Micheline nonetheless missed Andrew's company, especially since she was surrounded by her new and less than ideal relatives.
The roads were hung with tapestry, velvets, and silks, through which traveled twelve Frenchmen, in blue velvet coats with sleeves of yellow, on horseback. Most of them Micheline recognized from Fontainebleau, but this was not the time for greetings.
Following the Frenchmen came all manner of officials in ceremonial robes. Knights of the Bath in their purple gowns, and finally noblemen in crimson velvet. There was Andrew, Marquess of Sandhurst, his hair ruffled in the breeze, standing out from the crowd as usual.
"Isn't he handsome!" cried Cicely, waving.
Micheline merely smiled. Sandhurst saw the hand in the air and winked, but it was his wife who caught the flash of warmth from his eyes.
"That crimson velvet would flatter any man, it seems to me," Patience observed quietly.
Rupert took up his half brother's defense. "Sandhurst is always the best-looking man in any gathering! Surely you realize that, my love!"
More richly garbed officials appeared, including the lord chancellor of England, the mayor of London, and an assortment of archbishops and ambassadors. In their midst came Anne, perched in an open litter covered with cloth of gold which was borne by two white damask-comparisoned palfreys. Dark hair flowed down her back so that she seemed to be sitting on it, and on her head was a coif whose circlet was set with jewels. She wore a surcoat and mantle of silver tissue, the latter lined with ermine. From under a cloth-of-gold canopy held over her by four knights, Queen Anne scanned the crowds, searching for signs of admiration.
The citizens might admire her beauty, but they withheld the approval she sought. Micheline noticed that few men removed their caps, and the sound of cheering was muted and unenthusiastic. The people seemed more curious than worshipful.
In an effort to rectify the situation, Anne's fool, capering at the edge of the parade, shouted, "I think you all have scurvy heads and dare not uncover!"
Stubbornly the crowd refused to laugh... or take the hint.
"Why is it that you were not asked to ride in one of the chariots?" Cicely inquired of Micheline, referring to the crimson-clad ladies who followed Anne in decorated chariots.
"I'm not certain," Micheline replied honestly. "Perhaps it's because I'm French, and so new a marchioness. Or perhaps it's because they weren't certain we'd be here. As you know, Andrew was told only last night that he would be required to join in the procession. In any case, my feelings are not bruised. I've had my fill of pageantry these past few months."
Cicely exchanged a look of disbelief with Patience but said only, "You are more forbearing than I, madame. I should feel quite insulted if I were you."
"I am too content with my life to take offense over trivialities."
After the procession passed, the crowd returned to its daylong celebrations. Rhenish wine flowed freely from London's fountains and music filled the air. Even the conduits of Cheapside ran with white wine at one end and claret at the other. Micheline watched as Rupert filled cups for himself, Cicely, and Patience. Now that the queen was gone, the mood turned festive, but Micheline had no taste for it. She could feel men's hands on her in the crowd, and her head had begun to ache.
"Have some wine, dear sister!" Rupert urged. " 'Twill lighten your mood!"
"Thank you, but I must refuse. It's past seven o'clock, I'll wager, and the day has been a tiring one. I would like to go home and wait for Andrew to return from Westminster."
"My brother's wife seems intent on spoiling our fun,"
Cicely said to Patience as if Micheline were not there. "Next she'll insist that we accompany her back to Weston House."
"That's not necessary, my lady." Finchley stepped forward from his place behind them in the crowd. "I'll be happy to escort the marchioness home."
Micheline gave the manservant a radiantly grateful smile which melted his usual reserve and caused him to beam in response. "How very kind you are, Finchley!"
Farewells were made and Micheline set off with Finchley while her new relatives watched her go over the rims of their wine cups.
* * *
"Are you certain you feel up to this?" Sandhurst asked again. Seated in a chair by the window, he was watching Mary dress Micheline's hair with diamonds and sapphires.
"Stop repeating that tiresome question! I've only been a bit fatigued lately. It's normal, considering my condition. Do you imagine that I'm the sort of