The coach rumbled along the road behind its two horses
through the dirt streets of rural France and toward that godforsaken hostelry
in Mueng. Inside the heavy coach, Milady
de winter was seated on the dark red cushions, absently fingering one of her
platinum blond curls. Her unfocused gaze
aimed on the cushions in front of her.
Every once in a while the carriage would jolt her out of her thoughts
and she would turn her languishing blue eyes to the scenery but her
introspection would soon claim her attention again.
To the casual observer, she appeared to be about twenty two
years in age with strikingly beautiful features almost too perfect to be
real. The blue satin overdress she wore
brought out the hue in her eyes to great effect and the contrast of the white
petticoat underneath her skirts could also be seen in the slashes of her virago
sleeves. The stomacher was heavily
embroidered and decorated with glass beadwork that had been delicately stitched
by hand. She lounged slightly against the back of the carriage though the stays
in her corset would not allow for any real relaxation. The lace collar with its supportasse was
normally the largest hurdle to true comfort so she often left it behind on
these long journeys or carefully packed away, if it was a formal occasion,
until she reached her destination.
Thankfully, there was no real danger of being recognized this far out of
the city, so the casualness of her dress could be overlooked.
Milady had been summoned outside of the city of Paris on a
matter of great importance to his Eminence, the Cardinal. One of Richelieu’s agents would be meeting
her to deliver instructions on her next mission. She had returned from England only a few days
earlier and had yet to report in person to his Eminence. This day’s trip out of the city for a
clandestine meeting had not made debriefing any easier. Of course, she had written a few lines before
her departure and knew it would not bode well for her. His displeasure at her failed mission,
however, was not her real cause for melancholy.
She could easily handle the Cardinal as she could most other men. Her real trouble was with the blasted Duke of
Buckingham and his foolish loyalty to that twit, Queen Anne.
For all of Milady's efforts, she was no closer to the Duke
than she was right now in France.
Certainly, he had received her politely enough and she was always
invited to his social gatherings, but he had rebuffed every one of her
advances. It was really unreasonable of
him. After all, the Queen was not nearly
as powerful as Milady would have been in her place. The insipid creature was always one emotional
breakdown away from a nunnery and here she had somehow won over the Duke of
Buckingham causing Milady to fail in her most recent mission.
The carriage lurched and Milady was pulled once again to
reality. She stared daggers through the
roof of the carriage in the direction of the driver but opted not to shout at
the fool just yet. Her real quarrel was
with the Comte de Rochefort and his sudden request to meet him at the Jolly
Miller in Mueng. The Comte de Rochefort,
she knew, was under strict orders from his Eminence, Cardinal Richelieu, and
had only just returned from Brussels himself after a two year sojourn from
court. Milady had not been privy to the
details of the mission but she had heard snatches of the story in the rumors
around Paris the last few days. His own
stepmother claimed he had been in debtor’s prison but that only served to
protect his cover and he had made no attempt to correct her even though that
was far from the truth. The Comte had
been posing as a capuchin monk of all things and those damned musketeers were
already ferreting out the information before she had even had a chance to
reacquaint herself with her contacts in Paris.
She hated being the last to know.
They were nearing the Jolly Miller and she could see the
Comte de Rochefort on horseback, just at the back of the inn, awaiting her
arrival – this was most unusual. The
Comte de Rochefort rounded his horse at the approach of her carriage – he was
clearly waiting for her and she felt the hair at the back of her neck
prickle. It was an odd choice for a
meeting spot and the name of the establishment had already given Milady pause
when she had received his summons; had he somehow discovered this hidden part
of her history? It was always possible
that it was coincidence, but there were few of those when Rochefort was
concerned. His network of informants was
by far the largest contributor to the Cardinal’s success in espionage. She never fully trusted the Comte, or any man
she couldn’t control, and he was another of the minority who could somehow
withstand her charms.
