The Perfect Royal Mistress (26 page)

“What the devil are you blathering on about?” Barbara Palmer ranted, hands on her hips as she stood poised outside the door to the king’s private apartments in sunlight that came in like streamers through the long hallway windows. “I am welcome at Hampton Court any time I please!”

“Not this time,” replied Buckingham flatly, barring her way. He met her thread for thread, dressed elegantly in gray silk, brocade shoes, and a plumed hat.

He had promised to keep the other women in the king’s life at bay while he romanced Nell. And so, with William Chiffinch to alert him, the king’s dearest friend would keep his word. It was all part of the duty, he had mused.

Barbara tried to push past him through the door. But Buckingham held firm to his stance.

“Allow me to pass, George!”

“I’m afraid not, milady.”

“It’s that Davies trollop again, isn’t it?”

“I can safely say that he is quite finished with her.”

“Oh, nonsense! You know perfectly well the tart bore his child, assuring he shall
never
be truly finished with her!”

Knowing of Castlemaine’s growing paranoia and suspicion as her grip on the king loosened more each day made it all the more sporting for the vengeful duke. Buckingham was quite enjoying this. A bit of turnabout was not only fair play, it was absolutely delicious. Everything was working exactly according to plan.

“Tell me who she is, damn you!”

“No one my Lady Castlemaine knows or cares about, I assure you.”

“I know them
all
sooner or later, and all I care about any of them is that they are gone!”

George leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “That is not entirely true. You quite touted the merits of Frances Stuart, and to her face directly, if memory serves.”

“Your memory is obviously the cesspool your mind is! You know perfectly well I only touted her, as you say, to secure my own place, as His Majesty was angry over my bedding
you
!”

The absurdity of that hit them at the same moment and they both began to laugh, one spurred on the more by the other, until both slid down together, onto the floor, in a voluminous pile of silk, lace, and stockinged legs.

“We are positively a pair!” Barbara giggled in a way that did not seem totally in touch with sanity.

“On that we at least can agree.”

She grabbed his collar at both sides then suddenly, her expression changed as quickly as her mood. “Tell me who she is, George. He would not have ordered you to bar my way if she weren’t a serious contender.”

“She’s certainly nothing like you.”

“You know her well?”

“We’ve met,” he hedged.

“Will he be showing her off then, making her official?”

“I should rather think you could depend upon it.”

Barbara struggled to stand again, holding up the skirts of her dress. “You simply must tell me her name!”

“Oh, now. Surprises are so much more fun, don’t you agree?”

“He’ll not cast me over for her, if that’s what you are counting on, with your twinkling eyes and clever grin. You who I rescued myself from the Tower. And now I am coming to rue that particular day!”

He stood then as well and pressed down the rumpled parts of her gown in a way a father might do to a child. “You know perfectly well that I have always counted on you.”
Especially when you are your own worst enemy,
he thought. But he did not speak the words, for what that much honesty would cost him with her. He wished to be rid of her at court, of course. But he knew only too well that she was not gone yet.

There was to be a banquet once the king’s players had returned to London. Nell was meant to remain at Hampton Court and attend it as the king’s personal guest. Rose Gwynne sat on the edge of her sister’s bed in astonishment as a league of royal dressers, a seamstress, and a Frenchman to style her hair began the intricate process of covering Nell in rich fabrics and elegant shoes, transforming her into a proper court lady.

The two leaded-glass windows with tinted crests near the bed were open, ushering in sweet, warm air. The sun began to set on the horizon, just beyond the formal rose gardens and pond dotted with white swans. The sound of the splashing fountains that had lulled them to sleep at night, along with the music of the crickets in the hedgerows, was now all but drowned out by the chattering and dashing about of the king’s personal staff.

“If mother could see us now,” Rose mused, while Jeddy sat at her heels rolling a small blue ball back and forth in her hands, as if she were any other little child of a royal household.

“She’d take every bit of this away, too. Just like always.” Nell glanced over at Jeddy. This odd, silent little girl had been the best thing to come out of her disastrous summer liaison with Lord Buckhurst. In so brief a time, she had come to care for the child with the huge eyes so full of mystery and fear.

“You really
must
hold still, mistress!” the dresser exclaimed, a stout, middle-aged woman with gray, deep-set eyes and turned-up nose, as she wrestled with the corset stays at Nell’s already tiny waist.

Nell regarded her reflection in the full-length mirror. She had never felt so pushed or poured into anything, yet never in her life had she looked so elegant. Her hair was swept back into a twist with long side ringlets; and beneath the diamond choker given her by the king, she had been pinched and pressed into a sapphire blue gown pulled back at the knee with silk ribbons to show a blue-and-yellow striped satin skirt underneath. The bodice was fitted tightly, the square neckline cut so low that her bosom was forced up and forward seductively. Behind her mirrored reflection, she was surprised to see Jeddy’s upturned face and her open, approving smile.

“I don’t look an absolute fool in this?” she asked Rose, who alone could be trusted to tell her the truth.

“You look like a princess, Nelly,” Rose said as she gripped a fringed velvet pillow and drew it against her chest. “I’m envious down to my toes!”

