Armand’s First Letter. Amelia’s First Letter.

18 April 1023, Cumbrian Embassy, Toulouse

My dearest cousin Armand,

I hardly know what to write you this month. Beatrice will marry King Charles next month, and I have been wholly taken up with supporting her during the many and tedious dress fittings occasioned by the event, both for her and for me, along with sundry other preparations. (I have enclosed a separate letter for your Amelie, in which I describe the fabric, the frills, the furbelows, and the fringes, the silks, the satins, and so on and so forth, in stunning and wholly unnecessary detail. These things matter, but not, I know, to you.)

Your step-papa has been as good as his word. The carriages for the wedding are nearing completion in Yorke, and Beatrice has already received a properly made Cumbrian replacement for the faulty carriage that nearly drowned us. It has her new personal arms on the doors, anticipating the wedding by several weeks: the royal arms of Provençe quartered with her arms as Princess of Cumbria.

The new coach is every bit as opulent as its ruined predecessor, though the exterior, not being inappropriately hardened, will require more upkeep by Beatrice’ coachman. The coachman himself has made no complaint, nor do we expect one, for he was badly bruised when the old carriage tore itself to pieces. Indeed, he seems delighted.

You will be glad to hear that Beatrice and I are once more thick as thieves, as they say, and that the ladies of the court have taken notice; the smarter of them, at least.

One of them, Mlle. Dubois, approached me as I was leaving the palace last week, and asked to speak with me; and in the event returned with me to the Cumbrian Embassy and joined me for tea. Eloise, for that is her name, is the daughter of the Comte D’Erlette, one of the new Provençese nobility.

I was prepared for all manner of flattery and attempts to use me to win the Princess’ favor, but perhaps someone has at last gotten the hint. She quite openly told me that her father had sent her to court to win that favor, using whatever tricks were necessary to gain the Princess’ ear; but that last month’s hearing had opened her eyes.

“I had thought, moi,” she said, “we all had thought that you were some passing fancy of le Roi—that you had his protection, n’est-c pas? We expected you to use that to, how you say, secure your position in the court, to grant favors. But you snubbed us.”

“Le Roi honors me, but no, I was never his ‘fancy’. I am the Princess’ staunch friend, but beyond that I have little interest in the court.” That was as close as I felt I could come to saying, “I don’t like being used by sycophants” without giving offense.

“So I have seen,” she said. “You are a great lady, and have your own position and concerns. You need not live at the whim of courtiers.”

I nodded.

“It is different for me,” she said. “If I am to win my place in court, I must fight the battles. But the manner of fighting, it is not what I thought, n’est-ce pas? I cannot win the Princess’ regard with my claws or with sweet words.”

“The Princess grew up in the Cumbrian court; she is not easily flattered,” I said carefully.

“To play the politics—bah, it is worthless,” she said. “I cannot play the cher amie; I must be the cher amie. And so, I am here.”

“I see. And so, what is it precisely that you want from me?”

She shrugged in that way the Provençese have. “To be her friend, I must first be your friend. To be your friend, I must know you, and you must know me, c’est vrai? And so I ask no favor but to speak of this and that, and perhaps we will become friends.”

And so we had a chat. She spoke of her childhood in the north of Provençe, and the restoration of her family’s title; as is usual in these cases, her father is the heir of the oldest surviving cadet line. He was a merchant before claiming the title, and still has his mercantile interests. I spoke a little of my youth in Cumbria, and of how I came to be in Provençe.

It was an astonishing performance, Armand: an acknowledged schemer choosing to drop her sly schemes in favor of sincerity, all as a tactic to achieve her goal of social and political influence. The bald-faced nature of it rather took my breath away.

We parted cordially, though I did not commit myself to anything. She seems sincere, but I do not know whether she has determined that the role of schemer, foisted upon her by her ambitious father, is contrary to her nature, or whether she has merely dropped a set of blunt tools for a new set, sharper and subtler.

We have spoken several times since, and I have of course seen her at court; and I may say that while she has greeted me cheerfully, she has not presumed on my friendship in that setting. I have no notion what she says to the other ladies while I am absent, of course. She has sent a note asking me to tea next week, and I suppose we shall see what we shall see.

Your bemused cousin,

Amelia

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