"Comte de Rochefort, " Milady cooed, "how I
do love you in purple." He was dressed from doublet to hose in the same
aubergine color. She waited for him to
open the carriage door as decorum dictated, but instead when he dismounted his
horse he climbed aboard the carriage step – firmly blocking her exit. Now, she cursed the driver and his negligence
that put the other carriage door too close to the garden wall for a quick
escape. She forced her appearance to
remain neutral and willed her eyes to convey nothing but innocent surprise at
the unexpected change in plan. "But
why do we not go to the Inn and talk over a nice bottle of Madeira."
"Milady," he touched the brim of his hat in a
small gesture of respect, "we have been discovered!"
"What is this?!"
she sat up straight and her eyes searched the fields around them. The Comte’s use of the plural left no doubt
as to what had presently been discovered and temporarily relieved the anxiety
she had previously felt about Rochefort’s impropriety and suspicious nature. But the lingering doubt regarding her own secrets
was still hovering around the edges of her consciousness.
"A young Gascon with a letter from Monsieur de Treville
in his pocket," he produced a letter from his own pocket and handed it
over to Milady. “He provoked a quarrel
with me, no doubt to prevent us from our mission. How Treville discovered it, I will never
know.”
“And where is he now?” she demanded, her eyes focused on the
crumbling hostelry.
"I have subdued him for the time being and he is laid
out in the landlord's apartments. We
must make this quick before he regains consciousness."
"Indeed," she agreed. “His Eminence, then, orders
me – "
"To return instantly to England, and to inform him as
soon as the duke leaves London."
“And as to my other instructions?” she asked.
“They are contained in this box,” he tapped his breast
pocket, “which you will not open until you are on the other side of the
channel.”
“But I have only just returned from that horrid country,”
she protested. “What reason could I
possibly give for returning so soon?”
“You are a clever woman, I am sure you will figure something
out.” Rochefort pulled the small box from his waistcoat and passed it to Milady
with a slight of hand that had ceased to amaze her but would have been nearly
imperceptible to those milling about "The slightest delay could ruin
everything."
“Very well,” she sighed.
It was then that she noticed a disheveled youth emerging from the rear
entrance of the hostelry. He was without
a doublet and looked to be no more dangerous than a farmer’s son playing hooky
from his chores. But even at this
distance she could recognize that Gascon swagger and knew it could be none
other than their foe. “And you – what will you do?”
“I – I return to Paris.” Rochefort retorted. His tone suggested she should somehow have
already known his next actions and was ridiculous for even asking the
question. It was his arrogance more than
anything else that caused her to utter her next words.
“What,” she cooed at him again, “without chastising this
insolent boy?” The Comte de Rochefort
gave her a quizzical look and opened his mouth as if to speak when the
aforementioned boy rushed forward.
“This insolent boy chastises others,” the Gascon cried; “and
I hope that this time he whom he ought to chastise will not escape him as
before.”
"Oh, I though you took care of him?” Milady chided Rochefort in a voice low enough
so the boy couldn't hear her.
"Hurry, or you may not escape him a second time."
"Will not escape him?!" roared Rochefort.
"No, before a woman you would not dare to fly, I
presume?" the boy goaded him.
"Remember," Milady said in a mocking tone,
"the least delay may ruin everything." Rochefort sighed in exasperation at his own
words.
"You are right," he cried, "be gone then, on
your part, and I will depart as quickly on mine." He bowed to Milady and raced back to his
horse.
Her taunting had not made his duty an easy burden to
bear. She could see the struggle on his
face as he turned his horse to head towards Paris. Thankfully, Rochefort followed the Cardinals
instructions over his own impulses to pummel the boy. Of course, it could also turn out to be an
unfortunate thing, Milady mused to herself. It was difficult to know at this
juncture.
“To Calais!” she shouted to the driver and her carriage
lurched forward on the two days ride north to the seaport. Thankfully, she had enough packed in her
trunks to make the trip safely. She had
been unsure of the purpose of the meeting or how long she would be away from
the city so she had prepared for the worst case scenario. In this case, it was that she would have to
murder the Comte de Rochefort for discovering that which she had wished to
remain unknown and find new patronage outside of France.
