The Black Madonna (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 1)

by Stella Riley

  Considering the angry murmurings outside the palace about the shocking price of coal and the King’s appointment of several new bishops, Kate thought His Majesty showed quite remarkable sangfroid. Her own opinion was that, given the weekly bulletins on the activities of Parliament now being printed and the number of apprentice lads at a loose end due to flagging trade, violence was likely to flare up at any minute. And if the pugnacious young fellows now guarding Westminster under the haughty Earl of Dorset – in place of the London Trained Bands under peaceful, pipe-smoking Essex – chose to retaliate, it would not take Parliament’s expected Militia Bill to force that crisis.

  In the midst of all this, Eden brought Celia to Court but somehow managed to deny Kate any opportunity to either explain or apologise; and, escorted by Kit, Venetia and her mother left Whitehall to spend Christmas in Yorkshire. The result was that, for the first time in her life, Kate knew what it was to feel isolated … and so, when Cyrus Winter took to seeking her company, she found herself less inclined than she might otherwise have been to discourage him. For one thing, it seemed to annoy Eden and there was therefore every possibility that he would eventually break his self-imposed silence to tell her so; and, in the meantime, Mr Winter was a well-informed and amusing companion from whom she swiftly learned a few lessons in the art of elegant flirtation. It wasn’t the most absorbing skill she had ever tried to acquire but it was better than nothing. And life, if not perfect, at least remained reasonably tranquil until, on the evening that the Militia Bill passed its first reading, Luciano del Santi walked in and caused chaos without even trying.

  Kate saw him immediately and felt the usual involuntary tightening of her nerves. Clad in his customary black, he looked like a raven amongst peacocks, she thought irritably. Worse still, he was without doubt the most attractive man in the room – his dark austerity far outstripping even the much-admired angelic fairness of George Digby. And that wasn’t just annoying; it was totally and utterly unfair.

  ‘Damn,’ said Kate weakly under her breath. ‘Damn.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Sitting forgotten at her side, Cyrus Winter regarded her with mock-alarm. ‘Have I said something I shouldn’t?’

  With an effort, Kate brought her gaze back to his face and managed a cursory smile.

  ‘At least a dozen, I should think. But I’ll forgive you if you’ll be good enough to excuse me for a while. I – the heat is beginning to overpower me.’

  Since the vast chamber was no more than passably warm, his brows rose a trifle; but he was not the man to lose such a promising opportunity so he said smoothly, ‘Why of course, my dear. But you can’t surely suppose me so ungallant as to let you go alone. Come – let me escort you.’

  Not particularly caring whether he came or not so long as she was able to avoid Signor del Santi, Kate didn’t bother to argue. She merely rose, placed her hand on his sleeve and allowed him to lead her out into the gallery and from there to a small, little-used antechamber. Then, suddenly realising that conversation would be required of her, she said abruptly, ‘Tell me something. Why do I continue to interest you? For you must have worked out that I’ve no intention of being seduced by you – or anyone else, come to that.’

  The silver head was thrown back in what sounded like genuinely amused laughter and he said, ‘You do favour the blunt style, don’t you?’

  ‘It saves a lot of time. Well?’

  ‘Perhaps I simply enjoy a challenge. I don’t get many.’

  Kate’s expression grew faintly acidulous but she said merely, ‘I see. And is that what Celia was?’

  ‘Ah.’ He eyed her consideringly. ‘So you know about that, do you?’

  ‘A little. I’ve also noticed that your interest in me coincided with Celia’s reappearance at Court.’

  ‘And you’re wondering if I’m only flirting with you in order to gain her attention.’

  ‘Partly. I’m also wondering if you’re toying with the notion of annoying my brother through me.’

  ‘Dear me!’ he drawled plaintively. ‘You must think me utterly Machiavellian.’

  ‘Not necessarily. As yet, I haven’t decided what I think of you. It’s just that I like to consider all the possibilities. But you still haven’t answered my question.’

  ‘Which one? It’s my impression that you’ve asked at least four,’ he replied easily. And then, closing the space between them, ‘In fact, sweet Kate, I’m beginning to feel that you talk altogether too much.’

  Unperturbed but aware that, if the situation should get out of hand, she had only herself to blame, Kate turned away from him.

