Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set (39 page)

“Your Grace.” I made the deepest obeisance I could manage.

“Jane. Rise.”

King Henry was smiling. I did not trust that look. He gestured toward a stool while he settled into a chair. There were comfits set out on the table between us and he selected a sugared almond while I sat and arranged my skirts. When he offered the box to me, I shook my head.

“Will you take these, then?” He offered me two papers.

At first I did not understand the significance of either. Then I realized that one was a letter of credit, such as travelers use to convey money from one country to another. The amount was £100, a goodly sum. My heart began to beat a little faster. I’d heard that the king’s council had finally talked him out of his plan to invade France, that peace was again a possibility, but I had not dared let myself hope he would change his mind about letting me leave England.

I looked at the second document. “This is written in Latin. I cannot read it.”

“It is a ‘protection,’ issued for one year under the privy seal at Greenwich—a form of letter of passport designed to give the bearer free passage between London and Calais. I have reconsidered your offer, Jane. If you still wish to journey into France, you have leave to go. In return I expect regular intelligence about King François. Your friend the duc de Longueville can provide you with entry to the French court. You parted on good terms, did you not?”

I remembered Longueville’s promise to set me up as his mistress at Beaugency. “We did, Your Grace.”

“Then you should have no difficulty persuading him to help you.” His tone of voice and the wink that went with it told me plainly that he expected me to bribe the duke with my body.

Bitterness welled up inside me, but on the surface I was careful to display only what King Henry expected to see: gratitude and submission. “Of course, Your Grace.”

“If you allow the rumor that you were my mistress to spread, that may smooth your way to higher things.” There was a sly look in his eyes as he made the suggestion.

“Yes, Your Grace. No doubt it will.” The bitterness turned to simmering anger. Rumors of King François’ satyrlike appetites had reached the English court within a few months of King Louis’ death. “How am I to deliver the intelligence I gather for you?”

“It will be only natural that you speak, from time to time, with the English ambassador. In addition, you may write to your good friend the queen of France.” Seeing my momentary confusion, he chuckled. “My sister Mary, not Queen Claude. What would be more natural than for you to share your experiences with your former mistress? Compton will supply a code for you to use.”

Although I thought it doubtful the king of France would confide
in me, even if I did gain access to his court, I told King Henry what he wanted to hear. Then I asked where King François was at present.

“Still in Lyons.”

I had no intention of going there, for it was a goodly distance from Amboise, but King Henry’s next words changed my mind.

“The duc de Longueville is also in Lyons,” he said, “along with a bastard brother.”

He claimed he did not know which one.

T
HREE WEEKS LATER
I arrived in Lyons. I traveled there in the retinue of a Genoese merchant, Master di Grimaldo, who had been visiting a cousin in London—the elderly banker Francesca de Carceres had married. Now di Grimaldo had business with the king of France. I did not inquire into its nature. I was too happy to have found an escort for my journey.

The last part of the trek was through mountainous terrain that seemed most foreign to me. Master di Grimaldo held the opposite opinion. “This countryside reminds me of parts of my beautiful Italy,” he told me, “and surely Lyons is the most lovely of all French cities.”

It did boast fine stone houses, well-ordered streets, and bustling businesses. Built on a strip of land between two rivers, it was a natural center of commerce.

Master di Grimaldo had been more than kind to me on the journey. He had provided me with food, shelter, and lessons in the workings of the French court. The organization of the royal household was similar to what I was familiar with in England, but not exactly the same.

I did not plan to seek an audience with King François. In truth, I hoped to avoid him entirely. But to locate the duc de
Longueville and, I hoped, Guy Dunois, I knew I would have to brave the court.

That prospect seemed daunting at first. The
maison du roi
included more than five hundred individuals and the queen’s household over two hundred. The king’s mother also had her own retinue, as did the one child Queen Claude had so far produced, a girl named Louise. The princess had been born at Amboise the previous August, only a few days after her father won the great battle at Marignano.

