Perhaps Henry recognized her nervousness for he could not have been more attentive, or more considerate.
‘You are so beautiful, a perfect angel. May I kiss you?’
‘Of course, you are the King, Sire.’ But she was touched that he should ask.
‘I would rather you think of me as your lover, a man rather than your king. Will you call me Henry?’
‘If you wish it, Your Majesty.’
Then he kissed her, very tenderly, on her lips. The kiss surprised her, not being at all what she had expected, no rough peasant this, and if he wasn’t scented as were the fops at court, he smelled of soap and good wine. Not at all unpleasant.
‘Leave us,’ he said, dismissing her maids.
He untied the ribbons of her gown himself as she stood before him, cool and unyielding. He unpinned her hair and brushed the long rippling waves to her waist, which made her feel wonderfully relaxed, almost soporific. Then as Gabrielle sat on her dressing stool, he slowly peeled off her silk stockings one by one, delicately kissing her inner thigh as bare flesh was exposed. Gabrielle’s heart began to beat rather fast.
‘Your legs are divine, so long and slender, even more glorious than I dreamed of.’ Henry slowly disrobed her. He slipped off her gown, the sleeves and bodice, unfastened her stays, and last of all drew her chemise over her head so that she stood before him naked. Gabrielle was not embarrassed to be seen thus by a man for she knew herself to be beautiful, but the look in his eyes melted her heart. She could not remember any of her previous lovers revealing quite so much ardoration in one glance.
As Henry gently caressed each breast, licked and suckled, and sought that secret place between her legs with his teasing fingers, Gabrielle grew breathless with lust. He half carried her to the bed but even then did not rush to enter her. He took his time, continuing to kiss her, to nuzzle and nip, to breathe softly in the curl of her ear, till she was going mad with desire.
And when he too disrobed and they met, skin to skin, she could hardly believe how much she wanted him. He was indeed a fine figure of a man, strong and athletic, well formed and broad shouldered with narrow hips and buttocks that she could not resist caressing.
He took her sweetly and smoothly, holding back a little so that he could the better increase her own pleasure. And being the generous and affectionate girl that she was, Gabrielle couldn’t help but respond. She arched her back beneath him, entwined her legs with his, and a burning hunger swelled within as they moved instinctively to the age old rhythm.
Afterwards, she was content to lie in his arms suffused in warmth and love, something Gabrielle had never experienced before. Even Bellegarde worshipped himself as much as he did her. Henry genuinely seemed to care for her, for her needs and pleasure, not simply his own, which was a revelation to her.
The second time she went to him more willingly, eager for his touch, for his searching mouth to plunder hers, for his skilful hands to explore her body. He kissed her deeply, evocatively, flaring a ready response in her. As passion flowed between them she clung to him, cried out and almost wept in the moment of climax. Before the night was over Gabrielle began to think that perhaps she hadn’t made too bad a bargain after all.
Corisande received the news of this betrayal in a fury of despair. Word reached her from many sources so she did not doubt its veracity. Henry had deserted her. Despite his having sworn fidelity in so many of his letters, a younger, more beautiful, more desirable woman had taken her place in his heart, and in his bed. After all they had been to each other, all he had promised, a crown no less, he had forsaken her. Now he wanted her only as a go-between to break unwelcome news to his sister.
How dare he use her so!
A messenger had also come direct from Henry in the person of La Varanne, one of his most trusted servants, the very same who carried billets deux between Henry and his new mistress, Gabrielle d’Estrées, which infuriated Corisande all the more.
As did the letter.
The King began not with any word of affection but simply a wish, an order almost, that Varanne talk with her on this most important matter of Princess Catherine’s marriage: ‘I understand that your discourse tended utterly to blame me, and to incite and support my sister in a course highly improper and injurious. I could not have believed this of you! … I will never pardon any person who tries to foment quarrels between my sister and myself.’
‘I rather think you manage that all by yourself,’ Corisande raged.
