The Black Madonna (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 1)

by Stella Riley

  ‘I said it could be. But, like Kate, he knows it won’t do. And I doubt it’s more than a passing fancy on either side.’

  ‘I hope so. I really do hope so.’ Dorothy drew a long, unsteady breath. ‘Because the possibility of having that chilly, beautiful young man and his secrets in the family is the most unnerving thing I can think of.’

  ~ * * ~ * * ~

  FIVE

  According to Venetia Clifford, the palace of Whitehall was the largest in Europe; and, after spending her first three days getting lost in its miles of corridor and blundering incorrectly - and sometimes embarrassingly - into some of its two thousand rooms, Kate was happy to believe her.

  Parts of it – such as Mr Jones’s exquisitely painted Banqueting Hall – were opulent; other parts – such as the rooms occupied by the ladies in waiting – were decidedly shabby. But no matter where you were, Kate soon discovered, personal elegance was the order of the day. If your collar was askew or your hair mildly adrift, someone was sure to remark on it; and if your deportment was less than perfect or you missed your step in the dance, there was always at least one sharp-eyed young lady to mimic you later on. Also, as if this were not enough, Kate could not help but find it ironic that she should have become friends with Venetia – who was not only permanently immaculate but also, with her silver-gilt hair and eyes of shifting amethyst, staggeringly beautiful. Some people, Kate was beginning to realise, had a whole arsenal of unfair advantages.

  Her duties, however, seemed vague almost to the point of non-existence and consisted mainly of a lot of standing around. As for the diminutive Queen with her snapping black eyes and slightly prominent teeth – Kate made her curtsy under the aegis of Lady Carlisle, was given a careless hand to kiss and thereafter largely ignored. Ignored, that was, by Her Majesty. Lucy Carlisle, on the other hand, showed an inexplicable amount of interest and asked rather more questions than Kate thought necessary.

  ‘Avoid her as much as you can,’ advised Venetia. ‘She thrives on intrigue and – for all she’s one of the Queen’s intimates – she isn’t to be trusted. In fact, to be absolutely frank, she’s rumoured to be Pym’s mistress.’

  ‘Is she?’ Kate’s eyes widened thoughtfully. No wonder she herself hadn’t been asked to search out juicy titbits of information. ‘Does Her Majesty know?’

  ‘I doubt it. After all, who’s likely to tell her? And it may not be true. This place is a hive of gossip.’

  ‘So I’ve noticed. It’s also more than a little on edge.’

  ‘Yes. But what did you expect? Strafford lost his head, the Catholics have been shown the door, bishops are still being impeached by the dozen and half the Court is under suspicion of plotting. Nobody knows where they are any more.’

  ‘Speaking of which,’ said Kate smoothly, ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you. Where’s Francis?’

  ‘In France with Suckling and the rest of them – where, if he’s wise, he’ll stay,’ came the caustic reply. ‘Hasn’t he written to Celia?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge. But nobody is going to hurt Francis, surely? He’s all talk. And so, I should imagine, is Sir John.’

  ‘You know that and I know that. But even if Pym knows it too, I doubt it will suit him to admit it. And it’s an ill wind, I suppose. Poor Suckling’s so deep in debt that he needed to leave the country for a while anyway. It’s just a pity it had to come about over such a silly plan. I mean – did they honestly think they could seize the Tower? And what good would it have done if they had? Kit says they must all have been either drunk or mad.’ Venetia paused and awarded her friend a slanting smile. ‘And talking of Kit … I’ve had a letter from him.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Kate warily.

  ‘Yes. He says that there’s no moving Harry, so --’

  ‘Harry?’

  ‘Our brother – Kit’s twin. I’ve told you about him, haven’t I?’

  ‘You mentioned that you had another brother but not that he and Kit were twins. Are they alike?’

  ‘Only in appearance. Harry is the serious one of the family – which is why he’s insisting on staying at Ford Edge instead of coming with Kit to join us at Oatlands.’

  ‘Ah. I see.’

  ‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’

  ‘What else would you like me to say?’

  ‘You know perfectly well.’ The violet eyes assumed an expression of mock gloom. ‘As a friend and confidante, you can be a terrible disappointment.’

