I moved away from him, took up Hamilton’s arm, and let him lead me into the palace. Everyone with access to court followed us to the queen’s presence chamber. Inside, my friends enveloped me, casting glances at Buckingham, who hung close by.
“Love that lace,” said Wells. “Who made your hat?”
“It’s French,” I said, handing it to her. “Try it on!”
Soon we were laughing, and everyone was trading hats. But mine, with its red plume, seemed to be the favorite.
“You must take this one with you when we accompany the queen to Tunbridge Wells,” said Frasier, toying with it.
Wells sighed. “It’s going to be boring. What will we do out there in the country? Milk cows?”
“It’ll be so romantic,” replied Frasier. “We can pretend to be shepherdesses from one of those rustic plays.”
“Be glad the court is going anywhere this summer,” Cornbury said as he joined us. “Queen Catherine could barely scavenge enough money from her treasury for this trip.”
“Good thing Frances is getting away from court soon,” said Hamilton, glancing back at Buckingham. “We can’t have the king becoming jealous of a duke!”
Thus I avoided Buckingham when we sat at supper and played cards late into the night, and I thought he’d given up. But he caught me in a dark courtyard on my way back to my apartments and pinned me against a wall. “You think you’ve won,” he hissed. “Don’t misinterpret Lady Castlemaine’s sullen mood as withdrawal. She is too wicked to go down without fighting. While you and the queen are away, she will move on him again. If you don’t do something to keep him attached to you, you will lose him.”
CHAPTER 26
Tunbridge Wells
Late July
Early every morn, before the summer heat settled, the ladies of the court emerged from the little huts and cottages scattered about the village at Tunbridge Wells. I followed Queen Catherine out of the cottage we shared. She stretched in the sunshine and smiled, happier than I’d ever seen her. The accommodations weren’t what we were used to, but we’d settled into the glorified rusticity with ease. Her household gathered together in déshabille, wearing only long shifts, slippers, and light mantua gowns. Then, informal and out of rank, we traveled the tree-lined walk to the healing spring we hoped would enhance the queen’s fertility. When we reached the wooden railing, Queen Catherine approached first. The village water dipper curtsied and filled the queen’s goblet. She drank deep and then waved us up for our turn.
Wells eyed her water warily. “You don’t really drink yours, do you?”
“Of course.” I sipped the brisk, refreshing water. “Why ever not?”
“One of the court ladies might be with child from it,” she whispered.
I cast my eyes heavenward. “Someone should tell the poor fool it is not the water but the rogue she let into her bed.”
Wells ambled away, looking for a better gossip partner. I knew more than I’d let on: Gramont was the rogue in the situation, and the maid’s brother was George Hamilton. He would force Gramont to marry her, at sword point if required. So much for the “free pleasures of love,” as Gramont had put it in France, after he’d grabbed my backside.
We’d been at Tunbridge Wells for nearly a month, and my heart ached rather badly for King Charles. The ache itself surprised me, and with little to do, I would dwell on Buckingham’s warning: “she is too wicked to go down without fighting.”
Queen Catherine signaled for me to walk with her on our way back from the spring. Her footmen trotted alongside us, holding giant green screens for shade—they also shielded us from curious listeners.
“Your Majesty, do you not wish to go back to London?”
“To heat, to crowd? These woods are … how to say…” She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and smoothed the air in front of her with her palms.
“Relaxing. Though, the more time passes, the more I fret over the king.”
She shot me a sidelong glance. “You miss him?”
I didn’t want to tell her how much. “I worry Lady Castlemaine is taking advantage of our absence.”
“Ah. I think it will matter not.” She gave me a knowing look and glanced over her shoulder. “I am with shild.”
I felt a twist of anxiety and regret that I quickly tamped down. “Oh. Oh, that’s wonderful!” I sensed a new confidence in her beaming smile. Queen Catherine doesn’t need me anymore. “God has heard your prayers, Queen Catherine. There is no more deserving queen.”
The breeze rustling in the woods made me think of Fontainebleau and Madame’s pregnancy. I felt a longing for my old friend. She hadn’t written me, but I knew from her letters to King Charles that her little daughter was well. I wished the same for my queen.
