Читать книгу Vixens - Bertrice Small - Страница 10

Chapter 2

She had had a lovely bath and a hot supper. Bess had tucked her back into her bed, and Fancy had slept the night through. She was awakened by a wet tongue licking at her face and the sound of giggling. Her turquoise eyes flew open to see a small black, tan and white spaniel on her bed, and her two cousins Diana and Cynara standing nearby. “Good morning,” she said with a smile, and stroked the wiggling dog. “And who is this?”

“It’s Beau,” Cynara said. “He’s Bella’s mate and has just become the papa of three puppies. Grandmama says we may each have one. Do you like dogs? Diana prefers cats, but she’s going to take one of Bella’s pups anyhow. I get to choose first.”

“Perhaps it would be more polite if we allowed Fancy to have the first choice since she has just arrived,” Diana suggested.

“But I want a male, and there is only one of them,” Cynara protested. She looked at Fancy. “Do you want the male?”

“You may have it,” Fancy told her. “I prefer females. They are sweeter in nature and less apt to roam.”

“Then you and Siren can argue over the other two,” Cynara said, well satisfied. “Are you rested now? Come, and get up so we may show you all about Queen’s Malvern. It used to be a royal property, you know, but the old queen needed gold, and our great-great-grandmother bought it from her. It’s a wonderful house, but a wing was damaged during the wars that happened before we were born. My papa restored that wing. He built a beautiful dining room with a marble fireplace, crystal chandeliers, and the most beautiful paintings ! Grandmama prefers the old hall, but I love the dining room. You will, too. Come on, Fancy! Get up!” She removed the dog from the bed and tugged at the coverlet.

Fancy laughed. She had always been the baby of the family, but she was a good year or more older than both these cousins. Still, it was lovely to feel young and carefree once more. Her parents had been right, she suddenly realized. This exile to England was just what she needed. “Call Bess,” she said. She looked at the pair. Their gowns were very simple, and not at all as elegant as the ones they had worn yesterday when they greeted her. “Can we go riding later?” she asked them.

“Yes!” they chorused.

“Shall I dress like you?” she inquired. “Do you ride like that? Surely not,” Fancy wondered aloud.

“Just throw on something to go exploring,” Cynara said.

“We will change later when we ride,” Diana added.

“You don’t need Bess,” Cynara said. “Certainly you know how to dress yourself, Cousin.”

Fancy nodded. “But I don’t know where my clothing is,” she explained to them. “I’ll need Bess at least to help me find my clothes.”

“Of course!” Diana laughed. She pointed to an embroidered bell-rope by the bed. “Just pull it. She’ll come.”

Fancy complied with the instruction, yanking on the pull. “What a clever invention,” she said. “I must write to Mama about it.”

“But how do you call your servants in the Colonies?” Cynara asked, curious.

“Our servants are always there when we require them,” Fancy told her. “They seem to know when they are needed, and if they do not, well, we just yell,” she finished with a mischievous grin.

Both her cousins burst out laughing, and Cynara said, “Ohh, I can see we are all going to get on very nicely, Fancy Devers.”

Bess arrived. She curtsied. “Yes, mistress? You’ll want to get dressed, I think.” She smiled, and then continued, “Now you two shoo. You can wait in the dayroom for her, and don’t eat her breakfast. She’s going nowhere until she is fed.”

Cynara and Diana departed, and then Bess showed Fancy the small room off her bedchamber that held all of her clothing, both garments that hung and those in cedar-lined chests.

“From the look of those two, you’ll want something easy,” Bess noted. She pulled out a natural-colored linen skirt and a white shirt, exclaiming as she did so, “Why this be a man’s shirt, mistress!”

“I find it more modest to wear it over my chemise with a skirt,” Fancy explained. “The style is that of a man, but you will see the shirt is made to fit me. And the laces are of silk ribbon.”

Bess held the shirt up. “And it is smaller than a man’s. You’ll start a whole new fashion, mistress,” she chuckled.

Fancy washed her face and hands in the basin of warm water that Bess had provided. Then she dressed in her linen skirt and white shirt. She fastened a black leather belt about her narrow waist and slipped her bare feet into a pair of soft black-leather slippers. Her long dark hair she braided into a single thick plait, affixing the end with a bright scarlet ribbon. Then she joined her cousins in her dayroom where Cynara was eyeing her breakfast with an almost predatory look.

“Have you eaten?” Fancy asked her.

Cynara nodded. “But I’m always hungry,” she added. “There wasn’t a great deal of food about when I was small. ’Twas before the king was restored. I can never seem to get filled up.”

“Share my food with me then,” Fancy offered. “I couldn’t possibly eat all that Bess has brought me. Diana?” She looked at the youngest of her cousins.

“Perhaps a bit of apple and some cheese,” Diana murmured.

The three girls made quick work of the tray that Bess had brought. It contained a newly baked cottage loaf, a large wedge of sharp cheddar cheese, a shallow dish with several hard-boiled eggs, and a bowl of apples. There was also a pot of hot fragrant tea. Fancy had grown up drinking this beverage and was not surprised to see it on her tray. When they had finished, Cynara led them on a tour of Queen’s Malvern, for it was her father’s house. Although it would one day belong to her eldest brother, Freddie, she would always consider it home.

