Read 1636: The Cardinal Virtues for Free Online Page B

an heir to a throne is a different thing.”
    “Gaston is just a man, my dear. He’s my unrepentant, dissolute brother. He sits at table and squats in the privy like every other man. There is nothing to be afraid of.”
    “I’m not afraid of him.”
    “Then . . .”
    “I—nothing. I don’t know.” Terrye Jo walked away from Christina, turning her back on her—which was probably bad protocol, but she didn’t know if she cared. Honestly, she wanted to run away, even though she wasn’t exactly wearing shoes for running.
    Christina had a temper and was a little thin skinned, but she was very fond of Terrye Jo. Rather than follow her first instinct, she waited for her up-timer friend to gather herself.
    “I’m sorry,” Terrye Jo said at last. She came back to stand before the duchess. “I beg your pardon, madame.”
    “Oh, nonsense.” The duchess extended her hands to Terrye Jo, who took them and held them for several moments. “Let me tell you something. The world of the court—this one, any one, really—is a man’s world. There are kings and princes and dukes and ministers and archbishops, and any number of courtiers. The best of them include and honor their ladies, but many do not. We are no more than ornaments, decorations. Brood mares.”
    She placed her hand on her womb. “And we are otherwise ignored. But that does not make us less: it makes them weaker for ignoring us. Teresa, when we walk out into court and are presented, we should hold our heads high and look each man in the eye. Even if the man is the heir to a mighty throne.”
    “I still have to bow.”
    “Unless it is your up-time custom not to do so. I’m told that there aren’t many princes there.”
    “I’ve never met one, Your Grace. Not even here down-time. You and the duke are the first great lords I’ve ever met.”
    “And we’re not so bad, are we?”
    “No, you’re—” Terrye Jo folded her hands in front of her and blushed. “You’ve been so nice to me.”
    “We don’t do that for everyone, my dear.” When Terrye Jo didn’t answer, she turned to a mirror and adjusted the fit of her bodice and continued, “All right, then. Let’s go in.”
    ◊ ◊ ◊
    When she was growing up, Terrye Jo’s dad was a big fan of graphic novels—what some folks in Grantville called grown-up comic books . That came to mind when she first saw Monsieur Gaston. One of the ones her father liked was a sort of scary dystopian future in which the government was brought down by a freedom-fighting terrorist in a mask—a “Guy Fawkes” mask with a pointy beard and moustache and painted-on smile. That was the face she saw on the heir to the throne of France: a permanent charming grin and deep brown eyes.
    When she was finally presented to the prince, he took her hand in his and afforded her a first-class royal smile. Terrye Jo could hardly take her eyes off him; he seemed to draw attention to himself from every corner of the room. She managed the curtsey that the duchess had made her practice. Just as Gaston was taking her hand, she glanced aside at the duchess of Orléans, Marguerite, who didn’t look at all pleased. But, even with the tightness of her dress, she breathed much easier.
    As she stood a little while later on the side of the room watching the festivities, she saw Monsieur Gaston extricate himself from a small knot of people and make his way toward her, the crowd of people parting to let him through. His wife seemed to be watching him carefully, and Terrye Jo noticed that the duchess had taken note as well. For a few seconds she thought he might be headed toward someone else, but it seemed as if anyone within ten feet of her moved away until she stood alone beside a small alcove.
    “Mademoiselle,” he said, offering her a courtly bow. “If you would indulge me with a few moments of your time?”
    She gave him a curtsey. “Of course, Your Royal Highness.” All of a sudden she felt as if her French wasn’t up to the