  ‘I don’t know what else you had in mind. But I ought, without prejudice, to inform you that I bite.’

  ‘Do you?’ His teeth gleamed and one arm caught her effortlessly about the waist. ‘So do I.’

  Kate looked him in the eye with what was meant to be withering kindness – and suffered her first moment of doubt. His expression suddenly owed nothing to the idle, womanising gallant she had thought him; the charm had gone, the smile was empty of everything except purpose … and there was a hint of something more. Something she could not quite put a name to but most assuredly did not trust. She said calmly, ‘I have excellent lungs. Take your hands off me or I’ll use them. And what price your reputation for suavity and seduction then?’

  ‘It will survive. You came here with me of your own volition, remember – so don’t threaten me, sweeting. Just accept that what I want, I invariably have.’

  The green eyes filled with mocking interest.

  ‘Celia being the exception that proves the rule, presumably?’

  The time the smile vanished completely.

  ‘Forget Celia. Are you obsessed with her?’

  ‘No. Are you?’ she retorted. And then, ‘Oh do stop posturing and let me go. This is becoming tedious.’

  ‘Tedious?’ His hold on her shifted and tightened. ‘Tedious? Then by all means let us progress.’

  His intention was perfectly plain and, seeing it, Kate stamped on his foot, took a swipe at his face with her free hand and opened her mouth to scream. Then, from the doorway, a melodious voice said blandly, ‘I know you like to live dangerously, Kate … but isn’t this carrying things a little too far?’

  Kate’s breath drained away and, in the same instant, she found herself free. She stared at Luciano del Santi and said faintly, ‘All you need is a puff of smoke. How do you do it?’

  ‘With mirrors,’ came the laconic reply. ‘But I believe we are delaying Mr Winter.’

  For a brief, inimical moment, silver eyes met cobalt. Then Cyrus Winter said softly, ‘Well, well. The gutter-bred hunchback. Are you still bedding Mary Langley?’

  Kate made a tiny strangled sound and clenched one hand hard over the other.

  ‘No,’ said the Italian with mild surprise. ‘I thought you were.’

  The pause this time was longer and more dangerous but at length Mr Winter strolled unhurriedly towards the door, saying, ‘Take a word of advice. Don’t cross my path again if you can help it. I don’t bandy words with back-alley scum; I tread on it.’ And brushing the signor contemptuously from his path, he was gone.

  Kate sank weakly on to the edge of a chair.

  Signor del Santi regarded her over folded arms, his expression thoroughly annoyed. He said, ‘Caterina …did anything more happen here than what I saw?’

  She blinked. ‘No. He was just trying to --’

  ‘I know what he was trying to do. Did he put his hands on you?’

  ‘Not in the way you probably mean.’

  ‘Then you were lucky. But just what do you think you were doing wandering off alone with a fellow like Winter?’

  ‘I don’t know. I didn’t really think of it at all.’

  ‘Then, in future, I suggest that you do. The man’s a rake.’

  ‘I know.’ Kate made an effort to pull herself together. ‘And if I didn’t before … I’d know now, wouldn’t I? I mean – was that just witty repartee? Or ha
ve both you and he really --’

  ‘Slept with Lady Wroxton? Yes.’ He hesitated, resisted a strong impulse to swear and then added irascibly, ‘Why else to you think Celia’s father wouldn’t have Mr Winter as a son-in-law?’

  ‘Oh.’ Kate swallowed and thought about it. ‘Does Celia know?’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘And – and Eden?’

  ‘I have no idea. Why don’t you ask him?’

  ‘Because I’m not that stupid.’ She frowned absently down at her hands. ‘It’s all rather sordid, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’ He stared at her, wishing he didn’t know what she was thinking. Then, on a breath of pure exasperation, he said, ‘Once, Kate. I slept with the bloody woman once – and regretted it immediately. As for the rest … I’m sorry you’ve learned something you were never meant to know. But at least now perhaps you’ll have the sense to keep away from Cyrus Winter.’

  ‘I think,’ remarked Kate distantly, ‘that you can be fairly sure of that.’ She paused and then said, ‘Did you come in here to rescue me?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Then I suppose I ought to thank you.’