When they reached their grandmother’s apartment, they were met by two elderly, wizened little women. Cynara introduced them.

“This is Fortune’s youngest daughter,” she shouted to them, and they smiled, nodded, and bowed to Fancy. “She is called Fancy.” Cynara turned to her cousin. “This is Rohana, and her sister, Toramalli, who have been with Grandmama since her birth.”

“My mother has spoken lovingly of you both to me,” Fancy said.

“Our lady has read to us each letter your mother sent. We know you well, mistress, and are sorry for your troubles,” Toramalli said quietly. “Rohana and I are at your service.” She bowed again as did her twin sister.

Fancy reached out, and taking Toramalli’s hands in hers, pressed them first to her forehead and then to her heart. “Thank you,” she said.

“Aiii, you have been well taught,” Toramalli said in an approving tone. Rohana smiled at Fancy, nodding in favorable agreement with her sibling. “And you do not shout at us as does the duke’s high-flown daughter.”

“But you never seem to hear me if I speak in a normal tone,” Cynara protested volubly, stung by their words.

“We hear what we wish to hear,” Rohana spoke up. “It is a privilege, my lady, of our advanced age,” and then she chuckled at the surprised look on Cynara’s beautiful face. “You think because you are Stuart everyone must pay attention, but it is not so.”

“May we show Fancy Grandmama’s rooms?” Diana said politely.

The sisters nodded in unison and ushered the trio inside.

“These rooms were our great-great-grandmother’s once long ago,” Diana said quietly. “The one we all are said to resemble.”

“My father was born in these rooms,” Cynara said importantly.

“Your father was born in the bed in which your cousin from the Colonies now sleeps,” Toramalli said. “Queen’s Malvern was not our princess’s house at that time. It was her home. Lord Adam and Lady Skye ruled here then. You do not know everything, my lady.”

“But didn’t the king and the queen come to see my papa when he was born?” Cynara ventured.

“They did!” Toramalli confirmed. “King James and Queen Anne were visiting nearby, and they came to see your papa. They were well pleased by him. King James took him from your mother, and after he had held him for a time, Queen Anne took him, scolding her mate that he was not holding the infant properly. Prince Henry, his father, had arranged to have your father inherit Lord de Marisco’s titles as he had no son. The old king said, however, he should be a duke not an earl. Aye! I remember it well. I told my lady that the boy was a true Mughal for the way he howled when he wanted his own way. And a not-quite-royal Stuart, your grandmama replied.” Toramalli laughed with her memories. It was a high reedy sound.

“Rohana and Toramalli have lots of wonderful stories about Grandmama and Uncle Charlie and all the family,” Diana said. “You must get them to tell you, for they know things even your mama did not.”

“There won’t be much time before we go to court,” Cynara said.

“We aren’t going to court until December,” Diana replied. “It is just September. There is more than enough time.”

“Fancy has to have a new wardrobe made,” Cynara said.

“Why?” Fancy asked. “I have brought my entire trousseau with me from Maryland, and the Williamsburg tailors are most up-to-date.”

Cynara shook her head. “Perhaps for Williamsburg, and perhaps here in the country, but not for court. We must be shown to our best advantage at court; after all, we are going husband hunting.”

“Not me!” Fancy said emphatically. “I neither want nor need another husband, thank you.”

“Cousin!” Cynara was shocked. “You are sixteen and next year will be seventeen. If you do not catch another husband soon, you will be way too old for any gentleman.”

“I don’t care,” Fancy said bluntly. “Men cannot be trusted, Cyn. I have learned that from my own bitter experience. If you don’t marry them, you can retain your freedom, and freedom is, I think, more valuable than any husband.”

“Gracious!” Diana exclaimed, both shocked and fascinated by her cousin’s declaration.

“A woman can have her freedom and a man, if she is clever,” Cynara said with a wisdom that was beyond her years.

“Hee hee hee!” cackled Rohana. “Her Mughal blood shows, Sister.”

“If you have come to see your grandmother’s rooms,” Toramalli said sharply, “then look about you, and be on your way.”

The three girls walked slowly through the rooms, which were very familiar to Cynara and Diana. Toramalli showed them the boxes of jewelry that Jasmine possessed, a great and famous collection. Besides necklaces, rings, bracelets, chains, pins, and earbobs, there were also bags of loose stones. Cynara held out her hand and waggled it.

“See my ruby ring? Grandmama had it made for me on my last birthday. She let me choose the stone I would have, and I picked this one. I find the tear an interesting shape. It is a pigeon’s-blood ruby. Its color is so rich. I do love it! Do you have anything like it?”

“I have little jewelry, but for the pearls my mother gave me for my wedding,” Fancy answered. “I do not think I will ever wear them again for I like not the memories they evoke.”

“Ohh,” Cynara said, “may I have them?”

“Lady, you are much too bold!” Toramalli scolded. She turned to Fancy. “Remember that your mama gave you your pearls, child. Keep them, and do not associate any other memories with them but your dear mama,” she advised.

“Those who do not ask, do not get,” Cynara said sullenly.

“Such common greed does not become a young lady of your family,” Toramalli said quietly. “Now, you have seen your grandmother’s apartment. Go along and show Mistress Fancy the rest of this wonderful house.”

