“Are you?” she retorted with spirit. “You have been twice wed.”
“Certainly I am no tyro,” Lennox admitted with a self-content that so annoyed Frances the tears ceased to well in her eyes. “But I married my women, and a sorry bargain my last wife was to me, though that she died was no fault of mine, for when I discovered her sickliness I had the best physicians to her. They told me it was a disease of long standing, and when I heard such I gave way to her and told her I wouldn’t touch a penny of what she brought to our marriage and grudged seeing spent on Cobham. So she died happily, poor Maggie, not knowing that she was dying. As for Betty — I told you of her when we first met.”
The self-satisfaction had vanished from his voice. It had become sombre and regretful. But Frances was now determined to satisfy her curiosity and she said: “There was the matter of Elizabeth Hamilton, which does not favour you, cousin. The Chevalier de Gramont has spread the story of how, while professing to love her, you said you would not marry her without a portion.”
“Which was at her instigation. She insisted that the King owed her a dowry for the services her father had rendered to the Royalist cause. When the dowry was promised, she laughed in my face, and told me her heart was given to De Gramont, and that he, who is penniless and an exile, dependent on his gambler’s skill, could not marry her without such surety. She has married him, has she not?”
“Yes — but…”
“Having treated me scurvily, the pair of them detest me, which is only natural. It was more comfortable for them to present me as a scheming villain.”
Frances said importantly: “It may be a pleasant surprise to you to hear that I am not penniless. I have jewels which are worth ten thousand or more.”
“And not one of them will you keep. Or at least none that the King has given you.”
The sudden violence of his voice was to Frances not only startling but reassuring. She said gently: “Mayhap we have both of us been misjudged. I swear that I have been more foolish than ill-intentioned, but it might be the better for us both if I — if I asked the King’s leave to retire into a convent.”
“Never! Do so, and I should abduct you.”
His arm went round her, he pulled her close to him, he sought her lips, and she shrank from him as she had never dared to shrink from the King. But when his mouth found hers, suddenly and to her astonishment there was no inclination to shrink, for he was infinitely tender, and in her surprised relief she found it easy and even agreeable to respond. He did not fondle her with experienced and urgent hands, in the fashion to which the King had accustomed her and which she had forced herself to endure, but held her with a quiet strength. His cheek was smooth against hers. The little hat perched precariously on her curls was tipped sideways as he pressed her face to his shoulder. She stammered out words that were sincere and humble.
“I am not always silly and flighty.”
“Have I not seen that for myself?”
“When have you?”
“Did you not grieve for the Queen rather than rejoice for yourself when she was thought to be dying? Did you not have pity for me when I told you of my sorrow at Betty’s death? Did you not show me that the making of a home can be as important to you as it is to me? You may well have more doubt of me than I have of you, of my debauchery, as it is called, and my extravagance. But in truth I am no womaniser, though for the rest it is true — drink and thriftlessness are my besetting sins.”
“Habits,” Frances firmly corrected. “Would you drink to excess if you were happy?”
“To that there is no sure answer, though my chief joy is Cobham, and I can be sober there — at least when I am occupied.”
“From what you have told me there will be plenty to occupy us for years. As for extravagance…it is no mean kind, since you equipped your privateers at your own expense. And then there is Cobham — if it were mine I would not buy a new gown for a year. I would spend my all on it.”
“’Tis as I suspected. Cobham will weigh down the scales in my favour.”
Lennox was half-pleased, half-hurt, and the hurt, as Frances divined, might be the greater. Instinctively her fingers curled round his.
“There is much else that favours you,” she murmured. “I have been angry with you, but I have thought of you. More than a year ago I had dreams, but then you seemed not to care…”
“How could I show that I cared for one who might become my Queen? If I dare show it now it is because Julia was so sure you were in secret trouble.”
“I am — oh, I am. The King has given me until my birthday — until I shall be nineteen next month. Then I must either give myself with willingness, or he…! Marriage was my only way out, and I thought his wrath might not fall upon a poor gentleman who would take me far away to some quiet spot where we could be forgotten in our obscurity. But how can that be with you who are of the Royal House and have great possessions? Angry as Charles will be, he could ruin you…”
“Yes,” Lennox agreed. “He could.”
“The Queen might help us,” Frances said hopefully. “But even if she does not, Charles could not hold us apart for ever.”
The sense of strain had lifted from her heart and spirit. She lay contentedly in the circle of his arm and thought of much that he had said to her. He had been angry with her and kind to her. He had been honest with her. He might have grave faults, as he owned, but who was there without fault? She could not doubt that he loved her, though in marrying her he would be taking a risk, for how could he be sure that she was capable of giving him a worthwhile love in return?
“I may be bringing great trouble upon you,” she said, but he laughed.
“You brought that upon me from my first sight of you. I knew I could never be at peace without you. If you will take me, I swear I will be faithful to you and will love you to the last day of my life. And in time,” he concluded, “my love will kindle yours.”
“Yes,” Frances murmured. “Yes, I believe it will.”
