The Perfect Royal Mistress

by Diane Haeger

  “You were right to take the role. I do believe it was your best performance yet.”

  “My greatest desire is to please you.”

  “And your second-greatest desire?”

  “That, Charlie, I can only tell you privately.”

  Everyone watched the exchange, knowing who lingered just beyond the door, all of them anxious to see if it might erupt into anything about which they could gossip.

  He took her hand and gently, seductively, kissed it. “Then I shall call on you privately again very soon.”

  “And I shall look forward to that with the greatest anticipation.”

  In the next moment, he was gone in a flash of silver and a swirl of his blue velvet.

  The others crowded around her so excitedly that she did not see John Cassells coming toward her, his handsome face drawn with a grave expression. “Rose has sent me to fetch you,” he said. “Your girl has taken a turn for the worse.”

  There was silence between her and John as the musty-smelling hired hack jostled up Drury Lane to Maypole Alley and toward Lincoln’s Inn Fields. The moment the coach pulled to a stop, Nell sprang from inside, leaving John to settle the fare. She was through the kitchen a moment later, to find her mother on a small stool beside Jeddy’s bed, pressing a cloth onto her forehead.

  “Where’s Rose?”

  “Upstairs with your son. I figured you’d rather ’ave it that way than me with ’im.”

  That was accurate enough, but Nell chose not to say anything. As her mother glanced up at her, Nell realized that she was not drunk and swaying, cursing, or begging for money. It startled her into silence, until she could think again of the little girl who had no family now but Nell’s.

  “I know what the doctor said, but I’ve seen it myself, and it really might be the pox after all, so you really shouldn’t be in ’ere yourself, Nelly. You’re a right proper lady now.”

  “Jeddy is my responsibility.”

  “As are a lot of people.”

  “Including you, Ma?”

  “You mustn’t jeopardize your own ’ealth for the sake of a blackamoor, little girl or not. ’Tis all I’m sayin’.”

  “Because, on occasion, the king wishes to bed me? Not so long ago, Ma, ’er lot in life was better than my own. She ’ad little silk dresses, and she slept in a clean bed, while I was fightin’ off your lovers!” Nell hadn’t realized she was yelling until Jeddy opened her eyes and looked at her. “I die?” she asked Nell in a weak voice that pulled at Nell’s heart.

  “You most certainly will not! You just need to rest, and I’m goin’ to see to that,” Nell said soothingly. “Did the physician do nothin’ for ’er, then?”

  “The girl was bled, but ’twas all ’e felt he should do when there’s yet no sign of the sores.”

  “Bugger that! Worthless sorts, doctors!” Nell looked at John Cassells, who was now leaning awkwardly against the doorjamb. “Pray, tell me you know an apothecary, Captain?”

  “Aye. One over on Butcher’s Row.”

  “Take me?”

  “But I’ve only just sent the hack away.”

  “Then we’ll walk!”

  “I’ll stay with the girl,” said Helena Gwynne.

  “You do that, Ma. But don’t believe I’ve forgiven you.”

  “I wouldn’t think anythin’ of the sort, Nelly.”

  Once again, Louise had refused him, retiring with a headache suspiciously akin to the ones the queen often professed when she did not desire his company. Now that Her Majesty had suffered yet another miscarriage, that seemed a newly consistent state between them.

  For solace, the king had gone off with a group of his best companions. On horseback, they thundered through Hounslow Heath, the breeze cooling them as it tossed their hair, cooled their skin, and pulled back the rich fabric of their capes. They darted through a thick stand of trees, shading them from the blazing sun. It occurred to him then, as he led the way, upright in his saddle, that Louise could be punishing him for escorting her to Nell’s performance. Perhaps, in light of that, he deserved her refusal. But on the other hand, Nell had become a priority in his life, pure and simple, and Louise must come to accept that, if she meant to remain at his court. For now, he wished her to remain, if only to see where it all might lead. It was not only Louise’s elegant beauty that drew him, nor the excitement of the challenge she posed. Her heritage made her at ease in his world, in a way Nell never would be. Lord, how he hated to admit that, even to himself, for how he adored her. He was not above contemplating the criticisms of his sweet Nell, who had been elevated to the status of favorite after the birth of their son. Nell…dear uncomplicated Nell. Accompanying him, loving him, sharing his life as she did with such an open and tender heart. Yet she was still so achingly out of place at the rituals of royal life, rituals from which he could never entirely be free. His own earliest memories were of the great dignity his father brought to his role as monarch, and Charles felt the weight of his obligation to England in it.