“You would think at her age she would be content to sit by the fire,” Cynara grumbled as they walked downstairs to the hall. “She really does get above herself.”

“That isn’t fair,” Diana quickly said. “Toramalli and Rohana have been with Grandmother her whole life. They may be servants, but they are privileged servants. They are family actually more than servitors. And they miss their menfolk. Adali in particular.”

“My mother told me about Adali,” Fancy said.

“He is dead now,” Diana said, “and Toramalli’s husband, Fergus, and his cousin Red Hugh who always guarded Grandmama. All who have served our grandmother, but for Toramalli and Rohana, are gone.”

“They should be gone, too,” Cynara muttered. “Despite their vast ages, they are as sharp-eyed as they ever were.”

“And sharp of ear too it would seem,” Fancy teased her cousin.

“Come on, and I’ll show you where everyone is buried,” Cynara said cheerfully.

They followed her from the hall, and out through the gardens. Beyond on a hillside was the family burial ground. It was neatly kept, the green grass trimmed, the gravel paths nicely raked, and open borders filled with flowers. It wasn’t at all a terrible place. There were even marble benches upon which to sit.

“Here is where they are buried,” Cynara said, pointing.

“Who?” Fancy asked.

“Our great-great-grandmother, Skye O’Malley, and her sixth husband, our great-great-grandfather, Adam de Marisco, the earl of Lundy. She was wed with him longer than any of the others. They grew old together, but it is said she was still beautiful to look upon even on the day she died. She had a smile on her face when she breathed her last, Grandmama says,” Diana explained.

“Grandmama adored her,” Cynara added.

In the hall that night Jasmine said to her three granddaughters, “Tomorrow we shall enter the storerooms, my dears. It is time to begin preparing your wardrobe for court. And I shall choose from among my jewelry suitable pieces for each of you.”

“You will spoil them, Mama,” Charlie Stuart said to his mother, but the tone of his voice was affectionate.

“Of course, I shall spoil them,” Jasmine said with a smile. “Grandchildren are for spoiling, Charlie, as you yourself know.”

“I do not spoil Brie’s children a great deal,” he protested.

“Only because they are at Lynmouth, and you do not see them as much as you should,” Jasmine teased him.

“Who is Brie?” Fancy whispered to Cynara.

“My older half sister, the countess of Lynmouth,” came the soft reply. “She was Papa’s eldest child by his first wife who was killed during the wars. I hardly know her myself for she lives in Devon and was grown by the time I came into the family.”

“Oh.” This was such a huge family, Fancy considered. She wished now she had listened a bit more carefully when her mother had spoken of them. And where was Devon? She would have to ask or be considered a complete lackwit.

In the morning the three girls came to their grandmother’s apartments, and Jasmine took them to the storage rooms, where they were faced with an enormous choice of materials from which to choose. Many of the bolts of fabric had been brought to England with Jasmine at the beginning of the century. The walls of the room were lined with cedar, and there were no windows that would allow sunlight to fade the rich colors of the materials. Cynara was openly, and greedily enthusiastic.

“I have always wanted to visit this room,” she admitted. Her bright blue eyes swept about, trying to take in all the bounty before her. Finally she closed them for a moment. It was all too much.

“I think,” Jasmine said quietly, “you should each choose a single color and its tones around which we will build you each a new wardrobe. It will make you unique amid all the others who will be at court this winter. Fancy, I think for you a rich turquoise blue to set off your beautiful eyes. There are many shades in the turquoise family, and you shall wear them all, dear girl. With diamonds, pearls, and Persian turquoise for your jewels. You may be a bit bolder as you are the oldest, and a widow. But I see you in teal blue as well.” She looked at Cynara. “And for you, my proud and greedy pet, shades of red. Scarlet, and claret, and burgundy and crimson with diamonds rubies and pearls. And for our sweet Diana, shades of rose, and green also, to match your eyes. You shall have my emeralds, diamonds, and pearls to wear. You are like a flower, and we shall present you as one.”

“Should I not wear a less conspicuous color, Grandmama?” Fancy asked. “I am, after all, a widow.”

“The less said about that unfortunate misalliance the better,” Jasmine said sanguinely. “You do not mourn Parker Randolph. Why be a hypocrite about it, my dear girl? He was a monster!”

Seeing an opportunity, Cynara spoke up. “What did he do that made him such a monster?” she inquired innocently.

“I do not choose to discuss the matter, Cyn,” Fancy told her cousin sharply. “Perhaps one day but not yet.”

“Did I not warn you that you were not to discuss your cousin’s tragedy?” Jasmine said sternly to Cynara.

“Well, you brought it up,” Cynara replied pertly.

“Cyn!” Diana hissed at her cousin.

“Nay, Diana, she is right. I did bring it up, but I have the advantage of age and authority, Cynara. You do not. You will obey me in the future, or you shall not have my rubies to wear to court, and I know how badly you want them.” Jasmine smiled wickedly at her granddaughter.

Cynara laughed in reply. “I would do anything for those rubies, Grandmama,” she responded, “but you know that, of course.”

“Then we understand each other, eh, my pet?”

“That is precisely the problem, Grandmama. You have always understood me far too well,” Cynara complained with just a faint hint of irritation that she dared not to show.

