The Virgin's Daughter (Tudor Legacy #1)(53)
As for myself, I am well enough. It is hardly a taxing assignment, at least not physically. Queen Mary is bright and restless and seems to enjoy having someone to match wits with. She is more playful than our queen, and enjoys recounting ancient myths to me. Her latest story is the Greek legend of Philomela. Do you know it? Philomela is violated and mutilated by her sister’s husband (he cut out her tongue, presumably so she could not witness against him), but the gods intervened and turned her into a nightingale.
Queen Mary seems to identify with Philomela, particularly the sorrowful lament of the nightingales’ song. She was not best pleased when I pointed out that the female nightingale is mute; it is only the male who sings.
Be happy, Lucie. And come home to us soon.
Your loving brother,
Stephen
Her siblings’ letters arrived in a bundle from Dr. Dee in Paris. Reading them was almost like having her brothers and sister with her, for each had a distinctive voice. Pippa serious beneath her teasing, Kit in a scrawl of impatience, and Stephen…
Stephen wrote to her of nightingales. Her brother was not given to digressions. He wrote as he spoke, thoughtfully and meaning every word.
And in that moment Lucette realized how very blind she had been. Stephen was at Tutbury because Walsingham wanted him there. How could she have missed it? That master intelligencer would not overlook multiple avenues of aid from the single family considered the most personally loyal to Elizabeth’s crown!
Still chastising herself for overlooking such an obvious piece of the puzzle, Lucette read quickly through the other letters. Dr. Dee was curious how her German studies were progressing. There was a dutiful letter from her mother. Nothing from Dominic.
Turning from thoughts of home to the immediate situation at Blanclair, Lucette considered that it had been three days since the discovery of the body—the man had been quietly interred in an unnamed grave at the local church—and there did not appear to be any sort of official investigation into his death. Naturally, the neighborhood deferred to Renaud. So when he summoned her to his study a short time later that day, she thought uneasily that he might have uncomfortable questions for her in that matter. But instead, after seeing her settled in a comfortable cushioned chair next to him, Renaud asked, “You had no news from Dominic?”
Instantly, she was on alert. For the first time since she’d handed it over weeks ago, she wondered what was in the letter Dominic had sent to Renaud. She answered with wary care. “No. My mother wrote briefly, but they are attending the queen at Hampton Court during the Spanish visit. No doubt they are both far too busy to write when they know I am in such good hands.”
“Do you think so?” Renaud leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. “Dominic has written to me, as has your mother. They both seek to know how you are enjoying your stay. Which leads me to wonder why they do not simply ask you yourself.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Ah, mademoiselle, that I do not believe for a moment. Our daughters always know far more than we would like them to. But, though you may not believe me, that runs both ways. Parents, too, tend to know their children far better than would make those children comfortable.”
“Such as?” She would not be cowed, or tricked into speaking of her family.
“Such as, I am perfectly well aware that, second only to matching one of her brothers in marriage, Charlotte is concerned with providing me with a second wife. I believe there will be several women of a more mature age invited to Blanclair for her festivities. She seems to think I need the companionship.”
The conversation was growing more awkward by the moment. Just as she could not imagine her parents matched with anyone else (which was why the thought of the late king was so painful), she also could not envision Renaud with any woman but Nicole LeClerc. Lucette had only the memories of their few months’ stay in England, but their devotion had been absolute, if understated.
Should not love between spouses be absolute? How could one ever love a second person as much as the first?
How could my mother have given in to William for pity’s sake, and even love, when she had been so fiercely in love with Dominic?
Renaud had a cynical half smile when he added, “I fear if you do not take Julien, there are tongues that will begin to match you with me.”
She didn’t know which horrified her more: the speculation about Julien, or the thought of being matched to Renaud instead. Renaud laughed, in that inimitable French way that meant no offense had been taken. “Do not fear, I speak only of what a stranger might suppose. I know your father well enough to be certain he would never allow his daughter to be wasted on an old man like me, no matter how much we are friends.”
Well, if Renaud was going to be blunt, she might as well do the same. “But he is not my father, is he? So how much say in my future does he have?”
“And so we come at last to the thorn in the paw. I know what gossip says, child. And yes, your blue eyes are very like the late William of England.”
“You knew him?” How could she not have known that?
“I met him, yes. Once upon the battlefield, where our encounter was not especially close. But after the battle I was the crown’s hostage for some weeks and had the chance to speak to him before I was released.”
Lucette’s heart was in her throat. She had never met anyone not William’s subject who had known the king. What was he like? she wanted to beg. Was there any more to him than his position and his rages? Questions she could not ask her mother, and certainly not Elizabeth. Either one would hint too much at Lucette caring, and she would not give them that power over her.