Read Online The Sister Queens by Sophie Perinot - Free Book Online

heard him talking with Father. ‘Two queens,’ he kept saying, ‘four daughters, and two of them queens.’”
    “Two of us queens
together
.” Marguerite reaches for my hand, and I give it to her willingly. “And if your Henry is not young, he must certainly be kind and more than a little enamored of you. After all, he made no fuss about your dowry.”
    “True. I just hope he is not very ugly”—I scrunch up my nose in a manner calculated to make my sister laugh, even though the fear that I feel, I feel in earnest—“or I might have to close my eyes every time he kisses me.”
    My time at Marguerite’s court is so full of delightful activity and abundant opportunities for sisterly companionship that I find myself thinking less and less frequently of my husband-to-be. There are days when I do not think of Henry of England at all. Days when I do not worry about kissing him. Then, when I have been with Marguerite nearly a month, a letter arrives from my groom. It is addressed to my sister, not to me.
    “Listen to this, Eleanor.” Marguerite is in my rooms, having interrupted my evening’s toilet to share the content’s of my betrothed’s missive. “‘I hope you will not consider me bold, but since the illustrious bishop-elect of Valence has gone on a matterof business to the court of Emperor Frederick, Your Majesty seems best situated to send me news of my intended, your dear sister the Lady Eleanor. We pray she is well despite all this damp weather.’” Raising her eyes from the paper, Marguerite says, “He is very attentive.”
    I turn at the dressing table, frustrating Agnes, my childhood nurse, who is trying to plait my hair, beguiled in spite of myself by my soon-to-be husband’s concern for me. “He is well-informed too,” I answer, “for surely our uncle made no mention of his travels to His Majesty. Not after admonishing us to avoid the subject.”
    Marguerite nods in agreement, then lowers her eyes and reads silently for a moment. “Your groom grows impatient,” she remarks, placing her finger upon a particular passage. “‘We approach Your Majesty affectionately, asking that you speed our lovely affianced bride on her way to her new home in England. We have been eagerly awaiting her since our marriage contract was confirmed at Vienne.’”
    Marguerite sets the letter down before me so that I can read the rest myself. But before I can complete a single sentence, she speaks again. “I think you must continue your journey as soon as our uncle can return to accompany you.” Her voice is agitated, but I cannot imagine why. She paces away and then turns back to face me, wringing her hands slightly. “We cannot risk the English king’s impatience growing into something more—into a search for another bride.”
    “Marguerite, calm yourself. Surely there is no need for exaggerated concern. I believe I will reach England before His Majesty tires of waiting.” My response is meant to set Marguerite laughing, but instead her shoulders fall and she gives a deep sigh. Turning completely in my seat despite Agnes’s clucking tongue, I ask, “Whatever is the matter?”
    “I …I will miss you.” My sister’s face hangs like that of an old woman. “The last weeks have been like a return to Provence.”
    “Do you wish yourself back in Provence?” I ask. I cannot believe what I am hearing. Much as I was sad to leave home, and much as I have enjoyed my sojourn in France and the respite it has offered from my apprehensions over my upcoming marriage, being with my sister has awakened a burning desire in me for my own court. I am convinced our destinies lie in being queens. I would not go back to being only a count’s daughter.
    “No,” she says, “but I wish I had a sister here.”
    I know what she means. Her new sister, Isabelle, is the strangest little thing. I asked her if she liked my gown at the banquet celebrating my arrival and complimented hers, and, unbelievably, she told me that