Jasmine laughed now. “There are times when you remind me of me when I was your age,” she said. “I, too, was very determined to have my own way; and my own grandmother was equally determined that I should not for my own sake, Cynara. Life does not always play fair, as I suspect you will eventually discover to your regret. You have been fortunate, so far, but your luck may not always hold.”

“Yours did,” Cynara said.

“Not always,” Jasmine responded quietly. “Now, let us choose the materials that we will have fashioned into wonderful gowns for you all. Fancy, my child, here is a marvelous brocade the color of Persian turquoise. It will make you a fine gown for your first visit to court. You shall be much admired. I always found the gentlemen attentive when I wore a gown the same color as my eyes.”

“I am not certain I want to be admired,” Fancy said softly.

“Fancy says she doesn’t want a husband,” Diana explained.

“Of course she doesn’t,” Jasmine agreed. “At least not yet. But there will come a day when she meets the right gentleman and changes her mind. My first two husbands were murdered, and my princely lover died suddenly. I decided that I was bad fortune for the men who loved me, which is why Diana’s grandfather, my beloved Jemmie, had to spend two years chasing me.” She laughed with the memory. “But when he finally caught up with me. Ahhhh!” She smiled, and grew silent.

“Ahhhh?” Fancy could not resist her question.

“I learned that I was wrong,” Jasmine replied with a chuckle. “And one day you will learn you are wrong too, but you are not ready yet. It would be strange if you were. For now, you will go to court and have a good time the way all young women of your age and class should at this time in their lives. Ohh, look! This teal blue silk is heavenly!”

And so it went for the rest of the day. When all the materials had been chosen and were neatly stacked in three piles, one for each girl, the storage chamber was yet full. Jasmine looked about her.

“It never seems to grow empty,” she remarked, “but then each time one of our ships returns from India or China, they bring me fresh bolts of cloth to add to this collection. Still, some of what came with me all those years ago is here.”

Several days later a tailor arrived from London with his staff, which would be supplemented by the two seamstresses who lived on the estate. In Jasmine’s youth, a woman named Bonnie had made all their gowns. Now it was her granddaughters, in the employ of the duke of Lundy and his family, who sewed. Each girl was measured carefully. The tailor’s cutter began to dissect the materials into varied and sundry shapes, which the seamstresses, under the direction of the tailor himself, began to pin together and then baste. The gowns were carefully fitted upon each of the young ladies, and at last the serious business of sewing began. As each gown was almost completed, a final fitting was required. And with each final fitting, the tailor warned his young clients not to gain an ounce of weight.

Finally, it was all done. The beautiful garments were hung in the cedar storage room until it was time to pack them. In addition the estate seamstresses had sewn petticoats of both silk and flannel; chemises with their wide balloon sleeves, the wrists and necklines edged with lace; corsets, lightly boned, for none of the trio really needed a corset, but it was the fashion. Besides, it helped display the breasts wonderfully, Cynara insisted. The corsets were of fine white silk brocade decorated with pink silk rosettes and laced with pink silk laces. Each girl had several sets of drawers edged in lace, which were called les calecons and came from France. There were nightgowns of fine silk, all trimmed lavishly in lace, and silk stockings, each pair decorated with a different design, as well as matching garters.

The shoemaker came, and the girls were fitted for new shoes, boots, and slippers. The dress shoes had jewel-studded heels, and ribbon bows, or bejeweled enameled buckles. There were pantofles, which were half-slippers made of soft leather or covered in silk or satin brocade. Each girl had a fine pair of leather buckskins, calf-high close-fitting hunting boots with a turnover top. Jasmine told her granddaughters that when she was a girl in India her royal foot was measured using a strand of pearls. The leftover pearls were given to her servant.

There were accessories to be chosen. Perfumed leather gloves of fine leather; shawls of sheer delicate silk or cashmere, imported by the O’Malley-Small trading company; fringed parasols; silk ribbons; painted fans; fans of ostrich feathers; silk flowers in every color to decorate their hair; and satin misers, which were small purses with a tiny slit in their center. Each purse was fitted with a small gold or silver ring so that valuables might be kept secure in one end or another. And of course, jewelry.

Jasmine was generous with her granddaughters, loaning them some of her finest pieces. There were necklaces, long strands of pearls both creamy pink and black. There were dangling earbobs, bejeweled broaches, and rings of all kinds. Jasmine advised her three granddaughters in their selection, and then saw that it was all carefully packed with their trunks in ivory boxes lined with velvet.

The autumn deepened with clear dry days and crisp nights. Fancy began to enjoy this new life she was living. Her cousins were wonderful companions, and the three girls had swiftly become fast friends. It seemed impossible, Fancy thought, to think she might have spent her entire life without ever meeting them. Her letters to her parents began to take on a happier tone. And then in mid-November, Jasmine announced that the family would be leaving for court in a few days’ time.

“Your uncle has his own apartment at Whitehall,” Jasmine told Fancy, “but it is barely big enough for him and for Barbara. You and your cousins will stay with me at Greenwood House.”

“Where I stayed my first night in London?” Fancy asked.

“Yes,” came the brief answer.

“Is it yours?” Fancy asked.

