was true, wasn’t it? Women were the weaker sex, were they not? Wasn’t that even written in the Holy Book?). But Jane was in her ferret state now. Gifford hadn’t made an appearance. Bess had returned to her chamber to strategize their next move. And he hadn’t seen Gracie since before he’d spoken with the king.
He wandered among the music and dancing and fancy French pastries. All this was a blatant over-expenditure of the French king’s wealth, it seemed to Edward. The Louvre Palace was huge, easily three times the size of Edward’s largest palace, and lavishly furnished. Under normal circumstances it would have given Edward a serious case of palace envy, but now he found the entire building rather vulgar.
His old life felt like a lifetime ago.
How was it possible, he thought, to be so lonely when he was surrounded by so many people? There was a throng of admirers about him, many of them women who had no doubt paid attention when the king had advised Edward to find himself a bride toute suite, but when they spoke to him, he found himself nodding blandly and not listening to their words, just staring into his goblet of wine.
A wife, he kept thinking. Such an intimidating word.
Bollocks.
But he’d be the king again, and he could decide for himself who and when he would marry. There was that to comfort him. No one could force his hand.
“Your Majesty,” came a high, sweet voice at his side. “I was wondering if you might honor me with a dance.”
He looked up.
It was Mary Queen of Scots. Of course he would have recognized her anywhere, with those eyes so dark they were almost black, those eyes that had haunted him from her portrait for all those years. But she looked different from the girl who’d stamped on his foot. Older, of course. She’d been eight then. She must be close to thirteen now. She wore a red satin gown and her black hair was braided and pinned in a complex pattern that must have taken hours. There was even a spot of rouge on her cheeks.
She looked quite grown-up.
“Your Majesty?” she queried.
“Your Majesty,” he answered, and bowed stiffly. “Of course I will dance with you.”
They moved to the center of the floor. The dance was long and complicated and held little opportunity for talking, a series of seemingly endless turns and whirls that left him breathless. Mary was light on her feet, an experienced dancer. She smiled at him often, which Edward didn’t know what to do with. Did she have a dagger meant for him tucked in the folds of her dress somewhere? Part of him expected to feel it pierce his side at any moment.
The dance ended. He thanked her. He turned to flee.
“Will you walk with me?” she asked, before he could. She held out a small hand.
He nodded and tucked her hand into his arm.
“I spent the afternoon with your lady, Grace,” Mary informed him as they strolled along the outer edge of the room. “I found her stories quite amusing.”
God’s teeth, what had Gracie told her? “Yes, she’s an amusing woman,” he said.
“Quite. It made me miss Scotland, to hear her brogue.” Mary herself had no Scottish accent that Edward could discern. Too many years away from home.
They walked in awkward silence. Edward found himself tongue-tied. He could feel the gaze of others on them, keen and speculative, especially that of the French queen and her dour-looking daughter, Elisabeth.
“You’re taller than I remember,” Mary Queen of Scots said at last.
“Yes, I find you changed as well.”
She flushed. “Forgive me, regarding your foot last time.”
He smiled. “Forgiven,” he said. “I hope we can put all that past ugliness behind us and be friends.”
“Yes. Friends. It’s just, I didn’t like to be told what to do, or to whom I should be married,” she said, her voice lifting a little. “It made me cross to look at you.”
“Believe me, I understand.”
She stopped and pulled her hand from his arm. Her dark eyes were earnest when she gazed up at him, but not naive. “I still don’t like to be told.” He followed her gaze when she peered out into the center of the room, where Edward spotted a sulky-faced blond boy in splendid clothing.
Ah, the dauphin, he assumed. Prince Francis.
“He seems all right,” Edward observed as they watched the boy grab a handful of sweets from a passing tray and stuff them into his mouth. Then the crown prince picked