All the Sweet Tomorrows

by Bertrice Small

  “I cannot return the jewels without hurting Nicolas, but if it displeases you I will put them away for my daughters, and never wear them again,” Skye said, and then she turned to face him. “I love you, my lord of Lundy!” Smiling, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him sweetly. “The damned jewels mean nothing, and well you know it, Adam de Marisco!”

  He grinned ruefully down at her. “You can hardly go to the most elegant court in Christendom without jewels,” he admitted, and that was the end of it.

  The carriages were at the door, and as they exited the house into the courtyard Skye could see that next door’s inhabitants were also preparing to leave for the Louvre.

  “The Duc de Guise!” hissed Adam’s eldest sister, Isabeau de Rochouart, to Skye. “He is the Princess Marguerite’s lover.”

  “Guard your tongue!” Gaby snapped at her daughter. “Like your late father, you do not know when to be quiet!”

  “Well, everyone knows it,” Clarice St. Justine declared, coming to her big sister’s defense.

  “What people know and what is said are two different things,” Gaby replied, “and you two are more than old enough to comprehend that!”

  The two sisters flushed under their mother’s rebuke, and made a great pretense at smoothing down their ball gowns as they prepared to enter their coach. They would be sharing it with their husbands, Isabeau’s daughter, Matilde, and Clarice’s eldest daughter, Marie-Gabrielle. In the first coach Skye found herself wedged between Adam and his eldest half-brother, the widowed Alexandre, while across from them Comte Antoine sat between his wife and granddaughter, Catherine-Henriette St. Justine who was but eleven. It was her very first ball, and the child was almost sick with the excitement. In the third coach the rest of the party, Yves and Marie-Jeanne de Saville, Musette and Robert Sancerre, and their two nephews, Henri St. Justine, and his brother, Jean-Antoine, were crowded. The three younger children, who would be left behind, stood with their nurses watching sadly as the coaches pulled away.

  Once out of the courtyard the coaches moved briskly through the streets of the Marais district, quickly gaining the Rue St. Honoré, which would take them directly to the Louvre Palace. Now, however, they were forced to join a long line of carriages that were also bound in the same direction, and their pace slowed considerably. Adam took Skye’s hand in his and squeezed it lovingly.

  “I am indeed blinded by the presence of so much beauty, maman,” Alexandre remarked. “Both you and my belle-soeur are radiant tonight.”

  “Beware, little brother,” Adam warned teasingly. “I have only this evening discovered how jealous a man I am.”

  “If I were betrothed to so glorious a creature as Skye I should also be jealous, Adam, but fear not. I don’t believe I could steal her away from you. Now that my period of mourning for Hélène is over I shall have to find myself a nubile young heiress to wife. Little Adam, your godson, is a healthy fellow, but one son is not enough for Archambault.”

  Gaby, beautiful in midnight-blue silk, suddenly pointed. “Look! The Louvre! I have not seen it in over ten years. We were last at court during the brief reign of little François II and his lovely Queen, Marie of Scotland. I think Queen Catherine was almost glad to see her son die so she might be rid of the beautiful Marie. How they disliked each other, those two. I understand that it has not gone well for Marie since she returned to Scotland.”

  “The Scots are not an easy people, Gaby,” Skye said. “Their rulers have ever had difficulty with them.”

  The de Saville coaches were now pulling into the grand courtyard of the Louvre Palace, which was magically lit up. Footmen in elegant livery were stationed everywhere and others ran back and forth with torches lighting the way for the guests who were disembarking from their vehicles. As they exited the coaches Comte Antoine said, “Let us all remain together, mes enfants. We will first present ourselves to the King, and then the evening is ours. Follow me, for I remember the way.”

  A court is a court, thought Skye as she hurried along clutching Adam’s arm. She studied the faces of the other guests as they moved into the palace, distinguishing the ones who had just come into Paris for the wedding from the truly important who belonged with the court, from the hangers-on, and those hopeful of gaining entry into the fabled circle. One thing she did note was the magnificence of the clothing worn by almost everyone. She knew that only the most wealthy nobility did not have to make sacrifices to be decently clothed and coiffed tonight. On that score she had nothing to fear, for her gown was as elegant as any, and her jewels magnificent. Skye couldn’t help the tiny smile that played at the corners of her mouth. Bless Nicolas for his marvelous French foresight!