  ‘I know,’ agreed Kate sympathetically. ‘No fun at all. But it has to be said that you don’t set much of an example.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Well, you don’t discuss your preferences, do you? And, from what I’ve been privileged to see so far, you’ve got half the gentlemen at Court languishing over you.’

  ‘Oh – that doesn’t mean anything.’ Venetia paused and then, smiling a little, said, ‘All right. The truth is that I’m as good as betrothed.’

  ‘Are you?’ Kate looked faintly taken aback. ‘To whom?’

  ‘A man I’ve known all my life. His father’s lands march with ours and he’s Kit’s best friend,’ came the calm reply. ‘His name is Ellis Brandon.’

  * * *

  Four days later and with a good deal of fuss but surprisingly few mishaps, the Queen’s household transferred itself to the palace of Oatlands where it resembled the proverbial quart fitting into a pint pot. Kate and Venetia found themselves sharing a dormitory with six other ladies – which, in Kate’s opinion, was at least three too many – and their respective maids immediately embarked on a battle for closet-space as they tried to unpack. From this, Kate was amused to discover that her own Jenny Platt emerged in victorious possession of a large oak chest; this, however, did not prevent her misplacing both brushes and hairpins on the first evening and leaving Kate with a choice between running or being late for supper.

  She chose the former – partly because it wasn’t always easy to take one’s place unobtrusively but mainly because she was hungry. And that was how she came to round a corner and ram her nose into someone’s silk-clad shoulder-blades.

  Kate gasped and ricocheted backwards but the man in blue was quicker and, wheeling round, he gripped her elbows in what felt like a steel trap. Kate gasped again and found herself staring into the lightest, most piercing eyes she had ever seen.

  ‘Oh!’ she said weakly. ‘I do beg your pardon.’

  The bruising grip relaxed a trifle but did not leave her. She had time to notice that his hair was silver too – though the face it framed belonged to a much younger man. And then, when he still did not speak, she said politely, ‘Would you mind releasing me? I’m already dreadfully late.’

  ‘Are you?’ His teeth gleamed in a predatory smile. ‘Then I won’t detain you. But first, my dear, a forfeit.’

  And, before she knew what was happening, he pulled her against him and claimed her mouth in a casually expert kiss. Kate rammed her hands against the rock of solid muscle that was his chest and he answered by holding her even closer, hard against the length of his body. Then, releasing her mouth and while Kate remained dumbstruck before him, he smiled, made her the merest suggestion of a bow and sauntered off towards the staircase.

  Kate took a deep breath and continued thoughtfully on her way. He probably kissed any female who came to hand. She, on the other hand, had never been kissed at all. Mother had been right. Court life was an education.

  The gentleman did not appear at supper and she decided to keep the incident to herself. Then, two days later, she saw him again – this time conversing with Lady Carlisle in the garden.

  ‘Who’s that?’ she asked swiftly of Venetia. ‘Over there in blue with my lady.’

  Mistress Clifford’s brows rose provokingly.

  ‘You mean you don’t know?’

  ‘If I did, I wouldn’t be asking. Who is he?’

  ‘That, dear Kate, is probably the richest and certainly the wickedest libertine you’re ever likely to meet. In short, it�
�s Cyrus Winter. Why do you want to know?’

  ‘Because he kissed me the other night,’ responded Kate absently. ‘Winter. Now where have I heard that name before?’

  ‘Kissed you?’ echoed Venetia. And then, ‘Yes. He would. But if you’re wise, you’ll forget it and stay out of his way. I know he’s attractive - but his reputation doesn’t bear thinking about. And he’d destroy yours in a heartbeat.’

  ‘Winter!’ exclaimed Kate. ‘My God! Not the one Celia wouldn’t marry?’

  This time Venetia looked frankly stunned. She opened her mouth, closed it again and finally said faintly, ‘Celia? He actually offered to marry Celia? And she wouldn’t have him? I don’t believe it.’

  ‘Which?’

  ‘Either – both. They say he’s had dozens of mistresses – well-born girls, some of them – but never offered marriage to any of them. While as for Celia … well, with all due respect to your brother, I’d have thought Cyrus Winter would have filled her requirements to the letter.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Kate, meditatively. ‘Now that I’ve seen him, so would I? Odd, isn’t it?’

