Chase Family Collection: Limited Christmas Edition

by Lauren Royal

  The later Tudors changed very little of the palace, and neither did the early Stuarts or Oliver Cromwell. So the next king to make a major mark on Hampton Court was Charles II. Among other projects, Charles completely redesigned the gardens and also commissioned a set of apartments for his mistress Barbara, the Duchess of Cleveland. This new building, which I have Kit building in A Gentleman’s Plot to Tie the Knot, is said to have looked completely different from the Tudor gothic architecture of Henry VIII’s day.

  In 1689, soon after William and Mary took the throne, they followed Charles’s architectural lead and asked Christopher Wren to rebuild Hampton Court Palace in a more modern style, to compare with the likes of Versailles and the Louvre. The old Tudor buildings around Cloister Green Court were demolished and replaced by Wren’s elegant Fountain Court. The Duchess of Cleveland’s lodgings by the privy garden were destroyed at this time as well, and little is known of them now, as no building plans survived.

  As for Hampton Court’s maze, the one you can visit there now was designed in 1690 for William III, but it possibly replaced an earlier maze, perhaps laid out for Henry VIII. In an inventory of Cromwell’s goods at Hampton Court dated 1659, there is mention of a cistern that serves “the fountaine and Maze.” Since Charles II was restored to his throne the following year, perhaps the maze still survived at the time of Kit and Rose’s story. In any case, I had fun imagining them exploring it!

  Hampton Court Palace is open to the public seven days a week year-round. Just a thirty-minute train ride from Central London, it’s a perfect day trip back in time for anyone visiting the capital.

  The remodeled east end of the Royal Chapel at Whitehall Palace in London was indeed designed by Christopher Wren—the sketch he made that Kit showed Rose still survives. The actual work was carried out by Thomas Kinward, Robert Streater, and Henry Phillips, for a total cost of a little more than £71. The fire in A Gentleman’s Plot to Tie the Knot was entirely my invention, but would surely have raised the price of construction.

  Sadly, Whitehall Palace was destroyed by fire in 1698. Although a few walls and other original bits of the palace survive as parts of the current government buildings, the only intact part of Whitehall today is Inigo Jones’s exquisite Banqueting House. Completed in 1622 and renowned for its architecture and magnificent ceiling painted by Sir Peter Paul Rubens, the building is also famous for being the scene of Charles I’s execution.

  In Charles II’s time, the Banqueting House was used as the ceremonial chamber of the court and the scene of grand receptions. Of the queen’s birthday celebration on the 15th of November in 1677, which Rose and Kit attend in the final chapter of their story, John Evelyn noted in his diary: “The Queene’s birth-day, a greate Ball at Court, where the Prince of Orange and his new Princesse daunced.”

  The Banqueting House is open to the public Monday through Saturday except for bank holidays, but it sometimes closes on short notice for government functions. This happened the first time I tried to visit, so do call ahead!

  Of all the projects I had Kit working on in this book, the only one that can be seen today is the King’s Dining Room at Windsor Castle. In real life it was designed by architect Hugh May, who did extensive renovations for King Charles between 1675 and 1678. I chose this particular room for Kit not only because it was actually completed in the year of my story, 1677, but also because it’s the most intact example remaining of Charles’s rooms, including the original wall carvings by Grinling Gibbons and Henry Phillips and the whimsical ceiling painted by Antonio Verrio.

  Windsor Castle is the largest and oldest occupied castle in the world. It has stood for over 900 years since William the Conqueror chose the site a day’s march from the Tower of London. The castle has been inhabited continuously and altered by each sovereign. Some concentrated on strengthening the site against attack, while others, living in more peaceful times, helped create the palatial royal residence you can visit today.

  Windsor Castle is open seven days a week year-round, but there are periods, especially in June and December, when the queen is in residence and the State Apartments are closed to visitors.

