The Banqueting House at Whitehall Palace had white walls and tall straight windows. Inside, a glance overhead revealed heavenly gilt-framed murals by Rubens. Angels and seraphim frolicked among clouds with members of the Stuart royal family over candles that twinkled in huge chandeliers.
I hid behind one of the massive columns and faced a corner. With one swift move, I slipped the ruby necklace on and tucked the black ribbon away.
Praise Sophia, who had tucked it into my hanging pocket when she kissed me good-bye. I tried not to think of the trust, the hopefulness in her young eyes as she did it. I had to prove I was equipped to adorn a queen’s train. Let Mother rage. There will be far worse consequences for us if I fail to get this position.
Men and women of upper rank knotted together, and I inched my way around them, hoping for a glimpse of the king. I had to press my request, inquire about Madame’s letter. I would beg for the position if I had to. I backed into someone and quickly turned around to apologize to a girl who appeared to be my age. I took in her bodice, old-fashioned with its high waist and colorful pattern. I realized, under ribbon embroidery, the base fabric was simple wool. Like I used to wear. This was the face of noble pride subjected to poverty and suffering. One I knew too well.
“You just arrived from France, did you not?” She inspected my velvet and her eyes widened. “You certainly cut a fashionable figure here. I am Elizabeth Frasier. And you are Frances Stuart, cousin to the king. Everyone’s talking about your arrival.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” I said with a quick curtsy. A twinge of guilty prosperity made me blush. “Madame, the king’s sister, is very generous to loyal servants.” I tried not to choke on the words.
“Did you petition for a post in the new queen’s household? I did.”
“Yes.” I squeezed her hand. “We can become friends if we both succeed.”
Her face warmed to a pleasant smile. “There are so many Royalist families pressing the king for money or positions. I fear there is not enough favor to go around.”
I nodded. “So many sacrificed for the king’s cause during the Commonwealth.”
“You’ve never seen such merriment as when our efforts paid off and King Charles was restored to the throne. Fountains flowed with wine; streets were carpeted in flowers. Now everyone has hopes to regain their place, better themselves. Praise God we are finally free from Cromwell, for those were dreary days indeed.”
I was moved by her passion.
“Although,” she went on, “there will be little left to spare us if Lady Castlemaine continues.” Frasier peered over her shoulder, then whispered, “She is with child, you know.”
All the breath went out of me.
Frasier went on. “Everyone believes this one is the king’s bastard, though her first babe was probably her husband’s get. We will all be better off if his new queen can oust the Lady.”
The new queen might actually win the king’s heart. “I wonder, what sort of woman is Catherine of Bragança?”
“She is Catholic, Portuguese,” a young gentleman in fine silk said beside me. He bowed swiftly to Frasier. “But I think most can forgive her that since she brings such a rich dowry. Several hundred thousand pounds, it is.”
“Frances Stuart, this is Henry Hyde, Lord Cornbury. Son of a real hero, Lord Chancellor Earl of Clarendon, who helped negotiate the terms of the Restoration.”
“A pleasure, my lord.” I dipped a quick curtsy. “What do you know of our new queen?”
He gave a stiff bow. “Little, I’m afraid. They say Catherine never left the convent where she was raised. I imagine she’ll be dutiful.” He raised a finger into the air. “But I know something of Bombay, the most important part of the marriage agreement between Catherine and King Charles. The trade of its ports will make England prosper.”
“God, I hope so. England sorely needs it.” Frasier tipped her head. “Lord Cornbury, did you see the king’s portrait of Catherine?”
“She seemed small and dark.” He shrugged. “No great beauty, I’m afraid. She’ll have to be sweet as plum pudding or more shrewish than Lady Castlemaine, to capture the king’s attention.”
“You think it’s possible, then?” I asked. “King Charles could be coaxed away from Lady Castlemaine?”
“I doubt it.”