“It once was,” and then Jasmine explained. “Greenwood House was my grandmother’s London home. It was confiscated during the rule of the Commonwealth and given to a man known as Sir Simon Bates. Sir Simon, however, was not Sir Simon. He was a spy for King Charles. He was actually Gabriel Bainbridge, the duke of Garwood, my daughter Autumn’s husband. And so Greenwood House remained in the family, although it is now hers, not mine. I probably would have given it to her one day. I stay there when I am in London as does my daughter India and her family. None of them will be coming to court for the Season though, and so Greenwood is ours,” Jasmine concluded. “You will find it is advisable to have one’s own place in London. So many people come to court, and there is not enough accommodation for them. The house next door to us is owned by your cousins, the earl and countess of Lynmouth. Sabrina is your Uncle Charlie’s eldest child. She lived with her brothers in Scotland during the Commonwealth period while their father was with his cousin, the king. My son Patrick and his wife, Flanna, looked after them.”

“Diana’s parents,” Fancy said quickly.

“That’s right!” Jasmine laughed. “You will get them all straightened out eventually, dear girl.”

“What is court like, Grandmama?” Fancy wondered.

“It is a whole world for those privileged to be a part of it.” Jasmine explained. “It is where the rich, the powerful, the not-so-rich and not-so-powerful come to see, to be seen, and to climb the social ladder toward whatever goal they desire. It is where families make matches between their children, and the society of the elite flourishes. It is, quite frankly, unlike any place on earth.”

“It sounds exciting, and dangerous, and perhaps even a bit boring all at once,” Fancy noted.

“Clever girl!” her grandmother approved. “It is all of those things and more, Fancy. If I may be blunt, you are still a true innocent where human nature is concerned despite your unfortunate experience with Parker Randolph. At court you will meet all sorts of people. Some will be exactly what they seem to be. Many will not. Do not be afraid to come to me, or to your uncle, or to your aunt, Lady Barbara, to ask for our counsel or advice. I do not want you hurt again as you were in Maryland.”

“I won’t be, Grandmama,” Fancy assured Jasmine. “I know that I lack experience in human nature, but I shall trust no one except you, Uncle Charlie and Lady Barbara. I have come to love Cyn and Siren, but for all their talk, they know even less than I do. I will be careful, and I will come to you for your wisdom.”

“You put both my heart and my mind at ease,” Jasmine replied.

Finally the day came when they were to depart for London. There would be several coaches in their train. Three would carry the baggage, and two would be for the travelers. There would be their riding horses as well, for it was not expected that the three young ladies coop themselves up in their transport. There was also a fourth large carriage for the personal servants who were going with them. Rohana and Toramalli would be left behind as they were simply too fragile to travel with their mistresses any longer. In their place Jasmine was served by a French woman who had been in her daughter Autumn’s service. Orane had found life in the north dull. Realizing her unhappiness, Autumn had asked her mother to take the woman into her service. Orane was willing, and the move suited everyone. Orane was clever enough to be respectful to her mistress’s two longtime retainers, and hence by deferring to them, or pretending to defer to them, she had fit in quite nicely.

Jasmine bid her twin servitors farewell. “You will both be here when I return in early summer,” she instructed them.

“We will be here,” Toramalli said. Rohana bobbed her head in agreement but added, “But not for much longer, my princess. We are both very, very old now, and all those we dearly love are gone but for you.”

Jasmine nodded with her complete understanding. “Wait until I return,” she said softly, and then she kissed them both on their soft wizened cheeks. “Stay by the fire in the hall,” she instructed them. “And keep warm at night. Wear flannel petticoats to bed as well.”

“The cats sleep with us,” Toramalli cackled. “They keep us quite warm, my princess. Go now. The family awaits you to depart.”

The great train belonging to the duke of Lundy and his kin departed Queen’s Malvern on a cold, gray late November morning. It traveled for over a week before reaching its destination at Chiswick-on-Strind, which was located on the nearer edge of the city of London than it had been in earlier days. The leaves were all gone from the trees in Greenwood’s park when the carriages drew up to the door on an early December afternoon. It was already getting dark.

“Barbara and I shall go on to Whitehall,” the duke told his mother. “I will come tomorrow and tell you what is happening. I think the lasses should rest a few days in order to look their very best when they are first seen.”

“Give His Majesty my fond regards,” Jasmine said.

“He has a tendre for you, Mama,” the duke said with a grin. “What’s this sorcery you seem able to work on the Stuarts, royal and not-so-royal?” Charlie teased her.

“I think it is you and your cousin who charm most,” Jasmine replied, “but you surely know how to flatter an old woman. Go along now, Charlie. We shall see you tomorrow.”

The duke’s coach turned in the driveway and made its way back down the wide gravel road through Greenwood’s gates, and thence on to the king’s favorite palace of Whitehall. This palace had once been the London seat of the archbishop of York. It began as an ordinary two-story house, that under the auspices of Henry VIII’s personally chosen archbishop, Thomas Wolsey, had been developed into a marvelous palace, augmented in width and breadth and height. Beautified, embellished, and ornamented by Wolsey, it became an object of the king’s desire. When Wolsey failed Henry in the matter of his divorce from Katherine of Aragon, he gave this palace to his master in hopes of appeasing him. Henry rechristened the palace Whitehall and enjoyed it mightily while Wolsey fell from grace and died.