  Trentingham Manor was inspired by the Vyne, a National Trust property in Hampshire. Built in the early sixteenth century for Lord Sandys, Henry VIII’s Lord Chamberlain, the house acquired a classical portico in the mid-seventeenth century and contains a grand Palladian staircase, a wealth of old paneling and fine furniture, and a fascinating Tudor chapel with Renaissance glass. The Vyne and its extensive gardens are open for visits April through October.

  I hope you enjoyed A Gentleman’s Plot to Tie the Knot!

  If you haven’t read the rest of my Chase Family Series, you might want to start with the books about Ford Chase’s older brothers and twin sister. The first one is When an Earl Meets a Girl. Please read on for an excerpt.

  And if you have read the rest of my Chase Family Series, you’ll love reading about their descendants in the Regency era. The first book in Chase Family Series: The Regency is Tempt Me at Midnight. Please read on for an excerpt as well as more bonus material!

  Always,

  Bonus Material

  Read on for…

  Excerpt from When an Earl Meets a Girl

  Excerpt from Tempt Me at Midnight

  Explore the Chase Family World

  Books by Lauren Royal

  Free Historical Recipe Book

  Enter Lauren’s Contest

  About Lauren Royal

  Acknowledgments

  Contact Information

  Excerpt from WHEN AN EARL MEETS A GIRL

  When an Earl Meets a Girl

  Book One of the

  Chase Family Series

  Amethyst Goldsmith makes dazzling jewelry, but her future isn’t as bright as the pieces she creates. In mere days Amy will be condemned to a stifling, loveless marriage, and she sees no way out—until the devastating fire of 1666 sweeps through London, and tragedy lands her in the arms of dashing Colin Chase, the Earl of Greystone.

  Read an excerpt…

  London

  April 22, 1661

  THE LAST TIME Amethyst Goldsmith saw her king, she was five years old and he was about to have his head severed from his body. Now, twelve years later, she sincerely hoped his son would have better luck.

  She shouldered her way through the crowd, her parents and aunt murmuring apologies in her wake. “Here, there’s room!” Finally reaching a few bare inches of rail, she clasped it with both hands and turned to flash them a victorious smile. “Come along, it’s starting!”

  Hugh and Edith Goldsmith joined her, shaking their heads at their daughter’s tenacity. Hugh’s sister Elizabeth squeezed in behind. Ignoring the grumbling of displaced spectators, Amy spread her feet wide to save more room at the front. “Robert, over here!”

  Robert Stanley tugged on her long black plait as he wedged himself in beside her. She shot him a grin; he was fun. Although he’d arrived just last week to train as her father’s apprentice, Amy had known for years that she was to marry him. So far they seemed to be compatible, although he’d been surprised to find she was far more skilled as a jeweler than he. Surprised and none too pleased, Amy suspected. But he would get over those feelings.

  She might be female, but her talent was a God-given gift, and she’d never in this lifetime give up her craft. Robert would have to learn to accept that.

  With a sigh of pleasure, Amy shuffled her shoes on the scrubbed cobblestones. “Look, Mama! Everything is so clean and glorious.” She breathed deep of the fresh air, blinking against the bright sun. “The rain has stopped…even the weather is welcoming the monarchy back to England! Have you ever seen so many people? All London must be here.”

  “These cannot all be Londoners.” Her mother waved a hand, encompassing the crowds on the rooftops, the mobbed windows and overflowing balconies. “I think many have come in from the countryside.”

  A handful of tossed rose petals drifted down, landing on Amy’s dark he
ad like scented snowflakes. She shook them off, laughing. “Just look at all the tapestries and banners!”

  “Just look at all that wasted wine,” Robert muttered, with a nod toward the fragrant red river that ran through the open conduit in the street.

  Amy opened her mouth to protest, then decided he must be fooling. “Marry come up, Robert! You must be pleased King Charles will be crowned tomorrow. Twelve years of Cromwell’s rule was enough. Now we have music and dancing again.” She felt like dancing, like spreading her burgundy satin skirts and twirling in a circle, but the press of the crowd made such a maneuver impossible, so she settled for bobbing a little curtsy. “We’ve beautiful clothes, and the theater—”

  “And drinking and cards and dice,” Robert added.