Herald and trumpet calls echoed off the high, glittering walls, and we stretched our necks toward the entrance. Excited mutters, curtsies, and bows rolled through the crowd like a wave. Gentlemen removed their hats, ladies pinched their cheeks. King Charles entered the hall, followed by his brother James, Duke of York, and his duchess, Anne Hyde. The Queen Mother had once bitterly accused her of entrapping her son by becoming pregnant.
“The Duchess of York is my sister,” said Cornbury.
“Of course,” I replied, and faces began to match the names in all the rumors I’d heard about the English court.
King Charles signaled for music from the upper gallery and danced a coranto with the Duchess of York to the appreciative ahs of the spectators. I stood on my toes to get a glimpse of him.
A hushed voice sounded at my ear. “I see you got my invitation.”
Buckingham. Frasier seemed astounded at his appearance. Before I could introduce her, she backed shyly away, blending into the crowd. Cornbury peeked at Buckingham from the corner of his eye but pretended to take no notice.
“Did Madame throw you out when King Louis fell in love with you? I warned you.”
“Your presumptions are insulting.” How did he know? He was far too canny to be trusted.
“Either way you’re here, and I’ll wager you want to be a maid of honor.”
“I’m here to take a position that ought to be mine by rights. As a Stuart.”
“These things require persuasion. Finesse.” He leaned in. “Let me help you.”
I narrowed my eyes. “On what condition?”
“Simply gain the king’s favor. Keep it. And remember it started with me.”
Buckingham took my arm as the violins crescendoed, spiraling and rising to the end of the dance. As he guided me toward the inner perimeter, people bowed, curtsied, and backed up to make way. Everyone, I noticed, watched us circle the dancing area, their eyes upon me like talons. And one pair of those eyes belonged to my mother.
“I agree to nothing,” I whispered.
A string of courtiers stood looped and knotted tightly around King Charles, affecting airs and prattling. They eyed us and reluctantly made way for my high-ranking escort.
Buckingham whispered, “No matter. The price for this will still come.” He swept his arm, extended his leg, and bent forward before King Charles. I dipped in a low curtsy, waiting for the king’s acknowledgment of us before standing.
“Bucks, you found my little cousin,” the king said. At least one head taller than the others, and wearing a hat with a long white plume, he loomed above us. “I do hope you’ve done nothing that would upset her mother.”
I had once looked to King Charles as my savior—all England had. Now I looked to him as such again. My entire future depended on what would happen with this man. His full lips curved in a grin, which deepened the lines beside them. I smiled back.
Buckingham gestured toward me, pitched his voice for curious ears to hear. “In all my travels through Europe I never saw a lovelier girl. I’ve dubbed her la Belle Stuart.”
“The title suits her.” King Charles eyed Buckingham. “But take care your cousin doesn’t hear you.”
Men standing nearby snickered. Who do they mean?
Buckingham waved his arm theatrically. “If you will appoint her to your queen’s household and move her into Whitehall, I will let you dance with her tonight. Otherwise, I’m whisking her off to Wallingford House to make her my mistress, and you’ll never have a chance at her again.”
I smiled wider, hoping everyone would see this as sarcasm.
King Charles tipped his head back and laughed while the surrounding nobles giggled co
urteously. “I hear you were much in favor at the French court, and my sister spoke so highly of you in her letter. She’s sorry to lose you.”
“And I her, Your Majesty,” I said, not allowing myself to be sad. “I love your sister with all my heart. Alas, there is no official position in her household that mustn’t go to a French lady. That is why I hope to serve your new queen as maid of honor.”
He leaned back on his heels. “You and every other eligible maid of a Royalist family in England.”
I didn’t miss a heartbeat. “How many of them share your same Stuart blood? How many of them so long to serve her royal Stuart cousin, that she would take a position serving his queen in order to serve him?”
The men snorted, as I knew they would. But King Charles did not. God forgive me.
“La Belle Stuart.” His eyes twinkled. “I think I’d be sorry not to appoint you. The position is yours.”
Victory! I dipped low again. “Your Majesty, thank—”
The swish of heavy skirts whipped hard against my own, and the first thing I saw were her red mules, with the highest heels imaginable, covered in gold spangles. They planted themselves in front of the king. She did not curtsy until she had taken his hand in hers. Only then did she dip and kiss his ring.