  ‘Don’t bother. And now I’d better escort you back to the company before tongues start to wag.’

  Rising, Kate accepted the hand he was offering her. It was the first time she had touched him – or he her – and the surge of awareness that shot through her body caught her completely unprepared. Her breath snared and she stared up at him out of eyes wide with shock.

  Luciano looked back at her, his own gaze oddly intent.

  ‘Ah,’ he murmured, slowly releasing her fingers. ‘Come molto scomodo.’

  Kate didn’t know what he meant and didn’t want to. She merely thought, Oh God. He knows. And now he’s going to say something atrocious. I want to die. Aloud and rather less confidently than she would have liked, she said, ‘Yes. I should go back. I’d like to speak to Eden before he and Celia leave.’

  ‘And I,’ replied Luciano, in his usual smooth tones, ‘will try and interest His Majesty in the no doubt trivial fact that Anthony Van Dyck is dying.’

  Startled but immeasurably grateful that he hadn’t said any of the horribly embarrassing things he might have done, Kate said, ‘Van Dyck? The painter? I didn’t know that he was a friend of yours.’

  ‘No. But then there’s still quite a lot about me that you don’t know,’ he responded dryly. ‘However, by the time Gianetta has spent a few more months at Thorne Ash with Tabitha, I daresay you’ll be much better informed.’ He paused and then added, ‘Has that come as a surprise? I thought Eden would have told you.’

  ‘Well, he didn’t. How did that come about? You can’t be off to Genoa again already.’

  ‘I’m not. But Tabitha has asked for Gianetta’s company and, since she’s such a good influence, I was glad to agree. I’m hoping that this time she can talk Gianetta into occasionally discarding the odd ring or bracelet.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll do her best.’ She looked back at him and felt the mood between them shift again. ‘I’m sorry about Sir Anthony. I can’t understand why no one seems to know of it.’

  ‘It’s a sign of the times, Kate.’ A cynical smile touched his mouth. ‘And Blackfriars is a long way off.’

  * * *

  A few minutes later Kate stalked purposefully up to her brother and said baldly, ‘I’m sorry. I had no business to say what I did and I’m sorry.’

  He did not look at her.

  ‘Mother has asked me to tell you that we’re leaving next week. Not Father, of course – but the rest of us. She seemed to think you might want to honour us with a visit.’

  ‘Yes. I do.’ She sighed and shook his arm. ‘Will you listen to me?’

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘Because I’m trying very hard to grovel.’

  For a moment or two he said nothing and then the hazel eyes encompassed her with faintly bitter appraisal. ‘Do you mean it?’

  ‘Yes.’ She drew a long breath. ‘I – it’s possible that I didn’t really understand.’

  ‘You didn’t. There are a lot of things you don’t understand, Kate. But one day you’ll lay eyes on the only man you’ll ever want; and then perhaps you’ll know how it is with me.’

  Quite without warning, Kate’s nerves snarled themselves into a painful tangle and left her shivering on the edge of the vortex. For an instant, every function of her body was suspended as every thought she’d previously had and the feeling she’d just experienced met and fused. The timing was all wrong and the knowledge was worse … but for once she was powerless to stop it. Quite slowly, she drew the shutters of her mind and focused her eyes once more on Eden’s face. Then, with curious detachment, she said, ‘I rather think I’ve already seen him. And it makes no difference. None at all.’

  His brows rose.

  ‘If you mean the elegant and eligible Mr Clifford, I can well believe it. And who else is there?’

  ‘No one that I can possibly marry.’

  He continued to stare at her, searching for an answer; and then, suddenly finding it.

  ‘Oh God. No. You couldn’t be so stupid.’

  ‘No,’ came the arid reply. ‘I couldn’t. And that, of course, is the whole point.’

  ~ * * ~ * * ~

  SEVEN

  In the days that followed, Kate did her best not to think about Luciano del Santi. There was, after all, no point. He was an Italian-Catholic money-lender whose father had gone to the gallows … on top of which he owned a brothel, kept a mistress and had slept with Eden’s mother-in-law. And those were just the things she knew about. So even if he had wanted her - which he plainly didn’t - there was no possibility of a relationship between them; nor could there ever be … because even if Father didn’t throw a fit, Mother most assuredly would. And that was quite definitely that.

