All the Sweet Tomorrows

'I cannot return the jewels without hurting Nicolas, but if it displeases you I will put them away for my daughters, and never wear them again,' Skye said, and then she turned to face him. 'I love you, my lord of Lundy!' Smiling, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him sweetly. “The damned jewels mean nothing, and well you know it, Adam de Marisco!'

He grinned ruefully down at her. 'You can hardly go to the most elegant court in Christendom without jewels,' he admitted, and that was the end of it.

The carriages were at the door, and as they exited the house into the courtyard Skye could see that next door's inhabitants were also preparing to leave for the Louvre.

'The Duc de Guise!' hissed Adam's eldest sister, Isabeau de Rochouart, to Skye. 'He is the Princess Marguerite's lover.'

'Guard your tongue!' Gaby snapped at her daughter. 'Like your late father, you do not know when to be quiet!'

'Well, everyone knows it,' Clarice St. Justine declared, coming to her big sister's defense.

'What people know and what is said are two different things,' Gaby replied, 'and you two are more than old enough to comprehend that!'

The two sisters flushed under their mother's rebuke, and made a great pretense at smoothing down their ball gowns as they prepared to enter their coach. They would be sharing it with their husbands, Isabeau's daughter, Matilde, and Clarice's eldest daughter, Marie-Gabrielle. In the first coach Skye found herself wedged between Adam and his eldest half-brother, the widowed Alexandre, while across from them Comte Antoine sat between his wife and granddaughter, Catherine-Henriette St. Justine who was but eleven. It was her very first ball, and the child was almost sick with the excitement. In the third coach the rest of the party, Yves and Marie-Jeanne de Saville, Musette and Robert Sancerre, and their two nephews, Henri St. Justine, and his brother, Jean-Antoine, were crowded. The three younger children, who would be left behind, stood with their nurses watching sadly as the coaches pulled away.

Once out of the courtyard the coaches moved briskly through the streets of the Marais district, quickly gaining the Rue St Honore, which would take them directly to the Louvre Palace. Now, however, they were forced to join a long line of carriages that were also bound in the same direction, and their pace slowed considerably. Adam took Skye's hand in his and squeezed it lovingly.

'I am indeed blinded by the presence of so much beauty, maman,' Alexandre remarked. 'Both you and my belle-soeur are radiant tonight.'

'Beware, little brother,' Adam warned teasingly. 'I have only this evening discovered how jealous a man I am.'

'If I were betrothed to so glorious a creature as Skye I should also be jealous, Adam, but fear not. I don't believe I could steal her away from you. Now that my period of mourning for Helene is over I shall have to find myself a nubile young heiress to wife. Little Adam, your godson, is a healthy fellow, but one son is not enough for Archambault.'

Gaby, beautiful in midnight-blue silk, suddenly pointed. 'Look! The Louvre! I have not seen it in over ten years. We were last at court during the brief reign of little Francois II and his lovely Queen, Marie of Scotland. I think Queen Catherine was almost glad to see her son die so she might be rid of the beautiful Marie. How they disliked each other, those two. I understand that it has not gone well for Marie since she returned to Scotland.'

'The Scots are not an easy people, Gaby,' Skye said. 'Their rulers have ever had difficulty with them.'

The de Saville coaches were now pulling into the grand courtyard of the Louvre Palace, which was magically lit up. Footmen in elegant livery were stationed everywhere and others ran back and forth with torches lighting the way for the guests who were disembarking from their vehicles. As they exited the coaches Comte Antoine said, 'Let us all remain together, mes enfants. We will first present ourselves to the King, and then the evening is ours. Follow me, for I remember the way.'

A court is a court, thought Skye as she hurried along clutching Adam's arm. She studied the faces of the other guests as they moved into the palace, distinguishing the ones who had just come into Paris for the wedding from the truly important who belonged with the court, from the hangers-on, and those hopeful of gaining entry into the fabled circle. One thing she did note was the magnificence of the clothing worn by almost everyone. She knew that only the most wealthy nobility did not have to make sacrifices to be decently clothed and coiffed tonight. On that score she had nothing to fear, for her gown was as elegant as any, and her jewels magnificent. Skye couldn't help the tiny smile that played at the corners of her mouth. Bless Nicolas for his marvelous French foresight!

At the wide double doors to the formal reception room their names were given to the majordomo who was presiding. Then, as their names were called, they advanced into the room toward the throne where France's royalty awaited their guests. Led by Comte Antoine and Gaby, Skye and Adam reached the King and his party.

Antoine de Saville bowed low. 'Your Majesty, I am honored to have been included along with my family in this festive occasion.'

'Merci, M'sieur le Comte,' Charles IX replied in a bored voice. He had absolutely no idea who this provincial fellow was.

'You will remember the Comte de Cher, my son,' crackled the dry voice of his mother, Catherine de Medici. 'I have certainly never forgotten him, for he supported my marriage to your father from the moment it was proposed. Welcome back to Paris, Antoine de Saville. We are happy to see both you and your lovely Gabrielle.'

Skye was fascinated. They could say what they would in England about Catherine de Medici, but by God she was politic. Madame le Serpent, she was called behind her back, and Skye could well imagine it was justified. She had no beauty, in fact she was rather plain-a small dumpy woman with olive skin and dark hair now streaked with iron gray, which showed beneath her cap. Her eyes, however, were incredible. Sharp and as black as raisins, they were the most alive thing about her. They were intelligent eyes; thoughtful eyes; secretive eyes. They saw all, and passed it on to her facile brain, which sorted and used every piece of information obtained. Here was a power to be reckoned with, Skye thought.

Antoine de Saville had introduced his large family to the King, young Queen Isabeau, and Queen Mother Catherine. Now Skye heard him say, 'And this is my stepson, madame, Adam de Marisco, the Seigneur de Lundy; and his betrothed wife, Madame Burke.' Adam bowed beautifully while Skye curtseyed low.

'You are English?' Catherine de Medici queried Adam.

'Yes, Majesty. I was born there. My father was an Englishman although my mother is French. My lands and title are, however, English.'

'And your betrothed is English?'

'I am Irish, your Majesty,' Skye replied.

'Irish. Ah, the Irish! Forever giving poor Elizabeth Tudor problems.'

'No more problems than she gives us, Majesty.'

Catherine de Medici stared hard at Skye, and then she cackled with laughter. 'It is all in how one looks at it, eh madame?' Then her laughter died. 'You are Catholic, madame?'

'Yes, Majesty.'

'And you, M'sieur de Marisco? Are you a member of England's church, or the true Church?'