AN: Thank you for the reviews and welcome back! This week, Elizabeth finally gets to love again, but will it be happily ever after? And please stick around until next week when we will meet Henry's third queen.

NINE – Francis and me

In 1531, my spirits were as low as they had never been before. My daughter Vittoria was in the convent still and refused to answer my letters as did Alfonso, who thought I had sent her there to keep their incestuous love a secret. Florence was no longer a warm place for me, but neither was Rome, for Giulio had become more and more drunk with power and less interested in the opinions of women. So I stayed in Sant'Andrea de Percussina, where I had bought the mansion once belonging to my old friend Niccoló. Fortunately, my remaining three children kept my company, as did Simonetta. She, too, had lost her son's favour when she had stuck to me rather than him over his matter with Vittoria.

It was all a mess. And then in September, a comet dashed over France, fascinating an aged noblewoman so much that her heart stopped beating. Unfortunately, that woman was Louise of Savoy, a lady I proudly called my friend. Just like me, she had been widowed at a young age, and this shared fate along with our taste for politics had long ago initiated many years of exchanging letters. We had conversed and we had plotted, but more importantly, I had kept her informed about Italian affairs while she had notified me about anything worth noticing at the French court. She was my most valuable French source because, you see, Louise of Savoy was the mother of King Francis I.

When she died, we had just been negotiating for my son Alessandro to join the French court and be educated alongside the dauphin to become a knight and gentleman. With her death, my hopes for my fifteen-year-old son began to fade. I had never spoken to Louise's children (although she had often encouraged me to do so), but I assumed that neither of them possessed the open mind their mother had had. Neither Marguerite of Navarre nor the King of France would want anything to do with the children of Italian merchants, as Europe often saw us, and without the intercession of Louise, they would not change their minds.

"But maybe the lady was right all along and her son is a sensible man. If you were to go to her funeral and meet him yourself, maybe you could find a means to convince him of accepting Alessandro," Simonetta suggested. "You can be quite persuasive at times… I mean, you charmed the most powerful man in Europe to free us from prison! What challenge is the King of France then, eh?"

First, I laughed at her words, but after a few days they began to seem more and more plausible. Yes, I had won the favours of some important and powerful men before, why not King Francis? All I needed was to convince him that my son was not just some Italian upstart, but also of noble English lineage, and that it would be advantageous having him at court. It was worth giving it a try.

This is how I met Francis: At a funeral. The man whose wars and defeats had brought me into prison in Castel Sant'Angelo was finally before my eyes. What was he like?, you might wonder. Who was Francis? Well, he was sorrowful and quiet when I first met him, but seeing that it was his beloved mother's funeral, it appears to be only natural. Yet despite his visible pain, Francis was still a sight to behold: Tall, dark-haired, and well-clothed, you could not do anything but admit that he was a handsome man even though he was no longer young. I guess it was the way his eyes often smiled a bit cheekily that contributed most to his charms. Many women were attracted to his prepossessing looks – and I was no different.

Is that shocking to you? Does it seem weird that I, mere woman that I was, felt physical desire when I met the King of France? I know that in the eyes of men, women do not like sex as much as they do, that we only comply with their wishes because it was God's law, but it's not true. At least not for me. I have always enjoyed the touch of men and also their company at night. Love, including its physical sides, has always been a very pleasant matter for me which I desired not only for the man's sake, but also to satisfy my desires. Of course I knew better than to always act upon my desires, for if I had always followed them, I would have caused many a scandal after Lorenzo's death. But whatever affair I might have had, I always remembered to keep a low profile. Noble men were expected to have mistresses, but noble women would be called harlots if they did the same. Seeing what it had done to Anne Boleyn and others, I could not risk this kind of reputation, for my children's sake.

But despite all the rational reasons against it, I instantly wanted Francis. It was an impossible folly, of that I was sure, yet unfortunately I have been attracted to impossible follies for all my life. I was certainly playing with fire when I asked to stay at the French court after Louise's funeral. I had entered a snake pit filled to the brim with venomous serpents who would gladly devour me for their breakfast. But to get my prize, to secure my son's education and win Francis over, I would have to manoeuvre through it.

Fortunately, fate now seemed to be working in my favour again. A few weeks after Louise's funeral, I received permission to stay in France for Christmas, while at the same time I was notified that the King's mistress had left court to spend Christmas with her husband. Only a day later, I was invited to discuss my proposal concerning Alessandro with King Francis himself – in private. When the groom led me through the back door, I already knew that something was about to happen.

