Threads of Silk (25 page)

Fabien hardened his mouth as he went upstairs toward his chambers. What would Maurice’s response be to the news of his release and his return to Fontainebleau to live with his beloved bride?

He paused on the landing, looking at a broken section of railing and a dark stain on the carpet where he had lain. He recalled Maurice’s shout of triumph when the dwarves had the Queen Mother’s soldiers carry Fabien to a wagon to take him to Amboise. Maurice’s words to his men-at-arms had haunted him on the long, bumpy ride to the dungeon: “We shall overtake Mademoiselle on the road to Dieppe!”

And so they had. Fabien stood soberly, looking below to the salle where most of the fighting had occurred. How could he replace the loyalty and camaraderie of those who had been killed? They had gone with him to London and to the waters off the coast of Holland. They had cheered together, fighting side by side with Capitaine Nappier and the privateers when the Duc of Alva’s war galleon caught fire during the cannon exchange. They were with him when they boarded another Spanish vessel on the way to Holland to carry out Alva’s inquisitional orders. The new men-at-arms he planned to secure would in time generate their own record of brave deeds. He was sure that danger would hound his steps at court in the months to come.

He frowned, thinking again of the Queen Mother’s statements during the interview at the dungeon. She reminded him of a sleeping viper. With the Duc de Guise’s assassination settled, who would become her next target? The Huguenot chieftains? And yet, she was reaching out to them, even risking angering Spain and Rome. Had he misunderstood her?

He set aside his concerns for the present and thought longingly of Rachelle. Soon he would be with her again.

He relished a bath, and soon his barber arrived, sharpening his instruments.

After donning fresh clothing, Fabien enjoyed a sumptuous supper of pheasant. The absence of many of his old comrades cast a cloud, but his stirring memory of Rachelle diverted his thoughts as it had so often aboard the
Reprisal
on lonely evenings at sea. He thought of her waterfall of thick brown-auburn hair, lively brown eyes, and the dimple at the corner of her so kissable lips when she smiled. How longingly he had thought of her in the foul dungeon!

He drummed his fingers on the table, staring moodily at the flickering candles at either end.

Gallaudet said smoothly, “It is too late, Monseigneur, to begin our journey to Fontainebleau tonight.”

Fabien laughed. Gallaudet had too easily sensed that Fabien’s thoughts had drifted back to Rachelle.

“You are right, mon ami. It is wise we get a good rest before starting the journey. I shall discipline myself and leave tomorrow morning, just as I wrote her.” He raised his goblet, and Gallaudet did the same.

“Our work is far from over, Gallaudet. We return to court as in the past, but our dangers and troubles are doubled. Let us toast the Huguenot chiefs and Admiral Coligny. May his presence there bring light where there is shadow.”

“To the Admiral! To the colloquy!”

AT
FONTAINEBLEAU,
RACHELLE
HEARD THE DOOR
to her chamber unlock. Madame Trudeau entered much the same as she had done twice a day for the past six weeks. Rachelle, however, could see that a matter of consequence was at hand. Madame Trudeau’s voice was humbled, and she dropped in a curtsy. Her wary eyes looked toward Rachelle, then faltered.

“Bonjour, Marquise de Vendôme.”

Marquise
. . . What was this?

“The Queen Mother has instructed Comtesse Beauvilliers that my oversight of you is over, Madame. I am to escort you to the suite of chambers granted to you and Marquis de Vendôme while at Fontainebleau.”

To you and the marquis!
Rachelle stared at her.

“Are you saying that Marquis de Vendôme is to be set at liberty?”

She smiled lamely. “Oui, Marquise, he has been released.”

Rachelle’s joy exploded. Forgetting the sour old woman who had worsened the past weeks, she dashed across the floor and threw her arms around her rigid shoulders as though she were responsible for freeing Fabien. Madame Trudeau looked as surprised as Rachelle. They looked at each other, then Madame Trudeau broke into a smile, and Rachelle laughed.

“Oh, Marquise, I do feel ashamed for my manner in treating you these weeks. I hope you will think it a gracious thing to forgive me and count me among those who wish you and the marquis happiness and a full life.”

“The past is over. Let us remember it no more. I am pleased to have gained a supporter in place of an enemy. I hope you will promise me one thing.”

“Oh certainly so, Madame. Anything.”

“That you will not bring Comte Maurice to our appartement,” she said. “Especially now with my husband Marquis Fabien there.”

Madame Trudeau looked appalled, then she saw Rachelle’s half smile.

“Oh, Marquise, you may be assured I shall never again be so bold as that. I confess, my only knowledge of you was what I had heard from —well, others. Now I have had my own dealings with you and know what manner of honorable young mademoiselle you are.”

Rachelle smiled. “Merci. And now, take me to this suite of chambers that has been granted to the marquis and me by the Queen Mother.”

Rachelle was so delighted and relieved by the sudden turn of events that she refused to allow concerns of what lay ahead for her and Fabien to ruin her happiness. The weeks ahead would have time enough to face whatever may come. Now, the gate to a garden was open and flowers of May were in fragrant bloom, enticing her desire to dream. It was a time for amour, for expectations of a long and happy life with Fabien as her husband, and she would guard the rare time together alone with sacred jealousy. Enough of the fomenting evils of court intrigue between the Guises, Valoises, and Bourbons. Not even the awkward fact that the appartement was once occupied by her sister Madeleine and Comte Sebastien detracted from her joie de vivre! She already had plans to hang new velvet curtains, and of course, all the bedding was new, for Nenette was returned to her, and Rachelle would have time at her leisure to think about choosing her own ladies and pages.

