The Perfect Royal Mistress (34 page)

Two days later, as Nell and Rose were arguing over a selection of fabrics sent to them for new dresses, a footman in royal livery stood at her front door with a message. His presence silenced them and drew them both forward as Bridget Long, Nell’s maid, held open the door. Sir Peter Lely wished to finish his painting of her, and by order of the king her presence was requested at the royal palace of Richmond. This was the king’s way of beginning things with her again. It was a portrait he had said he very much wanted. But with the queen pregnant, and herself now the subject of lewd poetry and court gossip, the notion of returning to that tumultuous world was not appealing.

Nell glanced over at her sister as the expressionless footman stood waiting.

“What’ll you do?” Rose asked cautiously. “The king’ll be there.”

“’Tis my fortune, and yours, that ’Is Majesty finds diversion in actresses.”

“But those old crows will likely be there, and if memory serves, you couldn’t wait to get out of Windsor.”

“They’re a part of ’is world I’m not likely to avoid, if I want to continue on. I’ve got to learn to live with ’em.”

“I just don’t want to see you ’urt, Nelly. You ’eard that awful poem yourself. ’Tis the way things are at court. You’re a diversion, and a bit of lowbrow comedy to make ’em all laugh for a while. Like Moll Davies was. But it didn’t last for ’er, and you’d best prepare that it won’t last for you.”

“I’ve got to do this.”

“Because you love him?”

“Because I love him.” A moment later, Nell touched her sister’s arm, and her voice went lower. “And I love you. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Rose.”

Rose smiled. “Good. Then you’ll never ’ave to find out.”

“Only
I
can make myself irreplaceable to a king. For all that was beyond us growin’ up, this much the Fates have left up to me. I’m determined to figure my way round them this time. Watch and see if I don’t.”

Chapter 20

I
GIVE YOU FREELY ALL DELIGHTS
W
ITH PLEASANT DAYS AND EASY NIGHTS.

—From
Venus and Adonis

T
WO
days after she had been summoned by the king’s painter, Nell lay nude on a wide daybed, covered in rich azure velvet, fringed in shimmering gold. In the vast salon, two tall windows filtered the afternoon sunlight. It shimmered on her smooth, ivory skin, as Peter Lely attacked the canvas before him with a palette of bold colors. The odor of paint and linseed oil was pungent in the closed room. There was something oddly sensual in posing, Nell thought, as she lay silently watching Lely’s expression, and his movements. First an intense glance at her body, studying each turn and rise, then focus back on the canvas. It had been going on that way for hours.

It had been a fortnight since news had spread across London that once again Queen Catherine had miscarried her child. Three months had passed since Nell and Charles had seen each other.

She could not imagine the sadness, or conflict, either of them felt. She even pitied the queen. It was odd how many lives intersected because of one man, she thought. Thoughts of him turned to sensation. Her skin turned to gooseflesh. But Lely had been very firm. She could not, must not, move if they were to make important progress today.

“Is that not sufficient for one sitting?” A voice suddenly filled the great chasm of high beams and wood floors. She heard firm footsteps follow the question as the king added, “We want to immortalize the lady, not paralyze her.”

“As Your Majesty wishes,” Lely said in English, thickly accented by his Dutch roots. “I have reached an appropriate point to stop for today, in any case.”

Charles moved into Nell’s view, and she watched him scan the canvas. He was in a magnificent coat of sapphire blue, with wide silver cuffs trimmed with loops of silver ribbon. The onyx curls of his wig lay on broad sapphire shoulders. His expression was so intense as he looked at the work that it quickly became a frown. Finally, he looked away from the canvas and directly at her. His gaze rested appreciatively on her nude body for only a moment before Lely handed her an ivory-colored dressing gown, edged in Belgian lace. Nell took her time putting her arms into each of the sleeves, and even longer closing it over her bare breasts, in what she hoped would seem a slightly erotic dance.

“Nell,” the king finally said with a glint in his dark eyes. “I don’t believe I have ever seen you look lovelier.”

“And
I
don’t believe I’ve ever seen Your Majesty look at me longer,” she said on an infectious chuckle that quickly broke the frown, and had him smiling.

Lely bit back his own smile at that. Nell stood and was embraced by the king. “I’ve missed you, sweetheart,” Charles said in a low tone, meant for only her to hear, as his arms surrounded her and he pulled her small body against himself.

