loyalty — ”
“Ah, yes, of course, it is unfair of me to ask such a question now.”
“But, Madame, what I will say now is based not on loyalty, nor even my affection for him, but the truth as I see it. My perception is, and always has been, that he is a secret Huguenot.”
She drew back, her brows lifting. “A Huguenot? The marquis?”
“I have no doubts about his honor, or his belief in Christ. Even at Amboise, before I ever read the Bible, Marquis Fabien spoke in depth about the doctrines that prompted the Reformation. My perception was that he had a good understanding of them and of the need for revival in the church and a debate over doctrines accepted as divine, which are not in the Scriptures. He fully supports the need for the upcoming colloquy between Catholics and Protestants at Poissy.”
“Monsieur Arnaut and Madame Clair have serious concerns about his faith, but I am pleased you feel otherwise, Andelot. You know Marquis Fabien better than any of us. I too feel confident he is a firm Christian, as I have known him at court since he was a young boy attending school with the royal children.”
She frowned thoughtfully, drumming her fingers on her knee. “In these circumstances I am granting my permission for their marriage in the absence of Monsieur Arnaut and Madame Clair.”
“That is well, Madame.” And even if you did not give your permission, Fabien would marry her anyway. He held back a wry smile.
It was late when Duchesse Dushane sat at her table to write a message to Scholar Thauvet, explaining how she must borrow Andelot for a few days and requesting that he make an excuse to Père Jaymin for Andelot’s absence. Andelot was impressed that she had confidence in Thauvet, which added weight to his belief that he could be a secret reformer.
“I told him I will explain all when he comes to have dinner with me tomorrow,” she said. There was another lettre on the desk, and she drew it toward her and signed her name. “And this one is to be delivered to Marquis Fabien.”
The duchesse pushed her chair back and stood. “Can you slip away without being noticed?”
“I shall manage, Madame. I must go back to my chamber first. There is something I need to return on my way to Marquis Fabien.”
“How seasoned a horseman are you?”
“I count myself better than most. I — er, won a race on Marquis Fabien’s golden bay.”
“Then my confidence is well placed.”
She handed Andelot the sealed envelope for delivery to Fabien and the folded message for Scholar Thauvet.
“I need not tell you to let no one know what you are about, Andelot.”
“God willing, Madame, I shall accomplish this task.”
“Bon. Here are your instructions. Follow them and you will come to a certain cottage, deliver this message to the elder monsieur who lives there.”
Andelot took the message from her hand, along with the lettre to Marquis Fabien, and put them inside his tunic.
“One thing more, Madame, if I may. Mademoiselle Rachelle’s sister also went with Comte Sebastien to England . . .”
“Mademoiselle Idelette? Yes, she went with them.”
“I cannot imagine any reason that would prompt her to give up her life’s work in silk at Lyon to live in Spitalfields,” Andelot said. “She gave me her reasons in a lettre, but I admit they did not satisfy me. I thought you, Madame, might know.”
She heaved a burdened sigh. “So Idelette wrote you, did she?”
“We had begun to exchange lettres a few months ago when she was at the Château de Silk.”
“I see . . . I was not aware. Ah, then, that adds to the present tragedy.”
Andelot looked at her, wondering. “Tragedy?”
“The tragedy surrounding Mademoiselle Idelette has prompted her decision to risk going to England. Even I did not know about the situation. I wish she had confided in me. I might have sent her to Queen Jeanne of Navarre who has open arms for young women disowned by their families for becoming Calvinists, and though
“Ah, yes, of course, it is unfair of me to ask such a question now.”
“But, Madame, what I will say now is based not on loyalty, nor even my affection for him, but the truth as I see it. My perception is, and always has been, that he is a secret Huguenot.”
She drew back, her brows lifting. “A Huguenot? The marquis?”
“I have no doubts about his honor, or his belief in Christ. Even at Amboise, before I ever read the Bible, Marquis Fabien spoke in depth about the doctrines that prompted the Reformation. My perception was that he had a good understanding of them and of the need for revival in the church and a debate over doctrines accepted as divine, which are not in the Scriptures. He fully supports the need for the upcoming colloquy between Catholics and Protestants at Poissy.”
“Monsieur Arnaut and Madame Clair have serious concerns about his faith, but I am pleased you feel otherwise, Andelot. You know Marquis Fabien better than any of us. I too feel confident he is a firm Christian, as I have known him at court since he was a young boy attending school with the royal children.”
She frowned thoughtfully, drumming her fingers on her knee. “In these circumstances I am granting my permission for their marriage in the absence of Monsieur Arnaut and Madame Clair.”
“That is well, Madame.” And even if you did not give your permission, Fabien would marry her anyway. He held back a wry smile.
It was late when Duchesse Dushane sat at her table to write a message to Scholar Thauvet, explaining how she must borrow Andelot for a few days and requesting that he make an excuse to Père Jaymin for Andelot’s absence. Andelot was impressed that she had confidence in Thauvet, which added weight to his belief that he could be a secret reformer.
“I told him I will explain all when he comes to have dinner with me tomorrow,” she said. There was another lettre on the desk, and she drew it toward her and signed her name. “And this one is to be delivered to Marquis Fabien.”
The duchesse pushed her chair back and stood. “Can you slip away without being noticed?”
“I shall manage, Madame. I must go back to my chamber first. There is something I need to return on my way to Marquis Fabien.”
“How seasoned a horseman are you?”
“I count myself better than most. I — er, won a race on Marquis Fabien’s golden bay.”
“Then my confidence is well placed.”
She handed Andelot the sealed envelope for delivery to Fabien and the folded message for Scholar Thauvet.
“I need not tell you to let no one know what you are about, Andelot.”
“God willing, Madame, I shall accomplish this task.”
“Bon. Here are your instructions. Follow them and you will come to a certain cottage, deliver this message to the elder monsieur who lives there.”
Andelot took the message from her hand, along with the lettre to Marquis Fabien, and put them inside his tunic.
“One thing more, Madame, if I may. Mademoiselle Rachelle’s sister also went with Comte Sebastien to England . . .”
“Mademoiselle Idelette? Yes, she went with them.”
“I cannot imagine any reason that would prompt her to give up her life’s work in silk at Lyon to live in Spitalfields,” Andelot said. “She gave me her reasons in a lettre, but I admit they did not satisfy me. I thought you, Madame, might know.”
She heaved a burdened sigh. “So Idelette wrote you, did she?”
“We had begun to exchange lettres a few months ago when she was at the Château de Silk.”
“I see . . . I was not aware. Ah, then, that adds to the present tragedy.”
Andelot looked at her, wondering. “Tragedy?”
“The tragedy surrounding Mademoiselle Idelette has prompted her decision to risk going to England. Even I did not know about the situation. I wish she had confided in me. I might have sent her to Queen Jeanne of Navarre who has open arms for young women disowned by their families for becoming Calvinists, and though
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