You and No Other

by Cynthia Wright

  St. Briac took a narrow stone spiral staircase down to the second floor and then followed the corridor to his friend's study. Outside the massive door, he glanced back at his worried-looking manservant. "Will you say nothing to prepare me?"

  "Guard your temper, monseigneur, and keep your wits about you."

  Baffled, St. Briac shook his head and lifted the latch. Inside the paneled study he found Francois sitting uneasily in his favorite carved chair. As the king rose to greet him, Thomas glanced around the room. Florange was there, in the arched window, and Louise de Savoy and Chauverge shared a bench against the far wall. Two odd-looking women occupied chairs in the center of the study.

  "Is something amiss, sire?" he inquired softly.

  "I don't know," Francois replied with a tight smile before indicating that St. Briac should take the chair next to his own. "Before you sit down, mon ami, let me introduce Madame Blanche Dagonneau and her, ah, lovely daughter, Cecile-Anne."

  Somehow Thomas managed to keep his face a blank as he kissed each long, bony hand in turn. "It is a great pleasure to meet you, madame"—he nodded toward the white-haired woman—"and mademoiselle." Looking from one to the other, he was reminded of something but couldn't put his finger on it. In any case, they certainly were the most peculiar-looking women he had ever seen.

  "Oh, but monseigneur, we have met before," Blanche Dagonneau proclaimed in a high-pitched voice; then she tittered coyly. "Perhaps you were too young to remember, but before my dear husband's demise, our estates connected with yours. Your parents were such dear friends of ours, and after M'sieur Dagonneau passed on, your wonderful father bought our land, which enabled me to take Cecile-Anne to live with my brother's family in Burgundy."

  "Well, that's very interesting." St. Briac smiled and then aimed an intensely quizzical look at the king.

  Francois gave him a sickly smile in return. "It seems, mon ami, that before Madame Dagonneau left the village of St. Briac, she and your parents arranged for you and Cecile-Anne to be married when you reached the proper age."

  First St. Briac's brows flew up, and then his eyes widened until white showed all around blue-green irises. Finally, his mouth dropped open. "Sangdieu!"

  Chapter 16

  May 12, 1526

  Gaspard's advice came back to St. Briac in a rush. Of course, the little man was right; it would do no good for him to toss his wits away with both hands. He certainly would need them to beat the Dagonneaux at their own game.

  "You will pardon me for that small outburst, I hope," he said politely, looking first to the king and then to the two women, "but this news comes as a bit of a shock to me. You see, I find it puzzling that neither of my parents ever mentioned this arranged betrothal to me. I was nineteen years old when my mother died and twenty-four when I lost my father." St. Briac paused for a moment, making an effort to remain calm. "I'm certain, though, that once I see my parents' signatures on the documents you have brought, the matter will become clear to me."

  Madame Dagonneau's eyes darted away from his level gaze. "I had the documents you speak of, and I would have them here today, but they were lost in a fire at my brother's chateau."

  "Oh, I see." He nodded, his brows flicking upward almost imperceptibly. "A pity."

  Madame Dagonneau bristled. "Do you question my word, monseigneur?"

  That was the rub. It was impossible for St. Briac as a person of position at the court and in France itself to accuse a respectable woman of lying. He cared little for his own reputation, but such behavior would reflect unpleasantly on Francois. There seemed to be only one logical solution to this ludicrous predicament. Attempting to fill his voice with polite charm, he said, "Au contraire, madame, I only ask that you accept my apologies for not being able to fulfill the promise my parents made. I am, after all, thirty-three years old. Had I but known about this, er, arrangement, the situation now would doubtless be different, but as it is, I am already on the brink of marriage to another woman, and we are deeply in love."

  The king caught the sidelong glance delivered by his friend and spoke up instantly. "Sad but true, madame and mademoiselle. The seigneur's betrothed is right here at Blois with us. She's a charming girl, and we are all quite fond of her."

  "How unfortunate." Madame Dagonneau sneered. "Not for you, of course, monseigneur, but for my dear Cecile-Anne, who has dreamed of nothing else except becoming your wife." She gave her daughter a nudge, and the girl attempted a mournful expression. She had yet to speak one word.

