The Princess of Cleves #07

I will be leaving for Paris next week. I promise to be such a bore that you will forget that you ever loved anything. And of my feelings, I will no longer trouble you with them. I would only add to the burden that has been laid upon you by the Duke.

I hear your husband and the Chevalier have become fast friends. I shall have to join them when I return. We will form a cabal against the Duke, and frustrate his every attempt to see you. It seems Diana has had a rare change of heart as well, and asks that I do all I can for you.

With the warmest affection,

Your Marechal

He frowned at the closing. It was a very clumsy attempt to express his emotions without writing again that he loved her. He would have to guard himself when he returned and resist the temptation to lead her into empty rooms.

If she asked him, he would take her to where she could beat him. He would steal a kiss, and this time he would not be undone by his own boldness. Sealing his letter, he sent it on its way, and this time it made it unmolested to Rosalind.

When she received the Marechal's letter, Rosalind was in desperate need for a friendly word.

The Prince had taken ill, and she had been using his sickness to avoid the court. She heard rumors the Duke developed a new passion for hunting, or he was suffering from some manner of illness that kept him from court. Rosalind understood that he suffered from no physical malady, but was pining away from love. Even worse than living without her was to be reminded of her absence by a court lacking its most beautiful jewel. This she all knew because of the letters he had slipped to her.

Rosalind excused herself from her husband's room, then checked in the hiding spot Diana had arranged for her. The chink she had described must have played some part in one of her intrigues, for how else would she know of it? Rosalind's hands shook as she withdrew the letter from the Marechal. She had begun to worry that her failings had caused him to abandon her. The sincerity of his letter had convinced her otherwise.

That night, she wrote him back.

Dear M--

I admit, I looked at the date of your letter, and thought to myself, it is only five days until my friend begins his journey home. My mother tried to prepare me for court, but now I see it was an impossible task.

That I would be unfaithful to my husband, that I would count among my friends two gallants who have made quite clear their feelings for me, these things are still strange. Even stranger, Diana, in order to give me your last letter, made me a gift of a sapphire broach and necklace. A small fortune spent, simply to provide a box in which to put a letter. I do not understand what has happened to change her mind.

Princess Mary has guessed at what is between D-- and I. She has agreed to remain silent for the price of some kisses. I blush now even as I write. She dawdled me on her knee like a common maid. Everyone watches D-- closely, trying to discover with whom he is in love. If Mary discovered my identity, I do not know what is preventing others from doing the same.

When D-- came to arrange a tryst, I sent him away. I did not become angry, I was cold. He is so desperate, I fear he would take any sign of emotion as a token of my love. Even as I repulsed him, I wanted to throw myself into his arms. Writing these words, I yearn for him, and I hate myself for it. Thank you for your advice. I will follow it to the letter.

He seemed broken after, and he is seen very little in court. He either hunts, or claims an illness. My husband has been indisposed, and I stay in his chamber all day tending to him. It is not a serious illness, and for that I am glad, but I wish it would linger a bit. I hope that by the time he is well you have returned.

Please, guard this letter well. I remember you in my prayers. I hope the weather will be fair on your journey home.

Your Dear Friend,

R--

When the Marechal read this letter, he was beside himself with joy. His heart was warmed by her affection, and his groin inflamed with the idea of her sitting on pretty little Mary's lap, blushing as that bold woman covered Rosalind with her lips. It was only two days before his journey home. He wrote her a hasty reply and sent a boy away with it and two swift horses that evening.