Henry enlarged his new acquisition, which had sat upon a piece of land between the River Thames and a road that led to Charing Cross and then on to Westminster Cathedral itself. The enlargement required more land, which Henry purchased, but he was unable to close off the public street that traversed between his palace and his new acreage. Hence Whitehall became an assortment of courts, apartments, galleries, and halls. It was a jumble of architectural miscellany on the outside but magnificent within. It meandered and sauntered through a maze of chambers and suites, most of which were seen only by the huge assortment of servants necessary to run the place.

Still it had all the comforts and conveniences that anyone, let alone a king, could desire. There were wonderful gardens and a broad walk along the riverside for strolling. There was a ballhouse where the ladies played featherball against the gentlemen. There was a cockpit for the beautifully bred cocks owned by the king and the nobility. A great deal of serious wagering went on at the cockfights. There were tennis courts, for Charles like his ancestors, enjoyed the sport greatly. There was a tiltyard for those gentlemen still so inclined, although most of the court preferred dancing, dicing, and card playing to the vigorous exercise engendered in the tiltyard.

Whitehall had three gates. The Whitehall Gate kept the public from straying onto the king’s grounds. The King Gate and the Holbein Gate offered the court access to the royal park. They were at opposite ends of the palace. The King Gate opened directly from the park onto the streets. The Holbein Gate was near the royal Banqueting Hall. The king’s late father had always planned to rebuild Whitehall to give it more uniformity, but Charles II had not the means to do so. Still the interior was magnificent, and that was what most people remembered when they spoke of Whitehall. Its hideous and unsightly exterior faded when one recalled the wonderful tapestries, molding, carved stonework, fine furniture, and magnificent paintings by the best artists of the current generation and generations past.

The duke of Lundy’s coach drew up within the Great Court. Liveried servants ran forward to open the vehicle’s door and to begin unloading the luggage. Well schooled, they recognized the king’s cousin and bowed. A majordomo directed the footmen to the duke’s apartments, all the while welcoming him back.

“Shall I make your arrival known to His Majesty?” he asked.

“Yes,” Charlie replied. Then offering an arm to his wife, he moved off into the palace and toward their own apartments. By the time they reached them, Charlie found one of the king’s young pages awaiting.

The boy bowed smartly. “His Majesty,” he began in a high piping voice, “desires your presence, my lord duke.”

“When?” Charlie asked, smiling down at the child who could not have been more than seven.

“Immediately, my lord,” came the reply.

The duke sighed and, handing his cloak to his valet, kissed his wife. “Do not wait up for me,” he said in resigned tones.

“I will not,” she told him with a small smile.

Charlie followed the page from his own quarters through the winding corridors of the palace to the king’s royal apartments. He was led into the king’s privy chamber where Charles Stuart was waiting for him. The king grinned, waving a hand at his page.

“Thank you, lad, now close the door behind you,” and when the child had obeyed, the king said, “Welcome back, Charlie!”

“Why are there so few outside in your chambers?” Charlie asked. Then he said, understanding completely for he knew his cousin well, “Ahh, you have the headache, my lord, eh?”

The king chuckled. “What most people do not realize, Cousin, is that it is hard work being a king. I am expected to be available to all at all times. Sometimes I grow weary of it.”

The duke nodded, pouring them each a goblet of fine red wine from a carafe on the sideboard and handing the king one.

“Sit down,” the king said, and together the two Charles Stuarts settled themselves into high-backed velvet chairs before the king’s fireplace. “Every now and then I must develop the headache if I am to get some time alone.”

“I know,” Charlie said, “and I should have realized when I saw your outer chamber virtually empty. How they all hate it when you send them away. You are the sun and the moon around which the many constellations and stars of this court circulate. They do not like it when you are not available to them.”

“Take supper with me, just the two of us, and tell me all your news,” the king said, reaching out to the bellpull.

“I’ve brought my mother and her three granddaughters to court,” Charlie began. “We have come husband hunting,” he grinned.

“The glorious Jasmine is here? Wonderful!” the king said. “She is the most incredible old woman I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. And the lasses? Your daughter and the niece who has lived with you these past few years, of course. But who is the third girl?”

“My sister Fortune’s youngest, from the Colonies,” Charlie replied, waiting to see what the king would say, but at that moment the door opened, and the page appeared.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” he queried his master.

“Supper for two, Georgie,” the king ordered. “And I am not to be disturbed except for the meal, laddie. Bar all comers!”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” the boy replied, and shut the door once more.

“The girl who killed her husband?” the king asked his cousin.

“Your Majesty, I do not know what the truth of the matter is,” the duke of Lundy said.

“But your mama knows, I am quite certain,” the king chuckled. “She would not allow anyone of bad character in her house no matter their blood tie to her. She hasn’t told you?”

Charlie shook his head. “And I asked,” he admitted, “but she says the tragedy of what happened is only for Fancy to tell.”

“Fancy?” the king looked interested.

“Her Christian name is Frances, but as a child she could not pronounce it. She called herself Fancy, and it seemed to stick,” the duke explained to the king.

“What is she like?”

“She resembles both Cynara and Diana. They all favor my mother’s grandmother. There are slight differences,” Charlie said. “Cynara has her mother’s bright blue eyes. Diana has the Leslie green eyes. Fancy’s eyes are the same turquoise shade as my mother’s.”

“Ahhh,” said the king.