The Princess was frequently in tears over being treated so ill. It was a surprising love match in a way, as Soissons was lean, dark and swarthy, and rather cold in demeanour for all his sumptuous attire and fastidious habits. But then Catherine herself was somewhat stern, though cultivated and well educated in the classics, Latin and Greek, proficient in playing the organ and the flute. She could have taken her pick of suitors, yet had chosen her cousin, a catholic no less, and refused to relinquish him. Corisande felt it would be heartless to deny their love. Perhaps, king or no king, Henry should be taught a lesson for the callous way he behaved towards his ladies. For such a compassionate, good natured man, he could be obstinately stubborn at times.
Corisande went at once to speak to Catherine, and to Soissons. Monsieur le Comte had been visiting his mother, the dowager Princess Condé, but had then written to inform the King that as Princess Catherine was intending to journey north into France, he felt he should personally escort her from Pau. Henry clearly saw through this excuse as his sister would have informed him, had she any such intention. Consequently, the Comte too had received a royal missive, issuing very clear instructions for him to stay away from Catherine, that a marriage was to be arranged for her, if not with James IV, then some other suitable alliance.
‘I have responded with defiance,’ Soissons told Corisande, reading her an extract from his letter. ‘“To obey Your Majesty would be an insult to the royal dignity, having once received permission to sue for the favour of that peerless princess, Madame Catherine.” Were I not so in love, I might well have joined Mayenne to fight against the King.’
‘Your only hope of happiness is to marry in secret, and quickly,’ Corisande told them.
The Princess was aghast. ‘Without my brother’s consent. I dare not!’
‘I dare,’ Soissons assured her, taking Catherine’s hands in his to cover them with ardent kisses. ‘I am ready to face death rather than lose you. I have loved you since we were children together.’
‘But this alliance with Scotland is necessary for Henry’s campaign. He is still determined to bring it to fruition.’
‘He will win through and gain the crown without need to sacrifice your happiness. He asks too much.’
‘Charles is right,’ Corisande urged, thinking how she would dearly like to see the King not get his own way for once. A just revenge for his callous treatment of her. ‘Henry can be somewhat single-minded, but he loves you. You are his beloved sister, and, once you are wed, he would forgive you readily enough.’
‘But what if he didn’t? What then? He is not only my brother but King of France and Navarre.’
‘I could not bear to lose you,’ Charles said. ‘Within the week I must return to the war. Marry me, Catherine, I beg you.’
Her heart was so full of love for him, and her resentment against her brother so bitter, how could she resist? She too feared losing Charles, was terrified of being packed off to cold, distant Scotland and the bed of a stranger much older than she. ‘Very well, let’s do it. Corisande, will you help us?’
‘You know that you have my full support. I will speak to your pastor without delay.’
Catherine laughed with excitement. ‘Good, let us waste no more time.’
Cayet, Catherine’s pastor, refused absolutely to conduct the service, and Soissons angrily reached for his sword. ‘How dare you refuse a royal princess!’
‘Kill me, Monsieur, if you must, for the King surely will if I obey.’
The Counsel of Elders informed
the Princess that no pastor would take the risk of standing against the King.
‘It would be a dangerous folly for any to marry the King’s sister to the Comte de Soissons without Henry’s express permission,’ they told her, and no amount of persuasion or threats would change their minds.
Catherine was appalled to find her quarters surrounded by guards, and a furious and humiliated Soissons was escorted out of Béarn without even allowing them to make their farewells.
When rumours of this planned secret marriage reached Seigneur de Pangeas, he went straight to relay the startling news to his darling wife, la petite Tignonville, a former favourite of the King whom he had obligingly married in order for him to safely bed her. He’d been well pleased with the bargain, particularly now that Henry was no longer around. Tignonville hated Corisande, as her rival had managed to hold on to the King’s affections far longer than she.
‘I am glad to see that woman brought down at last, delighted that Henry has deserted her for another. But he will not welcome Corisande’s interference with the Scottish alliance.’
