Musketeer's Daughter:Unanswered Riddle

Chapter 51: Unexpected

"I fear this will not work." Marguerite stared at her reflection, her finger gliding over the white lotion Ysabeau mixed in a tray atop the vanity. "What is in this?" She wrinkled her nose with a sniff.

Ysabeau smiled as she mixed the precious concoction with a spoon. "The whites of eggs, poppy seeds mixed with borax and alum. I had to powder the eggshells. Oh, ma mère, please do not look so disgusted. Queen Elizabeth of England uses it, I assure you."

"There are assumptions about her complexion." Marguerite gathered her hair into a knot.

"The very reason it will make yours just as luminous." Ysabeau carefully dabbed her mère's face and smoothed it around until every corner was covered. "It is a miracle!" She gazed at the contents in her hand.

"You say that as if you did not believe it would work." Marguerite batted the air with a huff and turned to her reflection. "My dear, you are correct." She stood and leaned close. "No scars are apparent."

"You are just as belle as the day you ruled the hearts of the courtiers, ma mère."

Marguerite lowered her face, her lips tilted up at the corners. "Merci, fille. Do you think your plan will work? I am terrified."

"As am I and I have not met the Queen-Mother." Ysabeau adjusted Marguerite's stomacher. "I cannot help but believe that it is within her nature to handle loose ends. All we need to do is be beautiful and smile. Let her nature do the rest."

She rose from her chair and turned to face Ysabeau. "You are brave, bien-aimée fille, a true musketeer at heart." Marguerite framed Ysabeau's face and kissed her forehead. "You are even more so beautiful than I." They hooked arms. "Come, fille, let us dazzle the court with our presence."

Side by side, Ysabeau and Marguerite created a ripple of whispers and neck-craning. The gentlemen stared, the women simpered. All the while, Ysabeau trembled as she pretended haughtiness.

"I can see what Andrién meant when he said you are skilled in carriage. Well done, fille." Marguerite spoke behind her fan and plucked a tiny pastry from a passing platter of a servant.

But Ysabeau hardly listened to her mère as she scanned the crowd for Philippe. Where was the King?

Just then, Marguerite gasped. "I should have never come. Ysabeau." She clutched her arm, her nails digging tight. "Please remove me from these premises."

"What? Why?" Ysabeau's own heart reacted and she forgot to breathe.

"Do not look now, but Andriénle watches. She knows, Ysabeau. Oh, she knows."

"But that lies well within our plan." Ysabeau followed Marguerite's gaze and found the lovely mistress glowering skeptically.

"She approaches!"

"Calm yourself. Let us see what she desires of us."

"I do not know if I can go through with this, Ysabeau—I-I grow faint."

"Please, you must. Think of Andrién, of . . . Mathieu." Ysabeau's voice caught in her throat.

The mistress Andriénle led a wake of admirers as she swept forward. "Bonjour, dames. Ah, Marguerite—I thought I had recognized you. Back from the dead? Too bad Henri favors me." She leaned forward, a cloud of parfum lashed into Ysabeau's nostrils. "He has asked me to marry him." She held up a plump hand, the magnificent ring winked. "Too bad poor Margot has failed again in bearing him a son." She lifted a white shoulder and tittered. "And who is this?" She let her eyes drop to Ysabeau's hemline and back up with slow purpose.