referring to her liaison with Guise, but at seventeen was too much in love to think clearly. Planting a consoling kiss on her governess’s cheek, she laughed off her concern. ‘Lottie, do you trust no one?’
‘Not if I think they may harm you, my precious.’
‘Surely I can trust my own brother?’
‘I have heard du Guast tell the Duke that one should never love nor trust anyone save oneself, nor rely on them, neither sister nor brother. I believe him to be a great student of Machiavelli. Pardon my frankness, but this jealousy that is souring relations between the King and the Duke d’Anjou seems to be growing daily more bitter. You must take care, my lady, not to be caught up in their squabbles.’
‘A foolish nonsense!’ Margot said dismissively, paying little attention to her mentor’s warning as she perfumed her hair with musk, and smoothed her gown in readiness for a secret meeting with Guise.
She was tired of this ongoing rivalry between her brothers, weary of Charles constantly seeking her company so that he could issue a litany of complaints about Anjou’s latest boasts and triumphs. Margot would listen sympathetically, agree with everything he said in a desperate attempt to soothe the King’s fraught nerves, so that he didn’t fall into one of his tantrums. Anjou was equally demanding, asking for endless reassurance that she did indeed love him, and didn’t favour either of her other brothers, or anyone, above him.
Oh, but she was worn out with it all. She wanted some fun, someone to love her for herself, and not for what she could do for them!
‘You worry too much, darling Lottie. Hasn’t Anjou made it plain how he trusts me to be his mouthpiece with the Queen Mother?’
Charlotte de Curton bit her lip and managed, with some difficulty, to keep to herself any private views she might hold on Anjou’s tendency to be hypocritical.
Margot tweaked a curl into place. ‘Now, will I do?’
‘You look beautiful, as always, my lady. But is this wise, agreeing to see the Duke d’Guise alone? And the King will notice if you again miss supper.’
As a royal princess Margot was rarely alone, and the only truly secure place for them to pursue their friendship in anything like privacy was in the tent which she shared with Madame and her most favoured ladies-in-waiting. This evening, as so often during these weeks at St Jean d’Angely , Lottie would smuggle in the young lord while everyone was at supper, before quietly withdrawing to keep watch outside. The secrecy only added to the piquancy of their meetings.
Now she laughed as she hugged her beloved governess with warm affection. ‘Beg His Majesty’s forgiveness and tell him I have a headache. Do stop fretting, dear Lottie; it is barely dusk, and sadly our meetings must needs be short. How can we be in any danger when I have you to guard me, and not only my brother’s favour, but that of my mother too?’
Guise swept a bow, then taking Margot’s hand, brought it to his lips, the warmth of his breath at once igniting a fire in the pit of her belly. She lifted her chin and addressed him with a calm firmness. ‘Have you just left your mistress, the Princess de Porcien, to come to me?’
‘I have no mistress but you, as you well know. She is but a political foil. You possess my heart.’
Margot tossed her head, biting back a spurt of jealousy. ‘You must still be mad to come to me here.’
‘I am mad for you, that is certain. Admit it, you feel the same.’
‘You flatter yourself.’ Even as she pretended resistance, her chestnut eyes flashed quite a different meaning altogether. ‘You amuse me, that is all.’
‘I think I do more than that, Margot my sweet.’ He laughed, and, flinging himself into a chair, pulled her unceremoniously on to his lap, silencing her mock squeals of protest with a long, hard kiss.
His kisses quickly grew more bold and, far from protesting, Margot returned his embrace with equal passion, a wanton desire
‘Not if I think they may harm you, my precious.’
‘Surely I can trust my own brother?’
‘I have heard du Guast tell the Duke that one should never love nor trust anyone save oneself, nor rely on them, neither sister nor brother. I believe him to be a great student of Machiavelli. Pardon my frankness, but this jealousy that is souring relations between the King and the Duke d’Anjou seems to be growing daily more bitter. You must take care, my lady, not to be caught up in their squabbles.’
‘A foolish nonsense!’ Margot said dismissively, paying little attention to her mentor’s warning as she perfumed her hair with musk, and smoothed her gown in readiness for a secret meeting with Guise.
She was tired of this ongoing rivalry between her brothers, weary of Charles constantly seeking her company so that he could issue a litany of complaints about Anjou’s latest boasts and triumphs. Margot would listen sympathetically, agree with everything he said in a desperate attempt to soothe the King’s fraught nerves, so that he didn’t fall into one of his tantrums. Anjou was equally demanding, asking for endless reassurance that she did indeed love him, and didn’t favour either of her other brothers, or anyone, above him.
Oh, but she was worn out with it all. She wanted some fun, someone to love her for herself, and not for what she could do for them!
‘You worry too much, darling Lottie. Hasn’t Anjou made it plain how he trusts me to be his mouthpiece with the Queen Mother?’
Charlotte de Curton bit her lip and managed, with some difficulty, to keep to herself any private views she might hold on Anjou’s tendency to be hypocritical.
Margot tweaked a curl into place. ‘Now, will I do?’
‘You look beautiful, as always, my lady. But is this wise, agreeing to see the Duke d’Guise alone? And the King will notice if you again miss supper.’
As a royal princess Margot was rarely alone, and the only truly secure place for them to pursue their friendship in anything like privacy was in the tent which she shared with Madame and her most favoured ladies-in-waiting. This evening, as so often during these weeks at St Jean d’Angely , Lottie would smuggle in the young lord while everyone was at supper, before quietly withdrawing to keep watch outside. The secrecy only added to the piquancy of their meetings.
Now she laughed as she hugged her beloved governess with warm affection. ‘Beg His Majesty’s forgiveness and tell him I have a headache. Do stop fretting, dear Lottie; it is barely dusk, and sadly our meetings must needs be short. How can we be in any danger when I have you to guard me, and not only my brother’s favour, but that of my mother too?’
Guise swept a bow, then taking Margot’s hand, brought it to his lips, the warmth of his breath at once igniting a fire in the pit of her belly. She lifted her chin and addressed him with a calm firmness. ‘Have you just left your mistress, the Princess de Porcien, to come to me?’
‘I have no mistress but you, as you well know. She is but a political foil. You possess my heart.’
Margot tossed her head, biting back a spurt of jealousy. ‘You must still be mad to come to me here.’
‘I am mad for you, that is certain. Admit it, you feel the same.’
‘You flatter yourself.’ Even as she pretended resistance, her chestnut eyes flashed quite a different meaning altogether. ‘You amuse me, that is all.’
‘I think I do more than that, Margot my sweet.’ He laughed, and, flinging himself into a chair, pulled her unceremoniously on to his lap, silencing her mock squeals of protest with a long, hard kiss.
His kisses quickly grew more bold and, far from protesting, Margot returned his embrace with equal passion, a wanton desire
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