“I think I’m in awe. I have never seen a live coronation, not even on television. Queen Elizabeth II was crowned long before I was born, and has been on the throne for over sixty years. That’s probably the longest reign in British history.”
“Do you have a gown to wear?” Hugo suddenly asked. He never concerned himself with fashion, but this was a big event, so I had to be appropriately attired, especially since all eyes would be on us after having been absent from Court for over three years following the trial. This would be Hugo’s return to the life he was born to, and my official coming-out party. For the first time since our marriage, I would be introduced to members of the Court, and I hoped that this occasion would be easier than my presentation at Versailles although I wasn’t so sure. Courtiers were the same everywhere: vicious, spiteful, and insecure. The men might be less judgmental of Hugo’s choice, but the women would be just as ruthless as they were in France. My lack of family, money, and connections would be examined and questioned. My hold over Hugo would be dissected, and Hugo’s motives for marrying me would be ridiculed. The happiness I felt only a moment ago quickly evaporated, replaced by apprehension.
“I can wear one of the gowns I wore to Versailles. As far as I can tell, French fashion is still ahead of its time, so the gowns from two years ago will be right on time here.”
“I suppose it’ll have to do since there’s no time to order a new one. The coronation is in less than two weeks — April 11th.”
“Hugo, our names will appear on the list of people who attended the coronation of William and Mary. People in the twenty-first century will be able to see it. As a matter of fact, people throughout history will be privy to this information. Do you know what that means?” I asked, suddenly anxious.
Hugo gave me a strange look as he placed the letter and the invitation into a drawer and locked it. “No, what does it mean?”
“It means that we have officially changed history,” I breathed, suddenly aware of the magnitude of what that meant.
“Neve, we changed history the moment we met in 1685,” Hugo replied, confused by my odd reaction. “Everything that’s happened since then was never meant to happen.”
I suddenly felt weak in the knees and slid into a nearby chair. Tears that were never far away these days spilled onto my cheeks, running into my open mouth as I stared straight ahead, unseeing.
“Neve, what is it? I don’t understand why you are so upset,” Hugo asked. He knelt in front of me and took my cold hands in his, gazing into my eyes in the hope of finding some explanation there, but he couldn’t understand what I was thinking. I’d been harboring a terrible fear all this time, especially since Elena died, and it gnawed at me day and night, leaving me weak with relief every night when another day went by without incident.
“Neve, please, tell me.”
“I am not sure how to put it into words,” I replied, almost reluctant to voice my concerns for fear that saying it out loud would somehow jinx the future. I knew it was silly and completely unfounded, but there it was.
“It’s nothing, really. I’m just overwhelmed.”
“I don’t believe you,” Hugo replied softly. “Now, please tell me what it is you’ve been carrying around all this time.”
I looked down at our hands for a moment, reminding myself that Hugo was right, and we had actually changed the future the day we met. Perhaps my fears were silly. I was very overemotional these days.
“Hugo, you were never meant to live past 1685,” I began.
“Are you beginning to regret that I did?” Hugo asked with a smile.
“No, of course not,” I cried vehemently. “It’s just that you were never meant to have children. You went down in history as having never married or fathered any biological children. You and I are two people who were never, ever meant to meet. We cheated the universe and combined DNA from the future with that of the seventeenth century, creating children who are an anomaly — biologically and historically. Ever since I was locked up in Newgate I began to worry that history would somehow right itself. You know how a GPS just recalculates the route when you make a wrong turn? Well, I began thinking that history might do the same — simply recalculate and still proceed to the same destination.”
“Neve, I never did figure out how those GPS things work, and history is not a conscious entity. It doesn’t recalculate; it just happens,” Hugo replied patiently, already guessing where I was going with this.
“Ever since Elena died, I’ve been fighting this terrible fear that we will lose the rest of our children because they were never meant to be born. I check on them a hundred times a day, terrified that they will get a fever or have an accident of some sort and be taken from us.”
“And us going to the coronation and appearing in the history books is proof that history can be altered?” Hugo asked, finally making the connection.
“Yes. It’s tangible proof that we changed history and survived.”
“Sweetheart,” Hugo said softly as he pulled me to my feet and drew me to him. “Countless children die every year, not because they were never meant to be, but because it’s the reality of life in this century. Elena didn’t die because we somehow upset the cosmic balance by meeting and having children. She died because she contracted an illness that kills thousands. Perhaps, thinking that her death is part of some greater plan helps you to deal with her passing since it seems less random and meaningless, but as much as I hate to admit it, it was. It was random. Had Elena been asleep when I returned home, and not come in contact with me, she might never have gotten ill, and might still be with us today. Neve, I miss her every single day. I have dreams that she is sleeping in my arms, or bouncing on my knee, giggling, clapping her hands, and demanding that I bounce her harder. I feel the loss of her every minute, but I don’t for a moment believe that she was taken because you and I were never meant to be.”
I rested my forehead against Hugo’s shoulder as his arms went around me. “I’m scared, Hugo. So scared. We are in uncharted territory. You’ve finally got your pardon. This could have truly been a new beginning for us, but instead, it’s the beginning of a new chapter, in which you are once again in mortal danger. How do you plan to pull this off?”