In retrospect, Milady pondered, it really was not prudent of
her to needle Rochefort about the boy.
With his network of Bohemians as far North as England and as far South
as Spain there was very little he could not accomplish when he set his feet
down a certain path. In their brief
association together he had proven himself to be formidable in battle and
cunning in his profession. She would
have to make it up to him somehow. If
only so she could determine how much he really knew before she silenced him
forever. But she had learned in her long
history of espionage that it was better not to jump to hasty conclusions
without proper intel.
Milady then turned her attention to the box that had been
secreted to her at Meung. It was not
particularly large or overly ornate. The
box was made of Oak and was certainly something she would have passed over in a
market. It had been smoothed and rounded
on the edges until it was nearly an oval shape.
The lid and base of it had been kept a natural color with a simple clear
varnish and only the Cardinal’s seal had been painted on the top. The box fit neatly in her hands and wasn’t
large enough for a pistol or a dagger though the weight was heavier than mere
note with instructions would have been.
Milady moved the box closer to her ear and gently gave it a shake. An item inside thudded gently against the
sides of the box indicating that it took up nearly the entire space
within. She had been hoping for the
sound of coins but realized the Cardinal was far cleverer than that. If the box did contain any currency for the
pains of her journey it would have been wrapped up tightly to avoid causing any
temptation by would be thieves on the road to London.
With her curiosity satisfied as much as it could be until
she was on the other side of the channel, as Rochefort had instructed as the
time and place to finally open the mysterious item, she placed the box into a
secret pocket in the folds of her dress.
Her thoughts then turned back to London and her recent failure to seduce
Buckingham away from the Queen of France.
* * * * *
Scene in England – Milady sends word to the Cardinal when
Buckingham leaves England.
* * * * *
Scene in England – Milady has an interaction with the Comtes
de Wardes with witty banter and possible innuendo.
* * * * *
Flashback Scene at the ball of Mademoiselle de guise – in
which de wardes flirts with Milady and wins her affection before she leaves for
England. (possibly move this to before the first section)
The ball really was splendid for all the political maneuvering
it attempted to conceal. Mademoiselle de
Guise was attempting to bring her family back into favor with his Eminence
Cardinal Richelieu and conversely his majesty the King. She has selected just the right food to
please the King’s delicate digestion and supplied just enough wine to keep him
cordial with his wife, Anne of Austria. The
affair with the diamond studs was not too far removed from his memory that Anne
could yet be trusted. The masquerade
theme was exciting enough to the young courtiers that they giggled and flirted
throughout the entire affair. The theme
also allowed his Eminence to imbibe in critical facts from his faithful
informants.
Having already dispensed with her pittance of information
and having been chastised by his Eminence in his overwhelming lack of faith in
her abilities – so much so that he had refused to give her a new assignment
since the scheme to catch Buckingham and the Queen together had gone tits up –
Milady de Winter retired to the garden.
The young lovers scrambled throughout the tall hedges and fine
landscaping; so selfish in their joy that they hardly noticed her as she took
up a silent reverie in a dark corner on the terrace and swirled the Spanish
Wine in her glass. She watched the legs
of the draught ease down the sides and back into itself. She was tired of kowtowing to these useless
men. Milady swirled her drink again and
then drained the cup.
“It looks like I have arrived,” a familiar voice whispered
in her ear, “just in time.” An arm snaked its way around her shoulder
presenting a new goblet of deep red liquid.
The Comte de Wardes was standing directly behind her, close enough that
she could feel the slight warmth of his body but not daring to touch her or
trap her against the terrace railing. In
one smooth motion, she pulled the proffered beverage from his hand and swung
around to face him. If he had been an
assailant he would already have a dagger in his belly. Her stance was not completely rigid but she
was definitely battle ready.
