The Reluctant Queen (22 page)

‘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?’

Madame de Sourdis conceded this to be a fair point.

Gabrielle smiled. ‘I shall speak to Papa and ask him to arrange it.’

The Marquis presented himself before his King with some nervousness. It was a difficult situation. His daughter desired a husband, and he knew full well whom she had in mind. It was a wish unlikely to be granted for he dare not even mention the Duke’s name. Monsieur d’Estrées had heard the rumours over how the fellow had almost been discovered in his daughter’s rooms. The girl’s aunt had railed at her, even slapped her for taking such a foolish risk. There was no hushing up such a scandal, try as they might.

Now the Duc de Bellegarde had again been banished from court, had even returned his daughter’s letters, and her portrait, in order to prove his good will to the King. The Marquis felt he could do no more than somehow attempt to salvage the honour of his house.

He bowed low and made the usual polite overtures before coming quickly to the point. ‘Your Majesty, my daughter fears for her reputation as a single lady. She wishes to know if she may select a husband?’

Henry frowned. ‘That task is surely best conducted by her father, think you not?’

The Marquis heartily wished he could wash his hands of the whole affair. ‘Indeed, Sire, it is the usual way of going about such matters.’

‘Do you have someone in mind?’

Realizing he had no choice, the Marquis continued, ‘I rely upon your good judgement, Sire. Who would you advise that I choose?’

Henry strode about the room for a while, brow puckered in deep thought. Not Bellegarde, his Grand Equerry, that was certain. He’d sent the miscreant packing yet again, ordering him to stay away until he was able to return with a wife this time. The King turned to the Marquis with a wide grin. ‘I have him. Nicholas d’Armerval, Baron de Liancour.’

‘The Baron de Liancour?’ Gabrielle stared at her father aghast. ‘But he is
old
, a widower with
nine
children.’

‘But extremely wealthy. You will want for nothing.’

‘I will want for
everything
: for love, for decency, for honour. The man is weak, illiterate, and utterly repulsive to me. I will not do it!’

‘It is the King’s command, my dear.’

‘Then I will speak to the King.’

Gabrielle strode from her chamber and went straight to Henry to throw herself on her knees before him. ‘My father insists that I marry the Baron de Liancour. You cannot mean to allow him to sacrifice me in this way.’

Henry put up his hands to calm her. ‘Do not blame me. This is family business. I cannot interfere in such private matters.’

Gabrielle knew better than to argue with him. Disagreeing with the King, however affable he may outwardly appear, might get her sent to Usson like Queen Margot, or some similar bleak outpost. She succumbed to her ready tears. ‘But I could not endure the Baron to touch me.’

Henry raised her to her feet and kissed each pale cheek. ‘My dear, you will not need to. It will be a marriage in name only. Within the hour, once the deed is done, I shall hurry to your side and rescue you. Monsieur le Baron will be dismissed, be assured of it.’

‘Oh, Henry, do you promise?’

‘I do, my angel, I give you my word.’

By way of a wedding gift the King presented the bride with the lordships of Assy and St Lambert, and the county of Marie, in Picardy, to be held by her for life. It seemed small recompense for her sacrifice.

‘Oh, how I wish my darling Bellegarde had been brave enough to whisk me away on the pommel of his horse,’ she cried, weeping in the arms of her sisters. But neither Diane nor Juliette could offer any comfort.

‘He is gone, at the King’s bidding. There is no hope for you now,’ Diane warned. ‘You must accept your destiny.’

Juliette kissed her sister. ‘You must make the best of what you have,’ privately thinking it was in reality a great deal.

The marriage took place at Coeuvres at the beginning of January, 1591, and Gabrielle had already packed her belongings, carefully hidden from her father, so that she would be ready to join the King the moment he came for her. She had scarcely spoken to the Marquis since, believing that it was he, her own father, who had betrayed her; selling her off just as her mother had used to do.

Vows were exchanged, then the newly wedded couple partook of the wedding breakfast, after which the bride waited with growing excitement for the King to arrive and carry her away. When Henry did not come within the hour, as promised, she excused herself and fled to her room.

Gabrielle stood at her window gazing out upon the familiar view, anxiously waiting for the sound of horses’ hooves on the gravel. She’d once excitedly anticipated the arrival of her lover, Bellegarde, and even Longueville, coming to pay court to her. How foolish she had been to vacillate between the two. If she had accepted Bellegarde when he’d first offered for her, they’d have been married long before the King ever set eyes on her. Oh, how things had changed. Now she ached for the sight of the King’s white banner. Yet still Henry did not come, and her heart fluttered in panic.