“Neve, I spent hours at the library while I was in the future, studying the history of the Stuarts and reading up on the Glorious Revolution. I know what’s going to happen. All I have to do is pass pertinent tidbits to Marquis de Chartres to keep my end of the bargain. I can keep it up for years without ever putting myself in danger by trying to gather intelligence in any other kind of way.”
“But what if someone learns of what you are doing? What if your “tidbits” fall into the wrong hands?”
“I will be very careful. I promise. Will you trust me?”
“I’ve trusted you since the day you risked your life to save Frances. I knew then that you are an honorable man despite your elastic moral principles,” I joked, making Hugo smile. “I just want to keep you all safe; that’s all.”
“And you will. Now, let’s go spend some time with the children. I can hear Valentine arguing with Ruby, and it’s safe to say that Ruby is losing that particular battle.”
“I think we need to get her a pony. You know how she wants one. It will make her feel special and grown up, and give her some alone time with Archie. She misses him.”
“Thank God she’s only three, or we’d have a budding romance on our hands,” Hugo joked as he followed me out of the room.
“I think we already do.”
April, 1689
London
Chapter 58
Henry FitzRoy, 1st Duke of Grafton sighed with contentment as he rolled onto his side and rested his head on his hand, his gaze caressing the body of the woman next to him. Jocelyn never bothered to cover up after they made love, lying there in all her glory, her eyes frequently sliding to the gilded mirror which reflected her image to her satisfaction. Her silken skin glowed in the candlelight, and her abundant chestnut
tresses spilled over her breasts as she flipped onto her stomach, giving him an eyeful of her delectable bottom. Jocelyn was brazen, and Henry loved that about her. The notion of his wife behaving in this manner would have sent him over the edge with fury, but in a mistress, this was a very desirable quality.
Jocelyn had another quality that he found desirable, and this one had nothing to do with her body. She was one of the most intelligent women he’d ever met, someone he could actually talk to, especially when he was sated but not quite ready to end their tryst and return to reality. Most times the conversation led to another round of lovemaking, even better than the last since he usually lasted longer the second and third time. At first, Henry was apprehensive about being too open with his mistress, but after nearly a year of secret assignations, he’d come to realize that Jocelyn could be trusted. Her opinion mattered to him, and he consulted her on all important decisions, putting aside that tiny twinge of guilt he felt at not discussing matters with his wife.
“Will you be attending the coronation with your charming wife?” Jocelyn asked playfully, knowing how much Henry hated any mention of his wife, especially in bed.
“You know I will, and I will no doubt be seeing you there with your husband,” he answered gruffly, annoyed by the barb. “I am Mary’s cousin, after all,” he added.
“That you are, and also nephew to her father who’s currently cooling his heels in France while hoping to raise an army to reclaim his throne; and half-brother to the Duke of Monmouth, who’s resting permanently these days after his failed attempt to dethrone his uncle. What a complicated family you have, Henry,” she said with a giggle. “And you are a complicated man, which leads me to believe that you are not taking all this as meekly as one might expect.”
“I don’t take your meaning, madam,” Henry replied, his eyes suddenly more alert. Jocelyn wasn’t just being playful; she was implying something, and he didn’t like her tone.
“Oh, you take my meaning very well, Henry. Just be careful. Very careful.”
Jocelyn turned onto her side, raised herself on her elbow, and tried to plant a kiss on Henry’s pouting lips, but he moved his head back, not ready to end the conversation. “What do you know, Jocelyn?”
“I know that Mary, being the daughter of a Catholic monarch who has just been relieved of his throne, is very conscious of her position, and although she’s a Protestant and has been invited back to England to rule, will take no risks when it comes to her reign. Cousin or no cousin, she will strike if she has to, through her husband, of course,” Jocelyn explained patiently as if Henry were a child. Jocelyn, who was Lady Devenish when at home, was one of Mary’s ladies-in-waiting, so probably knew his cousin better than most. Prudish Mary would have a fit if she knew that one of her women was sleeping with her cousin, but that was all part of the fun, although Jocelyn’s new position made her less available to Henry since she spent more time at Court, waiting on his frigid cousin.
“I am feverishly loyal to our new royal couple,” Henry replied with a chuckle as he bent his head to plant a kiss on Jocelyn’s breast, his pique forgotten. He didn’t care to continue this discussion, but Jocelyn had given him something to think about. Her warning was thinly veiled, making him wonder if it had come directly from Mary herself. Perhaps his cousin wasn’t as oblivious as he supposed.
Jocelyn pushed Henry down and suspended her hips over him, her hair trailing seductively over his chest. “It’s my turn, my sweet,” she breathed as she slowly impaled herself on his rock-hard cock. She threw her head back as he filled her and began to move, slowly at first, then with more intent, the conversation about Mary forgotten for the moment. Henry lost himself in her, all his blood rushing to the place of their joining as he exploded embarrassingly fast, unable to take the exquisite pleasure any longer. Jocelyn raked her fingers over his chest, her face a mask of disappointment.
