by Diane Haeger
“Well then. . .” Diane said finally. “How shall we handle it?”
Henri looked at her with a disbelief he could not mask. Everything would be all right. The world and the love of his life had been returned to him. He lunged at her again, burying her in his arms and a waterfall of ardent kisses.
“God, how I love you.”
An untethered desire rose up in him, and his powerful body rippled with tension. He ran his tongue up her neck and behind her ear. He whispered all of the things she only half believed she would ever hear again. He drew her hand down his doublet, past the buckles and jewels. Then he stopped and looked at her, his eyes sparkling with fire.
It had been such a long, long time.
“COME IN, CHILD. Sit beside me,” said Henri, as he patted the empty cushion next to him. He had sent for his eldest daughter as soon as the funeral for his son was over, and they had returned to Les Tournelles.
Diane de France walked slowly into her father’s private drawing room. She was gowned in purple velvet with a long gold chain at her waist. Her dark hair was drawn back with a ring of pearls. Her hands were clasped before her, holding a small gold rosary. Although he could see that she had been crying, she walked into his room with grace and dignity. Louis, the King’s fourth child, a boy of barely two, and the young girl’s favorite, had just that morning been laid to rest.
“Please,” he coaxed, when she did not readily sit down beside him. Finally she acquiesced and slid onto the edge of the cushion.
“Ma mignonne,” he began as he took her hand. “I know how difficult today has been for you. I know how much you loved your little brother. But death is not an end. It is the beginning of eternal life in the heavenly kingdom. You must remember that. Louis was fortunate to have been called home so soon before the rest of us. I think there is comfort in that.”
“Not for me!” she snapped and looked up at him with a flash of her mother’s brilliant eyes. “He was special. He was my special one, and now there is no one left to me!”
“Chère Diane, you mustn’t say that. You have all of your brothers and sisters. There is little Claude, who adores you, and now baby Charles is here to take Louis’ place. If not in your heart at least in your care.”
He knew the moment the words left his lips that it had been the wrong thing to say. He had only meant to comfort her. Instead, her eyes narrowed and she glared at him.
“How can you say that to me, Papa? How can you even think it? And I hate that name! Diane! Why did you do it, Papa? Why did you give me her name?”
His heart ached for her. So many things; such confusion that she had been faced with these past months, and he unable to right it with her.
She sprang to her feet and faced him. Her hands were in front of her, held in a pleading gesture. “My entire world seems as if it has crumbled right here in my hands! Everything I believed. . .everyone I loved. . .gone! And on top of it all, to have been given her name!”
“Madame told me that the two of you had begun to make peace.”
“This is between you and I, Papa. It does not concern her! Even if she and I were making a start of things, that does not take away the pain of what you have done! To be forced to go through life with the name of the woman who gave me away! How could you do such a thing to me? She told me that you insisted; that she would have named me anything but that.”
“Insisted?” he repeated, taking great care this time with the words he spoke. “Yes, that I did. My child, I have never in my life loved another woman but your mother. I loved her the very first moment I saw her, and all of the good that is inside of me, everything that you love, all of it is because of her.”
“What has this to do with me?” she raged, turning away. Henri bolted from the couch and turned her back around, forcing her to face him.
“It has everything to do with you! Madame Diane stayed with me through the most gruesome assaults to herself, selflessly nurturing me and helping me to become a King! She loaned me money when I was young and I had none of my own because the King was angry with me. She encouraged me and loved me when everyone else believed that I was lost. You are the product of a union so special and so rare, Diane, that you could have been given no other name but hers.” He paused a moment and then added, “I wonder, did she tell you that she nearly died giving you life?”
Diane’s eye widened.
“She was told she was too old to have a child; that there would be complications. But she wanted more than anything to give you life once you were inside of her, even if the price meant that once you were born, she must give you up.” He watched her face soften. “You did not know your grandfather, the former King, well but he had once fancied your mother for himself. His mistress made her life miserable for all of those years, because of it.”
“But to have given me up!”
“She never gave you up. Your mother has been by your side since the day you were born. Can you really tell me there was ever a time that you can recall when she was not there for you? Was there ever a time that she did not read to you, or teach you, or hold you on her knee? Madame has been a mother to you in every way but one, and that gift, the gift of motherhood, she selfishly denied herself to protect your life.”
“I had no idea that the King and the Duchesse d’Etampes together—”
“Well they did. They did everything they could to make her leave Court, and leave me. The details are unimportant now, but no matter what they did to her, no matter how bad things were, she would never forsake me. I owe her my life, Diane, and perhaps it is time you know that so do you. Your name means love, ma chère mignonne. Wear it with a knowledge and pride that the people who gave you life loved each other against all of those odds.”
Tears streamed down her porcelain face. Henri then took her in his arms and held her as she cried. “She told me only that times were different; that it was not safe. I had no idea.”
“I am sure you did not know, but you are grown up now, and some things that we must face in this world are not easy.”
