I meet his gaze steadily. Only my promise to Duval of utmost secrecy prevents me from telling him of the duchess’s newest suitor and the hope he offers her. “To see if I could convince Mortain to give me permission to remove Count d’Albret.”
He blinks in surprise. whatever he expected me to say, it was not this. His face relaxes and I detect a glint of humor in his eyes. “By all means, search d’Albret for one of those marques. Then we can be done with him and move on to equally pressing problems.”
while I am surprised to learn that Crunard knows of the marques — he is even more in the abbess’s confidence than I realized — I am pleased that we are in agreement on this. He turns back to the window. “Have you learned anything further of Duval and his true motives?” he asks.
“No, my lord. I have found nothing to warrant your or the abbess’s suspicions.” I am aware that I must tread carefully here. “He seems most devoted to the duchess, and she seems to trust him above all others.”
“And does that not seem highly suspect to you?” he asks. “That she would trust her bastard brother above all her others? It speaks to me of undue influence.”
“Or perhaps he just puts her interests before his own,” I suggest, thinking of Madame Dinan and Marshal Rieux.
Crunard’s head whips around and he fixes me with a piercing stare. “As do we all.”
“I meant no disrespect, my lord, only that Duval appears to have her best interests at heart.”
“And you trust his word on this?”
“No, my lord. I trust my own eyes and ears. everything I have seen and heard speaks of his absolute loyalty to his sister.”
“But is that not the best way to avert suspicion? To profess deep and abiding loyalty?”
I do not know what to say to this. I have no words with which to convince Chancellor Crunard of what I feel in my heart to be true.
“Nevertheless, it is not wise to place too much trust in Duval.” His voice drips with contempt. “I know him to be an oath breaker.”
I bite back a gasp. That is no small thing. "What oath did he break?” I ask before I can stop myself.
The chancellor brings his steepled fingers to his lips and studies me. “The one he made to his saint,” he says. “I was there when he broke it, saw his blasphemy with my own eyes.” when I say nothing more, he nods his head curtly. “You are dismissed. Inform me as soon as you hear anything from the convent.”
For a moment, the briefest moment, I consider telling him of the wonderful new possibility Duval has found for his sister, but something holds me back. what if the chancellor fears that I, like the duchess, have fallen under Duval’s spell and sends me back to the convent? Instead, I promise him I will keep him informed, and then take my leave.
If the duchess is still up to the task, it is time for her to meet Nemours.
Chapter Twenty-seven
The duchess has withdrawn to her solar, surrounded by her ladies of the court. Her younger sister, Isabeau, is well enough to join them and reclines on a couch that has been pulled next to Anne’s chair. The atmosphere in the room is tense and nervous, everyone’s mind on the claims and accusations heard in this morning’s meeting. even though the duchess’s face is pale and the skin around her eyes drawn tight, she greets me as if we are old friends. “Demoiselle Rienne! Come join us and let us see your pretty handiwork.”
Would that I had thought to warn the duchess of my inept fingers. “Thank you, Your Grace. You do me great honor, but my handiwork is not worthy of such compliments.”
She pats the chair next to her. “Come. Sit. It cannot be that bad.”
From behind her sister’s shoulder, Isabeau gives me an impish grin, and I wonder if her sister has confided in her. I return the smile and take my place next to the duchess.
"What are you working on, demoiselle?” she asks.
"Well.” I pull the basket onto my lap and begin to rummage through it, looking for a suitable project. “Ah, here it is. An altar cloth for milord Duval, to thank him for sponsoring me here at court.” I stumble painfully through my words, like a toddler learning to walk. I have less talent for small talk than I do for embroidery.
The duchess and Isabeau make a kind fuss over my embroidery pattern while the other ladies eye me with distrust. To them, I am nothing but an interloper, a cuckoo bird who has come to nudge them from the duchess’s favor and take their spot.
At last everyone turns back to their needlework, and I am left to blunder on with my own. As I try to decide how best to approach it, the duchess leans close so that only I will hear her words. “It will cause the linen no pain if you stick it, demoiselle.”
I bite down on a small bubble of laughter.
“Have you no practice at needlework?” she asks.
“Only with a much larger needle,” I mutter.
She smiles grimly at my joke. “Ah. Perhaps we can find some larger pieces for you to practice on.”
I incline my head solemnly. “Any project you desire, Your Grace.”
Then she winks at me and adjusts her arms so that I may watch her hands at their work. Biting my lip, I study the angle at which she applies her needle, the twist of her wrist as she brings the thread through, the easy rhythm with which she sets the needle to the piece again.
I turn to try it on my own work. I am able to poke the needle through the cloth well enough, but when I try to pull the thread through, it snarls and knots so that I have to set the needle aside and untangle the mess. I catch Madame Dinan watching me with her cold eyes, a hundred questions lurking in their depths. Angling my shoulder to block her view of my clumsy work, I pray for the hour of the chapel visit to arrive.
In the end, I manage well enough, but I am heartily glad when the hourglass runs empty. The duchess notes the direction of my gaze and smiles. “Demoiselle, I would grant you a boon and free you from your embroidery so you may accompany me to chapel. Perhaps you can pray for more nimble fingers.”
“Your Grace,” Madame Dinan says sharply. “I do not think — ”
“And you, Madame Dinan, may sit with Isabeau,” the duchess says. Ignoring her governess’s raised eyebrows, she rises to her feet.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” My thanks are heartfelt enough as I set aside my embroidery, only too gladly follow her from the solar.
Once alone in the hallways, we exchange glances and some of the strain leaves her face. even so, I am compelled to ask, “Are you sure you wish to do this today?”