smiling absently as her friend acted very gay. When at last he was free, Andrew went to the place where Micheline had been. He made the acquaintance of the enchanting wife of the seigneur de St. Briac, who told him that Micheline had pleaded fatigue and gone to bed. They had talked for a bit, but in his disappointment Sandhurst was too distracted to notice the appraising way that Aimée stared at him. At length, as the revelry continued unabated, Sandhurst also excused himself.
Sighing now, he opened the door, half hoping that Jeremy would be asleep so that he could think.
"At last!" an annoyed voice exclaimed. "Where have you been?"
"I've been playing my part with the king and his court," Sandhurst replied shortly.
"Oh, yes! A real hardship, I'll warrant! You were forced to eat all that food I watched the cooks preparing... and drink all those fine wines! How was the peacock?"
He had to smile at that. "Adequate," he pronounced dryly. "Why are you in such a state?"
Jeremy sat up in his narrow bed, his cheeks crimson now. "Perhaps I can't sleep on this frightful straw mattress! Your bed doesn't have one, by the way. You've got goose down!"
Unlacing his shirt and doublet, Sandhurst couldn't resist lifting an eyebrow and saying reasonably, "I deserve it, don't you think?"
"Are you itching for a fight? I'd be glad to oblige you, solely on the basis of the name you christened me with when you presented me to the head chamberlain!"
His lips twitched as he sat down to pull off his boots. "You don't care for 'Jeremy Playfair'? I thought it had a rather honorable ring to it."
"Do you have any idea how many times I've been called 'Playfair' tonight?" shouted Culpepper. "It's driving me mad!"
"Have a care, Jeremy. You'll give yourself an attack." Tugging off the second boot, Sandhurst sighed. "I do miss Finchley at times like this. A man likes to be looked after at the end of a hard day."
"You push me too far, you know," Jeremy growled, looking about for a weapon. "Next you'll suggest that I play your valet in private as well as in public... and they'll find you smashed on the courtyard below our window!"
Laughing softly, Sandhurst bent to remove his fawn breeches and hose. Too tired to look for water to wash with, he drew back the covers on his bed and lay down with a contented sigh. "I'm having you on. You do know that, don't you?"
These moments of sincerity were utterly disarming. The color softened in Culpepper's cheeks as he muttered, "Yes. I suppose I do."
"I couldn't get through this masquerade without you."
The two men exchanged affectionate smiles. "I'm glad to be here... in a way," Jeremy allowed. "It'll be another adventure for us to laugh about later—and if it actually does any good, well, then..."
"I met her tonight. Micheline Tevoulere, I mean." Staring up at the plain green velvet tester, Sandhurst found that her name tasted sweet upon his tongue.
Suddenly ashamed of the time he'd wasted with his ridiculous outburst, Jeremy rose on an elbow to stare at his friend. "And?"
"It's a long story and I am exhausted. I'll tell you all of it tomorrow, but for now let's just say that the situation holds possibilities."
Chapter 10
March 1, 1533
"I can't go for my walk this morning," Micheline told Aimée as they finished a light petit dejeuner. Ninon had gone to sit in a corner, where she now rolled a tennis ball for their rambunctious new puppy. Her little rosebud mouth was smeared with honey and bread crumbs, so Aimée moistened a serviette and gave it to Juliette, who proudly went off to play mother.
"Why not?" Aimée returned a trifle absently. If Juliette rubbed Ninon's face too hard, the two-year-old would start to cry, so half her attention was with her daughters.
"That Englishman is going to begin work on my portrait at eight-thirty." Micheline didn't know how she felt about the large amount of time she'd be spending with Andrew Selkirk. The man both tantalized and alarmed her. Most confusing was the realization that she wasn't alarmed because of anything he had said or done but because of her own reaction to him. All the previous day Micheline had avoided him, until, last evening, his chubby valet had brought her a message. In flawless French Andrew Selkirk had written to request that they meet this morning in the king's second antechamber to begin work on the portrait.
Micheline stood now to keep that appointment,