“And there are other small things. My daughter and Diana have my mother’s fetching little birthmark. Mama calls it the Mughal Mole. Diana’s mimics my mother’s, being placed between her left nostril and her upper lip. Cynara’s is on the right side in an otherwise identical place, but Fancy does not sport the Mughal Mole,” the duke explained. “Other than that it is difficult to tell them apart.”

“They will be a delightful addition to the court,” the king decided. “I remember last year when you brought the girls to meet the queen and me, they caused quite a stir. I believe that they were even given sobriquets at that time.”

“Diana is Siren and my daughter they called Sin, although I am not certain I am comfortable with such appellations,” the duke smiled. “I shall make it quite clear to all who show interest in my daughter, or my nieces, that they are not to be trifled with and if you, Cousin, could lend your considerable voice to mine, I believe we may keep them safe from lechers and fortune hunters.”

The king nodded his head in agreement. “How old are they now, Charlie?” he inquired.

“Cynara and Diana are fifteen, and Fancy is sixteen, although she will turn seventeen in the very early spring,” the duke answered.

“Such wonderful ages!” the king enthused. “Women grow boring much past twenty, although I can tolerate some as old as twenty-five.”

“How is my lady Castlemaine?” Charlie teased his royal cousin.

“As temperamental, and as demanding as ever,” the king said gloomily. “Her greatest fault, however, is that age has caused her to develop an interest in politics. She attempts to advise me, and more often than not disagrees with my policies. I do not like it, Charlie. My former passion for the Castlemaine has burned out. I have made her duchess of Cleveland and provided my offspring by her with titles of their own and financial support. Still she attempts to behave as if it were five years ago. I would be finished with her, but she will not go away,” the king admitted. “I am ashamed now that I forced her upon the queen when Catherine and I were first wed.”

Charlie said nothing to that observation by his cousin, for he had told him frankly at the time that embarrassing the charming Portuguese princess he wed was neither wise nor kind.

“There is someone else now,” the king said, a twinkle in his eye.

“I would certainly not expect that Your Majesty had embraced celibacy at this point in his life,” Charlie noted dryly. “Will you tell me who the lady is, or am I to guess?”

“You have not been with the court, Cousin, and so you could not possibly imagine who my eye has fallen upon. She is an actress, and her name is Nell Gwyn. Never have I known such a darling girl!”

“Then I congratulate you, Cousin, on this delightful lady,” the duke said.

“The Castlemaine is furious,” the king chuckled. “As long as I flaunted no new woman publicly, she might continue to pretend she still held my heart in her greedy grasp. Now she cannot, and her influence will, I believe, eventually wane. She calls Nellie a little guttersnipe. Nellie calls her the termagant. When they meet in public it is most amusing. But Nellie is very respectful of the queen. She is really a good lass, Charlie. You will like her.”

“If the Castlemaine does not like her,” Charlie said frankly, “then I am certain that I will.”

“She has a wonderful and irreverent sense of humor,” the king said. “She calls Castlemaine the highborn whore, and herself, the lowborn whore.” The king laughed aloud.

At that moment there was a knock upon the privy chamber door, and it was opened by the page to allow the servants in with the supper. They quickly set it up upon a table between the two men and exited, the page closing the door behind them. Not a word had been spoken. The cousins served themselves from platters, bowls, and dishes containing icy-cold raw oysters; prawns that had been steamed in white wine; lamb chops; a large turkey stuffed with bread, sage, and apples; artichokes dripping with sweet butter; tiny whole white potatoes; and bread and cheese. Charlie refilled their goblets as they ate. A dish of apples baked with sugar and cinnamon, and standing in a shallow bowl of thick golden cream, had been left upon the sideboard for them. Both men ate with good appetites.

“Tell me more about Fancy Devers,” the king said as they ate. “The gossip as bruited about by Lord and Lady Tolliver is most salacious.”

“Considering that the Tollivers were not at the wedding, nor are they acquainted with either the Randolphs or the Devers, I would certainly discount whatever they had to say. They were never privy to the situation. Remember, Cousin, my niece was never charged with any crime, nor brought before Your Majesty’s magistrate in the Colonies. Whatever happened was a tragedy that both families chose to keep silent upon.”

“Is she sad?” the king pressed further for information.

“Less now than when she first came,” Charlie said. “She is just a young girl like her cousins, but that she has known some calumny. She says she will not wed again, but I think that will change when she finds a gentleman to love who loves her. Her late husband was obviously quite sought after. Fancy has admitted that he was called the most handsome man in the Colonies. I wonder that my brother-in-law allowed her to make such a marriage, but that like all fathers of daughters he loved and spoiled her,” Charlie concluded.

“I never thought the day should come when you come to court chaperoning three young girls,” the king concluded. “I remember you as a very gallant young man, courting your fair Bess.”

“That was long ago,” Charlie said, his face growing sad for a brief moment. Then he said, “Barbara and I share a birthday, which is how we first became friends. This September eighteenth saw us both well past fifty,” Charlie admitted to his cousin. “Your Majesty’s memory is a good one that you remember my courting days.”

The king chuckled. “Pass me that bowl of apples,” he instructed and, receiving the dish in question, helped himself to two of the baked fruits, ladling the heavy cream from the dish onto his plate.