“How will she ever forgive me? I have been so cruel. Even after she told me, even after she explained, I wanted to believe that her motives had been selfish. . .I was so wrong to doubt her.”
“Tell her,” said Henri, and as his daughter turned around she saw her mother standing behind them in the shadows near the door.
“Oh, Madame!” she cried. “I am so sorry! Please, can you ever forgive me?” Diane opened her arms and her daughter rushed into them. The girl clung to her until she thought both of their lives might be extinguished by her desperate grasp. Diane ran her hand down her daughter’s long dark curls and then looked across at Henri to see tears in his eyes.
“There, there, mon ange. . .it is all forgotten,” she whispered. “I was wrong, too, not to have told you, but I wanted you to be safe. I wanted desperately for my child. . .our beautiful child, to live the life that she deserved, and that you have. Now you are Diane de France, légitime, and I would not, for any pain of my own, have taken that away from you.”
Henri moved toward them and encircled them both. “Nothing in this world could ever be more perfect than it is just now,” he whispered, “. . .nothing.”
DESPITE HENRI’S REASSURANCE and his open devotion to her, the months since her return to Court had not been easy for Diane. She now shared her much-coveted stage with the very pregnant Lady Flemming. But if the situation was uncomfortable for Diane, it was nearly unbearable for Catherine. She was beside herself with the dilemma that she and the Constable had created.
While the King was at Anet with Diane the previous spring, Lady Flemming had taken over a wing at Fontainebleau, hired her own staff and began running up huge expenses. As she began to show signs of her pregnancy, she even gained the confidence to be rude to the Queen. She spoke only her shrill-sounding Scottish, as she now felt entitled to forgo the more difficult yet compulsory French. She only repeated one phrase in the country’s native tongue across the echoing corridors of
Fontainebleau, and that she did with frightening regularity.
“I have done all that I can, and God be thanked. I am pregnant by the King, for which I count myself both honored and happy!”
Embarrassed by the entire ordeal, Henri dealt with it by avoiding Lady Flemming completely. He refused to discuss the worsening situation, even with Diane. He preferred to pretend that the problem did not exist. He felt he had no choice. Since the product of his brief affair would be partially royal, the child would not be allowed to leave France. Therefore, the royal household seemed hopelessly saddled with the boorish and brazen lady who took every opportunity accorded her to remind Diane of her lover’s infidelity.
As the King attended to issues of state, Lady Flemming produced a son. Strong and healthy, his fiery red hair would be forever a reminder to Henri of his indiscretion. Still, he was of royal blood. The boy was his son. Holding the infant moments after his birth, with Diane beside him in a room filled with dignitaries and Cardinals to welcome the child, he proclaimed the boy his natural son. Lady Flemming had insisted he be named Henri d’Angoulême.
Diane left the woman’s apartments after the proclamation, as much to be away from Henri as from Lady Flemming. Glistening with the sweat of labor, the Scottish woman had looked up at Diane with a victorious grin as evil as that of Anne d’Heilly. She had a son named after the King, and it was no secret that she meant to stay at Court. The situation was clearly out of hand. Diane knew she now must act to protect what she had worked for nearly eighteen years to build. There was only one way they could be rid of the usurper; she and Catherine must put aside their grievances long enough to unite.
CATHERINE SOBBED VIOLENTLY at the news that the King had given his bastard son his own name over one of his legitimate children. She did not even seem to care that it was her rival who had delivered the news. The royal brood mare, who was herself eight months pregnant, had begun this sixth confinement with difficulty. She had taken to her bed, at the insistence of her doctors, to prevent a miscarriage. Now, after hearing the news of this newest slight against her, she lay on her side, rocking back and forth between her sobs.
“I know, Your Majesty, that there is no great love between us,” Diane began again after she had spoken those first shocking words. “But the King will not intervene against the child’s mother; and if we are to change things, I believe you and I must do something.”
“What are you talking about? The damage is done!” she wailed and refused all of Lucrezia’s, her lady-in-waiting, attempts to comfort her from the other side of the heavy poster bed.
“Perhaps that is true,” Diane replied as she loomed above the Queen. “But we face far worse, you and I, if she stays.”
Something in the words of her rival, this time, made her stop crying and look up. “But, what are we to do? God help us all, she is the child’s mother!”
It was all that she could manage to say. Then, as if seeing the gravity of the situation for the first time, she began to sob more violently. Diane paced the room while Catherine’s ladies-in-waiting dotted her brow with chervil-scented water. Her apothecaries tended to her with a gray powder swirled into water, which was then given to her to drink.
As she watched Catherine, Diane realized what she had meant by “the damage is done.” It had meant more than the birth of another illegitimate child. She could not believe that she had not thought of it before.
“Mother Mary! You arranged this!”
The Queen ceased her tears almost immediately and looked up again at her husband’s mistress. “Leave us,” she said to her ladies and to the apothecary.