Do you know the feeling just before a thunderstorm breaks loose? The grumbling of roaring thunder, dark clouds piling up, the cracking and sizzling in the air? This is how it felt to finally meet Francis alone. For days we had been exchanging flirtatious remarks whenever we met at court, hoping that no one noticed. Something needed to follow now. I was trembling with anticipation.

First, we spoke about my son Alessandro and his prospects of joining the French court. Francis seemed quite positive about the matter, assuring me that my son would do well and could even find a suitable French bride if that pleased me.

"If he is only half as charming as his mother, he will have his way with the ladies of my court," Francis told me in his wonderfully soothing voice.

"You are flattering me, Majesté."

He smiled in a way which as purely irresistible. "I had hoped to."

I lowered my gaze, suddenly feeling like a young woman again. Blood rushed to my cheeks. "I… have noticed that your mistress, the Duchess d'Etampes, has left court."

"I arranged for it. So we could be alone," he nodded.

His words literally forced me to raise my head again and look him in the eyes, my heart pounding. Was he really showing his cards, had he really sent her away for my sake?

"Forgive my impetuosity, Madame. I did not mean to inconvenience you or force your hand…" And with this, he proceeded to take my hand into his. "Only I wish to profess my admiration for you beauty, and your wits, both of which I had heard tales about which I had not expected to be true. I need to apologise for being like Thomas and demanding proof, yet here you are, more proof than any man could need, and I must admit that I find myself quite taken with you. It may seem odd, but…"

I'll never know what he wanted to add after this "but". My cheeks burning red and my heart pounding like a drum, I dared to interrupt the King of France by leaping forward and kissing him. I was waiting for a sign of rejection, of objection, but instead I received affirmative reactions. He would later tell me how much he had been thrilled that a woman could be so bold and take up action, but he needn't have told me that. I felt his excitement quite clearly when we kissed and in every minute that followed. It may no longer surprise you, but there and then, I became the King of France's lover.

The time we had been granted was short and intense. Whenever he could, Francis would steal away from his matters to meet me in secrecy. It was a dangerous gamble knowing how prone courtiers were to gossip and how badly both of us wanted to avoid our affair becoming public. Francis understood that my reputation was at stake and frankly, I think he could also make assumptions on how my brother would react if he knew. Harry and Francis were similar in so many ways, which naturally leads to rivalry and competition. If Harry knew that Francis was bedding his sister… But he would never know, Francis promised.

We were playing hide and seek with the entire French court and to some extent, I must admit I found it thrilling. The constant danger of being caught only brought us together closer, at least for the time being. Of course, deep down below, I knew we could never go on like this for long. Once Anne de Pisseleu returned, she would certainly notice the difference in Francis, and she would not hesitate to expose us. Our days were numbered, of that I was sure. But on Christmas Eve, I realised that Francis himself thought differently.

"Marry me," he whispered in my ear as we lay in his bed after making love. Outside, night had already fallen, and the only sound we could hear was our own heavy breathing.

"What?"

He smiled. "Marry me. Be my wife, my queen."

"You are making fun at my expense," I scolded him, but when he shook his head, my tone became more serious. "I couldn't marry you, silly. You are married already."

"Only in name. I never consented to the marriage, which has not even produced any princes for me, so I would not hesitate to have it annulled."

I shook my head now. "And thus anger the Emperor? She is his sister after all."

"Well, I heard you were on good terms with him. It is even rumoured that it was your intervention that made him consent to the annulment of his aunt's marriage. Why not that of his sister? Surely you could find a means to placate his conscience. I have every confidence in you."

I sat up straight, shaking my head once more. "Francis, do not make a fool of yourself. I cannot. Even if there was a way, even if I could convince Carlos, I would still be the wrong choice. I am too old to bear you children, Francis."

"If you are, why have we been this cautious all the time, then?" He grinned. "Do not trouble yourself, for I do not consider you old by any means. And even if it were true, I would not mind. I have enough children to secure my line, but what I don't have is a woman like you in my life."

"I… it… it wouldn't work. No, Francis, it cannot be."

He sighed deeply and turned his face to the bed's canopy. For a moment I feared he was going to get angry, but then he simply said: "We were once meant to be betrothed, did you know that? When we were children, our fathers had begun negotiations, but it was later decided I should marry Claude to secure my right to the throne." He paused. "If only I had married you straight away."