“Simple things are often best,” Charlie noted, and then he helped himself to the baked apples as well.

“Are your lasses here at Whitehall?” the king wondered as he spooned his dessert into his mouth.

“No, at Greenwood House with Mama. Autumn and Gabriel never come to London, but while Greenwood is theirs, everyone in the family who comes to town uses it.”

“How is Autumn?” the king inquired.

“Countrified and maternal,” Charlie chuckled. “She has five youngsters by Gabriel now. Her eldest French daughter, Mademoiselle d’Oleron, is on her estate at Chermont. Madeline is her father’s child. She loves France far more than England. As for King Louis’s Margot, she is still with Autumn, but Louis has said the summer she turns twelve he wants her back in France at his court. She, too, is more French than English. She is already spending half of her year at Chermont with her sister. It is hard for Autumn to let them go, but Maddy is fourteen now, and will soon have to choose a husband. There is talk of the young heir from Archambault. If that comes to pass, then the two estates could be joined,” Charlie explained.

The king nodded. He understood such things. This was how the rich remained rich. This was how power was amassed. “Autumn was a delightful mistress, if only for a brief time. What manners she had! What style! She knew her place and when to gracefully withdraw. I always admired her for it.”

“Your Majesty knows she deliberately set out to seduce him?” Charlie said. It was long past, but he had always felt uncomfortable with the situation that his beautiful youngest sister had created.

“Ahh, Cousin,” the king laughed. “I am not certain even today just who it was who seduced whom.”

“She wanted a title and a house,” Charlie said. “I could never get over how blunt she was with me about her ends.”

“And I rewarded her with what she wanted,” the king chuckled.

“What if Gabriel hadn’t asked for her?” Charlie asked his cousin.

“But he did,” the king said with a smile. “I would have kept my word under any circumstances, Charlie. I do have a great weakness where amenable ladies are concerned, as all seem to know.”

“And the ladies of my family do seem to hold a fascination for the royal Stuarts,” Charlie remarked with a grin.

“They do,” the king admitted.

Suddenly outside the privy chamber door a commotion arose. The door flew open to reveal the king’s boy page attempting to bar entry the duchess of Cleveland.

“’Oddsfish, Georgie,” the king drawled, annoyed, “what is this?”

“I heard that you were ill,” Barbara Villiers, Lady Castlemaine, said as she pushed past the page. “You do not look ill to me.”

Charlie arose, and bowed to the duchess of Cleveland. “Barbara,” he said, “I had heard you had withdrawn from court and thought it marvelous that you should finally be showing wisdom at your age.”

“I should not speak of age, my lord duke,” Lady Castlemaine snapped back at him. “You can hardly claim acquaintance with youth any longer.”

“I did not send for you, Barbara,” the king said.

“What?” she screeched at him. “Am I a servant to be sent for then, my lord? There was a day . . .”

“Long past, my dear lady,” Charlie defended his cousin as he had always done when he could. He stood, and offered her his arm. “May I escort you somewhere, madame?”

“You bastard!” she hissed at him.

“Why, madam, everyone knows that of me. It is no secret. You but state the obvious,” Charlie mocked her. He had always disliked this aggressive woman and was not unhappy to see her replaced in his royal cousin’s affections.

And then suddenly the door to the king’s bedchamber opened. In the portal stood the most adorable creature that the duke of Lundy had ever seen. She had a heart-shaped face, full lips, and dimples in her cheeks. Her tousled chestnut curls were short. Her bright eyes, hazel. Her face gamine, and her slender body shapely in all the places a woman should be shapely. “Are we to be a threesome then, darling?” she innocently inquired of the king, her eyes wide. She was wearing an outrageously sheer black silk nightdress lavishly adorned with lace.

The little page stared open-mouthed. And then the duchess of Cleveland began to spew a stream of invectives, which she hurled at the king. Even Charlie was surprised by the colorful and extraordinary abuse. He strode across the king’s privy chamber, and grasping the furious woman by the arm, he dragged her out, through the royal apartments, and into the hall beyond. “Madame, be silent!” he thundered.

“How dare you!” the lady Castlemaine screamed and slapped him with a hard hand.

The duke of Lundy quickly slapped her back, much to her great surprise. Then he said to one of the royal guard, “His Majesty wishes this woman escorted from the palace immediately. She is not to be allowed admittance again this night.” Charlie then turned and walked away.

“You will regret this, my lord!” came the cry after him.

The not-so-royal Stuart whirled about, his amber eyes blazing. “Nay, madame, ’tis you who will regret this scene. Have you no shame? Your time is over. Withdraw gracefully before you find yourself a figure of public scorn. There is nothing more embarrassing than an openly discarded royal mistress. Where is your pride? Or have you lost it all at long last? I somehow cannot believe that, so perhaps it is just that you are stupid as so many have claimed over the years.”

Lady Castlemaine’s visage drained of its color for a brief moment, and then she grew almost purple. Her lips moved, but no sound issued forth. She raised her fist at him, but then it fell to her side. Finally she turned and stormed away, followed by one of the king’s men-at-arms hurrying to do the royal bidding, and put her out of the palace.

Charlie rubbed his face. The bitch had a rough hand, he decided ruefully. But then he grinned. He loved his country life at Queen’s Malvern, but, God’s blood!, it was good to be back at court again!