The Perfect Royal Mistress

by Diane Haeger

  George laughed. It was a thin, hollow sound. “Are you planning to arrange my release?”

  “Are you planning to behave?”

  “It’s not at all likely.”

  “Then we should tell them to keep your cell at the ready!”

  She had woven herself so cleverly into all of their lives that there were very few at court who did not depend upon her in some way, George thought. Only her enemies would keep themselves excluded, and Nell had precious few of those. He had heard that it amazed everyone how the queen now occasionally went to Nell for advice about the king, and it amazed them even more to learn that Nell freely gave it. Few had been told, but he also knew about the royal hospital in Chelsea that Nell had urged the king to build for old or injured soldiers, like her father. She had a heart, it seemed, as deep and full as her laugh.

  “Once I was foolish enough to think I could control you, bend you to my will,” he said on a tired chuckle. “Now I do believe you control us all.”

  “I’m a king’s mistress, Lord Buck. Only ever that.”

  “To my mind, the perfect royal mistress,” the Duke of Buckingham amended.

  Empty gin bottles collecting beneath her bed had given Helena’s sealed bedchamber the reeking stench of alcohol. Nell had not seen it coming, and she cursed herself for her blindness. She had not wanted to see it, but, of course, that was no excuse. It was too late, no matter what. Nell stood in the center of the room looking at the pile of glass. Her housemaid, Bridget Long, stood behind her in the doorway, holding onto the jamb.” I’m sorry, Mrs. Nelly, if I should not have told you. I just didn’t know what to do with all of them.”

  “’Tis not your fault. You ’adn’t any choice,” Nell replied, feeling the scrape of her words coming up over her throat as if they were hot coals.

  “Did you know?” she asked Rose the next day. Their mother had not returned home the night before. They sat in the kitchen as the cook, standing behind them, peeled apples silently and put them into a kettle on the fire.

  Rose looked away. “I didn’t want you to turn ’er out.”

  “But if I’d known—”

  “You would’ve turned ’er out.”

  “And I might’ve ’elped ’er!”

  “I think she’d gone beyond that, Nelly. ’Twas all so twisted up among the three of us.”

  “She still shouldn’t ’ave chosen the gin!” Nell shook her head, her anger bold and vicious. All of the old hurt resurfaced; Helena Gwynne had abandoned her daughters yet again.

  “Some people fail in spite of tryin’. I don’t believe she meant to ’urt us.”

  “She’s been ’urtin’ us our whole lives Rose!”

  “Don’t you think she knew that, Nelly?”

  The king sent out his own Yeomen of the Guard to search for Helena Gwynne. Days passed; three, then four. The old hurt battered Nell. They waited. Rose and Nell paced the silent corridors of the Pall Mall house. They wrung their hands, embraced each other, sat in Helena’s room, and said prayers for their mother’s safe return. She had made them both love her again, damn her foul soul. “I never should ’ave believed ’er,” Nell wept one night against Charles’s shoulder, as they lay together in her grand bed, and he pulled her tightly against him.

  “You have a good heart that cannot help but care, in spite of how you have been tested.”

  “A ’eart only the better to be fooled by.”

  “No one fools you, Nelly. You’re the smartest woman I know.”

  “I’m not sure ’tis sayin’ much, ’avin’ seen my competition, in that regard.”

  He kissed her then and the love inside her flared, still such a brilliant flame. Even after all this time, it was still like that between them.

  It was another three days before two of the king’s guard came to her front door and were shown into the large room to the left of the entrance hall. Charles held her shoulders very tightly as he stood behind her. At first, looking at them, and knowing, she was not certain she felt anything. Something so unlikely, so new and fragile, had formed between mother and daughter in the past several years. Like the first leaf on a tree after a long winter, it had sat vulnerable, growing slowly. Now, in an instant, it was swept away in a swirling cloud of fire, and the dust of if only. Nell felt her knees buckle.

  They had found Helena Gwynne in the river.