  * * *

  A week later the King left for the opening of the Scottish Parliament and Kate recognised for the first time that a deep and abiding affection lay between him and his Queen – a revelation which subtly changed her view of both of them. And then her attention was claimed by the arrival of Christopher Clifford … along with his lady mother.

  As things turned out, the manner of their meeting was less than fortuitous. It was a beautiful day, the sky dazzlingly blue over a shimmering heat haze; and Kate, rebelling against the usual dawdling progress around the gardens, volunteered to exercise the Queen’s spaniel in the park beyond. Permission was granted and, equally glad to be free, Jemmy scampered away across the grass with a series of excited little yaps. Kate grinned and set off after him, enjoying both the rustle of her new primrose taffeta and the moment of all-too-rare solitude.

  Their meandering progress took them to the river. And that was when it happened. One minute Kate was watching the spaniel trailing his ears in the water and the next he was plunging in the wake of some small, unwary river-creature.

  ‘Drat!’ said Kate cheerfully. ‘Come back here! Don’t you realise that if you get dirty, I’ll have to bath you?’

  Jemmy, however, was having too much fun to attend to logic. The water was not deep and half-splashing, half-swimming, he made it to the far bank where a tree hung low enough to dip its branches. And then, just as he was considering doing Kate the favour of returning to her, his collar became inexplicably caught fast on a twig.

  Not immediately recognising the problem, Jemmy continued swimming. The branch swayed but did not give him up. Unable to understand his lack of progress, Jemmy stopped paddling and was towed gently back to where he’d started. Eyes widening with consternation, he tried again; and then, managing to turn an appealing brown gaze on Kate, he uttered a forlorn bark.

  She found it quite difficult to stop laughing. Then, descending to the water’s edge, she said severely, ‘I suppose you’re expecting me to rescue you? Well, it’s all very well for you – but this is a new gown and it won’t wash. And how we’re to get back without anyone seeing us, I can’t imagine.’

  Talking all the time to reassure the animal, she took off her shoes and attempted to loop her skirt over one arm. Then, sighing, she stepped into the water and sank up to her ankles in cool, soft mud.

  By the time she reached the place where the Queen’s pet hung helpless, her petticoats were soaked to the knee but her gown was still relatively unscathed. It might have stayed that way, too – had not Jemmy, upon being freed, chosen to hurl himself upon her in gratitude. Kate sat down up to her arm-pits in water and found herself in receipt of a soggy bundle of liver-and-white fur whose sole aim appeared to be licking her face.

  ‘You,’ she told him flatly, ‘are a four-legged disaster. Come on – let’s go.’

  They gained the other bank without further mishap and Kate, disarrayed, muddy and weighed down by several ells of sodden taffeta, stepped squelchingly back into her shoes. Then she clambered slowly up the bank … and found herself impaled on some two dozen startled pairs of eyes.

  The Queen, it appeared, had also taken a fancy to stroll by the river. And amongst the inevitable entourage was Venetia, Venetia’s brother and a fair, faded beauty who could only be their mother. Kate experienced a sensation of distant hilarity. Kit’s face was positively alight with laughter. His mother’s definitely wasn’t.

  ‘Mon dieu!’ said the Queen blankly. And then stopped as, at the sound of her voice, Jemmy came catapulting, mud and all, against her embroidered silk skirts.

  A collective gasp filtered through the entourage and at least three ladies-in-waiting uttered exclamations of consternation. The only movement, however, was an outward one away from the dirty, excited paws.

  Lady Carlisle said sharply, ‘Mistress Maxwell – pray remove the dog and see to it that he is thoroughly washed. Then, when you have made yourself presentable again, I will receive your explanation.’

  Kate’s brows rose and an acidic glint entered the green eyes.

  ‘In most particulars, that was just what I had in mind.’

  ‘Wait,’ said the Queen. ‘It is perfectly clear that my Jemmy has been in the river and that you have brought him out again. Is it not so?’

  ‘Yes, Madam,’ agreed Kate with a small curtsy. ‘His collar was caught on the branch of a tree – and, though he was in no danger, I couldn’t just leave him to go off and find a servant.’

  ‘And so you sacrifice that pretty gown.’ Henrietta Maria nodded decisively and then smiled. ‘I shall see that it is replaced with one better. But first you must go and change before you take cold.’

