jaw.
"Think nothing of it. I'm glad to see that you are hard at work. Sit down, won't you?"
Sandhurst took a chair opposite the king's. A servant brought them jewel-encrusted goblets of wine, then departed after a nod from the monarch.
The two men chatted briefly about the weather and the just-completed hunt, then Francois inquired about the progress on the portrait of Micheline.
"It's going quite well," Sandhurst replied carefully, watching the Frenchman over the rim of his goblet. "Madame Tevoulere is an ideal subject. Her face is not only beautiful; her spirit is beautiful as well. It is a challenge for me to capture both the inner and outer woman on canvas."
"You seem quite taken with the lady." Francois spoke casually, but his hazel eyes were slightly narrowed as he stroked his trim beard and waited for a response.
"What man would not be?"
"That's all very well, m'sieur, but I must ask you to keep your admiration to yourself. As you are well aware, Micheline is betrothed to one of your noblest countrymen—"
"It's hardly a love match, sire," Andrew heard himself interrupt in an even, hard-edged voice.
"It is what Madame Tevoulere has chosen! Lord Sandhurst will one day be a duke! His reputation is unblemished; he is wealthy; he has everything to offer!"
He regarded his wine for a moment before glancing up to reply. "In short, the Marquess of Sandhurst is everything that I am not—including honorable, I take it."
"I do not wish to quarrel with you, Monsieur Selkirk. The truth is that I like you and I am highly respectful of your considerable talent. However, you are a commoner... and you are an artist. I've never known a painter who was constant. What could you offer a lady like Madame Tevoulere - even if she were within your grasp?"
"Love, perhaps?"
"Now, now, m'sieur, let us be serious!" Francois exclaimed with a hearty laugh. "We are both men; you can be frank with me! It's not Micheline you love, but the challenge! You're a free spirit. I'm certain that you have enjoyed the favors of highborn, beautiful, and frequently married females in your bed, but Micheline is not like them."
"I am aware of that, sire."
"If that is true, then you will keep your distance. This lady is vulnerable. Her heart is mending still after the death of her beloved husband. I am asking you to leave her in peace."
Sandhurst rose, well aware that it was rude to do so before the king dismissed him. "I appreciate your advice, sire, and in response I can only repeat what I have said to the seigneur de St. Briac. I have no intention of causing Madame Tevoulere further distress. I admire the lady very much and value her happiness."
Francois stood up, narrowing his eyes. "In that case, you won't have a problem remembering your place. This is not a conversation I wish to repeat."
Sketching a bow, Andrew replied, "Nor do I, sire. If you'll excuse me, I will return to work."
"By all means. Good day, monsieur."
Alone again, the king slumped in his chair, sipping his wine. He sensed that he'd lost this battle of wits, but his opponent had prevailed so subtly that he couldn't really call him on it.
Across the room, the door to the queen's second antechamber was slightly ajar. On the other side Anne d'Heilly drew back and knit her brows thoughtfully. She was strongly attracted to Andrew Selkirk herself, but now it seemed advantageous to encourage his flirtation with Micheline.
If the girl ran off with a penniless artist, she would disgrace not only herself but her king as well, for he would have to explain to the jilted bridegroom. How furious Francois would be! Anne smiled and rubbed her delicate hands together. It really would be perfect. Such outrageous behavior would make Micheline's permanent absence from the French court an absolute certainty.
Chapter 13
March 10-11, 1533
Dressed all in pink and looking as sweet as a ripe strawberry, Anne d'Heilly sat at her writing table and stared out at the bank of pale gray clouds that rose above the white horizon. It was going to snow. Everyone said so. A huge storm was predicted—an oddity in France, but not an impossibility. The temperature was right, just below freezing, and there was an eerie stillness in the air outside, broken periodically by sudden gusts of wind. People were pointing most often to that thick layer of clouds and the lack of color in the sky. Those two signs meant snow, and lots of it.
Anne twisted