  He pulled the reins hard then and came to a halt in a grassy clearing through which ran a pebble-strewn stream.

  All of them dismounted to rest the horses. Buckingham had not accompanied them, and Charles was glad, since he knew the bond of friendship George had formed with Nell. Lady Shrewsbury was, at this moment, giving birth to Buckingham’s first child, and he was with her. So now Charles strolled across the clearing with Thomas Osborne, Earl of Danby, a rising star in Parliament, an outspoken supporter of Louise and her elevation in court. Everyone, it seemed, but Buckingham knew that Danby was intent on replacing Nell. For that reason, Danby would be honest, and just now the king needed honesty.

  “So tell me, Thomas. What is my court saying of Mrs. Gwynne these days?”

  Osborne, a tall, pale man with thin blond hair, looked warily at the king, cautioned by the words and not the tone of nonchalance. “They say she is the finest actress in all of London, sire.”

  “Of course that. But tell me, did you speak with her at my banquet for the Prince of Orange?”

  “No, sire.”

  “And why was that?”

  “Well…” He paused. “In part, because she was taken up much of the time by the attentions of Lord Buckhurst and Lord Rochester.”

  “And the other part?”

  “My wife would not allow it, Your Majesty.”

  “I see.”

  They paused while the horses grazed on the long blades of grass at their feet.

  They took a few steps more together before Charles stopped again. He said, “I am very fond of her, you know.”

  “Aye, sire. That is clear.”

  “And how do you see her growing role in my court over these next years?”

  Thomas grimaced. “Oh, sire. Please do not ask me that.”

  The king knew the others, who had drawn near and then loitered beneath the trees, were listening, but he did not care. “I command your opinion, Thomas. What good are you to me at all if you will not give me that?”

  “Very well. I believe the quiet insults will escalate. And come to match the slights from not only the ladies of your court who envy her, but from the men who secretly desire her. And you cannot surrender everyone’s head to the block in her defense.”

  Charles shrugged. “Harsh, but honest.”

  “You did ask me to be, sire.”

  “So I did.” He held the bridle of his horse, pausing a moment as an odd sensation overtook him. He knew that he loved Nell. He missed her. That must be it. Acknowledging that, he swung back up into the tooled black saddle studded with Spanish silver. All of the courtiers followed the king’s lead, and once again the group began to gallop farther into the forest, churning earth and the carpet of coppery needles beneath them. A moment later, Charles called out to one of his aides, who was keeping pace with the others behind him. “Return to Whitehall. Have Chiffinch send for Mrs. Gwynne. See that she is waiting in my bedchamber when I return.”

  Chapter 28

  BUT WHEN I
CONSIDER THE TRUTH OF HER HEART, SUCH AN INNOCENT PASSION, SO KIND WITHOUT ART; I FEAR I HAVE WRONGED HER, AND HOPE SHE MAY BE SO FULL OF TRUE LOVE TO BE JEALOUS OF ME AND THEN TIS I THINK THAT NO JOYS ARE ABOVE THE PLEASURES OF LOVE.

  —Choice Ayres, Charles II

  BY midnight, the fever had broken, with the addition of julep and glysters from an apothecary, but Jeddy remained delirious. Nell spent the night, along with Helena Gwynne, in the dark and stifling little room behind the kitchen. Mother and daughter did not speak, yet an uneasy camaraderie seemed to develop through the night as they tended the girl. Bathed in perspiration, and lit in hues of umber and gold from the candlelight, lumbering back and forth to fetch cool water and cloths, Helena spoke no words of complaint, and Nell did not offer any relief. She was happy for the help. It was the least her mother could do for her, she thought, when she had done little for anyone before but cause damage. She was also relieved to have Rose tend to her baby son safely upstairs.

