The King's Mistress

by Gillian Bagwell

  “Who is that?” she whispered. “I haven’t seen him before.”

  “Prince Rupert,” Jane said. “His Majesty’s cousin. A fine-looking man, is he not?”

  “Most handsomely made, indeed,” Nan smiled. “And not so fierce as I would have thought, for such a celebrated warrior.”

  “He is not all fire and ice,” Jane laughed. “Indeed, there are rumours that our mistress might marry him.”

  She looked again at Mary, who seemed happier and lighter of spirit than Jane had ever seen her, looking up at Rupert.

  The days passed in a golden haze of pleasure. Charles and Mary, happy in each other’s company, threw off their cares, and their attendants caught their happy mood. Mary spent blithely on merrymaking and entertainments for everyone, and there was nothing for Jane to do but enjoy herself. During the days they wandered the pretty streets of the city, visited the shrine to Charlemagne in the cathedral, bathed in the healing waters, and took long jaunts into the sun-drenched countryside. The evenings were filled with suppers, dancing, and card games.

  Mary had either not detected the fact that Jane did not always sleep in the room she shared with Nan Hyde, or she was turning a blind eye, and Jane passed blissful nights in Charles’s arms. He spent so much time with her that she knew there were no other women competing for his company. He was hers alone, and he had assured her that if she should get with child, he would find a way to care for them. This was the joyful time to which she had looked forward since their parting.

  One afternoon they stole away from the others and walked arm in arm through the marketplace, admiring the medieval stone halls nearby. Charles was relaxed, hopeful about the possibility of his restoration, and in buoyant spirits. He bought a wreath of flowers and placed it on Jane’s head after unpinning her hair so that it cascaded over her shoulders.

  “There.” He smiled down at her. “Now you look like a proper Queen of the May.”

  She laughed. “But it’s September!”

  He kissed her, his hand warm on her cheek, his fingers tangling in her hair. “My September Queen.”

  He bought bread, cheese, grapes, and a stone bottle of wine, and they sat on the edge of a fountain to eat and watch the passersby. Charles fed Jane the deep red grapes, bursting with juice, kissing her between bites.

  “What do you think, my love?” he asked. “Is Aix-la-Chapelle to your liking?”

  “Anywhere that you are is heaven to me,” she murmured, resting her head against his shoulder.

  Now that Charles had money from King Louis, Jane thought, perhaps he would keep her with him when Mary returned to The Hague. Her heart sang at the prospect.

  After three weeks in Aix-la-Chapelle, the royal party travelled the forty miles to Cologne, where Mary took a sunny house with gardens for her and Charles and their closest attendants. Lord Taaffe arrived with a dancing master from Paris to teach the latest dances, and at Charles’s entreaty, Mary hired a company of musicians to play every night. The royal party was honoured at receptions at the Jesuit College, and the city magistrates welcomed Charles and showered him with gifts. The king’s retinue continued to swell. Among the more lively new additions was a handsome young man named Henry Manning, only recently come from England, who was soon seldom apart from Charles, Wilmot, and Taaffe.

  “He was educated in the household of the Marquess of Worcester,” Wilmot told Jane one evening, “and not only did he lose both his father and brother in the wars, he was himself seriously wounded at Alresford.”

  “He’s most likeable,” Henry Lascelles put in, refilling his wineglass, “and that, coupled with the fact that unlike most of us he seems to have plenty of ready money and he delights in treating his companions, makes him a most welcome addition to our little band.”

  Jane smiled at her cousin. He was still affectionate, but seemed to have thrown off his air of hurt at her involvement with Charles, and all was well between them once more.

  “Moreover,” Wilmot said, lowering his voice and glancing around to be sure he was not overheard, “Manning brings news of men, horses, arms, and gold, ready to be put to use in the king’s service in England when the moment should be right. A most valuable friend he may prove to the king.”