  She had fallen in drunk, they said, and was drowned.

  After the funeral, Charles took Nell to Greenwich to give her a change of scenery, and a break from all of the sadness that lingered for her in London. The early evening air was cooled by a soft breeze, and the scent of honeysuckle was everywhere. Lit by torches, Charles, Catherine, Nell, Louise, and a dozen courtiers strolled amid tall trees, and hip-height ferns that softened their path. The king’s musicians followed, and stationed themselves upon the wide green lawn where the forest began. They played beneath the bright, silvery light of the full summer moon and sent away the sweet sound of the brook nearby.

  Taking her hand as they boarded his royal barge, the little laces on her dress ruffling in the breeze as the rest of the court followed, Charles asked, “So tell me, darling Nell, how would you feel about being called Your Ladyship?”

  “I’d feel someone confused me with Carwell or Castlemaine.”

  “You are to become Countess of Greenwich. Countess of all that surrounds you here.”

  After all these years, she thought. She knew how hard Danby had fought him on this. He despised her, she knew, because she was not Louise de Kéroualle. “I’ve no idea what to say.”

  He took his hand from one of the oars and put it atop hers. “Say you’ll grow accustomed to it, and I shall tell you that there are other plans, as well.”

  She looked at him, his once-smooth face now etched with lines, the large black eyes more sunken. There was only a hint of his youthful beauty now, and yet still he was possessed of that same charm she had seen that first day outside the King’s Theater. “Plans?”

  “I have made arrangement for Jamie to go to Paris to further his education.”

  She thought of their younger son, blond, wide-eyed, so connected still to his mother in a way that helped her to mend so many old wounds. “Paris alone? But ’e’s just a little boy, Charlie!”

  “He’s the son of a king first, Nell. Charles, as the oldest, and already Earl of Burford, shall find his way in life clearly marked for him. Jamie needs the same chance. I want that for him. I want both of our boys to have brilliant lives. Besides, he’ll have a staff to attend him.”

  “But ’e won’t ’ave me!”

  He tightened his hand upon hers, then lifted it and very gently kissed the inside of her wrist. “I need you here, Nell. But Jamie has his entire life ahead of him, and I mean to see to it that he has every advantage this world, and his father, can offer him that. I’m sorry all this has taken me so long.” His voice broke. Then he looked off into the distance at the blaze of orange sun setting over the trees on the horizon. “I’ve been a fool about so many things. No matter what, I always, always knew you loved me, Nelly. In that regard, there was no one else even close.”

  She touched the ruby necklace at her throat, another priceless gift from him. “You know, I’d ’ave to say I agree with that,” she said with a broad, happy smile.

  The new production was called The Duke’s Wife, starring London’s new sensation, Rebecca Marshall. Beck at last was a star. As a crowd gathered on the steps outside of the King’s Theater, the great royal coach drew forward and slowed. Glancing out the window, Nell saw them and smiled. This scene in front of the theater never ceased to bring with it a burst of nostalgia. Then she glanced across the seat, beside Rose, at her two sons. No matter what thoughts this theater brought, her two boys would always be her greatest achievement.

  “Shall we go in?” Charles asked his sons, Nell’s sister, and her husband.

  “I wish we had seen mother on the stage,” said James.

  Charles took Nell’s hand, and squeeze
d it. “Oh, that was a sight. There really was no one like her.”

  “Tell it again, Father?” his namesake asked.

  Charles smiled indulgently. “Well. The theater was full. There were shouts from the audience and applause so that I could scarcely hear. When she came onto the stage, your mother made a humorous little bow like a man, in keeping with her character, then glanced up at me from the stage, and my heart was lost to her instantly and forevermore.”

  The boys exchanged a look and then began to chuckle, but the sound held a note of pride that their parents were here with them, together, and still happy.

  They strode through the crowd then, the king greeting his subjects in a formal manner as Nell and their sons walked a pace behind.

