Margaret Moore (10 page)

“The question you should be asking, my dear,” Neville replied, “is,
who
is it?”

“Very well.
Who
is it?”

“The king.”

Chapter 7

L
ike a ripple upon the surface of a calm pond, the entire audience bowed toward its ruler.

“The king!” Arabella murmured excitedly as she performed a low curtsy, all the while keeping her eyes on the dark-haired, mustached man in the center of the box.

His Majesty’s clothing was of a deep and lustrous purple embroidered with silver thread, and his hair was long, dark and curling. He turned this way and that addressing the beautiful woman and magnificently attired courtiers who attended him, yet she could see that his features were as comely as people said, although he was not nearly as handsome as the man at her side.

As King Charles gestured grandly in acknowledgment, Arabella smiled to think that she was seeing him so soon after her arrival in
London. This stroke of luck almost made up for every other discomfiting thing that had happened since they had come.

Then she realized the king was looking directly at her.

Nonplussed, Arabella instinctively curtsied again. When she rose, she saw that the king had turned his attention to the beautiful, bejeweled woman beside him, wearing a luxurious gown of peacock blue.

“Here you are,” the earl growled.

Arabella and Neville both turned to face the irate nobleman and a panting Lady Lippet as they entered the box. “What the devil did you mean by taking off like a fox at a hunt?”

“Hush, Father. The king.” Neville eyed the royal box significantly.

“Oh!”

Immediately, the earl bowed low, while Lady Lippet curtsied with an alarming cracking of joints.

As they straightened, Arabella glanced at the royal box, to encounter again the disconcerting gaze of the sovereign.

“A royal conquest perhaps,” Neville noted.

“Don’t be an idiot, Neville,” Lord Barrsettshire reprimanded him in what Arabella supposed he meant for a whisper, although he was audible to anyone within twenty feet. “He was looking at me. No doubt he recalls that I once held the stirrup of his father’s horse.”

“He was looking at
me
,” Lady Lippet gushed, waving gaily at the royal box. “We are on the most intimate of terms.”

“You and the king?” Neville muttered. “If that is true, I fear for the royal eyesight.”

Arabella stifled a smile, while Lord Barrsettshire gave his son a sour look. “Why don’t you join your cronies and leave us in peace?”

Arabella flushed at the earl’s rudeness, for they were in this box by Neville’s invitation.

“I wouldn’t dream of deserting you,” he replied. “Besides, while this is not the best of boxes, I have a very fine view of the stage from here.”

“You mean the women who parade upon it.”

“Perhaps,” Neville replied lightly.

Arabella suddenly found the building, which was crowded and lit by smoking candles, unbearably stuffy and hot. But she would not leave without seeing the play. Otherwise, she might seem a country bumpkin. “Shall we take our seats?”

“Indeed,” Lady Lippet seconded. “Arabella must sit in the front beside me, and you men at the back.”

The earl looked displeased, but he grudgingly obeyed, while Lady Lippet scanned the theater. “An excellent crowd,” she murmured. “More gentlemen than ladies.”

“I am sure your ladyship is the soul of generosity,
for I suspect many of these are not gentlemen or ladies,” Neville said behind them.

“You would know,” the earl grumbled. “This place is probably full of pickpockets and whores, and the inmates of Bedlam would be more entertaining than the immoral twitterings we are going to have to sit through.”

“Ah, ladies, are my father’s words not the epitome of gracious speech?”

“Oh, look! We are in luck!” Lady Lippet exclaimed, ignoring them. “There is Lord Denshaw and the young Earl of Westlorne and—oh, my dear!—that young nobleman with the wart on his nose. Oh, what is his name? Whatever it is, he has a huge fortune!”

“Arabella, you will get overheated if you keep your cloak on,” the earl admonished her.

Arabella obediently slipped her cloak off her shoulders. As she did, she hoped the play would commence shortly. Then everyone would have to be quiet.

