I feel more rested than I have in weeks. How amazing: the thing I dreaded most has come to pass and, far from being destroyed by it, I feel liberated. I am a queen and a married woman, with all the rights and status those things entail. And I am free, utterly free, to pursue my passion … until and unless my husband removes me to the Navarre or until both my beloved and my husband march off to a war with Spain. I push these last thoughts from my mind and rise from bed. I will write to Henri bidding him to come to dinner at the Hôtel d’Anjou with a light heart and a good appetite. His hunger for food and for me shall each be fully satiated in the course of the evening. As I pad across the floor I remark that the room is stiflingly hot, so either I have slept long or this day will be even more oppressive than the last. I throw open the shutters at the nearest window. The sun is at its apex. The day half gone? Good heavens! Gillone bustles in. “Why did you not wake me when the Duchesse de Nevers called?”