  Philip William, who had recently succeeded his father as Count of Neuberg, invited Charles and Mary to his court at Düsseldorf, and the English party floated down the Rhine through golden fields. Jane was astonished at the banquet that night, when roasted swans dressed in their own feathers were succeeded by suckling pigs and then by so many dishes that she lost count. There was music and dancing, and as she watched Charles, fine in new clothes purchased in Cologne, she wished she could always see him so free of cares.

  In October, Jane reflected that she had never been so happy. She had been in Charles’s company almost every day and most nights for three months. On this night, he lay next to her in the dark, his eyes closed. His breathing was slow and she had thought him asleep, but he rolled towards her and pulled her against him, nuzzling the back of her neck, and she felt the hardness of him rise against her. One of his hands closed on her breast, the other slid between her legs, his fingers slipping in her slick warmth, teasing and caressing.

  “We ‘fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the Golden World’,” he quoted, his lips nibbling at her earlobe, and she laughed, and then gasped as his fingers caressed more insistently. She wanted to stay in his company forever, never to be parted again.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he murmured. Jane’s heart leaped.

  “Yes, my darling?” She moved herself against him, tremors of pleasure shivering through her.

  “I think I will settle in Cologne.” He traced a finger around her nipple, and she felt his prick give a little jump against her buttocks. “The burghers here offer a most welcome sanctuary, and to tell you truly, I need a refuge now more than ever, after Aix-la-Chapelle. A most expenseful place.”

  Jane waited. Surely he was about to tell her that she would stay with him, that her company was all he needed to complete his happiness. But he said nothing.

  “And I?” she whispered.

  “Hmm?”

  His hands were busy on her breasts, and he rolled her onto her back and slid down to fasten his mouth on one of her nipples, his tongue moving teasingly over her flesh.

  “Will I stay with you?” she asked, pulling his head up so that she could look into his eyes.

  “In Cologne? Oh, Jane, the money from Louis is not all that much, really only enough to keep myself. And my time will be much taken up with the business of raising money and men. When things are more settled perhaps.”

  “But …”

  No words came that could adequately express Jane’s dismay and disappointment at the prospect of being parted from him again.

  Charles rolled himself on top of her, nudging her thighs apart with his knee, but Jane put a hand to his chest, stopping him.

  “But when will I see you again?”

  “Why, I don’t know, Jane, but surely before long. I shall come to visit you.”

  He was kissing her throat now, his mouth leaving tongues of flame on her skin. He thrust his fingers inside her, opening her to him, and she felt her resolve slip away at his touch.

  “Will you?” she asked, her breath coming in short gasps. “Will you come to see me?”

  “Of course,” he said, easing himself inside her. “You’re my Jane.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  MARY AND HER TRAIN LEFT CHARLES IN DüSSELDORF TO return to The Hague while he made his way back to Cologne. Mary wept and clung to her brother, declaring she would not live until she was in his company again. Jane commanded herself not to weep at their parting, and succeeded in holding back her tears until he was out of sight only by the thought that she would see him again in several months, as he and Mary had already made plans to spend the next summer together.

  Shortly after her return to The Hague, Jane was happy to receive a letter from Charles, delivered by
Colonel O’Neill.

  “My dear Jane: As the cold settles across the land here, so, too, it seems to settle into my bones and heart. You and my dear sister did more than you can imagine to lighten my spirits over these past months, and now that you are gone and I am left to my own company, the shadows seem to creep towards me.

  “To pass the time I read—I am become most industrious in my studies of French and Italian—and hunt when I am invited. When I can read no more and must be active, I walk, as I have the means to do no more. My lord Wilmot chides me like a mother hen not to go bareheaded as I do lest I take cold, but upon my soul sometimes I think it cannot make much difference whether I live or die.

  “My friends remind me that a wealthy bride is like to help me to my throne, and propose first one and then the other, but the prospect raises nothing in my heart but despair. I hate these princesses of cold northern climates.

  “Were this not bad enough, scarcely had you left but I received a flock of letters from Paris with the alarming news that the queen my mother is most earnest in her efforts to change my brother Harry to a Papist, directly contrary to the last words of my dead father, and what is more, like to have grave effect upon my efforts to return into England. I have writ to her, to my brothers both, to Jermyn, to all who have a hand in it, that she must desist, and that if I have not my desire granted, it will be such a breach between the queen and me as can never be made up again.”