“I can tell.”

His mouth went down on hers then in a deep, languorous kiss. “Will you not tell me you’ve missed me as well?”

“And be like all the others who mean to flatter you instead of love you? Not a chance!” she laughed, and ran a finger down his chest to the row of shimmering silver buttons, each emblazoned with his coat of arms. “But you still and always will be my own Charles the Third!”

After Lely had gone, Charles gently pressed Nell back onto the daybed upon which she had posed. Arching over her, he kissed her neck, and then the lobe of her ear. “I’ll have you right here and now if you’ll not object,” he murmured into her unbound hair.

“Your Majesty can ’ave me anywhere you fancy, and in any particular way you please,” Nell replied with a carefree laugh that excited him all the more, as the shoe heels of the Yeomen of the Guard clicked out a rhythm in the corridor beyond them.

She touched the fitted, boned bodice of the luxurious gown into which she was pulled, pressed, and tied. It was an elegant creation that, at the king’s pleasure, had been styled in France particularly for Nell. It was the country and culture that he enjoyed most, he told her. And his much-loved sister lived there. The dress, sewn of champagne-colored silk, had a full skirt over layers of petticoats. It was sprinkled with tiny white silk roses. How far she had come. She could still see the king’s reflection in her mirror, as she had stood before him earlier, her hair dressed with a sheen of pearls, her neck and shoulders smelling of essence of pear. He had placed one very discreet and fashionable black patch beside her left eye, just above where they crinkled when she smiled, just before he clothed her neck in a glittering pearl-and-diamond choker.

Now, her arm in his, the king had placed his other hand atop hers. She knew the small movement was to steady her. He must feel her trembling. Even her best acting could not entirely mask that. There were just so many people, bows, nods, and curtsies, and she had not yet had nearly enough practice. There would be no ribald jokes or comedy tonight. She must make the king proud; she must behave as if she had always been meant to be here.

That was what the Duke of Buckingham had advised her.

“Would you like a glass of champagne?” the king asked as they took command of the room, continuing to nod and chat as they strolled. The gold braid on his shoulders glinted in the candlelight and caught her eye as she turned to him. “I’d prefer three, to tell you the truth.”

Amused, he said beneath his breath, “At the moment, I suspect I could arrange for two without causing a commotion.”

“Then that’ll have to do,” she replied as they moved gracefully toward the dancing area.

Nell looked up into the king’s eyes and followed his lead. “You’re doing marvelously!” he whispered to her as they passed during the final measure. He bowed and she curtsied, and Nell realized only then that the entire court had stopped to watch them.

“She walks like one of the king’s dogs,” she then heard a woman snidely say.

“She does have rather a loping stride,” remarked another.

The king plucked another glass of champagne from a silver tray held by a page. “Here you are. The third glass. Never let it be said your king does not give you all that you hope for.”

“I’m hoping for quite a bit more of somethin’ else later,” she seductively murmured, just as a gentleman and lady she did not know approached His Majesty, along with their youthful daughter. By the color that rose on the girl’s cheeks as they neared, and the expression of near terror in her eyes, Nell assumed the girl was new at court. While he was not flirtatious with her, Nell felt a small spark of unease at the way he took the girl’s hand at the introduction, and held it just an instant too long.

While the king was distracted by the trio, Buckingham quietly advanced. “I told you he would send for you,” the duke said with studied calm. He was smiling kindly at her, wearing a coat of scarlet satin and a long blond periwig, yet standing formally, hands clasped behind his back. He seemed so different from the relaxed gentleman who sat affably drinking champagne and gossiping in her drawing room not a week ago.

“I shall ’ave to remember in the future to listen to you.”

“You look delicious enough to eat this evening, my dear. Always remember I told you
that
as well.”

Her smile was twisted. “Does everyone ’ere ’ave your way with words?”

“Not nearly enough to make it a challenge, I’m afraid. Which is what makes you such a delight.”

“Well, just now I’m nervous as a kitten caught in a chimney pipe.”

“His Majesty would never know it. And, if I may, a word of advice? Lock your fear away. The old crones, and the young jackals, for that matter, smell fear most distinctly. Once they’ve gotten the scent, they shan’t rest until you’ve been entirely done away with.”

“’Tis just what Lord Rochester said.”