It seemed to Francis later that his night at the brothel had been a dream, a dream he longed to recapture but couldn't.

Now that he was out of his rooms, duty overtook him once more. His ministers swarmed about him, begging for his input on this treatise or that law or some proposed bill. Fools. Couldn't they manage without him for just a little bit longer? Didn't they realize he had other matters to attend to?

Like the blonde in Claude's company, for instance. He liked her. He liked her because she reminded him of Mary, in the way that she was so quietly spoken, but thankfully she wasn't like Mary to look at. No. She was more like an angel to look at. Not like Mary at all, while Mary had been his angel, she'd been dark in her coloring, a contrast to this girl. Where she came from royalty, this girl was from high nobility. If it hadn't been for the differences in their colorings, however, they would have been able to pass as sisters. They had the same slender figure, the same alluring eyes, the same mass of hair.

Of course he wouldn't lie with this girl. No. Mary had barely been dead for a year. It would be treading on her memory. So he couldn't sleep with her. And he wouldn't. But he would enjoy her company. Mary wouldn't begrudge him that, would she?

Of course she wouldn't. After all, it wasn't as if he was in love with this girl, not the way he'd been in love with her. No. he just wanted to enjoy the girl's company a little, as friends. That was nothing wrong in that, was there?


Kenna knew her brother-in-law was infatuated with Cecily Howard. She knew he was also trying to assuage his conscience because of his grief for Mary, but she knew his desires would win out in the end and he'd start courting the English-born French woman.

He didn't say anything. Of course not. But he didn't have to. The way his eyes kept lingering on the girl was enough. She was just waiting for him to ask her name.

So why, when the question finally came, did it feel like something momentous was about to happen? As though it was such a threat to her place at his side as his hostess?

It came on a quiet, Sunday evening as he walked with Bash and her along the gardens.

"Bash. That blonde girl walking with Lola and Greer. What's her name?"

"Cecily, Cecily Howard, the Dowager Queen of England," Bash choked out the name, desperately trying to hide the fact that the syllables were leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

"And why is England's Dowager Queen in my court, brother?"

"Her mother was French and while she was born and grew in England, supposedly, the memories of her husband were too much for her to bear, so she ran to her maternal roots." He had to force his face to remain blank as he watched his brother as he walked over to Cecily and bent to whisper something in her ear.

A look like the one Francis had been giving Cecily could only mean so many things and Bash could only hope Cecily would come out of her affair with the King relatively unharmed.