“You always happen to be in the right place at the right
time, Comte.” She raised the glass to him and took a sip. “How fortunate for me.”
“I assure you, Madame, fortune has nothing to do with it,” his
dark eyes sparkled with mischief. He
took a step back, slightly bowed at the waist and, in turn, raised his glass to
her. It put a comfortable distance between them and she felt herself breathing
a little easier. Then he offered his arm to her, “Would you
care to accompany me for a walk in the gardens?”
“I would be delighted, Comte.” Milady replied in her
sweetest voice. In a few quick steps
they were away from the light of the party and down one of the more secluded
paths. “How do you find the festivities,
Comte?’
“The costumes are delightful,” he started in a mock tone, “and
the music is devine.”
“Oh yes, delightful indeed.
Though I have still to puzzle out what the Duke de XXXX is supposed to
be.”
“I believe he is some kind of cock’s
comb for I believe I just saw his wife over yonder with the King’s man.”
Milady laughed in spite of herself. “And the King is quite commanding, do not
you think so?”
“Commanding of his cups, indeed, did
not you see him with the servant?”
Now it was his turn to laugh.
“And the Queen is quite without
equal, is she not?” he ventured.
“The Queen is beautiful, is she? Then why are you not here with her,” Milady’s
tone was sharper than she had intended and she started to pull away from his
arm. It was a wound she had not been
willing to share with this fool. He
grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her closer to him.
“I never said she was beautiful,” he whispered into Milady’s
ear. The warmth of his breath against
her inner ear made her knees twinge and she allowed herself to be pulled into
the embrace. She eagerly kissed him
back, hungry for the human contact. She
could hear footsteps on the gravel on the opposite side of the hedgerows from
them but wasn’t ready to relinquish her quarry just yet.
Using all of her weight, she pulled on his doublet and rolled them into one of the alcoves hidden
in the shrubbery. They landed with her
back pressed firmly up against the column and the Comte started kissing behind
her ear and then trailed down her neck.
She moaned softly and pulled him tighter against her. His free hand found its way to her skirts and
started pulling the hem upwards. When the
fabric was past her knee Milady raised her leg to wrap it around his. She could feel his
hand hesitate on the naked part of her thigh between the top of her stockings
and her pantaloons. His fingers trailed along the top of the
stocking and his thumb lingered at the button on her garter. But the footsteps Milady had heard
earlier were closer now to the corner of the hedges and Milady knew they would
have to stop or be discovered.
“We will be discovered,” she hissed and she pushed him away
and smoothed her skirts back into place.
Thankfully, the Comte de Wardes understood the implications of being
found inflagretto just as well as she did and
backed away from her without protest.
“Shall I escort you back to the party,” des Wardes offered.
“Do not be ridiculous, we cannot be seen together. Not here!”
“Yes, well, then,” he said crisply, “until some other time
perhaps.” She could sense she had committed some offense and regretted her own
words immediately.
“Indeed, Comte. I
look forward to our next intercourse.” she offered up a coquettish smile but
doubted it would be seen to full effect in this lighting.
“As do I, Milady. Your
conversation is always stimulating.” He
bowed again at the waist and took his leave of her. wanted to run after him and pull him into
another hidden spot, but she was being stupid.
The Comte de Wardes, though also an agent of the Cardinal, was too young
and inconstant. No doubt she would pay
for this indiscretion. Milady was angry
with herself and hot tears started to form in the corners of her eyes. She cursed her own weakness and willed
herself to be stronger. Her breathing was
still too heavy and her corset was not making it any easier to calm herself. The impending footsteps finally made their
way to her hiding spot it would be too late to feign ignorance now.
“Milady Clarick?” her brother in law’s voice spoke
tentatively into the darkness. “Are you
well?”
“No, brother, I am afraid I am not.” her voice came out
shaky and she could see the surprise on the Lord de Winter’s face. She reached for the only reasonable
explanation, female frailty was always a popular one with her brother in law. “I
have been thinking on my son, dear brother.