"If you had, you might have never become king of France, and your children would have never lived, nor would mine," I reminded him.

"Yes, yes, I know!" He sounded impatient. "But how different could things have been? Can't you imagine it, just for a second? Your blood and mine in one being – how great our children would be. They could rule Europe, all of it."

I hesitated. Why? It wasn't a lack of admiration for him, certainly not. I liked him better than I had ever liked my husband. It also wasn't the possible consequences of his divorce from Eleanor, even though they could be quite dramatic, or the fact that my childbearing years were all but over. No, if I have to be really honest, the reason for my refusal was that I did not wish to be married again. I had spent so many years as a widow, free from the rule of men and mistress of my own self. I wasn't willing to give that up, even for Francis.

"It is not too late for that. Mixing our blood, I mean," I told him to make his mind wander off the idea of our marriage.

For a second he seemed puzzled, but then he nodded energetically. "Yes. I have children, as do you. And coming to think of it, my son, the Duke of Orléans, will soon be of nubile age. I take it you too have a daughter his age?"

"Yes, Caterina."

"Caterina," he repeated smiling. "If she is anything like her mother, my son should consider himself blessed to wed her, don't you think?"

My jar dropped open. He was truly considering it! I had been fearful that he would want nothing to do with my children because their parental lineage was that of merchants, but now he was even considering allowing one of them into his family!

"You would make my daughter Duchess of Orléans?"

"I would make you queen of France if I could," Francis replied and kissed my hand. "But if you so sternly refuse my offer, at least allow me to dream of the grandchildren we might share."

A tear found its way into my eyes because his words were so beautiful to me. I nodded. "Yes. Only… I need to ask His Holiness's permission first. I do not think he would object to us having blood ties with the noble House of Valois, but he is the head of my family and deserves to be informed."

"Of course. But, as you say, what else could he say but yes? It is a splendid offer and the more I think about it, the more I like it," Francis stated. "Henri is such a lucky boy."

"In this, he is just like his father," I returned smiling.

Francis frowned. "How so?"

"Well, you may not have me as your wife, but you have me in your arms. No other man can claim embracing the most beautiful woman in Europe right now."

He laughed heartily, then kissed me, then laughed again. "Oh Madame, it is so delightful to witness your vanity. You are your brother's sister after all!"

I looked him in the eyes, smiling darkly, and asked: "Do you really wish to think about my brother right now?"

Of course, he didn't, he would rather love me as long as he could. Our time was limited, after all. The New Year soon came and with it Madame d'Etampes, who clearly would have loved to shame me before all of Europe if she knew I had taken Francis away from her. I know I could have fought for him, I could have had him for myself if I had accepted his proposal, but I chose not to. I did so for the sake of my freedom and for my children's sake. So I returned to Italy and left Francis behind.

Did I miss him? Did my heart ache? Yes. Yes, of course. As I told Vittoria, I am not heartless. But I focussed on other things. I met with Giulio to discuss the matter of Caterina's marriage, and luckily he had no objections whatsoever. It took a while for the betrothal to be finalised, but I knew it would come to pass. In 1533, I finally returned to France to take part in the only wedding ceremony Francis and I would ever share: His son, Henri Duke of Orléans, married my youngest daughter Caterina. I felt very proud that day and enjoyed the fact that I could legitimately be close to Francis without Madame d'Etampes getting jealous.

We met again in private that night, but it was to be our last night. Our passion had faded somehow, and I think we both realised that after we had made love. It was an awkward situation; neither of us wanting to articulate our thoughts. Then I got dressed again and left. Do not misunderstand me: Francis and I did not part on unamiable terms. But whatever excitement we had felt the year before had now vanished and we both acknowledged that fact. Things only started to fall apart when, a few weeks later, I was truly in need of a friend – and Francis refused me.

He refused me for political reasons and I cannot say that they were unjust, but on a personal level, I was absolutely hurt. I understand why he did what he did. But foolish little me, I had somehow thought that he still cared enough for me to thwart politics. I was mistaken. So this is what I learned about men: Never trust the promises they make when they are happy and never make yourself dependent on them. We women are only as strong as the men we control, but we should never be fooled by our own game. With Francis, I was, and I paid the price for it.

But I shall tell you about these events in more detail when I speak about the person they led me to: Jane.