  At the wide double doors to the formal reception room their names were given to the majordomo who was presiding. Then, as their names were called, they advanced into the room toward the throne where France’s royalty awaited their guests. Led by Comte Antoine and Gaby, Skye and Adam reached the King and his party.

  Antoine de Saville bowed low. “Your Majesty, I am honored to have been included along with my family in this festive occasion.”

  “Merci, M’sieur le Comte,” Charles IX replied in a bored voice. He had absolutely no idea who this provincial fellow was.

  “You will remember the Comte de Cher, my son,” crackled the dry voice of his mother, Catherine de Medici. “I have certainly never forgotten him, for he supported my marriage to your father from the moment it was proposed. Welcome back to Paris, Antoine de Saville. We are happy to see both you and your lovely Gabrielle.”

  Skye was fascinated. They could say what they would in England about Catherine de Medici, but by God she was politic. Madame le Serpent, she was called behind her back, and Skye could well imagine it was justified. She had no beauty, in fact she was rather plain—a small dumpy woman with olive skin and dark hair now streaked with iron gray, which showed beneath her cap. Her eyes, however, were incredible. Sharp and as black as raisins, they were the most alive thing about her. They were intelligent eyes; thoughtful eyes; secretive eyes. They saw all, and passed it on to her facile brain, which sorted and used every piece of information obtained. Here was a power to be reckoned with, Skye thought.

  Antoine de Saville had introduced his large family to the King, young Queen Isabeau, and Queen Mother Catherine. Now Skye heard him say, “And this is my stepson, madame, Adam de Marisco, the Seigneur de Lundy; and his betrothed wife, Madame Burke.” Adam bowed beautifully while Skye curtseyed low.

  “You are English?” Catherine de Medici queried Adam.

  “Yes, Majesty. I was born there. My father was an Englishman although my mother is French. My lands and title are, however, English.”

  “And your betrothed is English?”

  “I am Irish, your Majesty,” Skye replied.

  “Irish. Ah, the Irish! Forever giving poor Elizabeth Tudor problems.”

  “No more problems than she gives us, Majesty.”

  Catherine de Medici stared hard at Skye, and then she cackled with laughter. “It is all in how one looks at it, eh madame?” Then her laughter died. “You are Catholic, madame?”

  “Yes, Majesty.”

  “And you, M’sieur de Marisco? Are you a member of England’s church, or the true Church?”

  “I was raised in the holy Catholic faith. Majesty,” Adam replied.

  The Queen Mother nodded satisfied with his answer. “This is my daughter, the Princesse Marguerite,” she said, “and her betrothed, our young King of Navarre.”

  Again Skye and Adam made obeisance to the royal couple. The princess had her mother’s coloring, but fortunately, she looked like her Valois relations and was quite lovely. Henri of Navarre was a very tall, powerfully built young man with dark hair and merry amber eyes. Boldly he assessed Skye, his eyes dropping to her extreme décolletage. His eyes widened appreciatively, caressed lingeringly, and then shot up to meet hers in a daring challenge. Adam, being occupied with the princess, fortunately did not notice; but Skye grew warm with embar
rassment.

  “M’sieur!” she scolded the King of Navarre, gently determined that he should not even contemplate her encouragement.

  “Madame cannot blame me,” he replied. “I am a connoisseur of beauty, and you, madame, are the most beautiful creature it has ever been my incredible good fortune to meet. But tell me when and where we may meet! I must make love to you!”

  “M’sieur! You are to be married tomorrow. What of your bride?”

  Henri de Navarre smiled charmingly. “Margot? She won’t mind.”

  “I am an affianced woman.”

  “Then we have something in common.”

  Skye was exasperated. She must discourage this impetuous man. Taking a deep breath, she said, “You are naught but a rude boy of nineteen, m’sieur. I am a woman past thirty.”

  “Ahh,” he smiled warmly at her. “You are experienced then, and I adore women of experience.”