  ‘Your Majesty is more than kind.’ Kate curtsied again. ‘Shall I take Jemmy with me?’

  ‘What need? It is time, I think, for another to perform some small service.’ The bright eyes scanned the circle of courtiers with faint malice. ‘ Now whom, I wonder, should I choose?’

  ‘If it please you, Madam – let it be me.’ Still smiling, Kit Clifford stepped forward and bowed. ‘And, with your permission, I can also escort Mistress Kate back to the palace.’

  Henrietta Maria laughed and shook an admonitory finger.

  ‘You are a rogue, Monsieur Clifford – and it will serve you well if the lady will have none of you. But go – go! Before mademoiselle takes a fever.’

  ‘At once, Madam!’ He swept a second, more extravagant bow, scooping Jemmy up in the same movement and then, turning, offered his arm to Kate.

  She grinned and accepted it but said nothing until they were out of earshot of the royal party. Then, judiciously, ‘In my present condition, I think you might have been wiser not to have acknowledged me. Your mother – if it was your mother? – didn’t look impressed.’

  ‘It was and she wasn’t,’ he replied cheerfully. ‘But I daresay she’ll get over it. And the only difficulty I’m experiencing right now is how, without sounding insane, to compliment you on your appearance.’

  ‘You can’t. No one could. Are you really going to bath that dog?’

  ‘Not,’ said Kit, inspecting Jemmy with unruffled calm, ‘if I can find someone else to do it for me. After all, I’ve already ruined my coat for the privilege of five minutes of your company; and if that hasn’t impressed you, I don’t know what will.’

  ‘Well be reasonable. How would you?’

  He laughed and tucked Jemmy unceremoniously under one arm while he opened the gate to the garden and allowed her to pass through. Then he said lightly, ‘Do you realise that it’s nearly a year since we last met?’

  ‘Is it? Good heavens!’

  ‘Yes – and doesn’t time fly!’ he retorted. ‘Why are you walking so quickly all of a sudden?’

  ‘I should have thought that was obvious,’ Kate replied. ‘Look at me!’

  ‘I have – and will happily go on doing so as long as you�
�ll let me. Kate – will you wait a minute!’ He caught her hand brought her to a halt. ‘What I’m trying to tell you is that I’ve thought about you. Often.’

  ‘Oh.’ Kate looked back at him, slightly flummoxed. ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘Isn’t it? I suppose you wouldn’t like to say whether or not you’ve also thought of me?’

  For a moment she stared at him with a careful lack of expression and then said baldly, ‘No. I wouldn’t. In fact, if you must know, I’d as soon we didn’t have this conversation at all.’

  ‘Ah. Too soon?’

  ‘Much.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Kit released her hand and smiled at her with unimpaired good-humour. ‘How are you enjoying life in the hen-coop?’

  ‘It has its moments,’ she replied, her voice hovering on the brink of laughter. And then, walking on again, ‘I’m here to be turned into a silk purse but, fortunately for Jemmy, the transformation is still incomplete.’

  ‘Fortunately for you, too. Or hasn’t it occurred to you that you’ve just earned Her Majesty’s regard?’

  ‘Well, of course. How else was I to get myself noticed? Not that I expect it to last. Someone is bound to point out that my presence here is more or less solely due to the Parliament.’

  ‘Is it?’ he asked, startled.

  ‘Yes. Didn’t you know? I’m Lord Brooke’s idea of a tactful suggestion.’ She eyed him obliquely. ‘But there’s no accounting for taste, is there? And my only regret is that he can’t see me now.’

  * * *

  Later, whilst bathing and changing her dress, Kate devoted some careful thought to Mr Christopher Clifford. In the months since she had last seen him, his image had become somewhat indistinct; but she knew now that he was the same as ever. Bright, golden, fun-loving; and, in many ways, a less egotistical version of Francis – whose absence she occasionally caught herself regretting. So, although the mere sight of him had not caused her heart to turn over, she was genuinely pleased to see him; and obviously it was difficult not to respond favourably to a man who had the good taste to admire one quite so steadfastly. Surprisingly difficult, in fact – for Kate had never possessed the same desire to attract male attention that seemed to afflict girls like Celia and Amy. But there it was. Kit admired her and she liked it. The only problem was in deciding whether or not she wanted something to come of it.