I received a letter from him this morning and he sounded so unhappy at
his new school.”
“I have assured you many times,” he came to sit beside her
and patted her hand where it lay in her lap. “He is well cared for and if there
is any cause for concern they will contact us immediately.”
“I know you are right, brother, but a mother worries.” She pulled herself together and feigned
concern for her absent son. “Please,
escort me back to the party so that I may take my leave of Mademoiselle de
Guise.”
Within moments they had regained the party and Milady had
made her excuses to leave. Back in her
carriage alone she had time to think over the events of the evening. One thing was certain, if she chose to pursue
the Comte des Wardes it would be a dangerous game.
* * * * *
Scene in France – Milady learns of the failure of the
Diamond Scheme.
* * * * *
Scene in France – Milady attends another social gathering
and muses on the failure of the diamond scheme and her injured would be lover.
She had quietly accepted the blame for the Cardinal’s
failure to catch the Queen in her infidelity and she bore his constant reproaches
while he licked his own wounds and worked on devising a new plan. Without the Cardinal’s protection, she could
not guarantee her own safety.
She had been smart up to this point, but eventually someone of
consequence would discover the secret branded on her shoulder; someone that she
could not easily manipulate or kill and it would be then that she would need the
Cardinal to intervene. So she accepted
his abuse for now but even that was starting to chafe on her patience. Without the ability to go out on a mission
and hunt down a target she was restless in this city; play acting the part of a
devoted sister in law to her late husband’s brother.
* * * * *
Scene in which Milady received instructions to go to the
church of st. leu- possibly from the Cardinal, possibly to hear of her intended
lover des wardes.
* * * * *
Scene in the Church with Porthos – what she thinks about
Porthos playing his mistress for a fool, etc.
Milady has just knelt upon her red cushion at the front of
the church of St. Leu and raised her head heavenward in the imitation of piety
when her servant leaned over to whisper in her ear.
“Madame, he is not here.”
“Is there any news, Kitty?” Milady could feel the
disappointment creep into her chest.
“I have heard it from Marie – “
“And who is this Marie?” she demanded
“She is a servant in the Comte’s household, Madame.”
“Very well, Kitty, go on.”
“Marie has reported that the Comte has been gravely
injured. Perhaps his wounds –”
“Temporarily detain him from attending services,” she
hissed. “Yes, Kitty, thank you!” The
girl resumed her post behind her mistress having been sufficiently
dismissed. Milady had feared this might
be the case. The Cardinal had warned her
of the duel in Calais and how her love had been found by the Governor of that
port tied to a tree. Whenever she found
the villain who had left the Comte de Wardes for dead he would regret the day
he had ever crossed swords with such a man.
Milady had hoped to arrange a meeting with des Wardes but
with that impossibility, it now made the whole morning seem like a wasted
trip. The small church was very crowed
on this particular day and Milady could only guess that there was some particular
priest the masses were clamoring to hear in the pulpit. She was personally surprised every time she
crossed onto holy ground that she did not erupt into flames right then and
there. But then this was a religion for
the superstitious and she had no cause to fear anything but a knife thrust in
the dark. She glanced around the room
and spotted a tall, handsome soldier.
She guessed him a soldier by his bearing for he could be nothing else
with that posture and haughty countenance.
He was leaning against a pillar near the back of the church
and he kept sneaking glances at a woman seated on a bench just beside him. The woman was somewhat past her prime and her
beauty was fading a little around the edges.
Milady well knew that soldiers were nearly always more concerned with a
woman’s wealth, or should one say her husband’s wealth, than with her
individual age or beauty. Still the
woman was not undesirable and the black hood that adorned her head was of a
decent quality. Both of these undoubtedly made her a fine target for this
gentleman’s particular needs.