I rose, speechless, and looked to others to validate my shock, but they did not appear shocked in the least. I looked at King Charles, who I thought must be outraged at this informality, but he … smiled.
She swept the room with an upturned palm. “Why did any of you bother coming tonight? I’m the only one who can keep up dancing with the king.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, cousin.” Buckingham stepped to kiss her upturned cheek. “You wouldn’t be able to keep up with him, either, if not for those long pretty legs of yours.”
Cousin?
A wicked grin spread across her face.
King Charles laughed. “The prettiest legs in the whole of England.”
Buckingham called over his shoulder, “Did that sound like a royal declaration, Bennet?”
“No, Your Grace. It was a statement born of personal experience.”
All the men guffawed.
“Quiet, rogues,” called King Charles. “You’ll ruin my good reputation.”
“He already does that well enough himself!” She was witty, but they laughed and laughed to play into her obvious influence.
King Charles gestured. “We were talking with Frances Stuart, just back from France.”
Turning her eyes to me for the first time, she inspected me from head to toe. The expensive, shimmery glass beads stitched over her red bodice emphasized the rose in her lips as she frowned. The king went on, “This is Barbara Palmer, Countess of Castlemaine.”
She held rank. I dipped in a low curtsy as violinists in the upper gallery struck chords for an allemande. Before I had fully risen, she stepped away. She took King Charles’s arm and walked toward the dancing floor, leading the king and leaving everyone else behind.
My face felt like fire. By protocol, without her first speaking to me, I could never speak to her. She had cut me. And effectively ended my audience with King Charles.
When Buckingham pressed my side again, I felt relief in spite of myself. “Now you must go,” he muttered. “You will take my coach and I will send your mother directly.”
“Go? Nothing is yet arranged,” I said, turning toward him so no one else might hear.
“La Belle,” he hissed as he dragged me toward the wall, through a door. “He liked you. If you go while he still wants your company, it guarantees he will send for you tomorrow.”
“A Frenchman once told me that teasing is in very poor taste.”
“A Frenchman would. I am telling you it is in your best interest tonight. And mine.”
* * *
An hour later I made sure I was in bed with the curtains and my eyes closed tight. But when Mother returned, she peeked in, and she was crying softly. She muffled her sobs as she tried to undress herself, and I couldn’t bear it. I climbed from bed to untie her bodice laces, and she let me. “You know I have to do this, and Buckingham is only helping,” I whispered as I ushered her to her own bed.
“It is as I feared.”
I kissed each of her cheeks. “Rely on me.”
CHAPTER 14
Whitehall Palace
February
Buckingham sent his men to fetch me early the next morning. They presented sealed parchments outlining my formal appointment as maid of honor, which included quarters at Whitehall Palace, and they waited while I prepared to depart Somerset House.
“Let us come, too!” Walter pulled me into a dance.
I hugged him to me. “You shall in time!”
Sophia packed the last of my gowns into the chest. “Does this mean we can all come to court functions?”
“The ones you’re old enough for,” I promised.
But Mother gripped her hands together until they turned white. “You must be cautious with him.”
I didn’t know whether she meant Buckingham or the king. I embraced her, promised to send for them soon, and kissed them too many times. I felt very tense in Buckingham’s coach.
King Charles greeted me as I stepped into the Pebble Court. “So glad you could arrive this early. I want to show you to your chambers myself.” He offered his arm, waved off his followers, and pointed to a gap in one corner. “We’ll go this way, through the Stone Gallery.”
I clung to his arm and took two steps to each of his just to keep up as he guided me under another wooden terrace around the Pebble Court to the passage. We stepped into the wide corridor and my shoes clip-clipped on the long, paving-stone floor.