  Near dawn, as Jeddy fell into what seemed a less fitful sleep, Helena softly said, “I reckon there ain’t many who’d ’ave done what you ’ave for a servant, Nelly. I’m proud of you.”

  Nell was on her knees beside the small bed. She sat on her heels, then ran the back of her hand across her brow. For the first time since she had come home, she actually looked at Helena. “I’d like to say I’ve been proud of you at some point in my life, Ma, but I really can’t think of a single moment.”

  “I suppose I deserved that.”

  “You did ’orrid things to Rose ’n me.”

  “I was alone. We ’ad to survive. ’Tis the unvarnished truth of it.”

  “And is it the truth about my father you’ve always told?”

  “You know I don’t talk about that.”

  “Rose and I never believed ’e was a captain in the king’s army, killed in the war to save our own king’s father.”

  “Whatever the truth, Nelly, ’e’s gone just the same.” She paused for a moment, looking at her daughter, before she said, “And once ’e was gone, I was left to survive with the two of you, the best I could. ’Tis not an excuse, because there ain’t one.”

  “I want the truth about ’im. I deserve that much.”

  “And I want those years back! Look, my girl, in the low life we lived, things ’appen. I made choices, bad ones. But I kept you girls with me. At least I did that much.”

  “And with my whole ’eart, Ma, I wish you’d left us behind. Bein’ alone could not ’ave been worse than the life you gave us!”

  The eyes of mother and daughter met. There was pain reflected back at each of them. When she finally spoke again, Helena’s voice was low and fragile in a way Nell had never heard before. “And will you put me out now as you wish I’d done to you, Nelly? Is that what you want to do?”

  She meant to say she had no idea what she would do, when she heard Mrs. Long, her housekeeper, come to the small door leading in from the kitchen. “The king, Mrs. Gwynne, has come, and he’s brought his own physician with him.”

  Nell stood and smoothed down her skirt. The bodice of her dress was soiled, her hair was falling free of its tight arrangement, and her eyes burned with fatigue. He would not find the blithe, gamine actress who provided him with carefree pleasure. But tonight there was something she cared about more. In the midst of that thought, Charles was at the door. Only the elderly court physician, gray-haired and stooped-shouldered, was with him. As he moved forward, his face was spiked with concern. “How is the girl?” the king asked.

  “She is resting, at least.”

  Charles nodded to his physician to personally examine Jeddy, then led Nell from the small, unbearably warm room and out into the kitchen. There, he embraced her. Exhausted, she melted against him, grateful for the reassuring strength of his tall, strong body.

  “I came the moment I heard.”

  “You needn’t ’ave.”

  Charles pressed a kiss gently onto her lips, then looked at her. “Oh, but I did. You should have called on me from the first.”

  So many responses moved through her mind, light and clever retorts, about the teetering focus of his attentions. But so near dawn, she had not the energy or inclination to speak any of them. She was happy he had come out in the middle of the night, happy that she was still a priority in his glittering, powerful world.

  He sat her down gently at the kitchen table with its two long, rough-hewn benches, and poured her a glass of wine from a jug beside a wooden bowl full of potatoes. Then he smoothed the hair back from her forehead as she took a swallow. “Now, I’ll check on the girl if you will stay here and catch your breath.”

  As he turned away, Nell called out, “It may be the pox, Charlie. You shouldn’t go in there.”

  But the king only paused to turn and give her a gentle smile. “Drink that. It will do you good,” he said, before going back into the little room with Helena and the physician.

  A few moments later, Rose came down the back stairs with the baby, who was fussing in her arms. “Now can we hire a wet nurse?” Rose asked, as she tiredly handed the baby to Nell.

  Perhaps if she were more like Lady Castlemaine or Louise, or even Moll Davies, she could.