  “Mrs. Nelly! Back where she belongs, she is!” someone called through the crowd. Nell smiled and nodded her acknowledgement. A part of her would always belong here.

  As they passed inside the theater and turned, preparing to ascend to the king’s private staircase, a young girl drew forward from the passing crowd near the pit. In the crook of her arm was a garlanded basket brimming with oranges. The girl’s expression became stricken, and she made an uncertain curtsy before Nell. But Nell reached out and drew the girl up. “What lovely oranges,” she said, smiling. “I do believe I shall take one. And two more for my sons.” She reached into her small velvet bag and handed the girl a shining silver coin. The girl’s gasp at the amount was audible, even in the packed theater, and many had turned to stare at the exchange. “Best of luck to you,” Nell said sincerely, as James took the three pieces of fruit for his famous mother. As the group made their way then up the stairs, Nell turned back to see that the young girl had not moved from the place where she stood. For a moment, their eyes met again, and Nell smiled warmly at her once more. Then she followed her sons, with Charles, Rose, and John, up to the king’s private box to watch the performance.

  Epilogue

  NOT HEAVEN ITSELF UPON THE PAST HAS POWER WHAT HAS BEEN, HAS BEEN, AND I HAVE HAD MY HOUR.

  —John Dryden

  LONDON, FEBRUARY 1685

  SHE did not hear him at first as she sat beside the fire. But when he drew near enough, she turned, and the sadness in her son’s face told her everything. After all she had been through these past years, the drowning of her mother, then his only brother’s sudden and unexplained death in Paris, he would rather do anything than tell her the truth about this now. But she was his mother, and he owed her everything.

  “I have just come from Whitehall. His Majesty is dying, Mother. I’m so sorry.”

  When she said nothing, Charles Beauclerk, tall for fifteen, sank onto his knees before the silk folds of blue French silk draping Nell’s legs. He knew he was the very image of his father. She had told him that so many times. What must she think now, looking at him? Was she seeing the other Charles, king of England? For eighteen years, he had been the great love of her life.

  Nell shot to her feet, her spine stiffening. “I must go to ’im.”

  “The queen will not want you there, Mother.”

  “Since when ’ave I given a fig what the queen wished, or any of ’is women, for that matter?” She began to walk briskly, her skirts swishing, the blue hem rippling out behind her. Charles tried to keep up as she passed through the foyer. “Where are my gloves? And I’ll need a ’at!” she called out to no one in particular. Her son followed, then gripped her shoulders and turned her back around. “The queen has specifically asked you not to come to court now.”

  Bridget Long dashed down the staircase at that moment, curtsied, and held out her leather gloves and a small felt hat. Nell paused to put them on. “Carwell won’t listen to an order like that! I don’t see why I should ’ave to listen, either!”

  “Mademoiselle de Kéroualle is a whore.”

  “So am I, Charles. Only a better one.”

  Bridget placed the hat onto her head, and Nell tipped it to the proper angle herself before she walked outside, while Bridget went to call for her coach.

  “Mother,” Charles said uneasily as he followed her. “I was hoping not to tell you this, but Her Majesty has said she will not allow you to see him. Nor will she allow it of the others.”

  Nell saw tears in her son’s eyes. But she was not the sort of mother to weep. Life was to be mastered with humor, she had always blithely told him. It helped one to survive

  “But I was never like the others to Charlie,” she said softly, her voice breaking now. “What we ’ad, what we’ve ’ad for all these years, was always different. And it is what I do. I follow ’im wherever ’e needs me. I can’t give up on ’im! I’ve never done that, and ’tis certainly no time to start!”

  “I am told by Master Chiffinch personally that Her Majesty sees this as her opportunity, after so long and difficult a marriage, to at last have the king to herself, no matter how briefly.”

  “Folly! She shall never ’ave ’im! Not ’is ’eart!”

  A coach drew forward, and a liveried groomsman approached.

  “Shall I come with you, then, if you absolutely mean to do this?”

