Completely unaware of our silent exchange, Gisors says, “I hear Anne has received correspondence from the Holy Roman emperor. what did he have to say?”
“I believe that is between the Holy Roman emperor and the duchess.” Duval’s mild voice is at odds with the tension in his arm.
“Since he is petitioning for a betrothal that the French Crown forbids, it is most certainly our business as well.”
“Brittany is a sovereign nation, and our duchess free to choose whom she pleases.”
I peer up at Duval from under my lashes. This is not quite true and I wonder if Gisors will call the bluff. He does.
“And I would remind you of the Treaty of Verger,” the envoy says. “Furthermore, young Anne has not yet been crowned duchess.”
“A mere formality,” Duval replies, “since that treaty you’re so fond of quoting agrees that she keeps the duchy and will rule over it as duchess.”
“Only if she marries whom the French Crown says she should marry.”
"We have yet to see a serious offer put forth by you or your regent,” Duval points out.
"We have given you two.”
“A foppish minor baron and a doddering sycophant older than her father.” Duval flaps his hand at the far wall, where for the first time I notice an old, gray-bearded courtier dozing in a chair. “Neither is remotely suitable.”
Gisors gives an indifferent shrug. “Then we are at an impasse.”
“Again,” Duval says, then gives a curt bow and escorts me away. As we pass beyond Gisors’s hearing, I glance once more at the dozing figure against the wall. It takes me a moment to realize that his spirit is growing dim, like a candle flame shrinking and sputtering before going out. “It is just as well the duchess is not inclined to accept France’s candidate for a husband. That one over there will be dead within a fortnight,” I tell Duval.
He stops to stare at the aging courtier. “He is marqued by Mortain?”
“No, he is merely dying of old age or some slow disease.”
“You can tell this from looking at him?”
I nod, pleased that he is impressed with my gifts. Before Duval can say anything further, a large hand clamps down on his shoulder.
“That is quite a subtle touch you have there, Duval, to have angered two men in so short a time. First Marshal Rieux and now the French envoy.”
we turn to find a brute of a man just behind us. He is tall and fat, and a bristly black beard covers his face. Amid all that blackness, his lips stand out like wet pink slugs. His hooded eyes study me with the hungry intensity of a hawk. Something cold and chilling slithers in their depths, and then it is gone, so swift and fleeting I do not know if it was truly there or was simply my own dark fears awakening.
Duval’s greeting is less than warm. “Count d’Albret,” he says. "What brings you to Guérande?”
This is the man the late duke promised his twelve-year-old daughter to? I can scarce wrap my mind around it.
D’Albret casts Duval a sly look. “Always the wit, aren’t you, Duval.”
“One hopes so,” Duval mutters, his voice dry as bone. “Allow me to present my cousin Ismae Rienne.”
I look demurely down at the floor and sink into a curtsy.
“Ah, yes. I, too, have a cousin,” he says. “I am quite fond of her.” D’Albret reaches out, takes my hand, and brings it to his slack, fleshy mouth. Revulsion, sharp and hot, spikes through me and it is all I can do not to reach for my knife. As his wet lips press against my hand, I shudder. Duval places a bracing hand at my back, and I am grateful for something to focus on besides d’Albret’s touch. “Enchanté, demoiselle,” the count murmurs.
“The honor is all mine, my lord,” I reply. As soon as his grip on my hand has loosened, I snatch it back and bury it in the folds of my gown where, unable to help myself, I wipe it on my skirt.
Count d’Albret smiles at me as if we are the closest of friends, as if we share some secret that Duval is not privy to. “Do not let Duval bore you with all his talk of politics and intrigue, demoiselle,” he says. “There are much finer pleasures to be had at court.” The leer on his face leaves little doubt as to which pleasures he is thinking of.
“My cousin is young and from the country, d’Albret. Surely you can do your hunting in more verdant pastures.”
“Nonsense, Duval. I just wanted to make her feel welcome at court. After all, it can be overwhelming, and she will quickly learn how serious and dull you are.” D’Albret turns to me. "When he leaves you in a corner somewhere so that he may discuss politics like an old man, I will find you, my dear.” And even though this promise will surely give me nightmares, he smiles as if he has just offered me the moon.
Duval stares steadily at the older man, his dislike rolling off him like fog from the sea. It is a wonder the count does not see it.
D’Albret winks at me. “Come find me when you grow bored.” And with that, he saunters off.
Once he is well out of hearing, I give voice to my outrage. “I cannot believe your father promised that man your sister’s hand in marriage. He is so old,” I say. “And vile!”
The look Duval sends me fair trumpets the words I told you so.
“Does he care anything for the duchess herself or is it merely the duchy he is after?”
Duval’s mouth quirks in disgust. “The duchy is his first and foremost goal, but I am sure being married to a young maid of Anne’s beauty and charm will be no hardship for him.” Something dark and dangerous shadows Duval’s face, but before I can question him further, he speaks again. “Now, come with me. I have one more person I would have you meet.”
Chapter Nineteen
The heat of Duval’s hand passes through the silk of my sleeve all the way down to my marrow. I am sorely tempted to throw it off, but I need his solid warmth to chase away the clammy chill d’Albret has left behind.
Duval leads me up a wide stone staircase, then down one corridor, then another. For the first time I get a feel for just how big the duchess’s residence in Guérande is. After leading me through many twists and turns, he stops in front of a thick oaken door and knocks. when there is no answer, he lets himself in.
The room is a sumptuous receiving chamber with several ornately carved chairs, thick velvet tapestries covering the stone walls, and a fire burning in the fireplace. "Why have you brought me here?” Duval lets go of my arm and prowls around the room. He looks behind the tapestries at the window, then strides to the small door in the far corner and confirms that it is locked. “Because I would have you meet our duchess face to face and see who precisely it is that you are serving.”