More unsettling than the sheer numbers was the presence of hundreds of men of a military bent. From the Garde Écossaise to the companies of archers, to the
gentilhommes de l’hôtel,
uniforms and armament were everywhere at the French court. So were the
prévôt de l’hôtel
and his staff. With his three lieutenants and thirty archers, the
prévôt
was the one responsible for investigating and punishing crimes committed within a five-mile radius of the king’s person. The
gens d’armes
who had searched for my mother and arrested my old governess had likely been members of this band. Until I had talked to Guy, I was wary of coming to the attention of the current
prévôt
.

I had convinced myself that Guy was still alive. In all the months since Ivo Jumelle had told me that one of the duke’s half brothers had been killed at Marignano, I had clung to this belief, but now that I had reached Lyons, doubts niggled at me. Had I come all this way for nothing? Would I end up obliged to spy for King Henry after all?

Access to the royal court proved surprisingly easy. It appeared that anyone who was decently dressed—and I wore my finest clothing for the occasion—was allowed in. When I accosted an archer, he directed me to the rooms the duc de Longueville used to conduct business connected to his post as governor of the province of Dauphiné.

The antechamber reminded me of Guy’s workplace in the Tower of London, even to the smell of the marjoram flowers and woodruff leaves in the rushes. Several gentlemen were assembled there, apparently awaiting the duke’s arrival. Only one displayed any interest in me, and then only after I told the duke’s secretary my name. Such a startled look crossed the fellow’s long, horselike face that I might have pursued the matter had the curtains behind the secretary not been pushed apart at just that moment.

Guy Dunois appeared in the opening. My awareness of everything and everyone else faded away. My world narrowed until it included only one other person. My eyes locked with Guy’s, and I saw in those blue-green depths a reflection of my own longing, my own dreams.

I do not remember leaving the antechamber, but by the time I found my voice, we were in the inner room with the curtains closed behind us.

“I feared you were dead,” I whispered as Guy drew me into his arms. “We heard the duke had lost one of his half brothers.”

“Jacques.”

Before I could tell him I was sorry for his loss, he was kissing me—deep, drugging kisses that left me in no doubt about how he felt. “I’d have come for you,” he whispered, holding me closer. “I’d have found a way to return to England. I’ve been here at court seeking a place in the next embassy.”

“No need now.” I touched my fingertips to his lips, cutting off any further explanations. “I came to you.”

He lowered his head, as if to kiss me again, then stopped. “How? Why?” His voice was hoarse, choked with emotion, but before I could reply, it changed. His next words were accusing: “I heard you ask for the duke.”

“How else was I to find you?” I broke free and backed away, but
I knew he had no reason to believe me. We had been separated a long time. He’d had no communication from me. I’d had no way to acknowledge those two brief messages he had sent to me.

Letters singularly lacking in any hint of deeper feelings for me, I reminded myself. I should be the suspicious one. In all the time we had been apart, anything could have happened. He might even have acquired a wife.

I took a deep breath and looked away from him. The chamber was sparsely furnished—a bench, a table, a chair. Papers sat in neat stacks on the tabletop, with quills and ink near at hand for the secretary. I thought of the petitioners waiting just beyond the curtain. Clearly the duke was expected.

“I do not want to see Longueville,” I said.

“You planned to come to him. He promised to establish you at Beaugency.”

“You
know
the only reason I wanted to visit France back then. I wanted to learn the truth about my mother.”

“Then?” he echoed. “And now?”

“I came to find you.”

A slow, satisfied smile overspread his features. It lasted but a moment before consternation replaced it. “You cannot stay here, not if you truly wish to avoid Longueville.”

“I do.”

“Then come with me.”

I went willingly and a short time later found myself in a tiny cubicle of a room that was clearly Guy’s bedchamber. The only place to sit was on the camp bed.

“I do not know where to begin,” I said. “I have so many questions.”

