The Reluctant Queen by Freda Lightfoot Read Free Book Online

meant to impress and show off her brilliant beauty. Nothing pleased her vanity more than to see their faded old eyes light up when they saw her pass by, or smile when she danced the pavan. They might even tap their feet as she sang a love ballad while strumming a tune on her lute.
    The dancing became so popular that even the Baron de Rosny, who as a rising star in Navarre’s council was generally thought of as being one of its more austere members, was soon taking lessons from the King’s sister, the Princess Catherine. Rosny had accompanied Navarre to Paris as a boy, studied at the College of Bourgogne, and was reputed to have escaped the St Bartholomew massacre by cleverly carrying a Catholic Book of Hours under his arm. Margot admired both his style and his spirit.
    She set about improving the Palace with great enthusiasm, ordered fine furniture and tapestries to be made, pictures to be painted to grace the stark walls which her late mother-in-law had favoured.
    Her sternest critic was Agrippa Aubigné, the King’s chamberlain. He openly criticized Margot’s extravagance and the pair took an instant dislike to each other. Margot thought that his mean spirit was written all too plain in his thin face, with its beady black eyes and sharp nose. She made a few enquiries and discovered that despite the airs and graces he gave himself, as if he were of noble birth, he came from humble Huguenot stock. He’d evidently devised for himself an impressive family tree which was entirely fictitious, and his resentment against all genuine nobility, particularly those of the Catholic faith, was strong.
    Margot’s frankness with regard to the many love affairs that now flourished in the once Puritan court, shocked him. Even the King’s sister imagined herself in love when, as a royal princess, she would be expected to make a good dynastic marriage. She would certainly not be allowed to follow her heart, a most unreliable vessel and of far less importance than the immortal soul, in Aubigné’s opinion. The chamberlain believed there were far more important tasks requiring a gentleman’s attention than love, such as spreading the word of the New Religion, and defending the realm.
    And he knew who to blame for this dissolute behaviour.
    ‘The woman takes the rust from men’s minds and casts it upon their swords.’
    Margot thought differently.
    ‘A chevalier has no soul if he is not in love,’ she would say to her husband, and Henry would laugh and all too willingly agree. How could he not? He fell in and out of love all the time.
     
    The King was, however, losing patience and growing weary of the game with la petite Tignonville. Fosseuse was little more than a child, too young yet for love, but surely he had waited long enough for sweet Mademoiselle Tignonville? She was most certainly old enough, virgin or no. They were sitting together on a grassy bank by the river and, reaching over, he tickled her cheek with a goose feather.
    ‘Smile at me, little one. Grant me one more kiss. Come to my bed. Can you not see how I grow faint for want of love for you?’
    Jeanne widened her eyes in all innocence and claimed not to understand. ‘Have I not told you, Sire, that I can never be yours – at least …’ She paused and Henry breathlessly waited for her to continue. Would she succumb? Was this the moment he had waited for so long?
    Picking at an embroidered rosebud on her gown, Jeanne pouted prettily. ‘Do you truly love me?’
    ‘Of course!’
    ‘More than Fosseuse?’
    ‘I swear it. You have no need to feel jealous.’
    ‘I don’t.’
    Henry hid a smile, knowing she lied.
    Jeanne let out a dramatic sigh. Her jealousy stemmed more from the loss of the King’s favour and all that might achieve, rather than pining for his love. She certainly had no wish to be ousted by another before she’d taken full advantage of her favour with the King. ‘It would be a different matter were I a married lady. There would be no fear then