  "Too bad you had to come all this way." St. Briac lifted both eyebrows and shook his head resignedly. "However, as I said, if I had only known about dear Cecile-Anne earlier, I, uh, well..." He coughed, wondering how to finish the sentence, but was saved by Blanche Dagonneau's voice.

  "Oui, oui, it is too unfortunate. I trust that you will be so kind as to introduce us to your betrothed?" She drew out the last word, curling her upper lip.

  Before the king could dispatch a page to the Louis XII wing, St. Briac exclaimed, "Of course. In fact, my manservant is in the hall. I will send him to fetch her." Stepping to the doorway, he spoke a few terse words to Gaspard before rejoining the others.

  The group in the study engaged in uneasy small talk, all except the silent Cecile-Anne, as they waited for Aimée to appear. Chauverge smirked at St. Briac, enjoying his discomfort to an unseemly degree. At last there was a knock at the door, and Aimée peeked in.

  "Bonjour, sire. I hope that you will pardon my appearance, but Gaspard, that is, M'sieur LeFait, said that it was imperative that I come immediately, so I didn't take the time—"

  "You look lovely as always, Mademoiselle de Fleurance," the king interjected, smiling. "Please join us."

  St. Briac was torn between despair and delight at the sight of her. Aimée's gleaming black curls swirled around the square-cut bodice of her gown; her appearance was fresh, lovely, and quite unconventional. Unlike the Dagonneau women, she did not wear a high frilled collar that would have signified a chemise under her gown, nor was there evidence of a shakefold to hold out her skirts or a jeweled girdle or any jewels at all. Both Blanche and Cecile had carefully coiffed hair. The mother wore a caul, the daughter a transparent white veil over what appeared to be brown hair. Next to them, Aimée looked like a serving girl brought in from the country to play the part of St. Briac's fiancée. Worse, as far as St. Briac was concerned, her facial expression warned him that she was completely unaware of what was afoot in the king's study. As she came to stand beside him, she cocked her head in bafflement.

  He had to smother laughter before declaring, "Aimée, my dearest love. My apologies for interrupting your toilette. I know that nothing less than a summons from me or our king would bring you out before you were appropriately garbed and groomed." He cleared his throat, but the sight of her eyes widening in outrage forced him to continue. "Come closer, cherie, so that I may introduce you to our guests. They have come all the way from Burgundy."

  Aimée was dumbfounded by St. Briac's strange behavior. Why was he acting like such a dolt, especially in front of these two women? Close up, they looked even more like greyhounds. Just as she was about to speak, St. Briac grasped one of her arms, and she felt a pinch. What was going on? Aimée glanced up sharply, about to speak, but he was smiling at her worshipfully, and yet there was something in his eyes that gave her pause. For now she decided it would be best to act as eccentrically as he, just in case.

  "I'm so embarrassed that I was unable to have my hair dressed," she exclaimed girlishly. "May I hope that you and our guests will be able to forgive my appearance?"

  St. Briac could scarcely keep a straight face. "How could we not, my darling? You would look beautiful in tattered rags."

  Even Francois was looking dubious by this time, and Florange put a hand over his mouth to hide a grin. Fearing that someone might lose control, St. Briac led Aimée forward with a flourish.

  "Allow me to present my beloved fiancée, Mademoiselle Aimée de Fleurance. My darling, this is M
adame Blanche Dagonneau and her dear daughter, Cecile-Anne."

  Greetings were exchanged all around, though Cecile-Anne did no more than smile woodenly and nod, and then St. Briac drew Aimée back into the circle of his embrace.

  "Well, it has been a great pleasure to meet all of you, although matters unfortunately did not turn out as my dear Cecile-Anne and I had hoped," Madame Dagonneau announced mournfully. "I only hope that you, sire, will allow us to remain here at Blois for a few days in order to rest and make new plans."

  "But of course," the king assured her. "In fact, I hope that you will join us all now for our midday meal in the hall of honor downstairs."

  Everyone moved toward the doorway and milled into the corridor until only Francois, Thomas, and Aimée remained in the study.