  “You’d face the ’ordes at court who will now feel free to be unkind to me?”

  “I would do anything for you. As my father would have.”

  “It means the world knowing that you would. But I’ll face today alone, whatever lies ahead for me. You’re not to be tainted by this.” She took the groom’s gloved hand and stepped smoothly up into the coach. After the door was closed, she leaned forward and touched the window glass. Her son raised his hand to match hers on the other side. “I love you,” she mouthed.

  “And I love you,” he whispered in reply.

  The heavy clouds merged then, and the coach began to pull away. He had known all along that she would do this, no matter what he said. He knew that she at least would try. For her Charlie. She may not have been the queen, nor even his only mistress—far from that—but she knew with every fiber of her being, and so did their son, that she had been his only love.

  Author’s Note

  IN spite of retaining three main mistresses—Nell Gwynne, Louise de Kéroualle, and the Duchess of Mazarin—it was only Nell, upon his deathbed, about whom Charles showed concern. It was recorded that his brother James was to personally see to her future, which he dutifully did. Nell Gwynne was relieved of all debts, and an income was settled upon her for the rest of her life. However, having lost her love was too great a burden. Nell Gwynne lived only two years beyond Charles II, dying herself after an illness. She never did receive the title the king had promised, although his intention to do so is well documented. She was buried at what today is the site of the National Portrait Gallery.

  A Reader’s Group Guide

  THE PERFECT ROYAL MISTRESS

  Diane Haeger

  ABOUT THIS BOOK

  Alegendary actress. A mistress to a monarch. A woman who would rise from the ashes of London to take her place in history.

  Nell Gwynne, born into poverty and raised in a brothel, starts her working life selling oranges in the pit at London’s newly reopened King’s Theater, just after the plague and the subsequent Great Fire have devastated the city. Her quick sense of humor and natural charm get her noticed by those who have the means to make her life easier, though Nell is street-smart enough to know that a woman doesn’t get ahead by selling her body. Through talent, charm, intelligence, and sheer determination—as well as a realistic understanding of how the world works—Nell makes her way out of the pit and onto the stage to become the leading comedic actress of the day. Her skill and beauty quickly win the attention of all of London—eventually even catching the eye of the king himself. Before she knows it, the scrappy orange girl with the pretty face and the quick wit finds herself plunged into the confusing and dangerous world of the court, and she must learn quickly who to trust—and who to never turn her back on.

  From the grit of the streets and the backstage glamour of London’s theaters to the glittering court of Charles
II, The Perfect Royal Mistress is a love story for the ages, the rags-to-riches tale of a truly remarkable heroine.

  The questions in this guide are intended as a framework for your group’s discussion of The Perfect Royal Mistress.

  1. Very early on, Nell comments that to survive despite hardship, “one simply had to put one’s head down and keep going along” (page 2). How does this attitude help her throughout her life? Are there others in the novel who either live by this rule or don’t? How do they fare? Do you think Nell’s approach changes as she grows older and more experienced, or not?

  2. What is the turning point in young Nell’s life? At what point does she become one who makes things happen, rather than one who things happen to? Can you pinpoint a moment where she discovers the power she has?

  3. What is it about Nell that first catches the king’s eye? Does what he sees in her change over time or remain constant? Why is this infatuation so lasting when so many of the other mistresses are fleeting?

  4. Consider those who Nell encounters at the court of Charles II. What drives these men and women? In what ways are they similar to each other, and who stands out, positively or negatively, as different from the pack? Did anyone surprise you? How?

  5. Why does Richard commit himself so fully to helping Nell? Why is he so loyal to her throughout his life, asking very little in return? What does he get out of their relationship?

  6. Consider the impact of parental relationships on the main characters in The Perfect Royal Mistress. How are each of these people affected by the actions of their parents, and how does this legacy manifest itself? If you were to look one generation into the future, how would you see the cycle continuing? What effect do you imagine these characters’ lives and choices having on their own children?