  “That too,” Amy agreed, turning back to ogle the mounted queue of nobility parading their way from the Tower to Whitehall Palace. Such jewels and feathers and lace! Fingering the looped ribbons adorning her new gown, she pressed harder against the rail, wishing she too could join the procession.

  “Where did they possibly find so many ostrich feathers in all of England?” she wondered aloud, then burst into giggles.

  Her aunt laughed and wrapped an affectionate arm around her shoulders. “Where do you find the energy, child? You must come to Paris. Uncle William and I could use your happy smiles.”

  Feeling a stab of sympathy, Amy hugged her around the waist. Aunt Elizabeth had lost her three children to smallpox last year.

  “We need her artistry here,” Amy’s father protested, poking his sister good-naturedly. “Your shop will have to do without.”

  “Ah, Hugh, how selfish you are!” Aunt Elizabeth chided. “Hoarding my niece’s talent for your own profit.” She aimed a mischievous smile at her brother. “No wonder we moved to France to escape the competition.”

  Amy grinned. Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle William had been forced to move their shop when business fell off during the Commonwealth years. But they’d flourished in Paris, becoming jewelers to the French court, and wouldn’t think of returning now.

  “I’m glad you came for the coronation, Auntie. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed it,” Elizabeth declared. “Old Noll drove me out of England, so my home is elsewhere now. But it’s God’s own truth that no one here is happier than I.”

  “Listen!” Amy cried. A joyous roar rolled westward toward them, marking the slow passage of His Majesty in the middle of the procession. “Can you hear King Charles coming? There are his attendants!” The noise swelled as the king’s footguards marched by, their plumes of red and white feathers contrasting with those of his brother, the Duke of York, whose guard was decked out in black and white.

  All at once, the roar was deafening. Amy grasped her mother’s hand. “It’s him, Mama,” she whispered. “King Charles II.” Glittering in the sunshine, the Horse of State caught and held her gaze. “Oh, look at the embroidered saddle, the pearls and rubies—look at our diamonds!”

  Amy didn’t care for horses—she was terrified of them, truth be told—so she paid no attention to the magnificent beast himself. But three hundred of her family’s diamonds sparkled on the gold stirrups and bosses, among the twelve thousand lent for the occasion.

  “Oh, Papa,” she breathed, “I wish we could have designed that saddle.”

  Aunt Elizabeth’s hand suddenly tightened on Amy’s shoulder. “Charles is looking at me,” she declared loudly.

  Amy’s father snorted. “Always the flirt, sister mine.”

  Amy’s gaze flew from the dazzling horse to its rider. Smiling broadly beneath his thin mustache, the tall king waved to the crowd. His cloth-of-silver suit peeked from beneath ermine-lined crimson robes. Rubies and sapphires winked from gold shoe buckles and matching gold garters, festooned with great poufs of silver ribbon. Long, shining black curls draped over his chest, framing a face that appeared older than his thirty years; the result, Amy supposed, of having suffered through exile and the execution of his beloved father.

  But his black eyes were quick and sparkling—and more than a little sensual. Some women around Amy swooned, but she just stared, willing the king to look at her.

  When he did, she flashed him a radiant smile. “No, Auntie, he’s looking at me.”

  Before her family even stopped laughing, the king was gone, as suddenly as he had arrived. But the spectacle wasn’t over. Behind him came a camel with brocaded panniers and an East Indian boy flinging pearls and spices into the crowd. And then more lords and ladies, more glittering costumes, more decorated stallions, more men-at-arms, all bedecked in gold and silver and the costliest of gems.

  Yet none of it mattered to Amy, for there was a nobleman riding her way.

  It wasn’t the richness of his clothing that caught her eye, for in truth his garb was rather plain. His black velvet suit was trimmed with naught but gold braid; his wide-brimmed hat boasted only a single white plume. He wore no fancy crimped periwig; instead his own raven hair fell in gleaming waves to his shoulders.

