every day. He could scarcely wait to see his bride. He was like a young man again as he listened delightedly to reports of the young woman’s charm and beauty.
The treaties were signed; a marriage ceremony had taken place at Greenwich with the Duc de Longueville acting as proxy for Louis; and the Earl of Worcester had arrived in France that a marriage by proxy should take place there. This had been celebrated in the Church of the Celestines and, although the Earl of Worcester spoke the bridal vows for Mary, Louis looked almost like a young bridegroom as he made his responses.
Marguerite, only less distracted than her mother because of her natural serenity, whispered that the bride had yet to cross the Channel. That stormy strip of water could present many hazards.
How they clutched at fragile hopes! Suppose her fleet was wrecked. Suppose she perished in a gale.
“It would kill Louis,” said Louise, her eyes glistening with hope.
But in spite of bad weather Mary reached Boulogne, and the King had had new clothes made, less somber than he usually wore. All who saw him declared that he looked younger than he had for many years.
He summoned Francois to his presence.
“It is fitting,” he said, “that my bride, the Queen of France, should be greeted by the highest in the land. I have already sent off Vendome and de la Tremouille. Alecon will be following. But you, Francois, must be the one who brings my bride to me.”
Thus it was that Francois rode off to Abbeville to greet Mary Tudor.
The French SCENE II
The Unwilling Bride
DRESSED IN A GOWN of white cloth of silver, her coif set with jewels, the Queen of France rode toward Abbeville. She sat on her white palfrey, which was magnificently caparisoned, looking like a figure from some fairy legend, and Lady Guildford, who had looked after her since her babyhood, thought she seemed like a different person from that gay, laughing girl whom she had known at the English Court. Mary Tudor had become a tragedienne in the drama which was going on around them; yet the change of role had not detracted from her beauty.
Such glittering magnificence to be the background for such sorrow! thought Lady Guildford. But she will get over it. Would she? Was that not rather a glib solution inspired by hope?
Had there ever been a young woman as single-minded as Mary Tudor? And had she not for years decided that the only man she could happily accept as her husband was Charles Brandon?
Her ladies—there were thirty of them—presented a contrast to their mistress. They were looking forward eagerly to life at the Court of France. Pretty creatures in their crimson velvet and jewels—ay and merry, a colorful foil for the white-clad Queen.
Several hundred English horsemen and archers rode on ahead of them, for although they came in friendship, Henry had declared that it was well to let the French know the mettle of English warriors. Following these were English noblemen, and side by side with them rode Frenchmen of similar rank. A pleasant sight for the people who had come out to watch the cavalcade and were more accustomed to seeing men march to war.
Lady Guildford felt a little uneasy when the young man on his spirited charger drew in close to Mary’s palfrey. This man had made her uneasy from the moment she had set eyes on him. One could not deny his undoubted attractions. He sat his horse as though he were part of it; and it was splendid enough to be. He was elegantly dressed; his was the type of face that impressed itself on the memory; it might have been the alert, humorous eyes, or that extremely long nose, which for some reason added to his charm.
What was going on behind that elegant and quite fascinating exterior? What
He must hate her.
If he did, he certainly managed to disguise his feelings; his dark eyes caressed her in a manner which, according to Lady Guildford, was most unseemly. He was reckless; that much was obvious. It would be interesting to see how far he dared go when the King arrived on the scene.
Francois, holding his horse in check, smiled at Mary.
“I could not resist the pleasure of riding beside you.”
“How good you are to me!”
“I would I had an opportunity to show you how good I could be to you.”
“I have been learning to speak the French language and to understand the ways of the French,” Mary replied with meaning.
She saw the smile curve his lips. He knew she was telling him that she was prepared for extravagant compliments and would give them only the attention they deserved.
“I will tell you a secret,” he said. “Since I heard we were to have an English Princess for our Queen
“Then we do not meet as strangers,” she replied.
“That makes me happy. I should be desolate if I were anything but a dear friend to one who is surely the loveliest lady in the world.”
“You have traveled throughout the world?”
“One does not need to travel to recognize perfection.”
“Nor to flatter, it seems.”