  While Skye tried to extricate herself from this very difficult situation, Catherine de Medici watched from beneath hooded lids. Deciding that her daughter’s conversation with de Marisco was boring, she listened in on Skye and Henri de Navarre. So the Huguenot with the prodigious appetite for women was interested in the Irishwoman. Here was a situation that could perhaps be used to her advantage. Henri was going to need to be diverted soon, and the beautiful Irishwoman looked as though she could certainly divert him if only she were willing.

  Skye wasn’t willing, however, and Catherine knew enough about human nature to see that the lady was not playing coy. It was unfortunate, the Queen Mother thought, but then she had a number of lovely creatures in her Flying Squadron who could be ordered to distract the King of Navarre if the proper time came.

  Henri de Navarre, however, was not discouraged by Skye’s stern rebuffs. All women, he had discovered, could eventually be wooed and won. Some were just harder to win than others, but it had been his experience that those ladies were the sweetest conquests of all. Reluctantly he allowed Skye and Adam to pass on, but he was determined that sooner than later he would hold the Irish beauty in his arms, and she would swoon with delight as all the others did at his passionate kisses.

  “You are angry,” Adam said when they were out of earshot of the royals. “I must assume that the young King of Navarre made indecent suggestions to you, sweetheart.” He took two goblets of chilled wine from the tray of a passing servant and handed her one. “I cannot imagine Henri of Navarre not being taken by your beauty.”

  “It is outrageous!” fumed Skye. “He is to be married tomorrow, and here he is propositioning women the night before!”

  Adam chuckled. “Typical behavior of the young man, I am told.”

  “The poor princess!”

  “God’s bones, Skye, don’t feel sorry for that hot-tempered little bitch, Marguerite de Valois. She is the Duc de Guise’s mistress. In fact she wished to marry him, and he was quite agreeable. Unfortunately Catherine de Medici felt the match with Navarre more favorable to her, and de Guise had just hurriedly wed with the Princess de Porcienne to escape a possible royal assassination. The Queen Mother wouldn’t hesitate to inflict la Morte Italienne upon de Guise. In face I suspect she is quite sorry he escaped her. The de Guises are too ambitious, and Catherine considers them a threat to her sons. She has never forgiven them for the way they treated her when her eldest, François II, was married to their little niece, the Queen of Scots.”

  “What a family!” Skye exclaimed. “They are as bad as the Tudors!”

  Adam chuckled. “Power,” he said, “is a very heady draught, sweetheart.”

  From some hidden corner the musicians started to play, and the guests began to get into formation to dance. Skye moved gracefully in and out of the figure, smiling softly in her pleasure at Adam, who partnered her with the utmost grace for so big a man. Mischievously he stole a kiss, and she found herself laughing up at him with pure happiness. As far as she was concerned, they were the only two people on the face of the earth. How fortunate I am, she thought. Somehow it has all come out all right. In less than two months Adam and I will be married. Bess Tudor will be angry, but I know that eventually she’ll forgive us, and we’ll go home again. We’ll rebuild Adam’s castle on Lundy. It is the perfect place for us—an island between our two countries. We’ll gather my children, and together we will grow old together. That didn’t seem like such an awful idea to Skye.

  He saw her smiling, and asked, “What makes you so happy, sweetheart?”

  Gazing back up at him, she said, “I was thinking of our growing old together, Adam.”

  He chuckled. “Do you think we might be young for just a little while longer, Skye? With you for my wife, my life is but beginning.”

  “Oh, my darling!” she cried softly, and there were quick tears sparkling like diamonds in her sapphire eyes. “What a lovely thing to say to me!”

  “Adam! Adam de Marisco, is it really you?” As the dance ended they heard an excited feminine voice.

  They looked about for the owner of the voice and an incredibly beautifully woman whirled into their sight. Reed-slender with a magnificent high bosom and tiny waist, she was dressed in apple green and gold silk, which complemented her wonderful reddish-blond hair.

  “Merde!” Adam swore under his breath, and Skye giggled at the oath.

