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She turned her gaze with deliberation back to the burgundy silk. Now that she had finished pinning the hem on the inner cloth of gold, she began gauging seven widths of Brugesse lace to be tacked three inches above the hemline.
    “Have none of my ladies any affection for me?” Marguerite scolded in an injured voice. “I am most unhappy, and do any of you care? You make jest with one another and speak in excited words about plays and balls. Is there not one loyal amie among you who feels sympathy for my plight?”
    Her ladies again assured her with soothing words that they were most sympathetic. Charlotte brought her a Viennese glass plate with dainty bonbons.
    Marguerite touched her hand to her forehead. “To think my brother the king wishes me to marry that boorish Huguenot prince from Navarre. Non! I will not marry a heretic.”
    Heretic. Rachelle stole a glance upward at Princesse Marguerite . Does she know I too am a Huguenot? The crown prince of Navarre was also of the Protestant belief. Marguerite and the Navarre prince were too young to marry, but marriage contracts among royalty were oft settled during childhood or even at birth! Rachelle could hardly imagine such a fate. Why, a princesse might become the bride of an old man in another coun- try, or a man looking like King Henry VIII of England, who was known as a food glutton with a passion for easily tiring of his wives. Rachelle wondered what she would do if, like Marguerite’s sister Elisabeth, she had been sent to Spain to marry Philip II.
    King Philip, that unsmiling religious fanatic, called himself the Sword of the Lord so as to render the Inquisition against all who ques- tioned the traditions of Rome.
    Marguerite oft moaned she had heard discussion of her coming marriage to the future King of Navarre, which she considered an insig- nificant kingdom, and a Protestant one at that — located in the south of France near Spain.
    “And I will not marry him,” she said again.
    Marguerite, called Margo by her friends at court, was plumpish, attractive, and sensuous, though some called her licentious. Her hair was full and dark, her black eyes yielded to mischief, and she sought relationships with men as though motivated by an inner need to be val- ued. Though reckless, she had not inherited her mother’s propensity for cruelty or the occult. Marguerite was considered to be one of the most learned young women in France, but her lack of wisdom in moral deci- sions was pointing to a future downfall, and this concerned Rachelle.
    Rachelle kept herself aloof during conversations that somehow seemed to always turn sensual. She did not know why, but these women at court seemed worse than the men in their discussions of bed cham- ber interests — but then, how would she know if they were as ribald as men?
    She therefore found herself an outsider, a pilgrim in a strange and foreign city. Her two months here at court proved startling, many times, embarrassing. She had no desire to follow their wayward steps, but after sharing company with them she was also affectionately attached and sympathetic with their burdens, though often those burdens seemed shallow and devoid of eternal value.
    Rachelle was especially sympathetic toward Princesse Marguerite. It was easy to see that she was frightened of her mother. When the Queen Mother sent her maid Madalenna to call Marguerite to her royal cham- bers, Marguerite visibly trembled. Louise had told Rachelle the Queen Mother beat Marguerite until she fainted. “Licentious harlot,” the Queen Mother was known to call her when she was angry. Rachelle could not imagine such abuse, having such a gracious maman of her own, but she believed these tales of Marguerite’s treatment to be true. On one occa- sion Rachelle had seen bruises on Marguerite. If Catherine discovered
    the affaire d’ amour Marguerite was now indulging in with Henry de Guise, Rachelle shuddered to think what would befall her.
    Marguerite stood like a statue