The Follies of the King by Jean Plaidy Read Free Book Online Page A

his good looks.
    ‘He is tall,’ they said, ‘with flaxen hair. He is just like his father and he was known in his youth to be a fine-looking man. You will be a Queen,’ they went on. ‘Queen of England― think of that.’
    She had thought about it and it pleased her. She patted her luxuriant curls and assured herself that she would be a good match for this handsome man, for she was an acknowledged beauty herself. She had seen even her father’s eyes soften at the sight of her and everyone knew what a ruthless man he was! He was the most powerful King in Europe and her mother had been a Queen in her own right before she had married, so no one could be more highly born than the Princess Isabella.
    It was only to be expected that because of her outstanding beauty she would make a grand match.
    Her brothers— Louis, who was always quarrelling, Philip, who was tall and aloof and Charles who was so good-looking that they were already calling him
Le Bel
, a title which in her father’s heyday had been given to him— were pleased with the match. So were her uncles Charles de Valois and Louis d’Evreux. In fact the uncles were to go to England when she and her bridegroom left for his country.
    She was glad of that. It would make the parting less acute although of course she had always known that, as a Princess, she would have to leave her home one day. It was the fate of all princesses. It had not worried her unduly, and even though at this time she was barely sixteen years old she was prepared for what life would offer. Her strong-minded mother, who never forgot that she was the Queen of Navarre as well as France, and her ruthless father had endowed her with something of their own natures, and she was quite ready to hold her own position in whatever society she found herself.
    She only had to see her reflection to receive assurance and if she could not have seen for herself in her mirror, the eyes of the men at her father’s court told her that without doubt was possessed of a rare attraction.
    Five years previously she had been solemnly betrothed to Edward, Prince of Wales. This had taken place in Paris and she remembered it well. The Count of Savoy and the Earl of Lincoln had represented the Prince of Wales and her father had given his blessing and her hand to the heir of England. It had been a very impressive moment when she had placed her hand in that of Père Gill, the Archbishop of Narbonne, who had stood proxy for Edward. From that moment she had known that as soon as she was old enough she would become Edward’s wife. Since then she had tried to learn all she could about Edward. She had discovered that he often disobeyed father and she was amused. Her father had talked of the King of England as that wily old lion and gave the impression he did not by any means love him, although he respected him.
    ‘We must always be watchful of the old lion,’ he had said, and he was always delighted when the Welsh and the Scots gave his rival trouble. But he was eager for this marriage and so it seemed was the old King of England.
    Her mother had explained it to her. ‘Alliances such as you will make with the Prince of Wales are a safeguard of peace. And when you are Queen of England, never forget France.’
    She had sworn she never would.
    It was comforting too that her aunt Marguerite was the Dowager Queen of England. She was coming to France for the wedding. Jeanne, Isabella’s mother, often talked of Marguerite.
    ‘Your aunt is a good woman, Isabella. She was happy with the old King.
    Marguerite is such a meek and docile woman that she would believe she was happy as long as her husband did not ill-treat her or too blatantly consort with other women. The King of England was a faithful husband and that is considered rare. Therefore your aunt was a very happy wife. She has said so often.’
    Isabella was well aware of the story of her aunts. She could just remember beautiful Aunt Blanche who had married into Germany and