“You owe me,” she breathed as she flipped onto her back and closed her eyes in expectation. Henry slid down between her legs, all too aware that there’d be hell to pay if he failed to satisfy his lover.
Chapter 59
The summons from Mary came not twenty-four hours later, making Henry feel more nervous than he cared to admit. He hadn’t seen Mary since she returned to England with William, and even then he’d been among the other nobles who’d come to welcome Mary and William to London. He hadn’t seen her in private, and didn’t expect to have any communication with her until after the coronation, which was only a week away. If Her Royal Highness made time to see him now, it was because she had a good reason for seeking him out.
Henry dressed with care, choosing one of his most opulent suits, a midnight blue velvet embroidered with silver thread and a perfect contrast to the snowy-white lace collar and cuffs of his shirt. He wore shoes with sapphire-encrusted buckles and white hose to match the shirt. His curly black wig, so like the kind his father used to wear, framed his lean face, the curls brushing his shoulders and hanging halfway down his back. He didn’t want to upstage the queen, but he wished to remind her that despite being a bastard, he was still a force to be reckoned with. He was the son of a king, a duke in his own right, and a consummate courtier. He knew how the game was played as well as she did, and knew that this was an opening move in a game which would end very quickly if he countered with the wrong piece.
Henry nodded to various acquaintances as he strode through the corridors of Whitehall Palace, loath to be late for his appointment. Normally, he would stop to chat and indulge in the latest gossip and speculation, but today he had no time for such frivolous pursuits. His stomach was in knots, and his mind awhirl with possible reasons for Mary’s summons. Had this been a social call, his wife would have been invited as well, but the summons had been for him alone. Henry stood erect and proud, despite his inner turmoil, as he was announced and admitted without delay.
Mary sat in a high-backed chair reminiscent of a throne, which was not a coincidence, of that Henry was certain. She couldn’t be very comfortable, but she’d chosen it to remind everyone of her new position — as if they could forget. The room, which had been opulent at one point, had been stripped of some of its more elaborate decorations and now had a touch of austerity, so appropriate to the woman who sat with an open book on her lap, but made no pretense of reading. Mary was surrounded by her ladies who were working on their embroidery, their expressions unnaturally bland.
Gone were the flamboyant gowns popular during the Stuart monarchy, the opulent fashions turning even the plainest of women into a glittering jewel. The ladies were all dressed modestly, their hair swept up and covered with lace headdresses. The ladies’ faces were scrubbed clean, not a trace of powder or a beauty patch in sight. Jocelyn, Lady Devenish, sat close to the window, her face serene as she bent over her work. There was no trace of the passionate woman who’d shoved his head between her legs only yesterday. This Jocelyn was demure and cool as marble, no sign of recognition flickering in her eyes as Henry walked into the room.
“Your Majesty,” he greeted the queen with a deep bow. Henry was glad Mary was seated. She was a remarkably tall woman and made him feel dwarfed despite his own impressive stature. She was only a year older than he was, but appeared older, more mature, partly due to her royal reserve, and partly to the lines of disappointment which were etched deeply into the grooves between nose and mouth. Mary had longed for children, but proved unable to carry to term. There was one known miscarriage, and several “illnesses” which were likely more lost babies. Henry did feel sympathy for her. For a woman in her position not to be able to bear a child was catastrophic, and embarrassing. But Mary’s pain was of a more personal kind. She wanted a child, longed to be a mother, and would have done so even if she had been the poorest of washerwomen or servants. Some women were meant to be mothers, and Mary was one of them.
Mary looked elegant as ever. She had never been one to overdress, choosing rich fabrics and simple designs over the ostentatious trends of the time. She wore a simple stri
ng of pearls about her throat, and her dark hair was dressed in flattering curls framing her face. She did look the part of the queen, and had more composure and regal bearing than her father ever had.
“Your Grace,” the queen countered, giving him the smallest of smiles. “A pleasure to see you.” She made it sound as if he simply dropped by, not been summoned by his queen to appear in front of her like an errant boy.
“Leave us,” Mary said to her women, who shuffled out without a word or a glance. They were used to being dismissed, and probably glad of a few moments of free time when they didn’t have to attend on their sovereign. What a bore it must be to spend endless hours of one’s time trapped in a room with an all-seeing queen, and not be able to leave if one wished, Henry mused as he watched the women file past him.
Mary waited patiently until the door closed behind the last of the ladies before speaking. “It’s good to see you, Henry. It’s been an age. How are Isabella and your son? What is the boy’s name?”
“Charles, Your Majesty. They are both well.”
“Do give them my regards,” Mary said, not without warmth.
“They will be honored by the attention, Your Majesty.”
“Henry, I didn’t summon you here to play the courtier, so let me speak plainly. I realize that the loyalties of a lifetime are not easily shrugged off, particularly at a time when those loyalties might still prove to be valuable, but a man has to make a choice and accept the consequences.” Mary looked stern, but Henry could see a glimmer of sympathy in her eyes. She was a woman who’d had to live with divided loyalties her whole life, and now her husband occupied the throne from which her own father had been forced only a few months ago.
The Queen's Gambit (The Wonderland Series: Book 4) Page 29