  "A few days," St. Briac repeated Madame Dagonneau's words with a loud sigh. "Couldn't they leave this afternoon? I shall go mad."

  "Will someone tell me what is going on? Why are the two of you behaving this way?" In her impatience, Aimée forgot that she was speaking to the king, but even upon realizing what she had said and how, she left it alone. He was only a man, after all.

  Francois gave her a brief explanation of the events leading up to her summons to the study. It seemed that her presence at Blois was not such a problem after all; she had saved Thomas from marriage to a human greyhound. Fully aware of the king's presence, she gazed soulfully up at St. Briac.

  "My darling, what an ordeal for you." Aimée patted his bearded cheek. "Thank the saints that I was here to settle that matter speedily. Of course, in a few days—"

  "Aimée, ma chere miette," St. Briac interrupted adoringly, "why don't you go down and join the others now. I have one or two matters to discuss with the king, and then we will be along as well."

  "I shall count the minutes, mon grand ours," she cooed in response, sliding two fingers from his cheek to caress the contours of his mouth. Delighted by St. Briac's sudden blush, Aimée turned then, bade both men adieu, and strolled from the chamber.

  "She calls you her great bear?" queried the king, overcome with curiosity.

  Aware of his deepening flush, St. Briac could only shrug helplessly. "You know how women are."

  "Hmm. I must say that I have been somewhat confused about your relationship with that particular woman, Thomas. I'm glad to see that I was right in supporting your betrothal. I know how long you have searched for the right mate and how important a happy marriage is to you."

  "Yes, sire." He pasted on a smile. "At the moment, however, I am rather concerned about Madame Dagonneau and her dear daughter."

  Francois grinned, his hazel eyes slanting upward, at his friend's sarcastic use of Blanche Dagonneau's favorite adjective. "I confess that I have to repress an urge to scratch those two behind the ears. I suspect that if we did away with their silks, satins, and pearls, we could add them to my hunting dogs, and no one would notice the difference!"

  They laughed together until the king had tears in his eyes. Then St. Briac crossed to a wide dresser and poured goblets of wine. "You are wicked, sire."

  "I do hope so," Francois retorted merrily. Raising his glass to Thomas's, he said in a more sober voice, "Tell me, though, do you recall the woman or her family? Do you believe what she says?"

  "I have vague recollections of the Dagonneau name and their singular looks, but I can't be certain of the true connection until I speak to my Tante Fanchette. As for the other, no, I do not believe it. It's madness! How ridiculous for that woman to turn up with her dull-witted daughter and announce to me—at my age—that I'm to marry that girl. What did she expect?"

  The king straightened the puffs of silk shirt that showed through the slashes in his doublet. "I'm as puzzled as you are, mon ami, but I do have a few clues. Upon prompting, Madame Dagonneau told me that you were ten at the time of this supposed betrothal, and her dear Cecile-Anne was three. That makes the girl twenty-six years old now. Why do you suppose it took her so long to pursue this arranged marriage?" Francois arched a brow at his friend. "I've an answer of sorts to why she decided to pursue the entire idea, whether real or recently invented."

  "I beg you not to keep me in suspense, sire." St. Briac's tone implied that he would prefer to discuss any subject other than this.

  "You doubtless could have guessed. Madame Dagonneau's brother died, and not long after, her funds from the sale of her property to your family ran out. What to do?" Mischief and mock innocence informed the king's expression.

  "Why me?" St. Briac groaned. "I feel like a giant stag sitting placidly in the middle of a clearing during a hunt."

  "It probably has something to do with your matchless physical attributes. No doubt Madame Dagonneau is trying to improve their breed." Francois steadfastly refused to laugh until his friend had surrendered; then the two of them shared a long minute of merriment. "Ah, Thomas," he sighed at last, "I shall miss you during the coming week. I fear there will be few occasions for laughter once I leave Blois. Only the thought of you trying to fend off the sly advances of Blanche and Cecile-Anne will bring a smile to my face."

  "Won't you be kind and send them away before you leave?"

  "You know perfectly well I cannot be so rude, but I must confess that if I could find a reason, I would do so. My instincts tell me that the Dagonneaux will still be here when I return in a month or more."