  QUEEN ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA WAS PLEASED TO HAVE HER NIECE back home, and welcomed Nan Hyde and her mother to Mary’s household as she had welcomed Jane. Jane was coming to like Nan very much. The girl was smart and forthright, vivacious and good-humoured, and regarded Jane, twelve years older than she, with a gratifying awe.

  The Christmas season seemed brighter to Jane than any she had celebrated in years. At the palace at Teyling, the court presented a masque, with Mary dressed as a Gypsy, and Jane and Nan as shepherdesses. Jane delighted in the dancing and music, and observed with amusement how Sir Spencer Compton, the youngest son of the Earl of Northampton, followed Nan with calflike eyes wherever she went.

  “He would be quite a catch,” Jane whispered as Sir Spencer glanced at Nan anxiously from across the room.

  “Oh, I suppose,” Nan shrugged. “But somehow he doesn’t appeal to me. I’ve never been in love. Have you?”

  Jane was taken aback at the sudden blunt question and found herself stammering.

  “I—yes.”

  “Really? With whom? Is he here? Or where is he?” Nan’s brown eyes danced with excitement.

  Of course Jane couldn’t admit her feelings for the king. The image of Geoff Stone rose to her mind.

  “He’s in England. We knew each other before the war, but then his family fought against the king.”

  “Oh.” The merriment faded from Nan’s eyes. “So many possibilities ruined by the arch rogue, as Her Majesty calls Cromwell.”

  THE PRINCESS ROYAL ANNOUNCED THAT SHE WOULD VISIT HER mother in Paris, and as Jane packed for the journey, she recalled Princess Louise’s comment that Mary hated the Netherlands. Perhaps it was true, for Mary certainly spent much time away from there, though it meant leaving her little son William, now four and a half years old, in the company of his nurses. Child though he was, he was a prince of Orange, and must remain in his lands.

  Jane had thought that perhaps Charles would join them in France, but as she was packing for the journey, she received a letter from him that disappointed her hopes of seeing him, but raised bright prospects for his future.

  “March 15, 1655. My dear Jane: I write to you in haste from Middleburg, whither I have come to be ready to embark for England, for though I scarce dare write it, there are risings afoot at home that promise much. I have thought much of you these last days, as I rode hither from Cologne with only my lord Ormonde and a groom, using once more the name of Jackson. I would you had been with me; it would have lightened my heart and my spirits much. I will write to you when I can. Your most affectionate friend, Charles R.”

  The hopeful news from Charles added to the holiday spirit as Mary’s entourage set out on their journey. Jane, Nan, and Lady Stanhope rode with Mary in her carriage, followed by a string of carriages and wagons bearing servants and the clothes and household items without which the Princess Royal could not travel, and guards to watch over them. The party made its way from The Hague to Antwerp and then to Brussels. At Mons they were greeted by the celebratory firing of cannon and the city magistrates accorded to Mary the customary honour of setting the watchword for the night. On the train went through Flanders, finally crossing into France. Smiling country folk waved from the side of the road, awed by the royal cavalcade, and when they reached Peronne, Mary cried out in delight to learn that her brothers, the Duke of York and the Duke of Gloucester, had come to meet her and accompany her the rest of the way to Paris.

  The young dukes galloped towards Mary’s carriage on two fine dark geldings, and Mary leaped out to embrace them.

  “Harry!” she cried, holding the Duke of Gloucester at arm’s length. “Look at you—standing head and shoulders above me now!”

  It was true; the boy Jane had met more than two years ago was now fifteen and had turned into a young man, who greeted Jane with grown-up gravity.

  The Duke of York had arranged a lavish supper for his sister and her attendants, and the castle in which they were to lodge was far more grand than any place they had stopped since leaving The Hague. As Jane followed Mary into the great hall, she surveyed the room happily. She was much more comfortable than she had been in days, having had a bath and put on clean clothes, and she was looking forward to the meal that promised to be delicious, judging by the smells wafting on the air.