The lady’s complexion was a suddenly a little flushed,
presumably from the recognition of the man in her proximity, but when she
attempted to catch his eye he would avert his gaze to another woman in the
room. On the third attempt, Milady
noticed that the soldier’s gaze landed on herself and the effect on the
targeted lady was beyond measure.
Milady was flattered that her presence had produced such an affect and
she silently applauded the gentleman’s cunning.
Of course, there was by no means any reasonable chance that
this gentleman would catch Milady’s eye even in her most desperate days. Undoubtedly, he was well awre of this fact
and, yet, the soldier’s mission had been achieved – his mistress was
significantly jealous. It made Milady chuckle inwardly to herself and a slight
smile found its way to her lips. If
nothing else, the amusement of watching this cat and mouse game had seen Milady
through the length of the Sermon and she only had to go through the motions at
the holy water font.
Milady stood from her cushion and willed her knees to regain
feeling. Her servants immediately set
about their work collecting her things and preparing for departure. As Milady approached the font she observed the
tall soldier rush past his lady love to dip his hand in the water on her
behalf. The act was too much for
Milady’s tastes and she was about to knock him down in her assessment of his
game when, to her astonishment he presented his hand to her. It was an ingenious move for one at this
level of manipulation. There was nothing
else to do at that point but to accept the holy water and move on with her day.
She had to admit that the whole scene had been masterfully played and she
sincerely wished this gentleman good luck in his quest
“Madame,” Kitty whispered in her ear again, “I have word
that the Comte des Wardes is recuperating in his apartments.”
“So he is in residence?”
“Indeed, Madame.”
“Quick, go after the girl and tell her to leave a servant
outside for the next quarter of an hour.”
“Right away, Madame.”
Kitty was off in a flash and soon returned to Milady’s carriage just as
the mistress herself was climbing aboard. “All is arranged.”
“Excellent work, Kitty.” Milady was starting to feel better
about her day, it may not be a wasted trip after all. “Pierre, take me to St. Germain.”
* * * * *
Scene in which Milady sends Kitty to give a message to des
Wardes lackey and it is mistakenly given to Planchet.
* * * * *
Fight with Milady’s Brother in Law – Lord de Winter, Baron
Sheffield: Perhaps he is encouraging her to leave Paris due to the war with
England and she is refusing, or maybe he is accusing her of mistreating her
step-son. OR maybe he saw her servant
give the note to des Wardes supposed lackey and is chastising her for courting
another so soon after his brother’s death.
* * * * *
She has lost all patience with her brother-in-law at this
remark and proceeded to beat him with her closed fan. He cowered under her fury as her abused
accessory fell to pieces in her hand.
This only enraged her more and she would have done far worse had a
strange voice from the opposite side of the coach not interrupted the
remonstrations.
“Madame, will you permit me to offer you my services?” the
stranger said in French. She whipped
around at the first sound and was surprised to see a young musketeer on
horseback beside her carriage. She was
so surprised, in fact, by the intrusion itself that she lost all sense of her
anger and waited agape for the young man to finish. “It appears to me that this cavalier has made
you very angry. Speak one word, madame,
and I take upon myslf to punish him for his want of courtesy.”
“Monsieur,” Milady replied in French lest he think her
initial vacant stare was one of ignorance, “I should with great confidence
place myself under your protection if the person with whom I quarrel were not
my brother.” It suddenly occurred to her how this scene must look to an
outsider. Two foreigners, English to say
the least, fighting openly in the streets.
Thankfully, it appeared that this young gentleman did not understand a
word of their argument.
“Ah, excuse me, then,” said the stranger. There was something familiar about this man
and Milady couldn’t quite put her finger on what. “You must be aware that I was
ignorant of that, madame.””
“What is that stupid fellow troubling himself about?” cried
her brother in law in French as he stooped down to the height of the coach
window. He was looking for a fight,
otherwise he would have continued in his native tongue. “Why does not he go about his business?