We tossed grain to the hens in our coop, and I felt better when we sat upon blankets scattered about the lawn before our little cottage. We broke our fast on eggs baked with lavender and thyme that we’d picked from the garden ourselves and dried on hooks from the rafters over our beds. This arcadian way of life was almost romantic enough to make me forget everything, including the Life Guards camped along our perimeter.
Wells approached, wearing a huge straw hat, her maid close behind straining with two heavy buckets. “You have to try this milk!”
I looked at the vat she handed me. “Don’t tell me you personally milked a cow?”
She just grinned.
* * *
A fortnight later we traveled back to London, and King Charles rode halfway out to meet us. Queen Catherine embraced him so rapturously he laughed out loud. They clung together the rest of the journey. I watched him joke with her about how large her belly might grow, and it occurred to me that she might be right. Giving him a legitimate child could well make him love her.
CHAPTER 27
Whitehall
Early August
I was still tired from the recent journey as I stood in the queen’s presence chamber, while the king and queen sat head to head chatting with each other. Buckingham swept me an exaggerated bow. He always wore charm like a jewel, and now he turned it just right to catch the best light. “La Belle Stuart. The prettiest girl in all England.”
“It’s been so long since I last saw you.” I frowned. “And yet, not long enough.”
“Save your bitterness for the queen. I’m not to blame for the king’s change of heart.”
I watched King Charles pat Queen Catherine’s belly. He hadn’t visited my chambers since our return from Tunbridge.
“Come now,” he said. “Make peace with me. I’m giving a banquet tonight in my Whitehall apartments. A grand feast! Join us. King Charles will be there. His first supper away from the queen since her return from Tunbridge.”
I eyed him. “Truly?” Could this be the plot my mother had tried to warn me about?
He grinned, showing his teeth. He looked like a smiling wolf.
* * *
I settled into my seat that evening, glanced at the ordinary banquet table setting, and wondered what was so grand about it. Buckingham’s silver plate and Venetian glassware glittered across the tabletop, but no flowers decked the walls, and the only music came from a musician plunking away at a lone virginal.
Buckingham’s sister made an effort to stir the stilted conversation. “I lost a wager of ten pounds last month when the Duke of Richmond’s footman beat that famous runner in a race at Banstead Downs.” But no one replied.
Buckingham’s duchess tried to help, too. “You should have known better than to bet against the Duke of Richmond! Don’t you remember when he beat that earl in a horse chase this spring at Newmarket? I thought he’d surely break his neck when he almost fell at the end.” When no one replied again, she tried a joke. “He must have been drunk!” But everyone just stared at one another.
“The king! The king!”
I jumped at the herald’s call and stood with everyone else. Lords and ladies bowed and curtsied as the king entered and took his seat at the head of the table
, spaniel dogs scampering at his feet. As he passed, he gave me a searching look: warm, familiar, and somewhat questioning. What did it mean?
Conversation in the room remained stilted and slow as servants filed in and placed mutton before us. A feast? I stared at the food, and then at Buckingham.
He attacked his meat with zeal, talking with his mouth full. “I cannot stomach the idea of a Dutch ship not lowering its flag to the English when they meet in the Channel.”
“They ought to concede those are our waters,” was someone’s muttered reply.
King Charles forked the bland food into his mouth, then raised his hand. The footman behind him presented him a fresh goblet of wine. The king downed it, glanced at me, then eyed the goblet of wine by my plate.
I lifted the glass to my lips.
King Charles lifted his empty goblet in the air. The footman took it away, poured wine in a fresh glass, and held it, waiting for the king’s next thirst.
Why did everyone seem to hold his or her breath? I tilted the wine into my mouth and had to stifle a gag. Vile. Just like the menu. I lifted my napkin to my lips, and my cough seemed to echo in the quiet hall. Everyone stared at me.