  “Mistress Lane!”

  Jane turned at the sound of the familiar voice to see the Duke of York approaching her, followed closely by two elegantly dressed gentlemen.

  “Mistress Lane, I didn’t greet you properly before. What a great pleasure to see you again,” the duke said, raising Jane from her curtsy.

  “I thank you, Your Highness,” she smiled. “What a lovely welcome.”

  The duke’s looks had much improved in the three years since she had seen him, Jane thought. At nineteen he had been almost as tall as Charles, but slender and gawky, looking hardly more than a boy. Now he had fleshed out. His shoulders were broader, and Jane thought it was more than just the elegant blue officer’s coat he wore that gave him an air of self-assurance and command. He wore his own hair, which lightened from a golden brown at the top of his head to a rich honey in the curls that fell over his shoulders.

  “Lord Gerard and Sir Charles Berkeley,” the duke said, indicating the men who stood at either side of him.

  “Of course.” Jane smiled at the duke’s companions, handsome men both. Perhaps the remainder of the journey to Paris would be quite pleasant, if they were along. Jane felt rather than saw a presence just behind her right elbow, and turned to see that Nan Hyde was standing there, her eyes shining with excitement as she gazed at the three young men before her.

  “Your Highness,” Jane said. “May I present Mistress Anne Hyde, the eldest daughter of Sir Edward, who has lately joined me in service of Her Royal Highness.”

  Nan sank in a graceful bow, the cloud-blue silk of her gown pooling on the floor around her, and as she raised her eyes to meet the duke’s, Jane noted the look of thunderstruck enchantment that passed over his face, and the blush that spread over Nan’s roselike cheeks as he kissed her hand.

  “Mistress Anne,” the duke murmured. “The next time I see your father I shall have to chide him for denying us your acquaintance until now.”

  Nan giggled, almost wriggling like a puppy, Jane thought, and Gerard and Berkeley exchanged a knowing look behind the duke’s back.

  The evening’s supper and dancing were merry, and Jane’s enjoyment was heightened by the knowledge that they were now within a few days’ journey of Paris. She was struck by the image of golden rays, like th
ose of the sun, reaching from Paris to warm the reaches of the French countryside.

  LATER THAT NIGHT, AS JANE UNDRESSED FOR BED, SHE NOTED NAN staring dreamily at her own reflection in the mirror as she brushed her hair.

  “You look as though you’ve got a bit of moonbeam caught in your eye,” she murmured. Nan did not respond at first, and when she realised Jane had spoken to her, laughed self-consciously.

  “Oh! I was only thinking that I hope the Duke of York shall remain in Paris once we get there.”

  “I expect he shall,” Jane said, looking closely at Nan’s face. “You like him, do you?”

  Nan flushed to the roots of her hair but nodded emphatically. “I think he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

  Jane smiled. So there was a man who could pique Nan’s interest. Too bad that aside from Charles himself, the Duke of York was about the only man in the world that Anne Hyde could not hope to marry.

  THE COUNTRYSIDE THROUGH WHICH THE CONVOY PASSED NOW WAS close to the way that Jane and John had travelled from Dieppe to Paris after their long walk to Yarmouth, and Jane reflected what a difference, from that last exhausted leg of their terrifying journey, to this luxurious jaunt.

  Queen Mary and Minette, now eleven years old, met Mary’s retinue at Bourget.

  “Oh, what a beautiful thing you are,” Mary cried, taking Minette into her arms. “What a treasure!”

  The queen embraced Jane like a long-lost daughter.

  “Mistress Jane, how happy I am that you are here with us. You must come and visit with me when you are settled and tell me all your news.”

  The royal family, all together except for Charles, were feted by the French court. Suppers, dancing, music, theatre, every day some new excitement. Nan Hyde and the Duke of York were frequently near each other, and one night at supper Jane noted the sour look on Queen Mary’s face as she watched the duke lean close to Nan to whisper something to her, and Nan blush and giggle in delight.