“How could you do it to Henri?” Diane asked when they were alone.
Catherine paused and then gazed directly at her competitor, the tears now dry. “I wanted to be rid of you,” she said simply. “Anne said he knew a way.”
Diane stared at her in disbelief. “Anne de Montmorency? Oh! The King’s most trusted confidant and friend is nothing more than a common panderer? Dear God!. . .and you. . .”
Catherine’s dark, tear-filled eyes cleared. “I am his Queen. . .nothing less.”
“News of this will kill the King.”
“Then you must not tell him.”
“I have no secrets from him.” After a moment she softened. “Your Majesty, it will do us no good to be at odds with one another in this. You must try, for once, to put aside your feelings, for Henri’s sake.”
The two women stared at one another. Catherine considered her rival’s words.
“Look, Your Majesty, I am older than she is. You have far more chance of fighting an old mistress than a new one. And at least, when we are in public, I make every effort to accord you the honor that you are due, which certainly cannot be said of the Lady Flemming.”
“And if I do not agree to help you?”
“Then the King will be made aware of your plan to unseat me.”
“And if I agree?”
“Then the good Constable shall take the fall, and we shall oust Lady Flemming from France.”
They were both silent as Catherine considered her options. Diane leaned across the finely woven bedcover toward the Queen. “I know that you do not like me, Your Majesty, and I can understand that, but at least we have come to know what to expect from one another.”
Catherine put her own fleshy hand on top of Diane’s. “You are right. I do not like you, but I have an even greater dislike of the alternative.”
HENRI WAS SUMMONED to the Queen’s apartments but he did not arrive there for over an hour. Diane and Catherine had been informed that His Majesty had gone riding in the woods with Saint-André following his son’s birth. When he finally arrived, his hair was windblown and his face was flushed. He looked at Diane and then at the Queen as he removed his gloves.
“What is it? Is there something wrong with the child?” he asked impatiently as Saint-André removed his cape. Diane stood beside Catherine’s bed. The Queen was propped up by a large spray of pillows and both of them were facing him.
“Well?”
Catherine’s eyes welled with tears again and she began to sob into her hands. “Oh, Henri, I do beg you. . .” she began but she could not continue.
Diane walked slowly toward him. “I am afraid, chéri, that you and I have been victims of a rather intricate plot.”
“What sort of plot?”
“To oust me, and replace me with Lady Flemming.”
“Who?!” he raged and his eyes darkened with anger. Diane knew the implications of what she was about to say, but she had no choice if she wished to be rid of her competition before he found a way to be rid of her.
“Montmorency.”
“That is not possible!”
“The Queen, who knew of his plan, confessed it to me today.”
Henri grew pale and began to search for a chair. Saint-André brought one from a place near the door. When it was before him he changed his mind and advanced toward the Queen’s bed.
“Catherine, is this true?”
The Queen, now sobbing uncontrollably, could only nod.
“I cannot believe. . .”
“It would seem that he and Lady Flemming conspired to seduce you in my absence and then saw to it that she was constantly available to you after that.”
The King pondered the idea for several moments, in silent disbelief.
“The point of this, however, is one on which the Queen and I are firm. There must be an end to it. Lady Flemming is dangerous and she must leave France.”
Catherine managed to raise her head to watch the King’s response to this particular declaration. He looked at his mistress and then at his wife.
“But, m’amie, how can I ask such a thing of her, considering the circumstances?”
“You would be better served to ask how you could afford to have her remain here with the Queen and with me.”
“What of the child?”
“He shall stay here, of course,” Catherine gathered the courage to reply, “along wi
th your other children, and he shall be raised with every honor as your son.”
The implication was clear. A natural child of the King did not need his mother to remain at Court. Janet Stuart could be provided for, and then returned to Scotland. Diane was right, the risk of having her remain was too great. Henri had come close to losing her and he could take no more chances. Inwardly, he breathed a small sigh of relief that his wife and his mistress had banded together. By this uncommon alliance, they had not only eased the tension between them, but they had rid him of a predicament that he had not known how to handle.
“Very well,” he finally said, looking at one and then the other. “She shall be returned to Scotland as soon as she is able to travel.”
MONTMORENCY STOOD ALONE before the King’s throne, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. Henri sat leaning on his elbow and gazing across the crimson carpet at the man he had most admired in the world. Until yesterday. A frown darted across his brow when he thought of the deception wrought upon him and Diane. Montmorency saw it and knew precisely why he had been summoned.
“I shall not ask you to deny it, because I could not bear to hear you, of all people, lie to me,” Henri said in a chilling tone that the Constable had not heard since François I had so cruelly relieved him of his duty.
Montmorency moved a step forward. His face was dark and solemn. “Whatever you may think of me, I have always loved you. You have been like a son to me. That, you must believe.”
“I do believe it, Monty. That is what makes so great a betrayal as this unconscionable.”