Someone in the pit applauded, and people began to stare at her. The women frowned, and the men …

To her chagrin, Arabella realized the men were regarding her with leering, speculative curiosity, as if she had suddenly appeared stark naked before them. She quickly pulled up her cloak a little.

“Have you ever considered a career upon the stage, Lady Arabella?” Neville whispered
behind her, his breath hot on the back of her neck. “You would undoubtedly cause a sensation.”

She stiffened. She would not respond. She would ignore him and his warm breath on her skin. She would not compare him to the other men around her, overdressed and impertinent rascals the lot of them, especially the Duke of Buckingham. She would sit and enjoy the play.

Somehow.

“I wonder if Lord Rochester will be here,” Lady Lippet mused. “And dear Sedley.”

“If Buckingham is come, I think his dogs must not be far behind, provided they could rouse themselves at all,” Neville remarked.

“This whole country is going to the dogs,” the earl rumbled. “The dogs!”

“Smile, Arabella,” Lady Lippet ordered. “This is a glorious opportunity!”

“I am quite sure she never misses an opportunity.”

“Pay him no heed, Arabella!” Lady Lippet commanded. “Smile!”

“Do you see that pretty girl there who is also smiling?” Neville asked, his arm reaching past Arabella’s shoulder to point to a lovely young woman giggling with female companions in the box beside the king. “That is La Belle Stewart. Charles is quite infatuated, they say. She resists his advances, however. Some say it is her morality, others that she is simply too stupid
to understand what the king wants of her.”

“Neville, keep your disgusting observations to yourself or I will have you thrown out!” the earl admonished.

“Do not tempt me to seek fame by being forced from both my home and a theater in so short a time, Father,” his son replied calmly.

“The queen is much prettier than I expected,” Arabella observed quietly.

“Oh, my dear!” Lady Lippet cried. “That is not the queen. That is Lady Castlemaine.”

“Egad, is she really?” the earl said. “She is indeed a beautiful woman.”

“Quiet, Father, lest you hurt Lady Arabella’s tender feelings,” Neville whispered loudly. “Surely you do not think the king’s
grand amour
prettier than your charming ward. You do understand French, do you not, Lady Arabella?”

“I know what that means, my lord,” she replied stonily, resisting the urge to turn around and glare at him.

She did not appreciate being compared to the king’s mistress, even favorably.

Mercifully, the stage curtains parted, signaling the beginning of the performance.

A pretty young woman stepped forth. She was gorgeously attired in a rich and elaborate gown of surprising immodesty, which exposed nearly as much as it covered.

And so the play began.

As
The Country Cuckold
progressed, Arabella knew she should disapprove of what was being enacted, and in her rational mind, she did. Much of the tale concerned an adulterous wife and her lovers’ attempts to dupe her dullard of a husband. The wife, much younger than her spouse, had married for wealth, he because he believed the woman loved him. For the duration of the play, the wife and her several lovers came up with a variety of improbable and increasingly ridiculous methods of disguising themselves and their true relationships from the husband.

Unfortunately, the wife and her lovers were so witty and clever, their schemes so outrageous, the husband so dim-witted, that Arabella had to laugh in spite of herself.

In addition to the actual performance, the rowdy, unruly behavior of the audience was a spectacle in itself. Members of the audience talked, joked and sauntered about the theater, so much so that at times Arabella could scarcely hear the actors for their clever banter.

Also distracting was the notion that the king kept looking at her. As tempting as it was to try to confirm that impression, the Duke of Buckingham and Mrs. Hankerton, as well as several other men, were in a box directly beside the sovereign. Every time she looked in that direction, she encountered the duke’s leering smile.

As if all this were not enough, she had to contend with the knowledge that Neville was sitting directly behind her.

Her only recourse was to keep her gaze firmly fastened on the stage, no matter what unbelievable and immoral activities were being represented.

