The Last Boleyn by Karen Harper

sway those wretched Germans who hold the important votes, it is the king’s envoy Bonnivet. The Pope is already ours, Madam, but that she-wolf Margaret of Austria hates our house. I would strangle her for her meddling, if I could get my hands on her!”
    Mary’s head snapped up at the mention of her first royal guardian, the kindly Archduchess Margaret. It puzzled her that the dear old woman could hate Francois. She must remember to ask father someday if he would have time to explain.
    â€œThe money—the money is another problem, Madam,” Marguerite continued, her head bobbing vivaciously to punctuate her words. “Millions of francs and still the bankers quibble. Quibble with the King of France!”
    Claude’s voice came pale and listless after Marguerite’s. “I am grateful that my dear lord’s family can sustain him in these court matters. I am often from the realm of his influence.”
    â€œThat is as it should be, dear daughter,” Louise du Savoy responded. “Your support for your lord is made manifest here, in the loving care of his children. This is as it should be,” she repeated slowly.
    â€œI do prefer it to other courtly duties, for what need is there of that when
du Roi
has you and his Marguerite?”
    Louise du Savoy nodded silently as though that closed the matter, but Marguerite began again. “Francois is much unsettled lately, since you asked, sister. The English stance worries him and, you may be pleased to know, he has had a falling out with his ‘lady’ the haughty Francoise du Foix. It is long overdue that he sees that woman’s true colors.”
    â€œMarguerite, please, I hardly think our dear Claude wishes to hear court gossip in her condition...”
    â€œYou detest that woman too, mother, and always have,” Marguerite answered, tossing her dark tresses. “The snow-goddess has carried on once too often with Bonnivet, and she shall reap her own harvest now.” She laughed quickly, sharply. “Maybe it is partly the cause of Bonnivet’s appointment as legate in Germany far from the lady’s wiles.”
    â€œHush,
mignonne
,” scolded the older woman. “Your preoccupation with Guillaume du Bonnivet much questions your own interest in the man.” She frowned and shook her head.
    Yes, remembered Mary suddenly, it is often rumored the Lady Marguerite has long favored Bonnivet though she is wed to Alencon.
    â€œAnyway,” put in the unquenchable Marguerite, glancing down her nose at her annoyed mother, “our
roi du soleil
is bored and unsettled, and it is hardly weather to tilt at jousts or chase the deer or boar afield.”
    Claude listened impassively, and though Mary could not see her face clearly, she pictured her white stare and blurry gaze gone awry.
    â€œWe must be going, dear Claude,” Louise du Savoy said in the awkward silence. “I would like to stop by the royal nursery wing on our way.”
    â€œOf course,” said Claude properly, rising slowly with them. “All was well yesterday when I saw them, and the dauphin can nearly speak in sentences. They told me his first words were
‘du roi.’
It is appropriate, is it not?”
    â€œIndeed, my daughter,” her mother-in-law said over her velvet shoulder as they approached the door.
    Marguerite’s falcon eyes caught Mary standing nearest the door. “Boullaine’s daughter?” she asked, half to herself. “But not in gold and pure white today.” She laughed and was gone with her awesome mother trailing in her sweet-scented wake.
    Mary fervently hoped the queen would not think the remark meant she had done anything wrong, for she had remarked kindly to Mary how lovely she and her dear husband had looked together at the feast. But Claude had sunk down in her vast cushions again and seemed to doze almost immediately. Mary sat at her feet for a soundless time, then rose to leave.