The king pointed to a door on our right. “The Privy Garden is on the other side and runs its length. I’ve just ordered a marvelous sundial to go out there, a scientific marvel.” He gestured to the walls. “Most of the court has apartments on either side here. They cram into every coveted corner. Whitehall is an intricate maze.” He stopped and pointed to the left. “Remember: turn toward the Thames to get to the maid of honor apartments.”
When I stepped through a passage, my head buzzed with “scientific,” “coveted,” “maze,” and then I was outside again in a narrow, jagged alley created by the high stone walls of the houses. I lifted my skirt to tiptoe around puddles in the cobblestone walk and turned a corner.
“Lady Sanderson is installed as mother of the maids to look over you since your mother is still at Somerset House, but she’ll give you no trouble.” He opened the door, startling a servant, and indicated a large chamber with several doors to antechambers and bedchambers beyond. “This is their area. But yours is separate.” He led me farther down. “Step up, the Thames tends to flood occasionally.”
I mounted a few stone stairs and walked through the door to my new home. Sunlight filled the space through a window overhead. It shone against a black-and-white marble fireplace and high, wainscoted walls washed in white paint.
King Charles walked toward the fireplace. “You can order tapestries for the walls, or paintings. Whatever you like.” He pointed to the passage leading to the bedchamber. “The closets, with enough space for a maid to sleep in each, are between your chambers.”
“This is…” I almost said it was more than I deserved.
King Charles appraised me and leaned against the fireplace, regal even in his casual stance. His simple brown satin doublet glittered with the diamonds of his garter star. “Where did you get off to last night? I wanted to talk to you.”
“I am not used to attracting so much attention and thought it best that I go.”
“I guess you wouldn’t be. Serving my sister might make one feel second-best.”
I realized he was right the instant he said it; I just hadn’t attached the feeling to a name. His insight moved me unexpectedly. “Your Majesty is very wise.”
“And not immune to flattery.” He winked.
“I do miss her,” I said with a pang of longing. “I
love her so.”
“You remind me of her, la Belle Stuart. Look.” He pulled a small locket from his doublet pocket and opened it. It was a miniature of Madame. “Samuel Cooper painted it. Do you care for art?”
“Of course! I spent last summer at Fontainebleau. You’ve seen the collection there. My favorite is La Joconde.”
“By Leonardo da Vinci! My father once tried to buy it. He collected art. I am doing my utmost to recover pieces Cromwell sold to feed his damn New Model Army.”
“Do you have anything by the Italian masters? Nothing is more beautiful.”
“You are wrong.” He grinned, and I wasn’t sure if he was flirting or teasing, but I found myself grinning back. He lifted his hand and traced the bone of my cheek with the tip of one finger. “I’ve never seen more beauty than I do here,” he whispered. “So pure. Your face reminds me of the Virgin Mary in a drawing I have by Raphael. I grant it to you! I’ll deliver it myself.”
Three of Buckingham’s footmen entered with my old chest and Sir Ment’s cage. King Charles’s gaze fell on my parrot. “What an excellent specimen! Does he speak?”
The parrot promptly replied, “Oui, oui.” When I nodded, Sir Ment called, “Yes.”
The king’s laughter echoed off the walls. “This apartment will be perfect for you. Come.” He walked through the passage between the closets, took my hand, and pulled me to the door on the far wall. “Look,” he said, throwing it open.
Decorative ironwork birdcages were built into the courtyard walls—some so high they met my windows. Exotic, feathered creatures jumped from limb to limb on tree branches within, while a page in king’s livery pushed dishes of seeds through a feeding gate.
“The Volery Garden,” said King Charles.
I clapped my hands. “I love them. How did you know?” I brushed my fingertip against a silver gilt candle sconce on the wall. “Never before have I had so much for myself.”
“Whatever you want, anything you need, you may have it. You are my cousin. My only living sister’s friend. You shall have several hundred pounds each year. I shall commission Samuel Cooper to paint that face of yours and fill your walls with works by the Italian masters.” He draped one arm across my shoulders. “My brother James is all the family left to me here. Let me treat you like a sister?”
Girl on the Golden Coin: A Novel of Frances Stuart Page 9