‘Indeed not,’ Pangeas agreed. ‘What would you recommend we do, my dear?’
‘I believe, since we wish to remain in the King’s favour, that we should report this mischief to him.’
Pangeas beamed at his pretty wife. ‘It shall be done.’
When news reached Henry of the Princess’s attempt to secretly marry Soissons, he was filled with dismay that Corisande and his beloved sister should plot together against him, and wrote a furious letter demanding an explanation.
Catherine’s reply enraged Henry all the more. She did not even trouble to deny the charge, and hotly disputed his refusal to agree to their marriage.
‘Having first attained to like the count at your express desire, now that he has fallen from your royal favour and become an object of suspicion, I will not abandon him.’
‘She stubbornly refuses to recognize that her lover covets my crown and plots treason against me,’ Henry raged to Rosny. ‘Monsieur le Comte is restless, selfish and more ambitious than he pretends. Though he may have few followers, being the youngest of the House of Condé, yet he is entirely motivated by self-interest. I do not trust the fellow.’
Ever practical, Rosny said, ‘I believe he will be hard put to win the crown above the Cardinal, his brother. His eminence is the favourite to replace you, Sire, amongst the Catholics, although neither shall succeed. You will prevail, I am certain of it.’
Henry was relieved by this reassurance, he was certainly not yet willing to admit defeat. Instead, he applied himself with renewed vigour to take Chartres. It was time he reasserted his authority over these audacious Bourbon princes. They would steal neither his crown nor the hand of his sister.
Gabrielle revelled in the way the King cherished her. Their love making filled her with a delicious sense of being needed. Yet she was still secretly corresponding with Bellegarde as he too needed and yearned for her. She still loved and adored her Adonis. How could she not when he was so very handsome? Gabrielle began seeing her former lover in secret.
On the days when Henry was out hunting, or fighting in one of his endless battles, Bellegarde would come to her room. They would lie in bed together and whisper endearments, swearing promises of everlasting love. The very touch of his lips sent her into transports of delight, partly due to the terror of being caught by the King.
‘I am quite incapable of giving you up,’ Bellegarde would declare. ‘I would risk death for your love.’
He almost got his wish.
One afternoon as the two lovers lay between the sheets, kissing and fondling and reaching ecstasies of passion together, they heard a great commotion below.
Gabrielle leapt from the bed. ‘Dear God, it is the King. He has returned home early. Quickly, hide. He must not find you here.’
‘You are still my betrothed, are you not? I shall fight him for you.’
Gabrielle was at once thrown into a panic. ‘No, no! Oh, do please hurry. I can hear him on the stairs. He is already jealous and will run you through if he finds you here.’
Bellegarde began to snatch up his clothes while Gabrielle thrust his hat into his hand and only just managed to push her lover into a closet, lock the door, and slip back into bed before the chamber door burst open. Henry strode in. He brought with him the smell of fresh air and energetic good will.
‘My angel, what are you doing in bed at this hour? Are you sick?’
Gabrielle put on a sad face. ‘I have the headache, Your Majesty, but then I was not expecting you back so soon.’
Henry beamed at her. ‘No, you were not, my precious, but you know how I cannot bear to stay away from you for long. How pleasant it is here with the sun streaming in. I should have thought that with a headache you’d be best in the dark.’ Marching over to the window he quickly closed the shutters. Then in his usual robust fashion, ‘Move over, my lovely, and make room for your king. I dare swear I can spare you an hour or two and help rid you of this malady.’
‘Oh, but Sire …’
He glanced about him as he began to unfasten his tunic. ‘Ah, let us have a few sweetmeats. Do you not have a secret store in this closet?’ Before Gabrielle could protest he’d marched over and tried the handle of the door. ‘Tis locked. What is this, fearful of a maid stealing your treats?’
Gabrielle managed a laugh, although she was shaking with nerves, wondering if Bellegarde would have the sense to pull on his clothes and make good his escape. There was a window he could climb out of, although it was narrow and set high in the wall. ‘The maids do tend to use my garde-robe instead of their own. I expect they locked it by mistake. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, I’m not in the mood for sweetmeats.’
