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attention, I assure you. Let it be your youngest granddaughter,” she said to Grandmère, “who would be least suspected.”
    Rachelle stood to her feet. “But yes, I will go. As soon as we return to our chambers.”
    “Bien,” la duchesse said. “First, we have our tea. We must not give even a feeble reason for any to say the tea for which you were invited was left untouched. Who will pour?”
    “I will, Madame,” Idelette said.
    No one now appeared to have an appetite for the delectables on the tea table, and they drank their refreshment and ate their pastries out of duty. They soon departed the chambers of Duchesse Xenia with the elder woman’s warning ringing in Rachelle’s mind. And do you be cau- tious as well, m’amie. One can never be too careful with the enemy on satin-slippered feet.

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    Chapter Four ‌

    R

    Rachelle made her way to the lower floor and to the chambers of Comte Sebastien Dangeau. The peacock of precious gems on the black satin hat she was returning to him caught the midafternoon light from the windows and winked up at her with a f lash of red, blue, and amber.
    Arriving, she expected the page to receive her and announce her presence.
    She glanced about, and finding herself alone and unwatched, she entered by means of the common passage door. After all, Sebastien was her brother-in-law.
    The salle de garde was empty. Where was the page? The other
    servants?
    Rachelle waited in the servants’ chamber, looking about, noticing that afternoon tea, of which Sebastien was known to be fond, had not been served. That too was odd. Was he not here? Where had he gone?
    She tried the door into her brother-in-law’s private chambers and found it ajar. She pushed it aside and passed through, holding the hat.
    The gaudy appartements of blue and gold were wrapped in stillness. Rachelle was ill at ease. A sense of something amiss was in the atmo- sphere. She crossed the f loor, thick Eastern rugs of gold f lowers on bur- gundy, to the windows that opened onto the balustrade. She stepped out, facing the courtyard below where earlier that morning le Duc de Guise and le Cardinal de Lorraine had ridden in with the secretive Maître Avenelle. The soldiers’ activity appeared to have increased since her arrival at Chambord weeks ago. Soldiers . . . and Sebastien. If he had already been taken somewhere, who could she appeal to?
    She knitted her brows together, watching the soldiers below the balustrade as her fingers tightened around the rail. Marquis Fabien de Vendôme? But yes, and why not? Was he not Sebastien’s nephew and of high title in the Bourbon clan? She could not think of anyone better. Her heart quickened. It is for Comte Sebastien and for Madeleine that I wish to contact him, not for my self-interests, she thought defensively. Fabien de Vendôme will know exactly what to do.
    The March sun was nearing the western hills of the Touraine coun- tryside. A chill wind and clustered clouds over the distant hills prom- ised a spring storm. The wind rustled her light green skirts and chilled her face and throat. She hunched her shoulders against it and turning, went back into the salle de sejour.
    Her gaze swept the chamber and lingered upon Sebastien’s desk. A clutter of papers were scattered, as though he had been in a hurry — or perhaps searching. Had he been interrupted?
    She went to the desk and searched quickly to make certain he had not left a message.
    She paused, lifting her head from the desk, whiffing a fragrance com- ing from somewhere. Musk? The smell filled her nostrils and prompted her to a shudder. She did not find it pleasant —
    Hesitant footsteps came from one of the other chambers. She turned swiftly.
    From an inner chamber door, a slim, dark-haired monsieur stopped and stared at her. A pleased look came across his dark saturnine face, like a cat approaching a trapped mouse. With graceful movements he came toward her, holding a goblet of wine