It was only when Lennox had ordered the coachman to drive back to Whitehall and they were nearing the river again that the weight of fear and anxiety once more descended upon her, and she said urgently: “Promise me this. In any trouble there should be, let me deal with Charles. He does have an affection for me, and, however angry, he would not punish me for ever, or break my heart through his cruel treatment of you.”
At this Lennox put the question which no lover could have forborne to put. “Would it break your heart?”
“To know that I was responsible for your disgrace and downfall? Indeed it would.” Aware that this was not precisely what he would have had her say, there was a tinge of mischief in her voice.
Inwardly Lennox groaned. She was a minx and she would always get her own way with him. He said: “Have it as you will, then. It is true that Charles has never revenged himself upon a woman, though Barbara Castlemaine has given him sufficient cause. So did Lucy Walters, if all one hears of her is true. In any case, Charles is no Henry VIII to send me to the Tower and have my head struck off.”
In spite of all her natural courage, when the dark bulk of Whitehall loomed up before them Frances’s heart took a downward plunge, and she wished she need never again enter that great hive of intrigue, splendid though it was, and privileged though her position had always been.
She and Lennox walked through the long corridors together, provoking nothing but a casual, incurious glance, for Lennox, though no familiar sight there, had long had lodgings in the Bowling Green at Whitehall, and stayed there whenever he was in London. Moreover, as it chanced, there were comparatively few people about, and none at all as they turned an abrupt corner, save the two most important people in England, with whom at this crisis they both wanted and dreaded to come in contact.
Sauntering towards them, and for once unattended, came the King and Queen, both of them evidently in a happy mood, for Charles held Catherine by the hand and bent his head towards her as she looked up at him, and laughed that soft laug
h which even her detractors owned was delicious.
Lennox uttered a stifled exclamation, but Frances, with every nerve in her body quivering, knew that this was her chance and that she might never have a better one. Down she dropped in a curtsey of exquisite grace, her gaze turning beseechingly from the Queen to the King.
“Your Gracious Majesties,” she faltered.
Both regarded her indulgently.
“Why, Frances!” murmured the Queen and put out her hand.
The King, who had at first smiled at her, now frowned as his gaze travelled to Lennox.
“Madame,” cried Frances in a trembling voice, “I crave your approval and your blessing. I implore you to commend us both, my cousin of Lennox and Richmond and myself, to His Majesty. He has asked me… Oh, Madame,” and now the words came in a rush, though Frances dared not look at Charles but only into Catherine’s kind, brown eyes. “We care for each other, and would wed each other.”
In the space of a few seconds a dozen conflicting considerations rushed through the Queen’s mind. She was immediately aware that the King would be far from pleased. At the same time she was convinced that Frances was not his mistress, and she did not support that his fondness for her was much greater than he had already given to many. It would be the best thing possible for Frances to marry one who was so eligible, and it would be wise for Catherine to assume that Charles would share her pleasure.
“Why, my dear child,” she said kindly, “this is splendid news. Do not kneel there shaking as though you have confessed to some dreadful crime. With all my heart I wish you joy, and so I doubt not does the King.”
The small, jewelled hands helped Frances to rise. Frances kissed them fervently. Charles, subjected as he was to the Queen’s radiant and apparently innocent gaze, put forth a grudging hand to Lennox, who speechlessly touched it with his lips.
“Is it not splendid news, my lord?” Catherine persisted. “Splendid and unexpected. I thought they scarce knew each other. They have, as you say in England, stolen a march upon us, but that from time immem…immemorial,” she stumbled on the long and difficult word, “has been the way of lovers, has it not?”
“It has indeed,” Charles agreed grimly.
As Lennox turned to the Queen to kiss, in his turn, her outstretched hand, Charles’ lips brushed Frances’ cheek in the customary, congratulatory salute. His eyes were hot with anger, but behind the anger she seemed to discern a glint of amusement, and she was sure of it, as he, contriving to draw her slightly aside, said in a low voice that was for her ears alone:
“You minx, Frances! You clever, heartless jade!”
“Your Majesty — please!” Frances gazed at him beseechingly.
“The first round,” said Charles, “that you have won, but God’s truth, you shall not win the last!”
Eighteen
Even had the King sought to conceal the betrothal, the Queen and Frances between them would have been too much for him, and before the evening was over there was nobody at Court who had not heard of it.
Lennox was lost in admiration of Frances’ tactics, which, since they had met with such initial success, he now believed would make all smooth for them. Not so Frances herself, though the Queen was honestly delighted and kept her at her side for a long while that evening, discussing her future plans. Catherine did not know a great deal about Lennox’s character, but she was sure he was deeply in love with her favourite maid-of-honour, which was more important than anything else, thought Catherine. She had a strong suspicion that in the frivolous, popular, light-hearted Frances there was much latent strength of will, a force which would help her to make a success of marriage.
The King, conscious that many covert glances were directed at him, played up. He was cordial to Lennox, playfully charming with Frances, apparently unperturbed. Nobody quite knew what to make of this new situation, but, as might have been expected, several cynically supposed that it suited the King for Frances to marry.
