The Perfect Royal Mistress (14 page)

O
LD FRIENDS BECOME BITTER ENEMIES ON A SUDDEN.

F
OR TOYS AND SMALL OFFENSES.

—Robert Burton

W
HEN
the king returned from the theater that afternoon, he had intended a brisk swim in his private lake, before a quiet supper he had carefully arranged with Lady Stuart. He found not Lady Stuart in his private apartments, but rather his brother, the Duke of York, and Lady Castlemaine. Clearly, they had found a way to amuse themselves while they waited.

James was standing before the freshly stoked fire, his back to the wood-paneled fireplace hearth. His hands were linked, and Barbara was leaning against him, playing with the folds of his white cravat.

“Pray God, Barbara, is there not a man at court you will not seduce?” The king’s voice boomed with irritation.

“Apparently not you any longer, so I take what I can get,” she said.

“So what the devil
are
you doing here?”

“Pity, to hear that tone,” Barbara purred. “You used to be so welcoming of this delicious sort of thing—you, me, another willing creature—for the variety of it.”

“And you used to be delicious. But times do change. Now, I shall thank you to say what you have to say, and be done with it, so that I may dine with Lady Stuart.”

“Ah, yes, about her.” James brought his hands forward and pressed them together as his expression changed. “It seems I have the unenviable task, since no one else fancies time in the Tower, of telling you about that.”

He rubbed his temples. “Well, out with it. I’ve suddenly developed a dreadful headache.”

“I’m afraid she has eloped with the Duke of Richmond,” James confessed.

As if he had been struck, Charles sank into a chair, edged with gold fringe, his expression going very blank. For months he had wooed her, courted her, and taken her rebuffs, all in the hope of an eventual victory. Now she had betrayed him.

“It cannot come as too grand a surprise,” Barbara said cautiously, pressing back her obvious delight. “They’ve been stealing away together for months. Everyone at court has known about it.”

Charles shook his head. “Everyone, it seems, but the king.”

“Oh, really, Charles. You cannot mean you truly cared for that empty-headed chit? She’d have been no challenge at all once you’d had her.” She twisted her hand in the air with a flourish. “Pretty enough, I’ll grant you, but dull as dirt, really.”

They were silent with each other for a time after that. Charles was too stunned to say anything clever. “If you mean to gloat,” he finally said, slouching in his chair, legs wide, “you can take your leave now.”

“Actually, I came to give you a piece of advice.”

He arched a brow. “Oh, I can hardly wait to hear it.”

“You should have poor Buckingham released from the Tower. That is my blunt advice, and apparently you are in need of it.”

Charles looked at his brother, who stood saying nothing. “George is where he belongs for opposing his king.”

“And where is Lord Clarendon for costing England so dearly? It is the question all of England is asking.”

“She’s right, you know,” said James, finally. “The country has turned against him. He is too old, too out of touch, they are saying. We have had to surrender to the Dutch, for God’s sake. After what happened to Father, I ask you: Can you truly risk that attitude on all of us?”

Charles was silent. The tug of memories came at the mention of their father.
Tell Cromwell I shall gladly die in the king’s place! Only let my father live!…
Charles looked at his brother. At this moment, he did not feel very much like anyone’s king. “Well, you’ve said what you wished to say,” he said at last.

Glancing at the two brothers, Barbara kissed the king’s cheeks, then left the room.

“What did I do with my own life?” Charles asked rhetorically of his brother, as he raked a hand through his dark hair. “I’ve rather made a mess of things without meaning to. And I feel I’ve let Father down in it. I’ve no heir; I certainly haven’t anyone who I dare delude myself by saying she loves me. And no one I particularly love in return. Unlike you, I do not wish to divorce my wife, and yet, God forgive me, I do not love my own in any other way than I love our sister, Minette.” He curled his fists over the chair arms. “Do you think of him, ever?” Charles asked in a quiet voice. “Do you see his face, as I do; hear his words, as I do?”

“That is madness. I do not hear the dead.”

“He died for England, on a stump outside these very walls. He died for the Protestant faith, and you would smite him at every turn.”

“I don’t know what you are going on about,” James hedged.

“The devil you don’t! I may not hear everything that is whispered in my court. But I hear well enough the gossip about the friend you are to the Catholics. That’s why you’re
really
here, I’ll warrant you. You are hoping I shall change my mind and grant you a divorce, because your faithful wife has gotten fat and unappealing.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“Do not lie to your king, or your brother!”

“Charles, I do remember our father! And what I remember the most is that he was a man passionate about his family! He would not have forced me to stay in this marriage!”