Nell took a step back, then spun around. The beaded hem of her dress whispered along the floor, sounding like little bells. Jeddy let out a joyful little huff, almost a giggle, and Nell felt her own heart give way for her even further. “And what do
you
think, Jeddy? A jade dressed up like a proper lady, am I?”

The little girl smiled keenly, but still she did not answer. In her months with Nell, she had yet to utter a word, though Nell knew by her face and expression-filled eyes that she understood everything. It was likely she had been beaten in her past; certainly, she was still very frightened. To the world, Jeddy was supposed to be a charming little token, a pet. But to Nell, she was someone dear. Trust took time, Nell knew.

“All right, then. I suppose I’m ready as I’ll ever be!”

She entered the glittering banqueting hall that evening half a pace behind the king. For most of their parade through the crowd of guests, both foreign dignitaries and courtiers, she could not quite catch her breath. Images played across her mind: of an earlier time, one in which it seemed she was another girl entirely, one who had begged for scraps, fought off foul-smelling men as her own mother lured them upstairs in a bawdy house. And later, as she sold oranges for a few shillings in a soiled linen dress, and never had quite enough herself to eat.

By midnight, she had lost track of how many notable people to whom she had been introduced, and all the while he kept her hand carefully pressed upon his arm, leading her, guiding her. The evening whirled by with Nell in a cocoon of joy, laughing, dancing, and sharing a world with the king of England that only a short time before, in Newmarket, she could not have begun to imagine.

After they had danced until Nell’s feet ached, they took a stroll together through the grounds, past decades-old gardens with hedges and fountains, and vast lawns with dark woodlands beyond. They went then into a second wing of the palace and into an intimate little wood-paneled room beside the gallery where the music and laughter could still be heard. But here, the air was clear and more full of clever quips than raucous laughter. Around a table, seven or eight of the king’s friends were playing an intense game of cards. Upon their entrance, they all stood and bowed to him until he nodded. Then, without ceremony, they returned to their game.

“And here we have the
real
festivities,” said Charles. “And not just any card game, mind you. This is basset. Very competitive, indeed, with this wily group.”

“Life’s so much more of a thrill in that sort of company.” Nell smiled.

“Well, now,” exclaimed a barrel-chested man with pepper-gray hair and a thick Scottish accent. Having heard her, he looked up from the card-strewn table to assess her with a more critical eye. “Are ye no’ just a wee breath of fresh air, lass.”

The king’s smile bore a hint of pride. “Nell Gwynne, may I present the Duke of Lauderdale, John Maitland, one of my Privy Council, and a rather notorious and rakish old jackanapes, I’m afraid. His wife is clever and bold, and certainly his better half, which is why I keep him around.”

“I’ll consider myself warned,” Nell said, her friendly voice warming the air around them.

“Could an old friend invite Mrs. Gwynne to try her luck with us?”

“If she is not made to lose too dreadfully to an old schemer like you,” quipped the king.

With his approval, and beneath a very watchful eye, Nell sat with the others and quickly picked up the rules of the game. Before long, she was even winning a bit. She sank more easily into the chair and took a long swallow of French brandy from Lauderdale’s glass, then held up her cards as if she belonged there every bit as much as each of them. Lauderdale exchanged an approving glance with the king.

“So tell me, Mrs. Gwynne,” the Duke of York offhandedly asked as he lay down a card. “Which do you find more rewarding these days, performing for all of London or simply for our king?”

The double entendre was clear, and Nell felt the king tense beside her. Her smile was unfazed. She put down her own card with a flourish and met him head-on. “There’s no denyin’ I do love an audience, Your Grace. But there’s somethin’ to be said for the benefits of one very big—and important—standin’ ovation.”

Everyone at the table erupted in approving laughter, even the king, and Nell felt the tension slide away as they all realized that she had won another hand.

“So what is it like to have been dreadfully poor and now to find such overwhelming favor?” the king’s brother pressed indelicately, for the challenge of it.

“Very like taking the nasty cod liver oil your sort fancy, I should imagine. Not all that pleasin’ to the taste, but you can do it if you set your mind right properly to it.”

They looked down at her cards and were all amused that she had won yet again. “Do not tell us, Your Majesty, that she has never played this game.”

“Ah, Nell is, among other things, an amazingly quick study.”

“‘Amazing’ being the operative word,” laughed the Duke of Lauderdale. “Your Mrs. Gwynne most certainly is that!”

“Thank you for teachin’ me,” she said when it was over, and she had not, as the king commanded, lost too badly.

“It was a rare pleasure,” Lauderdale said, nodding to her in such a grand and courtly gesture that Nell felt delighted. Here with these people, on the arm of the king himself, she felt almost at ease.

As they strolled out into the moonlight of the little inner courtyard again, with its ordered French parterre, dotted with Greek stone statuary, Charles took her hand. Then he stopped her suddenly, and pressed a kiss onto each of her fingers, working the tip of his tongue over each gently rounded fingernail. “Spend the night with me, Nell. The whole night.”

She bit her bottom lip to stop a smile. “You mean like a proper mistress?”

“I mean like Nell Gwynne, the woman who has captured my heart. My friends love you, London loves you, and I have been entirely won over.”

“Your heart, you say?” she asked, with her usual wry smile.

“I did indeed,” replied the king.

Chapter 16