Murder at Fontainebleau by Amanda Carmack

the edge of the famous forest that surrounded the palace at Fontainebleau.
    Yet this did not seem
shorter
at all. The lane was only getting rougher and even narrower. Their horses had to slow to a crawling pace to keep from tripping in the ruts.
    Kate peered ahead. Sir Henry Barnett, his wife beside him, led the party behind some of the guards. Like Amelia, Lady Barnett had been full of chatter earlier, but now even she was quiet. Charles Throckmorton and Toby Ridley rode behind them, just ahead of Kate and Amelia, and she noticed Toby stayed as close to Amelia as he could, watching Monsieur Domville, who rode just to the side of Amelia with narrowed eyes.
    Amelia’s words about sleeves trailed away, and she glanced back at Mistress Berry. Brigit gave her a grim smile, which strangely seemed to reassure her. She straightened in the saddle and stared ahead, unblinking.
    â€œI do wonder what we will find at court,” Amelia said.
    â€œIt will be quieter,” Brigit answered. “They are in mourning, you know.”
    Amelia tossed her head, the white plumes in her black velvet hat dancing in the cold breeze. The feathers carried the scent of her violet perfume. “Surely not everything will be silent! There will be hunting, at least. Cards. Perhaps some archery contests or music . . .”
    â€œYou wish to see all your old admirers again,
oui
,Mademoiselle Wrightsman?” Monsieur Domville said teasingly.
    Amelia laughed. “I have not so very many admirers, monsieur. Not as many as Queen Mary’s Scottish Maries, I would say, or as Comtesse Villiers. Or as Queen Mary herself, who is surely the most beautiful of all.”
    â€œ
Non
?
I had heard you had five proposals of marriage before you last left Paris,” Monsieur Domville said, still giving her that teasing smile. “My friend Monsieur d’Emours has been missing you a very great deal.”
    Amelia bit her lip and turned away from him to fuss with her reins. Kate noticed that her cheeks had turned bright pink, and she remembered the tale of the duel d’Emours, the kinsman to the Guise family, had fought over her. Or so the story went.
    â€œI doubt he noticed I was gone at all,” Amelia said. “Surely he is not even back at court.”
    â€œAh, but he is,” Monsieur Domville said. Kate had the distinct sense he took a mischievous delight in teasing Amelia, but a duel seemed a strange thing to tease about. “He has been back since the autumn, before King Francis died.”
    Amelia’s blush deepened, and she tossed her head again. “Surely only to find a young mademoiselle with a fine Loire estate for a dowry. I care not for you Frenchmen and your forgetful ways. I have heard there are many rather ruggedly handsome Scotsmen at court right now. I wonder what
their
manners will be like?”
    â€œNot at all to your liking, I am sure, Mademoiselle Wrightsman. They cannot dance, for one thing, exceptto kick and fling themselves about.” Monsieur Domville gave Kate a smile and a wink. “Nor would Mademoiselle Haywood like them. They know naught of music, except for a strange, wheezing sort of pipe that sounds like a stable cat in distress.”
    Kate laughed. “I assure you, Monsieur Domville, I am interested in
all
kinds of music—especially instruments I have not seen before.”
    Monsieur Domville gave an exaggerated wince. “You will not like this, I can assure you,
chère mademoiselle
. These Scots have no—how do you English say?—refinement.”
    â€œI think manly strength is surely better than mere refinement,” Amelia said angrily. Her hands tightened on her reins, making her horse shy. “I cannot wait to meet them. I shall make them teach me their kicking dances!”
    â€œYou should have a care, mistress,” Mistress Berry said. “After last time . . .”
    â€œOh, hush, Brigit! What do you know about it?”