How good it was to see Nenette again. They greeted as long-separated sisters rather than as mistress and grisette and maid. After Nenette shed her tears of joyful reunion, vowing she’d never given up on daily prayers for Rachelle’s safety and that of the beau marquis, she told Rachelle how she had arrived at Fontainebleau with Philippe, and through a series of twists and turns, had finally been taken in by the duchesse.

“There is talk Philippe may go live with a certain pasteur of the religion. Andelot knows of him. He has said he would find Philippe useful company.”

Rachelle was pleased to hear the news. “There is news Marguerite is to marry Henry of Navarre. We will have her wedding trousseau to make in the future. I can see myself needing Philippe for some of the work, but we will wait to see. No date yet is set for the marriage.”

“They have long talked about such a marriage,” Nenette said doubtfully. “I cannot see it happening myself.” She lowered her voice. “They say she meets often at night with young Henry de Guise.”

Rachelle already knew this. “I prefer not to join the other talkers in gossip. This is a time for my own joy, Nenette. And you have not even congratulated me. I am Marquise Rachelle Dushane-Macquinet-Bourbon! Think of that.”

“Oh, Mademoiselle Rachelle, it is most
merveilleux
. I have thought about it ever since I heard of your marriage. Oh, that I had been there to see you and the dashing marquis! Life is unfair. I should have been there to help you dress in a most belle gown and to help the other maids to carry your train. And instead — ”

She clasped her hands together in agony.

“And instead,” Rachelle told her dryly, “I had to keep telling the minister to hurry up and marry us. And my gown was the burgundy one with the black lace — black, Nenette, black!”

“Non!”

“And then Comte Maurice arrived with at least thirty swordsmen, and there was a horrendous swordfight and a personal duel between the marquis and the comte. And you know of the treachery Maurice turned on the marquis. Ah, I tell you, it was a shameful deed. And that, Nenette, was my wedding day.”

“And then you were separated from him. And you have been married over six weeks!”

“But my bridegroom is coming,” Rachelle said, sweeping about from chamber to chamber with fanfare of ecstasy. “He will come, and I must get ready for him, Nenette. I want flowers in the appartement and all manner of fresh fruits and delectables. I want my gowns ready too and the most belle wedding chemise ever — all lace and — ”

“Ooh!” Nenette cried, dancing about. “And sprigs of blossoms from the garden. Oh, Mademoiselle! How I envy you. How I wish I could find my own amour and get married.”

“Nenette, you are too young. A few more years must pass. And then we shall find you someone special. I will ask Fabien to find a dashing beau for you among his pages or men-at-arms — ” She stopped.

The sober reality slapped her. Men-at-arms. Most of Fabien’s galants were dead or maimed. Gallaudet was alive, and Julot Cazalet, but the others? He would find new chevaliers to swear fealty to him, but it was tragic that the other brave monsieurs were dead.

Nenette was still sighing as she danced about, her red curls bouncing, lost in romantic reverie. Rachelle smiled as she watched her. If Idelette were here, it would seem like old times at the Château de Silk again.

Idelette. How was her sister faring in England? There was no chance she would be able to come to the colloquy with Madame Clair and Père Arnaut in September. By now the baby would be growing with all bonne speed in her womb. Would it be a boy or a girl? And what would its future hold? Would the baby grow up to return to France?

May God preserve you both
, she prayed.

“
MARQUIS
VENDÔME
IS ARRIVING NOW
, Mademoiselle Rachelle,” Nenette called from the window. “Ooh, Chevalier Gallaudet is with him — and others — these monsieurs I have not seen before . . . they are all most beau. One cannot guess le marquis to have been in a dungeon, nor Gallaudet!”

Rachelle’s heart beat faster. She applied the finishing touches to her hair, arranging the autumn brown waves over her shoulder. She smoothed the lace of finest point de Venise at neckline and wrists. The cloth of her gown was a rubbed satiny rose with slashings of golden tissue in the ballooned sleeves. The gown had been given to her by Princesse Marguerite de Valois and sent over with the words written on a perfumed parchment:
I envy you. Margo
. Applying some tucks here and there and lowering the hem, for Rachelle was taller than Marguerite, she and Nenette had spent the afternoon fixing the belle gown to a perfect fit, so that Rachelle herself could not have guessed that she’d played seamstress.

Duchesse Dushane had visited the appartement, bringing greetings over Rachelle’s and Fabien’s release. Beneath the older woman’s smile and show of warmth, there’d been a worried look in her eyes, as if she had wished to speak of some matter that troubled her but refrained from doing so because of the pleasant purpose of her visit. Thereupon she had presented Rachelle with a wedding gift of Dushane family diamonds: sparkling earrings, a bracelet, and a necklace.

Rachelle wore them now as a customary family tradition for the continuation of the Macquinet-Dushane silk house. “Now we have the added blessing of the royal Bourbon family,” the duchesse had said. “A most astonishing feat on your part, ma petite.”