The Gilded Crown by Catherine A. Wilson Page A

disappointed had Jean de Berri been over their broken engagement?
    The small contingent of soldiers waited patiently beside the accompanying cart, still on the alert as rumours of routiers in the area persisted. For this reason, it had been decided to leave Cécile’s son, Jean Petit, in Margot’s care back at the inn, along with their servants and comrades. Their visit was only intended as a short stay of two, possibly three nights. Gillet cast one last glance at the formidable structure and then with a snort worthy of his horse, spurred Inferno through the portal into the outer bailey.
    A couple of hours later the pair were refreshed and waiting in the old Queen’s reception room, a well-appointed chamber filled with luxurious furs and tapestries, precious velvet-bound books and exotic carvings.
    Gillet moved between the shelves, silently admiring the collections as Cécile, resplendent in her deep burgundy gown commissioned for her wedding, fidgeted by the fire.
    â€˜Nervous?’ asked Gillet, running his finger down the embossed spine of a book of illuminations.
    â€˜A little.’
    â€˜What do you know of our former Queen Consort?’
    â€˜Not much,’ replied Cécile. ‘I think I was about nine when King Philippe died. I remember he was an aged man but it was said that the old queen was very beautiful.’
    â€˜She still is,’ quipped her husband with a mischievous smile. ‘Did Jean de Berri never mention her?’
    Cécile shook her head. ‘No, but then,’ her cheeks coloured, ‘I did not really spend that much time with my affianced.’
    â€˜Ah, then you might be in for a surprise,’ said Gillet. He moved to stand beside his wife and bent to whisper in her ear. ‘It was also said she loved her husband to death and that in their one short year of marriage, his heart could not withstand her physical prowess.’
    â€˜Goodness!’ exclaimed Cécile, half-laughing. ‘I’m sure she is well past such activities now.’
    Gillet cocked one brow. ‘You do know when they call her the “old queen” they are referring to her one-time status as a monarch.’
    Cécile frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’ She caught her husband’s amused expression as the door swung open. Gillet swept into a low bow and Cécile slid from her chair to curtsey. A slender woman, swathed in pale green brocade, breezed into the room with four tiny, white puppies yipping at her heels. Cécile could not hide her shock, nor did she know which was more fascinating – the strangeness of the dogs whose ears resembled huge butterfly-wings or the fact the Dowager Queen looked hardly older than Gillet!
    â€˜Madame Vicomtesse,’ said her husband, ‘Lord Gillet de Bellegarde at your service. May I present to you, my wife, Cécile d'Armagnac. We are greatly honoured to be received.’
    â€˜Lord de Bellegarde, the pleasure is mine, I assure you.’ She looked with interest at Cécile. ‘So this is your lovely wife. I am aware, Lady de Bellegarde, that had life chosen for you a different path, you would have been married to my step-grandson, Jean. I can see now why he was so disappointed. He is a great collector of all things beautiful. You must be pleased, Monsieur de Bellegarde,’ she said, her attention returning to Gillet. ‘Your wife’s fairness does you a great honour.’
    Gillet bowed his head. ‘The Duc de Berri’s loss will forever be my fortune, Madame.’

    They sat in front of the fire and the one-time Queen, noting Cécile’s fascination with the little dogs, asked, ‘do you like animals, Lady de Bellegarde?’
    â€˜Very much so, Madame, but I have never seen the like. Pray tell, what breed are they?’ She eagerly held out her hands to receive one of the white creatures with plumed tails.
    Blanche d’ Évreux’s smile demonstrated a gentle