  The woman stopped before them, eyed Skye briefly, dismissed her insultingly, and then flung herself on Adam’s chest. “A-dam, mon chéri! I cannot believe it is really you! Mon Dieu! You are a hundred times more handsome than when we last met!”

  Detaching the woman from his doublet, Adam set her back from him, and said in an icy tone, “Skye, this is Athenais Boussac.”

  “Non, non, chéri!” The beauty was not a bit disturbed by Adam’s unfriendly tone. “You will remember I married de Montoire. I am the Duchesse de Beuvron.”

  “And how is your husband, Madame la Duchesse?”

  “Quite dead, chéri, and in Hell, I hope. He was the most wretched man, you know.”

  “But a real man, Madame la Duchesse, I have no doubt, knowing your opinion on that subject. Tell me, how many sons did he father on you?”

  Now Skye knew who the woman was. This was the very same creature who had once scorned Adam’s love when she found out he could not have children. Skye put a gentle hand on Adam’s arm. “Come, my love,” she said. “I see your mother signaling to us across the room.”

  “Who is this female, Adam? Tell her to go away! We have much to talk about, chéri.”

  “As always, Athenais, your manners are deplorable. This female is my betrothed wife, Madame Burke. Now if you will excuse us …”

  “A-dam!” Athenais de Montoire caught at his sleeve. “Adam,” she repeated pleadingly, “we must talk!”

  “There is nothing to talk about, Madame la Duchesse,” and taking Skye’s arm, Adam moved across the floor to where his mother and stepfather were standing.

  “Sacré bleu!” exclaimed Gaby, who had witnessed the entire exchange. “That creature is shameless! What did she want, my son?”

  “To talk, she said.”

  “Hah!” was Adam’s mother’s angry reply. “Athenais de Montoire was never noted for her ability to converse. More than likely, she has decided she wants another husband, and now that she is rich and titled in her own right she is after you again! Quelle chienne!”

  “You will remember, maman, that the reason Athenais broke our betrothal was that she learned I could not have children. I doubt she has changed so much over the last twenty years, and in any case I am not interested in the bitch.”

  “My son,” Gaby de Saville said, “men can often be great fools. Athenais cares nothing for children. She said what she said to you twenty years ago because the Duc de Beuvron had made her father a rather handsome offer for her, and it was more to Baron Boussac’s advantage to marry his daughter to a wealthy old duc than to a then penniless English lordling.

  “It was a miracle that they received such a magnificent offer, but de Beuvron was elderl
y and childless. He lusted openly after Athenais, and she was a virgin. How she used that one honest jewel of hers to lure de Beuvron onward to his doom! It is said that the duc demanded to know from Baron Boussac what Athenais’s dowry would be. Well, my dear, there was no dowry, as you well know, and so,” here Gaby lowered her voice, “it is rumored that the baron brought Athenais into the room where he and the duc were ironing out the agreement, and when he removed her cloak she was stark naked beneath it! As I heard the story, de Beuvron looked at Athenais, who turned to show him all and the duc almost had an apoplectic fit then and there his lust was so hot. Then the baron said, There, monseigneur, is my daughter’s dowry to you. A flawless face and form. No amount of gold that I could give you would equal such graces.’ As he covered his daughter again with her cloak the duc practically fell over his feet to sign the marriage contract.

  “Instead of Boussac giving de Beuvron gold, he received a fortune for Athenais’s maidenhead! The duc did manage to get one son on her after five years of marriage. The birth almost killed her, it is said, for the baby came feet first. She was never able to have another, not that she minded. The old duc died two years ago, and his son is now fifteen. The boy is the image of his father, and it is said, a bit weak in the head. He dotes upon his mother, I am told.”

  “You have certainly kept up, Mother, haven’t you?” Adam teased with a grin.

  “Athenais de Montoire has always been the topic of gossip in the district, Adam. After her son was born any man who took her eye was quickly in her bed. Her lovers were legion. But since de Beuvron’s death she has spent a great deal of time at court, and I have lost track.”

  “But only for a lack of any informant to gossip with,” the comte chuckled.

  “Antoine!” Gaby pouted, pretending to take offense.

  “She is very beautiful,” Skye said thoughtfully.