  But he was the dearest thing in the world to her, and Nell simply could not force herself to give him over like that, in such an intimate way. Nell put her son to her breast and then for a moment wearily closed her eyes. She was determined to be a better mother than her own had been. This child already was helping to heal the wounds of her past, especially when she pressed him so close to her wounded heart. She felt the king’s hand on her shoulder, and realized that for a moment she had actually nodded off. He was smiling down at her as his physician packed up his instruments and bottles of potions on the table before her, then tapped his hat back onto his head.

  “It’s not the pox or the plague, thankfully,” Charles announced. “Whatever it is, she’s already better.”

  “Pray God!”

  “She’s resting now,” the old physician announced. “But it’s a good, sound sleep, and there is no longer any sign of the fever.”

  Nell felt herself go limp as she handed the drowsy baby back to Rose. “So it’s off to bed with you,” the king declared, helping her to her feet as a fiery orange sunrise began to peek through the window.

  “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls,” she wearily quipped, and he bit back a smile in response. Then she let him lead her upstairs.

  In her bedchamber, the bedcovers were pulled back and the draperies were drawn across the windows, barring the swiftly coming daylight. She let Charles help her onto the feathery mattress and then cover her over with only a light summer wrap. Her eyelids were heavy and sleep beckoned her as he settled her on the pillows. He sank into the wing chair beside her bed. “Will you not lay with me?” she asked him with stifled yawn.

  “I shall be here when you wake, but despite my rather notorious reputation, I am not quite so low as to take advantage of a lady who cannot meet me fully.”

  “I’ve always been able to do that,” she smiled, her eyes heavy and closing.

  “Indeed you have. And better than anyone else.” He chuckled, then, for a moment, there was silence between them. “She’s going to be all right, you know.”

  “I believe that now. I’m glad you came.”

  “It was simple enough. I love you, Nell,” he said, but she did not hear it. She was already asleep.

  Nell went back to the theater the next afternoon, the play proving a great success. In spite of it having been meant as a serious production, audiences adored Nell, and pealed with laughter at her being cast as a virtuous queen wrongly accused of adultery. Once again, Nell chose to win them over with her comedic skills. She had decided humor was the only way so notorious an actress as herself could ever hope to deliver the impassioned plea for purity, which was a part of her character’s lines.

  Afterward, she went to Hart’s private tiring-room and closed the door behind herself. “When the run i
s over, it will ’ave been my final performance,” she announced as he sat at his dressing table. His hand paused in midair as he looked up at her reflection behind him. “I’ve already spoken to Mr. Dryden, before ’e comes up with another role for me.”

  “You’re not serious?”

  “I am entirely.”

  “But the play is a rousing success, and you are the toast of London again!”

  “Better to go out on my own accord than be chased from my pedestal by tossed rotten fruit, or a prettier actress,” she said, twisting one of her coppery curls.

  “That could never happen.”

  “We’re all replaceable, Charles. Just ask Lady Castlemaine next time you see ’er.”

  He turned around and stood. “Don’t do this, Nell. The theater needs you.”

  “The king needs me more.”

  Richard Bell was at the door then with Beck Marshall and Thomas Killigrew. “I, for one, think it’s brilliant,” Richard said with a smile. “Why trod around with the lot of us when you can sip sweet French champagne on the royal barge?”

  “I second that,” said Beck, smiling. Nell looked back at Charles Hart, who stood there, entirely bereft. She was surprised that she felt no joy now, as she once would have, in seeing him like this. “Look Charles, ’tis really quite simple. ’Is Majesty will grow tired of me one day, and doubtless I’ll be back ’ere when ’e is. But for now, I need to nurture the king’s investment in me.”

  “I hope that means fighting the French chit for your place, tooth and nail,” said Richard.

  “Tooth, nail, or seduction. Whatever works,” Nell quipped.

  Beck chuckled. Hart rolled his eyes. Louise de Kéroualle’s reputation in London had grown notorious. Everyone, it seemed, had an opinion, not only of her, but of why she was in England, and what she really desired from the king. The predominant rumor still flying rampant was that she was a spy for France.