In spite of her resolve, however, she completely forgot to watch the play when she saw Neville standing at the side of the stage, apparently entertaining a group of young women.

She had no idea that he had even left the box.

“What in the name of God is Neville doing?” the earl muttered behind her, telling Arabella he had not noticed his son decamping, either. “Look at him with those creatures!”

“Who are they? Actresses?” Arabella asked Lady Lippet.

“No, those saucy wenches sell oranges,” Lady Lippet replied with a sneer. “Bold hussies, the lot of them, and none more so than that Nell Gwynn! Look at her, the baggage!”

Arabella could not help looking at the pretty girl who seemed so amused by whatever Neville was saying that she had to hang onto his shoulder for support.

He certainly seemed to take this familiar behavior in stride.

Arabella tried to turn her attention back to
the play, which was not at all facilitated by Neville’s ensuing stroll across the stage, providing her an unavoidable opportunity to study his athletic grace.

By the time the final curtain came down, to the boisterous applause of the audience, Arabella could see why her father and the earl always spoke of the theater in disparaging terms and why the Puritans had declared actors immoral rogues.

She could also understand why the theater was filled to capacity.

The players took their bows and curtsies, and the immodestly dressed actress playing the wife received thunderous applause. A veritable garden of flowers appeared at her feet, composed of bouquets tossed by several men. Finally, with much kissing of her hands to the audience, the actress left the stage.

Only then did the king rise and hold out his hand for Lady Castlemaine, who, Arabella thought, appeared to be decidedly out of sorts. Despite her expression, however, she meekly allowed the king to lead her from the box, while the audience stood in respect.

A general hubbub ensued as the patrons began heading for the exits.

Arabella turned toward the earl and discovered that he was acknowledging a woman of middle years across the pit.

“If you will excuse me a moment, ladies,” he
said, getting to his feet, “I really must pay my respects to the Viscountess Bradley. Her late husband was a very dear friend of mine.”

As he left the box, Lady Lippet pushed past Arabella. “That charming young Rochester is here after all, in the Duke of Buckingham’s box. I will fetch him if I can, for he is not married. Perhaps I can manage an invitation to a late supper.”

Arabella rose reluctantly. She had absolutely no wish to go the duke’s box.

Lady Lippet gave her a studied look. “I think it would be better if you stay here. I’ll be back before you even know I’m gone.”

As tempting as it was to avoid the duke, Arabella knew she should not be left alone in so public a place. “Surely I should—”

“You will be perfectly safe here, my dear,” Lady Lippet said decisively as she marched from the box.

Feeling far less convinced of that than Lady Lippet, yet unable to resist the evasion Lady Lippet offered, Arabella moved to the back bench, where she would be less noticeable.

She scanned the pit and the stage, relieved to note that no one seemed to be looking her way. Instead, the boisterous orange sellers commanded the attention of the men near them, and everyone else seemed in a hurry to leave, perhaps for parties or dinners.

With a sigh, she began to relax and think
about the play. Truly, it was a scandalous story, and yet she could scarcely remember laughing so hard in her life.

“By the world, have they left the wolves’ bait all alone?”

Arabella jumped to her feet and turned to see Neville leaning against the door frame, effectively blocking her exit, his arms crossed over his chest as he regarded her, and with that devilishly seductive smile on his handsome face.

Neville continued to smile, even though he was shocked that his father would do something so careless and foolish as to leave Arabella alone.

Almost every man in the place, virtuous or not, had looked at her throughout the performance, and it did not take a seer to guess what they were thinking—including the king, for Neville had watched him closely.

Charles rarely confined his attentions to one woman at a time and had learned to disguise any overt interest in another woman while with the fiery-tempered Lady Castlemaine; nevertheless, Neville knew the Merry Monarch had taken note of Arabella. She was easily the most beautiful, enticing woman in the theater, whether on the stage or in the audience, surpassing even Lady Castlemaine.