“Then with any luck, perhaps your wife will die early and free you of your burden of fidelity!”

“You’re a fine one to talk to me about fidelity, with your own share of mistresses!”

“If the queen gives me an heir, you can have your divorce.”

“The queen is barren, Charles. A barren, Portuguese embarrassment!”

“Then start your Catholic prayers that she experiences a miracle. You will not have your divorce without it!”

The Duke of Buckingham was accorded his own servants, his cook, a grand poster bed, his books, and all of his papers. Yet still, he was a captive in the Tower of London at the king’s pleasure. Marking the long days, he sat in an upholstered chair facing out into the courtyard, where guards paced beneath a dreary spring sky. It was the thrill of court life he missed most. The chase. The bawdy jokes. The endless card games, the dancing, the drinking…the sex. Charles knew that well enough, which was precisely why he was here. Taking all of that from him would make a king’s point in spades. When the heavy door opened, he did not hear it at first, in spite of the long, low squeal and the clank of the iron handle. But he recognized the king’s unmistakable ambergris scent.

Charles lingered in the doorway for a moment, two guards bearing halberds behind him. He was elegantly dressed in blue velvet with silver ribbons, but his face was drawn, his eyes tired.

“So, how do you find the accommodations?” Charles asked as a second chair was set for him beside Buckingham’s own. Buckingham waited for the king to sit, then he slouched again as he had been before. “How one might find a case of the grippe. Eager for it to be at an end.”

“At least you have not lost your sense of humor.”

“Only my self-respect.”

“Then come away with me, George.”

“Need I remind you that it was Your Majesty who wished me here in the first place?”

“I was angry.”

“So I gathered.”

“You have but to apologize, and all will be forgiven.”

“Apologize for telling you the truth? Is the very foundation of our friendship, and your trust in me, not based on that very crucial thing?”

Charles closed his eyes. For a moment, he said nothing else. “My father’s friendship with Edward was long based on trust, as well. Honoring my father’s memory to me is—”

“Honoring his memory, to the exclusion of other things, is dangerous, not only to you, but to all of England.”

Charles shot him an angry stare. “You are an insolent hound!”

“I am an insolent hound who would rather spend eternity in this hole than see you continue on with so grave an error that will have you despised by your own people.”

“You are right about Clarendon, of course. He has made a grand mess of things.”

“And I am right that it is
I
who should be your chancellor.”

“Humility never was your strong suit.”

“Fortunately for both of us, loyalty is.”

“Apparently, you will need to get in line on that claim. Arlington and Lauderdale both desire the distinction.”

“No one has known you longer, or better, Charles.”

“There was a time when I thought Clarendon did.”

“You are loyal to your father’s memory. Clarendon was a part of that. But you are a new king, with your own challenges, and England cannot afford the humiliation we are now facing, having to submit to Dutch peace terms, as if it were outright surrender. Not after the fire
and
the devastation of the last plague!”

They both heard the guards pacing outside.

“Just apologize, George. In the name of friendship, it is all that I ask.”

Buckingham propped himself on an elbow, chin on his hand. They were facing each other. “Say you need me and I will do just that.”

Charles rolled his eyes. He lowered his voice. “You know perfectly well that I need you, George.”

“More than Arlington?”

“More than any of the others.”

“It was all I wanted to hear. And I
am
sorry I forced you in front of them to see how much you need a true friend.”

“Not exactly the tone of apology for which I had hoped. But it will have to do,” said the king, knowing he had just been manipulated, but letting an affectionate smile light his face anyway.

Arms linked, Nell and Rose moved quickly along the cobblestone, grins wide, hands gripping string that held a collection of shopping boxes. Inside were hats, lace gloves, a new silk fan for Nell’s upcoming carriage ride, and two new pairs of shoes made of white kid with silk embroidery. All around them was the clap and echo of hammers and the smell of fresh wood. There were still the scars everywhere, reminders of what had happened—charred ruins, piles of rubble and debris—but London had begun to recover from the devastation.

Their lives, too, had changed greatly. New furniture, richer coverlets, and silk pillows made their evenings more comfortable, but the Cock & Pye remained a touchstone, and they had continued to live together above the tavern. Helena Gwynne, however, had been mysteriously absent. She would come around again when she needed money, they both knew, but for now her absence added to their new contentment. Happy and breathless, they ducked inside and were greeted rousingly by the patrons who welcomed Nell as their local celebrity. Patrick, the proprietor, held up the most recent copy of the
London Gazette.
“Our Nelly ’as made ’istory!” he proclaimed. “It says ’ere she is the queen of the King’s Theater!”