  Thanking God she was too sensible to let the matter over-set her reason, she paid a fleeting visit to her family on the eve of their departure for Thorne Ash and successfully astounded her parents by calmly announcing that, if Kit Clifford should make her a formal offer of marriage and they had no objections, she thought she might accept him.

  ‘What?’ asked Richard blankly. And then, to Dorothy, ‘Did you know about this?’

  ‘Yes. I didn’t mention it because it was all “Shall I or shan’t I?” And, quite honestly, it still sounds like that.’ She looked at her daughter. ‘You think you might accept him? That’s hardly even positive – let alone enthusiastic. What’s going on, Kate?’

  ‘Nothing. But I’ve thought it all out and realised that Kit could – could make me happy. He’s kind and good-natured and understanding. We talk – all the time about anything and everything.’ She paused and spread her hands. ‘Would you dislike it?’

  Richard looked at his wife.

  ‘You know him better than I do. Would we dislike it?’

  ‘No. He’s a perfectly charming young man from a good family – so it’s exactly the kind of match we’d always hoped for. The only thing that bothers me is Kate’s motive – which, since the word ‘love’ hasn’t appeared anywhere in it, I’m finding unconvincing.’

  ‘You’re mistaken, then,’ said Kate firmly. And thought What else can I say? I can hardly admit that I need to keep away from Luciano de Santi and that, under the circumstances, marriage to Kit is the best I can hope for. She drew a long breath and said, ‘I – I’ve missed him a great deal while he’s been away … and it’s helped me clear my mind. So you see, there’s no need to worry. None at all. But obviously – if and when he asks me – we can talk of it again.’

  And with that they had, for the time being, to be satisfied.

  * * *

  Leaving Amy secure in the bosom of her new family and taking Gianetta in her stead, Dorothy, Eden, Tabitha and a reluctant Celia duly set off next day through the mud and drizzle to spend Christmas at home. Richard, meanwhile, continued to watch national events gathering momentum, voted more and more oft
en with the Moderates, and was grimly prepared to remove his daughter from Whitehall the moment the need arose.

  That moment, it seemed to Kate, could not now be long delayed. The Grand Remonstrance had been printed for any Tom, Dick or Harry to read and, by Christmas Eve, the King had not only been accused of breaching parliamentary privilege by openly refusing to pass the Militia Bill, but was also rumoured to be toying with the notion of soothing the Irish Catholics with a promise of full religious liberty. And, as if that were not enough, he had also upset just about everyone by making bold, hot-headed Tom Lunsford Lieutenant of the Tower of London.

  The result was that throughout the course of a very uneasy Christmas Day, holidaying apprentices were able to add cries of ‘Down with Butcher Lunsford!’ to their usual chorus of ‘No bishops!’ And by the following afternoon, the Lord Mayor was so frightened of losing control of the City that he finally persuaded the King to replace Colonel Lunsford with Sir John Byron. It was just unfortunate that, having leapt into the public eye, the Colonel decided to keep himself there by regularly beating up rioting apprentices outside Westminster Hall; all of which – along with implications that the Queen was hand in glove with the Irish – rather took the gloss off His Majesty’s long-awaited and beautifully reasoned rebuttal of the Remonstrance.

  And suddenly everything began to crystallise. The King instructed the City’s Trained Bands to stand against the unruly mob preventing the bishops taking their seats in the Upper House; and the Commons asked for those same Trained Bands to guard them against the violence of the so-called ‘malignant party’, whilst simultaneously impeaching another dozen or so bishops. The Queen unwittingly coined a nickname for every disloyal knave from Pym downwards – calling them Roundheads, after the crop-haired apprentice lads; and the apprentices retaliated by labelling the King’s friends Cavaliers – which, since the word was of Spanish derivation, was the worst thing they could think of.

  The old year passed away in an increasing dither of uncertainly and, on the first day of 1642, the Commons removed itself to the Guildhall for safety’s sake and discussed new evidence of Henrietta Maria’s involvement with the Irish. By evening, Whitehall echoed with whispers that Pym was planning to impeach the Queen … and Kate lived in hourly expectation of seeing her father come to take her home. Then, on the following afternoon, she found herself face to face with Venetia Clifford.