the slaughter, was to enquire about the condition of my husband. Henriette came to my bed and wiped my brow. After turning to give me a sip of water, she held my hand. “Condé and Navarre are safe; in fact, they are both in the King's bedroom for their protection.”

Relief washed over me. “Thank God.” I sank back in the pillows.

“Dearest, they aren't completely out of danger.”

That caused me to worry anew. I struggled to sit up. “What do you mean?”

“The King has offered them a choice: they can convert to Catholicism, or they will be executed.”

My blood ran cold. “The last thing that I expect Condé to do is to convert to Catholicism. Do you think Navarre will?”

She shook her head, “I have no idea. Guise and my husband argued for both of their lives and hopefully, in gratitude, they will agree to take the King's offer.”

“Gratitude? You think that denying their beliefs is a show of gratitude? What about their souls? Are they to sacrifice them to the wishes of a King who betrayed them?”

Her expression darkened, “Careful, Marie—there are countless bodies of Protestants lying in the streets of Paris. Even some Catholic nobles have been cut down. Now is not the time to speak against the King.”

Too weak to argue with her, I instead asked her when I would be allowed to see my husband. No matter how strained our marriage might be, I desperately wanted to speak with him, to hear from his lips of the unimaginable choice that he faced.

“Officially, they are under house arrest and are not allowed to speak with anyone, especially a Protestant. You will most likely not be allowed to see him until either he or you convert.”

There it was—I was also to be offered the Devil's bargain. Would I take it, or would I remain steadfast in my professed faith? Would my husband stand firm or would he Save his life at the expense of his soul? Worse still, what if one of us took the offer while the other refused? The hangman's noose might not part us, but we might never meet in Eternity.

7

I spent the next few days begging ill health as I awaited news from my husband. Before, I had chafed at the idea of him ordering me about, but after the massacre in the streets of Paris, I wished for nothing other than to ask his advice. I could not stand the idea of us being parted at such a time.