Chelynne (50 page)

Her women were dismissed. She did not wish to be aided in disrobing and wished no company in her bedding. She wanted to be alone and not to see a servant’s face before dawn. Stella was hurt. It showed in the old eyes and Chelynne touched her arm, halting her departure.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’ve been a burden to you.”

“I worry with your manner,” Stella confessed, troubled.

“Stella...” she started, unsure. “Stella, you were closer than any to my mother. Did she...was she...was there ever anyone else for her? Other than my father?”

“My lady Madelynne? Lord, mum, she was the finest, sweetest...”

Stella went on but Chelynne did not hear. This was all routine. This praising of Madelynne would never alter or change, not even if Chelynne were desperate. Even if Stella knew more she would not divulge it.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Stella asked with genuine concern.

“It would break your heart,” she mumbled.

“What, mum?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, dear.” Chelynne braved a smile. “But that I’m tired and sore and need my bed. And some time alone. You go on now, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

So she wasn’t allowed to leave the house? There was no command more influential than a few coins. These, placed in the hand of the steward, opened the door quite easily. Gordon, disapprovingly, drove the coach. This time, however, she was well guarded and supposedly secret. She sought out trustworthy footmen who would not speak loosely of her outing and they obliged her to the tune of twenty pounds. She entered Whitehall this night through a door she had never used before. She was greeted almost instantly by Chiffinch. He did not speak to her but simply handed her a candle to light herself up.

What a long way she had come, she thought wearily as she climbed the dark stair. From a careless youth whose greatest problem was what time to ride, to this: conspiring and spying, fighting off bandits with her own force of arms and meeting the king for what he thought would be an entertaining toss with a new mistress. She was at a loss. She wished now that she had paid closer attention to the women who boasted infidelities similar to this.

She found herself in a small anteroom adjacent to the king’s apartments. She was alone. There was no sound, no voices coming from any side of her. She tried a door and walked through a gallery to yet another door. She found herself eventually in the king’s bedchamber, again alone. She stood in wonder for a moment and then Charles startled her by speaking.

“There you are. I would have come for you.”

For lack of an alternative she fell into a deep curtsy and thought at once how foolish she must look. She had come to go to bed with the king and here she was acting as though she were being presented at court. As she raised herself she saw the mirror of her thoughts in his eyes. Gad, how stupid.

“I fear I risk punishment in coming to you in this way, sire,” she said softly.

“The earl?” He shrugged. “Perhaps you should have given it more consideration before making your decision.”

He did not seem very disturbed and she knew it would be best to state her business quickly. He sat on the edge of the bed and began to peel an orange. He was naked of all adornments and wore only shirt and breeches, no shoes or burdensome robes to hamper a quick undressing.

“The anger may be yours, sire.”

“I doubt that, dear. Do you fear displeasing the king?”

She gulped hard. “If you would be so kind, there’s a matter on which I seek counsel.”

He laughed richly. “You needn’t have gone to such lengths, madam. You would certainly have been granted an audience.”

Drawing one step closer she tried again. “I thought to see you privately, not in the company of your ministers.”

“I seldom have a private moment,” he advised her. “And I seldom enjoy a woman freely.” Again came the laughter and head-shaking as if in amused exasperation. Then looking at her and raising a quizzical brow he said in a low seductive voice, “Most wait until I’m in a more pliable position, but go ahead.”

She flushed scarlet, momentarily unable to speak.

“Well, madam, let’s have done with the baiting and get on to more enjoyable matters.” He stood and began to undo the buttons on his shirt.

“Might I beg your discretion, sire?”

“You’d have more chance getting that than anything else,” he laughed, finding the last button and shedding the shirt.

“It’s about my mother, sire,” she said quickly. “I had the chance to come upon a letter she had written while she was round with me and near her lying-in. She—” Chelynne stopped and stared as he pulled off one stocking. Her voice went on at an urgent pace. “She indicated strongly that I was not my father’s own and that—” Off came the other stocking and he stood. “That the man from whose loins I did come would not be challenged by my legal—” His hands were on the fastenings that held up his breeches, and in equal parts fear and surprise she shouted, “Will you stop that?”

Charles did stop. At once. He stared at her in wonder. That she would scream at him, this mild-mannered flower. “Oh, dear God,” she groaned. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. Please...”

“A letter, you say?”

“A letter,” she murmured. “Sire, it’s possible that I am your own.”

“Christ,” he muttered, sitting hard upon the bed. He grabbed up his shirt, shrugging immediately into it.

“Do you remember, sire?” she asked timidly.

“What would it matter,” he said angrily, waving his arm at her. “You’ve a name right enough. You’ve a marriage of quality. Can you ever be harmed above a little gossip?”

She hung her head, ashamed now at having thrown this up to him as she had. “I couldn’t live with the uncertainty, sire. That is all.”

“I’m curious. What is it you want?”

Her head shot up and she smiled at him. She did love him, that had been decided long ago. From the first time she met him she had found him soothing to be near, chivalrous and gentle. She had never been afraid of him; self-conscious and nervous in his presence, but never afraid. “Good Lord, sire! How could I want for anything you could give me? I declare the earl is rich enough. I’ll warrant he’s richer than—” She stopped and covered her mouth. But Charles laughed.

“I warrant he’s got twice my wealth. He’s scattered it well enough.”

“I’ve never known my parents, sire. They’ve been dead a long time.”

“I remember them. I seldom forget anything of any importance.”

“And you remember her?” she asked, holding her breath in anticipation.

“I do.”

“And...”

“And...” He took a deep breath and looked at her. “I cannot deny the possibility.”

She digested that, slowly and with her eyes closed. She had been prepared for that answer and still it struck her hard. Finally she murmured her thanks.