“Stupid fellow yourself!” said d’Artagnan stooping in his
turn on the neck of his horse and answering on his side through the carriage
window. “I do not go on because it
pleases me to stop here.”
There it was; that insolent tone to his voice! She knew where she had seen this gentleman
before, though he had not been so well established on their first meeting. It was the Gascon boy from Mueng; the one
that had caused all that trouble for a mere letter of introduction. She wondered if Rochefort had found him out
yet or if he had been keeping an eye on him all along.
“You should go on ahead sister,” her brother in law said in
English, “it will not take me but a minute to teach this infant a lesson.” This was all really ridiculous in Milady’s
opinion; having a contest of machismo in the middle of the street and through
her carriage windows no less. But the
young musketeer could be of some use if he was that eager to prove himself, as
most of these soldiers were, and as he had shown himself to be in Meung.
“I speak to you in French,” said the stranger; “be kind
enough, then, to reply to me in the same language. You are Madame’s brother, I learn – be it so;
but fortunately you are not mine.”
Milady could barely contain her glee at the gentleman’s
statement. No doubt he would challenge
the present Lord de Winter to a duel and seeing as the challenger was now a
musketeer, he would bring along worthy seconds.
So, even if Lord de Winter was successful in the duel her brother in law
would surely perish at the hands of another.
This could easily solve all of her problems and give her a bonus to hand
the Cardinal. When she reported that her brother in laws death was not only at
the hands of the King’s Musketeers but that she had managed to wrap up their
loose end in Mueng his Eminence would surely reward her for her efforts. She threw herself back in the carriage to
keep her joy from being seen.
“Go on – home!” she shouted to her driver with as much fury
as she could muster under these pleasant conditions. If those fools wanted to destroy themselves
she would be the last person to stand in their way. She did not even cast a glance backwards to
see the surprised expression on de Winter’s face as the last impediment to the
duel sped away.
* * * * *
Milady descended from her carriage with a feeling of
satisfaction she had not experienced in quite some time. All of her disappointments with the Duke of
Buckingham and that ill-fated scheme with the Queen’s diamond aiguillette were
temporarily lifted from her alabaster shoulders in anticipation of her son
becoming the sole heir to the de Winter fortune. Three hundred thousand livres! Not only had she secured the future for her
son, and consequently her own, but she was sure to receive a favorable response
from the Comte des Wardes regarding her note.
She could not be mistaken in his behavior at the ball thrown by Madame
de Guise. She had played this game for
far too long to become someone’s pawn.
Her residence was in the more fashionable Marais district of
Paris in the recently constructed Place Royale.
It has been completed a little over a decade ago to replace the gaping
hole left by the Hotel des Tournelles after Catherine de Medicis had had it
pulled to the ground in her grief.
Milady could still remember the first time she saw the square and the
uniform brick houses outlining it. It had
been at the celebration the Place Royale had hosted to commemorate both its own
completion as well as the marriage of King Louis XIII to his Queen Anne of
Austria.
The entrances into the square were slightly taller than the
other buildings and were aptly named the King and Queen Pavilion in honor of
the then recent nuptials. In her youth,
she had passed through those arches with a wonder she thought had been lost to
her in childhood. The buildings
themselves had been unlike anything she had ever seen. The contrast of the red brick with the white
stone quoins had given the appearance of elegance but the vaulted arcades atop
the square pillars and the steep blue slate rooves confirmed it was a place of
quality. It was at the Carrousel that
she had caught the eye of Cardinal Richelieu for the first time and it was then
that she knew this would be her residence when she had finally established
herself in Paris.
And now she was installed at No. 6 Place Royale just as she
had dreamed all those years ago but it lacked the independence that she had
imagined. She was beholden to her idiot
brother in law, Lord de Winter Barron of Sheffield until he saw fit to marry
and produce an heir that would diminish her own son’s fortune. She would only be left with the meager
portion of her late husband’s estate as it was, her so called Widow’s Third
that was expected to sustain her until she remarried.
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