  Deep emerald eyes bore into Amy’s, singling her out as he angled his horse in her direction. His glossy black gelding breathed close, but she felt no fear, for the man held her safe with his piercing green gaze. It seemed as though he could see through her eyes right into her soul. Her cheeks flamed; never in her almost-seventeen years had a man looked at her like that.

  He tipped his plumed hat. Flustered, she turned and glanced about, certain he must be saluting someone else. But everyone was laughing and talking or watching the procession; no one focused their attention his way. She looked back, and he grinned as he passed, a devastating slash of white that made Amy melt inside.

  Long after he rode out of sight around the bend, she stared to where he had disappeared.

  “Amy?” Robert tugged on her hand.

  She turned and gazed into his eyes: pale blue, not green. They didn’t make her melt inside, didn’t make her feel anything.

  Robert smiled, revealing teeth that overlapped a bit. She hadn’t really noticed that before. “It’s over,” he said.

  “Oh.”

  The sun set as they walked home to Cheapside, skirting merrymakers in the streets. Her father paused to unlock their door. Overhead, a wooden sign swung gently in the breeze. A nearby bonfire illuminated the image of a falcon and the gilt letters that proclaimed their shop Goldsmith & Sons, Jewellers.

  There came a sudden brilliant flash and a stunned “Ooooh” from the crowd, as fireworks lit the sky. Amy dashed through the shop and up the stairs to their balcony.

  Gazing toward the River Thames, she watched the great fiery streaks of light, heard the soaring rockets, smelled the sulfur in the air. It was the most spectacular display England had ever seen, and the sights and sounds filled her with a wondrous feeling.

  If only life could be as exhilarating as a fireworks show.

  When the last glittering tendril faded away, she listened to the fragments of song and rowdy laughter that filled the night air. Couples strolled by, arm in arm. Robert stepped onto the balcony and moved close.

  His voice was quiet beside her. “This is a day I’ll never forget.”

  “I’ll never forget it, either,” she said, thinking of the man on the black steed, the man with the emerald eyes.

  Robert tilted her face up, bending his head to place a soft, chaste kiss on her lips. It was their first kiss; she was supposed to feel fireworks.

  But she felt nothing.

  Five years later

  August 24, 1666

  “ARE YOU TELLING me you made this bracelet? A girl? This shop is Goldsmith & Sons, is it not?” Robert Stanley puckered his freckled face and made his voice high and wavering. “Where are the sons?”

  From where she stood by the stone oven, Amethyst Goldsmith’s laughter rang through the workshop. “Lady Smythe! A perfect imitation.”

  “Well done, Robert.” Her father smiled as he brushed past them both and through the archway into the sh
op’s showroom.

  Robert’s pale blue eyes twinkled, but he stayed in character, cupping a hand to his ear. “Imitation? Imitation, did you say? I was led to believe this was a quality jewelry shop, madame. I expect genuine —”

  “Stop!” Amy fought to control her giggles. “You’ll make me slip and scald myself.”

  Robert’s gaze fell to Amy’s hands. As he watched her pour a thin stream of molten gold into a plaster mold, his expression sobered. “I like Lady Smythe,” he muttered. “At least she buys the things I make.”

  “Oh, Robert.” She sighed. “Why should it matter who made something, as long as we’re selling a piece?”

  “I’m a good goldsmith.”

  “You’re an excellent goldsmith,” Amy agreed. Although she also thought he was a bit unimaginative, she kept that to herself. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “You’re a woman.”

  She clenched her jaw and tapped the mold on her workbench, imagining the gold flowing to fill every crevice of her design. “I’m also a jeweler,” she said under her breath.

  “Never mind.” He walked to his own workbench and plopped onto his stool, lifting the pewter tankard of ale that sat ever-present amongst his tools.

  Ignoring him, Amy picked up a knife and a chunk of wax, intending to whittle a new design while the gold hardened. The windowless workroom seemed stifling today—hot, close, and dark. She dragged a lantern nearer, but the artificial, yellowish glow did little to lift her mood.

  Five years she’d lived and worked with Robert Stanley, and he still didn’t understand her. She couldn’t believe it. She was marrying him in two weeks, and she couldn’t believe that, either.