“Things are not often as they seem, madam. There could have been ten others you’ve never heard of.” Her eyes shot up to where he stood and she burned with sudden anger though she dared not show it. “I’m afraid the real truth is buried with your mother. I won’t give you airs where there are none. A great many women have passed where your mother did. And I am not the lone rake in all Christendom, my dear. Mistresses of mine have had their own indiscretions, thinking I’ve never been wiser. The only reason they carry on is certainly because I’ve never been the knave to chastise them.” And then he muttered, “And because I seldom give a blessed damn.”

“And would you know of any other possibility?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He moved nearer and looked into her pretty brown eyes. For a moment he was struck by her beauty and a resemblance. In the eyes, the fine arch of her brow, she resembled a daughter of his by Barbara Palmer. “No, darling, I know of none other. But you must be aware of the possibility. And you must tell me what you hope to gain.”

“Nothing but the truth, sire. It would suit me best to have a secret.”

“There are no secrets here,” he informed her. “What they do not know they will guess. Whatever my intentions were, they have changed because of this development.”

“Probability,” she corrected him.

“What they do not guess they will invent. All will think we’ve shared a bed.” He fastened the last button on his shirt and grumbled. “Secrets fascinate me...because they are so rare.”

She shrugged. “It’s of no matter to me, whatever is said.”

“Women are the greatest lovers of a slander. I hope it does not burn you badly.”

“Not I,” she said simply.

“As I remember, she was much as you are now. Small and slender, lovely. A quiet woman.” He laughed and added, “Now that is rare. She was discreet and modest. I was hardly aware of her, though I was guilty even then of picking out a lovely woman and admiring her openly. I did the same when you first arrived at court.” He laughed again, looking her over roguishly. “This is a new twist, however.” Chelynne’s eyes widened somewhat but he quickly shook his head. “My sins are many but I am not guilty of that horror. Thank God, that won’t be among my many counts on the Judgment.”

She smiled her relief. “Thank you, sire. You’ve been most patient.”

“Do you know the wrath of a king who’s been played for a fool?”

“I’ve no cause to worry over that, sire.”

“And what of Bryant? What will you tell him?”

“I won’t tell him. Neither will he ask.”

“Oh, I think he will at least ask. I understand him to be a jealous man.”

“If that is true, of what I couldn’t say. I’ve—” She stopped, not wishing to divulge too much personal information. Whatever their problem, she didn’t want to make things more difficult for either of them than they already were. “He won’t be interested, Your Majesty.”

“I would have thought he was in love with you.”

“I promise you, this once you were wrong.”

“That, madam, is not new. This, I think, is best left alone from now. Do you agree?”

She smiled warmly. “My wishes as well.”

Charles continued to study her. She had been at Whitehall long enough now to know that he never forgot one of his own. She was fresh and lovely and he felt, strangely, a fatherly pride. But that was perhaps the strangest thing about Charles. He was never too mortified to accept one of his own children, claim them through subtle acknowledgment, shower his attentions on them. He loved children, his own doubly so.

“You’re fortunate, I think, that your mother never insisted you were mine. There’s nothing pretty about an acknowledged bastard, however I take care of them.”

“But they’re proud, sire, to be yours.”

He smiled at her innocence. He wondered that often. Proud? Hardly proud but certainly excused in lieu of a king’s wrath and thought and spoken of with care. A few scattered titles, pensions that could be revoked or ignored with his passing, the arrangement of proper marriages, that was all he could do. He would have much preferred legitimate children, but life was not so kind.

“Am I the bearer of good news?” he asked.

“You’ve put to rest a grave uncertainty, sire. Good news? I’m not sure. Forgive me, sire, but I’m not—”

He hushed her, waving a hand. He understood that perfectly. However he personally chose the course for his own life, he was a man to greatly respect some moral conviction. “Then we’ll live with this gracefully and if possible, quietly.”

“There is one thing, sire,” she attempted softly.

His brows lifted as he awaited a request, wondering wearily if there was so much difference between women after all.

“We could be friends.”

“There are many who would like to befriend me, princess.”

“I’m certain of that. More than you prefer, no doubt.”

He laughed, his happy and amused laugh. This had been the only way she could determine his mood, the tone and scale of his mirth. So she hadn’t greatly angered him. But then she had never known him to be greatly angered.

“Your friendship would be a welcome change, madam. Good night.”

The next time she saw Charles he was gracious and attentive. Nearly a week had passed since she made her visit to his bedchamber. She was no longer uncertain and nervous in his presence. She believed they shared a very important bond and it gave her pleasure and confidence. But Charles, true to his manner, never openly admitted what she was to him.

At a crowded affair at the palace Chad blended into the crowd after the entertainment was over. He had moved in the direction of the gambling and Chelynne was left to receive some attention from the duke of Monmouth. He playfully courted her, and having come to know something of his character, she guessed he wouldn’t mind a scene with the earl. Indeed, he might welcome it. He was a mischievous man, already accused of multiple crimes, murder among them. But his attentions to her had not been long cast when the king and York sauntered over to them.

“You’ve a certain determination where this young woman is concerned,” Charles told him.

James smiled impishly and returned, “It’s most difficult not to, sire.”

“Come along, my lord, and allow me some moments of your time,” Charles invited.

Chelynne was left in the hands of the king’s brother, who tried to strike up idle conversation with her. She couldn’t keep her mind on what York was saying because the king had taken his son only a short distance away and stood talking to him. Their talk was brief and in a moment Charles was back and young James had gone away to prey on some other tender heart. And York, discreetly, took his leave and the two stood alone. Charles looked down at the countess of Bryant with a twinkle in his eye.