‘Oh, but I am. I’m hungry after my latest foray, and it is hours yet to dinner. Come, my dear, where is the key?’
Gabrielle was trembling in every limb as she pretended to search for the key, drawing it surreptitiously from beneath her pillow, then fussing over her bedside table as if she were really picking it up from there instead. ‘Ah, here it is, but wouldn’t it be better if I were to send for refreshments for you, my lord. Some chicken wings mayhap, and a glass of wine?’
But Henry had taken the key from her nerveless fingers and was even now inserting it into the lock. Gabrielle thought she might faint with fear right at his feet.
Swinging open the door, Henry stepped inside, then looking about him with an easy laugh, he brought out the box of sweetmeats. ‘Here they are. What secrets you do keep in your closet,’ he said, his dark Gascon eyes glittering with some expression Gabrielle couldn’t quite discern.
‘I have no secrets from you, Your Majesty.’
‘Of course not,’ he said with a wry smile as he pinched her cheek. ‘How could you possibly?’
Then he took her back to bed and made love to her with his customary vigour. Outside, in the flower bed, hiding behind a juniper bush, Bellegarde nursed a sprained ankle, the jump having been somewhat higher than he’d bargained for.
‘I don’t think he guessed,’ said the note dropped to him from that very same window later that evening. ‘But stay away for a little while just to be sure. I will let you know when it is safe again, once Henry leaves on a longer campaign.’
Nothing would stop her from seeing her true love.
The next morning a letter was brought to her from the King, one filled with reproach, and the telling line, ‘Make up your mind, my mistress, to have but one serviteur.’
Gabrielle paled as she read these words. He knew! Panic set her heart pounding as she quickly scanned the rest of the letter in which the King sneered at Bellegarde, addressing him as ‘Dead Leaf’, a nickname he used because Bellegarde’s skin was somewhat sallow.
Coming in to help her dress, Madame de Sourdis found her niece in some distress.
‘What is this?’ she cried, taking the letter from her nerveless fingers. ‘Dear heaven, are you mad, girl? You’ve still been seeing Bellegarde?’
‘Only briefly,’ Gabrielle admitted, somewhat stretching the truth. ‘The King accuses him of being a poor sort of lover, and a coward in the field, which is entirely wrong. Even Henry has called him a valiant soldier and likes to have him by his side.’
‘But not in his mistress’s bed,’ snapped Madame. ‘You would risk all for a duke when you have won a king?’
Gabrielle began to weep. ‘I meant no harm. I still love Bellegarde. I cannot live without him.’
‘Foolish girl!’ and her aunt slapped her hard across her cheek. ‘Enough of this. You will risk all our fortunes, endanger our very lives if you do not take care. This is a patient king, but a jealous one.’
Gabrielle was shocked into silence. It had seemed like a game, a need in her to be with the man she wished to marry that surely did no harm. Now she began to see things differently. Her father, uncle and aunt, even Cheverney, her aunt’s lover, had risen at court through her position as favourite to the King. They depended upon her keeping the royal favour in order to maintain their good fortune and titles, and remain safe.
More importantly, the King had guessed and been hurt by her betrayal. He had already proved himself an exciting and even a considerate lover, a kind and generous man who clearly adored her. Gabrielle was filled with shame. Henry did not deserve such callous disregard.
‘See, he has forgiven me,’ she said, breathing a sigh of relief as she read out his tender words of love.
‘Nevertheless,’ warned her aunt, unusually stern. You will need to take excessive care in future. You are the King’s official maîtresse en titre, and must never forget it.’
Gabrielle wiped her eyes. Oh, but it was so hard to relinquish Bellegarde, whom she now thought of as her one true love. Was there not some way around this dilemma? ‘Mayhap I should be making every attempt to provide a more secure future for myself too. What if I were to become enceinte? A husband is now even more essential, is it not?’
Reluctant Queen Page 17