“And so … ?”
“Do not ask me to speak of it. But he has been ill since. Alas, he tells me he is getting rapidly better. It will begin again. But it won’t be for long, Charles. I feel it won’t be for long. I am certain of it, and that is why I can endure it, because, Charles, I have Henry’s promise that when it is over I shall marry where it pleases me to do so.”
“You grow too excited.”
“Can I help that? The one I love is here and I am in his arms. Who would not be excited?”
“I must not stay. You may depend upon it we shall be watched. I don’t trust Norfolk.”
“But you are here … in France. Oh, this is the happiest day I have known since I came to this land. Stay near me, Charles.”
“I shall as long as it is in my power. But, dearest, let us be cautious … for the sake of the future.”
“The future, Charles. I live for it.”
Once more they were in a close embrace. Then he slipped out of the small chamber into the main apartment where the little Boleyn sat, her great dark eyes filled with dreamy speculation.
The royal cavalcade was now journeying across Picardy toward the capital. Louis no longer suffered so acutely and could take pleasure in his bride. Mary’s moods were variable. Sometimes she felt rebellious and there were occasions when she told herself that she could not endure her husband’s embraces; at others she was resigned, for afterward the poor man always seemed so exhausted. Then Charles’s presence in the party made her feel recklessly gay. Life was never dull because all the time she felt as though she were living on the edge of disaster, for with the man she loved so near, she believed she could not continue to control her feelings.
Those about her noticed the change in her. Her beauty had become more vital.
Marguerite, watching her closely, thought: There is a woman in love.
And because it was inconceivable to Marguerite that any woman could be indifferent to Francois, she naturally thought that Mary was in love with her brother.
Francois thought so too; and so did Louise. They all felt themselves to be on the verge of an inflammable situation, disastrous from the point of view of them all while it was yet irresistible to Francois.
Mary became more aware of those two women and, understanding the reason for their apprehension, an innate streak of mischief made her long to mislead them. After all
There was more than mischief in it; there was sound common sense, because presumably she had been unable to hide the fact that she was in love. No one could think it was with Louis, and they must not guess it was with Charles Brandon. Therefore they must believe it was with Francois.
Her manner toward the Dauphin was changing; she showed quite frankly how she delighted in his company.
The more nervous Louise and Marguerite became, the more hopeful was Francois.
And Mary was diverted enough to laugh secretly as she amused herself at their expense.
Louis would not be content until Mary was crowned Queen of France; and as he did not wish to enter Paris until she could do so as crowned Queen he was anxious for the ceremony to take place as soon as possible. He continued to present her almost daily with some jewel; and he told her that he hoped very much to regain his health so that he could be more like the husband she deserved.
She told him—fervently truthful—that she preferred him as he was; which he thought charmingly tactful. He discussed the coming celebrations with her, adding that he thought that tall Englishman would be a good match for the Dauphin.
“I look forward to see them in combat,” he added; “I hear that man is something of a champion at your brother’s Court.”
“I believe the Duke of Suffolk to be second only to my brother in the joust.”
Louis laughed. “A diplomat into the bargain, eh?”
Mary thought then that the French were often a little too subtle; perhaps that was why she enjoyed leading Marguerite and Louise a merry little dance.
“Now, my dear,” said Louis, “I shall be forced to leave you at St. Dennis for a few days, because I must go to Paris. There are matters of state to which I have to give my attention. Your coronation will take place here and then there will be your triumphant journey into the capital. The people of Paris are eagerly waiting to welcome you.”
“I trust they will be pleased with me.”
“They will love you as we all do. I have only one regret and that is that I must leave you.”
Mary kissed him gently on the brow. She did not want him to see the relief which she feared might show in her face.
The King had gone on ahead to Paris, and the coronation was to take place in a few days.
Francois joined the Queen as she rode out with her attendants.
“It is the only way in which I can have a word with you in private,” he complained.
“You deceive yourself. We are being watched now. Do you not know that we are always being watched?”
“What an evil fate is this? You come to marry the King of France, and I might so easily have been that King!”
“You are rash.”
“Driven to it by your beauty.”