  "Not if I have anything to do with it," St. Briac muttered darkly. Seeing that his friend had wandered to a window and was gazing distractedly over the courtyard, he changed the subject. "My apologies, sire. I should not be troubling you with my trivial problems when you have such important worries."

  "Not at all. I have enjoyed the diversion. Thinking about that cursed treaty just upsets me and solves nothing."

  "The viceroy of Naples will be waiting for you in Cognac?"

  "I'm afraid so. Under any other circumstances I would be overjoyed to see him."

  "Do you know what you will say?"

  "Well, a definite no about Burgundy. There can be no discussion on that point. There's nothing to be gained by calling an Estates General and taking votes; I've made up my mind. I'll have to be firm with the viceroy, saying that my subjects will not allow me to hand over Burgundy."

  "Sire, might it not sound a trifle farfetched for you, who have always declared your absolute authority, to now champion the principle of popular consultation?"

  Glancing over one broad shoulder, Francois gave his friend an ironic smile. "Let them think they weakened me with their tower prisons. I don't care. Those promises I made during my captivity can have no binding force. I will tell the viceroy, however, that I wish to remain friendly with Charles V and that I will honor most of the other clauses of the treaty. We shall have to adjust the rest according to reason and honesty."

  "And what of your sons?" St. Briac whispered.

  A shadow crossed the king's bold visage. "I cannot ransom them with Burgundy. The payment will have to be monetary." After a long pause, he managed to turn and smile. "So, Thomas, it seems that we will both have plenty to keep us occupied during the coming weeks. I would press you to join me, but it would be criminal to deprive all these ladies of your company."

  "You are too kind, sire. No doubt I'll be the envy of every man at court," he replied in a tone of self-deprecating sarcasm.

  Francois had started toward the doorway, but he paused to answer candidly. "I'm certain that every one of them will envy you the night you share Mademoiselle de Fleurance's marriage bed. She is a rare female. I think we were right in calling her a wood sprite that day in Nieuil. So often I find myself thinking that she seems almost magical...enchanted. Do you know what I am trying to say?"

  "Yes. I know." Each word was weighted with meaning.

  "I have the impression that if one tried to embrace her, she would disappear, but obviously that's not true."

  St. Briac rubbed his brow in bemusement. "No, you may be right, sire. Aimée could still do just that."

  * * *

 
Downstairs in the sunlit hall of honor, St. Briac ate a hurried midday meal. Aimée was not present, and inquiries to Florange, Marguerite, and Bonnivet revealed no clues to her whereabouts. Equally disconcerting were the unwavering stares leveled at him by Blanche and Cecile-Anne Dagonneau. Although they were seated across the board and at least a half dozen places to the south, they paid more attention to St. Briac than to their food. Not once did he look at them or acknowledge their presence in any way, yet he could feel their beady gray eyes boring into him until he was unable to swallow another bite. The king was deep in conversation with his mother and sister when St. Briac leaned over to make his excuses; Francois waved him off with a smile.

  First Thomas checked his apartments. Gaspard had not seen Aimée. Neither had Suzette, who had just returned to the Louis XII wing, flushed with passion after a picnic with Paul. St. Briac doubled back to wander the gardens, but there was no sign of her. Finally he sighed and walked in the direction of the chapel. There she was, visible instantly, kneeling alone at the altar. The silly gable-hooded headdress was unmistakable, and the cloak Aimée wore hid every line of her sweet body.

  "Mon Dieu," St. Briac beseeched silently. "What have I done to deserve persecution from these women?"

  He stalked down the aisle and joined Aimée, who looked up in surprise.

  "I ought to have more sense than to ask, but I cannot help myself. What do you think you are doing?" St. Briac demanded in a heated whisper. One dark hand went to the nunlike hood that nearly concealed her luxuriant hair, but he suppressed the urge to pull it off.

  Aimée scowled at him and pushed his hand from her head. "Your memory is short, monseigneur," she hissed. "Can you have forgotten so quickly our conversation of this morning?"

  "That is no longer relevant."

  "It's not? I was not aware. I knew only that we had a bargain and that I must fulfill my part by week's end."

  "And leave me at the mercy of those two women? The circumstances have changed."