But even during that first evening Lennox made it abundantly clear that this was to be no marriage of convenience. It was not only the Queen who realized that he was in love. This he did not try to conceal. As for Frances, beautiful though she had always been, there was a new radiance in her smile and a most alluring softness in her eyes.
“Relief,” thought Barbara Castlemaine, who had been taken by surprise when she heard of the betrothal. “She has never wanted Charles, and now she believes she has freed herself while still retaining all her privileges, but he is not likely to give way so easily.”
Characteristically, Barbara turned over in her mind how this new development might be used to her advantage. There was now only the semblance of friendship between herself and Frances. Jealousy had soon put an end to it, and unjustly enough she blamed Frances for the unhealed breach with Buckingham. Since the affair of the abortive mock marriage they had ceased to be allies, though Buckingham had cajoled Barbara into patching up their quarrel, and on the surface all was smooth.
Months ago Barbara had faced up to the fact that her influence with the King had waned, although from time to time he came to her as a lover. She was aware that she appealed only to his baser instincts, and with some dread had realized that even this link would be broken if Frances surrendered and satisfied him. Therefore it was satisfactory to her that Frances should not only marry Lennox but also fall in love with him, and thus so wound the King’s vanity that his romantic tenderness for her would be destroyed. Thus might Barbara regain her former supremacy.
Let Frances pay then, thought Barbara with savage malice, and the more humiliatingly the better.
Tonight, for pride’s sake, the King was acting a part which apparently deceived the lovers and the Queen. Not Barbara, however, for where Charles was concerned she had an acute insight, and she was sure he would put up a fight, though it might be a secret and subtle one. Even Frances could offend beyond forgiveness. There was more than one way in which this could happen, and that evening, when the Court retired, Barbara paced her bedroom for an hour and more, planning, scheming.
At the same time the King and Queen were deep in discussion. Although they had their separate suites Catherine too often slept alone in the vast double bed which dominated the sleeping apartment. Charles, when in the mood, would spend an hour or more with her before retiring, talking over the events of the day. However tired she might be, Catherine welcomed these interludes, and tonight she sat brushing her hair which after her illness had become dull and without lustre, but which was now growing long again, and to her pleasure had recovered its gloss and springiness.
She made an attractive figure in her silk wrapper, but the King made no appreciation of this, though as always he was comforted and soothed by the sympathetic devotion which never failed him. That she could be less than candid with him was his last suspicion, and indeed Catherine had rarely had any reason for deceit. The King knew that she abhorred Barbara Castlemaine, though she was obliged to endure her. He knew too that she was distrustful of many, but concluded that she was blind to his infatuation for Frances Stuart. It did not occur to him that Catherine understood Frances as one woman does sometimes understand another; that she had long ago penetrated below the froth to the core of sanity and decent feeling. Frances was not designed by nature to be a royal mistress.
“I cannot see,” Catherine had said, “that these snags, as you call them, are of great importance. Frances is an ornament to the Court, and of course she will be missed if she lives chiefly in the country. But it is time she married. She is nearly nineteen and this is an excellent match for her. She will make a most stately Duchess.”
“It is not so ideal as you imagine, m’dear,” Charles said. “When she marries it should be to one far more stable than Lennox. To some extent I am responsible for Frances. Minette would say so were it possible to communicate with her. This cursed war!”
“Oh, Charles, I know.” Catherine was swift in sympathy. “It was not of your seeking, and only brought about by Loui
s’ duplicity. His obligations to the Netherlands forsooth! When all his concern is that England should not become a too powerful maritime nation! In deciding to support the Dutch and breaking with us, it must have caused your sister much grief, since it severed her connection with you.”
“Well, it won’t last for ever,” Charles said with forced cheerfulness. “Poor Minette, poor sweet…for her it is only one deprivation amongst many. I am thankful Mam happened to be in Paris at the crucial moment and was obliged to stay there, otherwise she would be distraught with anxiety for Minette. She has no such fears with regard to me, knowing that you, my dear, are the custodian of my happiness.”
Catherine’s face crinkled into a smile that was not devoid of irony. She said, deliberately drawing back the conversation to Frances, anxious to gain insight into his attitude: “So you feel responsible for her because of her friendship with your sister and because she is your mother’s protégée. But need that worry you when Frances’ own mother is now resident in London? If she approves the match, as doubtless she will…”
“Mistress Stuart knows very little, if anything, about Charles Lennox. Unfortunately I know rather more.”
“What, for instance? He is very rich, is he not — as well as titled? He is a handsome young man and of a suitable age for Frances — twenty-six or seven. He has estates here and in Scotland, and holds important offices there, as well as being Lord Lieutenant of Dorset. You must have thought highly of him when you conferred the Order of the Garter upon him.”
Charles made an impatient gesture. “That was four years ago. It was an honour due to him by reason of his rank and the services rendered by his family. Certainly he seemed to have promise — but he has developed ill since then. He drinks like a fish. He is extravagant and up to his eyes in debt. He is a gambler. He has already had two wives.”
“Can he be blamed because they died — I mean if they were natural deaths? Of course, Charles, if you have reason to suspect they were not…?”
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