The Queen and the Courtesan by Freda Lightfoot Page A

and been loved by Queen Margot – introduced her.
    â€˜May I have the honour of presenting to Your Majesty Madame Catherine Henriette de Balzac d’Entragues, the Marchioness de Verneuil.’ The elderly duchess made a small obeisance.
    But if her grande-maîtresse looked uncomfortable over having been placed in this invidious position, Marie did not notice. She was far too concerned with examining the insolent expression and startling good looks of her rival. Dark and slim with a tiny waist that made Marie almost weep with envy, the girl blazed with jewels, her triumph radiating from her almost as brightly. Marie instantly decided that her brow bulged somewhat, that her mouth was sulky, and the chin somewhat fleshy. The heavy-lidded eyes were too large for real beauty, and the mouth too small.
    Henry leaned close to whisper in the Queen’s ear. ‘Behold Madame la Marquise, a lady, as you know, well affected towards myself, but who desires also to become your very humble servant.’
    Fully aware though she indeed was that her husband kept a mistress, Marie had not expected the Marquise to be presented to her at court. She was outraged that this wicked jade should even be here, let alone under the wing of one so high as the Duchess of Nemours, or for the King himself to push her forward. She sensed, rather than heard, the indrawn breath of the gathered assembly as they awaited her reaction to this apparent insult. Only her own strict upbringing and pride in her Italian blood helped her to hold on to her dignity. Marie’s upper lip trembled slightly but she quickly stiffened it. Not by the smallest degree would she give this slattern the pleasure of seeing how her very presence wounded her.
    Giving no indication by her expression of the turmoil of her thoughts within, Marie carefully studied her rival. Henriette gave a mocking little curtsey, a satisfied little smile playing about her pretty mouth. Apparently dissatisfied with this supposed show of obeisance, the King stepped quickly forward, placed his hand upon his mistress’s head and pushed her down further, compelling her to kneel and touch her lips to the hem of the Queen’s robe. Marie stood rigid, making no attempt to offer her hand to be kissed, but as the girl scrambled to her feet again nor did she miss the flash of resentment that darted from those catlike eyes.
    The King was casting a fierce glare in the Duchess’s direction. ‘Most ungracious,’ he muttered, as if the blame for this effrontery were entirely hers, and that he had not insisted she do this difficult and embarrassing task for him so that Henriette could remain at court, within his reach. Then he strolled away, suddenly finding urgent business requiring his attention in the anteroom, closely followed by the officers of his household.
    Madame la Marquise remained where she was.
    Assiduously ignoring her, Marie felt the insult like a lash, the colour draining from her face, and she quickly turned aside to converse with her ladies. She was eager to give the impression that the woman was of no consequence, that she’d interrupted a most important and pressing discussion.
    Taking a quick step forward the Duchesse de Nemours attempted to salvage the situation by catching the eye of the Queen, but Marie turned away from her too. She made it very evident that the elderly Duchess, once referred to as the Fury of the League, had also incurred her royal displeasure. The unfortunate lady almost shrank from the fierce glare those soft brown eyes now fixed upon her. She’d made every effort to befriend the new Queen, yet had felt obliged to obey the King in this request, because Henry had so graciously pardoned her grandson, the Prince de Joinville, for his murderous attack upon the Duke of Bellegarde. Now she realized that by doing Henry this favour, she may well have gained the enmity of the very woman she had wished to please. She stepped back, wishing only