“I can guess some of them.” Guy produced a bottle of wine and two cups from a chest and poured generous portions, then sat
beside me. “You want to know what happened when Longueville and I returned home, and why you were not permitted to accompany the new bride to France.”

“I know why. Or rather, I think I do. I believe King Louis confused me with my mother. She and I shared the same name.”

“Jeanne,” Guy murmured. I liked the way it sounded when he said it. “It is possible. Longueville asked for an explanation, but the king never gave him a satisfactory answer, only some nonsense about his fondness for the Duchess of Longueville. King Louis said it was not meet for the duke to set his English mistress up at court when his wife was already there.”

“Longueville never intended to do so. He meant to establish me at Beaugency.”

Guy shrugged. “And I do not believe that King Louis was particularly concerned about Longueville’s wife or how she would feel about your presence in France. But it is pointless to argue with a king.”

In other words, Longueville had not cared enough to risk the king’s displeasure. I was not surprised. I doubted that the duke had ever thought of me as more than a convenience.

“Have you learned any more about why my mother left France?” I asked abruptly. “There must have been some reason King Louis did not want her to return.”

“Nothing. It was a long time ago. Even though King François has kept many of King Louis’ retainers, few of them were also at court so long ago as King Charles’s reign. I went to Amboise, but no one there could tell me anything about Sylvie Andrée.” At my blank look, he added, “She was the governess the
gens d’armes
took away.

“Perhaps the
prévôt
—”

“He is new. He knows nothing of Sylvie Andrée or Jeanne Popyncourt.”

I sighed.

“Will you return to England once you are convinced there is nothing more for you to discover here?”

I set my cup on the floor amid the woodruff-scented rushes and sent a slow smile his way. “That was not my only reason for the journey. I also wanted to know if you…if
we
—”

He cut short my stumbling effort to ask him if he loved me by pulling me into his arms and kissing me again. His cup fell to the floor, spilling its contents, but neither of us noticed.

“There is so much I have to tell you,” I gasped when he allowed me to come up for air.

“Later.”

We did not speak again for a long time.

Unlike his half brother, Guy was a considerate lover. He made sure of my pleasure before he took his own. And when we were spent and lying naked together in his narrow bed, I felt no shame, no confusion, only wonderment.

“It would be best if no one at court knew you were here,” he said when we finally rose and began to dress. Once again he assumed the role of my tiring maid.

“Do you plan to keep me hidden?”

He did not smile at my teasing. I felt a flash of alarm when I saw a look of concern cloud the clear blue-green of his eyes.

“I will not go back to the duke. You need have no fear of that!”

“It is not the duke alone who would threaten our happiness. This court is a dangerous place for any woman. Have you somewhere to stay in Lyons until I can arrange to leave Longueville’s service?”

“Master di Grimaldo has offered me lodging and I accepted for a night or two, being uncertain what I would find at court. He is a respectable gentleman,” I added as Guy’s eyes narrowed, “and
looking forward to returning to his wife and seven children in Genoa.”

Satisfied, Guy spirited me away from court by a series of back ways and escorted me to Master di Grimaldo’s lodgings. Only when we were in sight of the place did he tell me the one thing he had been holding back. “I did discover something odd during my inquiries, Jane.”

“Information about my mother?”

He shook his head. “This matter concerned your father. He owned land between Orléans and Salbris. I was able to visit the region only briefly. I had scarcely arrived when I was ordered away to join the duke’s forces in support of the king’s effort to conquer Milan.”

“Papa owned property in France? Neither he nor Maman ever spoke of it.”

“It is possible your mother did not know. From what I was able to learn, the purchase was made with a business partner only a few months before your father’s death.”

I frowned at that. “I wonder if Papa made a poor investment, spending his fortune on land that could not turn a profit. That might explain why Maman and I were obliged to accept charity from King Henry.”

“We will find out,” Guy promised. “As soon I can make arrangements, I will take you there. We will visit your father’s estate on our way to Amboise.”

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