The king turned his attention to his meat again, with … is that a frown? I set my fork down and decided to wait for the salad course. If this was such a “grand feast,” surely Buckingham would serve salad? With a little oil and vinegar. Hopefully without garlic. Maybe chocolate for dessert. The guests continued to glance at one another, their expressions guarded. How odd everyone seemed tonight!
“The queen! The queen!”
The herald’s call seemed too loud in the strained silence. The music fell to a discordant hush. The king looked surprised. Buckingham glanced at his sister, confusion in his eyes. She shook her head as if to say, I don’t know. Footmen flung open the doors, and everyone scrambled to their feet. The queen’s rank gave her the right to attend any event without an invitation.
“Please sit. Sit,” said the queen. Behind her, Castlemaine sauntered in, grinning like a smug cat.
Buckingham nodded at his footmen, who jumped to make two new places ready. Then he gave another bow to the queen. “What a pleasant surprise, Your Majesty.”
“I hear bery special entertaining be here dis evening.”
“My queen. You are welcome.” King Charles kissed her hand, and she sat at the place made ready by his side.
Buckingham and Castlemaine crossed each other as they walked to their seats. Buckingham muttered, “Cousin.”
“My Lady Castlemaine,” I said softly, refusing to appear as irritated as I felt when she sat down at the place set beside me. “I know not why you came,” I whispered. “It is quite boring and the wine has gone bad.”
She looked out at the solemn faces at the table. Everyone sat dumbfounded.
Suddenly King Charles laughed. “This party is a failure, Buckingham.” Buckingham slumped in his seat. “You there, page!” The young pages jerked to attention. “Go to the maid of honor apartments. Tell them the king commands they come to banquet here straightaway. And send for my violinists, for we shall have dancing!”
The poor musician turned and started playing again, and finally the guests fell into easy conversation. Talking about the duke again, the Dutch, and our upcoming progress to Bath and Oxford.
“A health,” the queen called as a footman handed her a glass. “A health unto His Majesty!”
We raised our wine. “A health unto His Majesty!” we called. I only held my glass lightly to my lips, and Castlemaine snorted. “Why do you not drink, Frances?”
“How can you? The wine is bitter.”
She handed her glass to me and whispered, “Only yours.”
I took it and sniffed. Hesitantly, I tipped the wine to my lips. Sweet and smooth. I narrowed my gaze. “Why are you here?”
She leaned closer to me. “To rescue you from rape.”
“How ridiculous.”
“You were coaxed into coming by the duke, who dangled the king’s presence as bait.” She kept her voice hushed. “Your wine was poisoned so the king could have his way with you, you little fool.”
“The king would never hurt me.” My stomach roiled.
“No?” She reclined in her chair and took back her glass, swirling the red liquid. “While you’ve been off in the country I’ve been his constant company. Even in his bed. His constant company. Does that hurt?” she hissed.
My heart thundered in my ears. “You’re too far gone with child to go with us on progress. The queen and I will be alone with him.”
“I’ll not let him come sniffing around your skirts again.”
* * *
King Charles didn’t visit me privately that week before the royal train embarked. In our weeks at Bath, he stayed in quarters with Queen Catherine, supped with her, and met the subjects with her. He was openly flirtatious with his queen, touching her, kissing her hand. I soaked in the Roman pools by day, hoping this would be the evening he would come to me. He never did, and my soul drowned in my sin. During our weeks at Oxford he flattered me in front of everyone—danced with me, chatted with me, bestowed every sign of adoration upon me; thus I kept my favor with the court. Then I learned he was riding to the outskirts of Oxford to visit Castlemaine, who had crawled from her childbed and left her infant, contriving to be near the king. I had lost him.
CHAPTER 28
Whitehall Palace
Mid-October
For the first night in months, King Charles walked into my bedchamber. “The queen is dying.” I leaped from my bed to embrace him, and he draped his arms over my shoulders, holding back tears. “She has fallen with such a fever that she cannot be woken.”
“No. She’s been perfectly well since we returned,” I said. “I waited on her just yesterday when the doctors told her she’s two months gone with child!”
“She is bleeding. The child is gone.”
Genuinely grieved, I tightened my grip. “What can I do?”
“Keep vigil with me.”
So I wrapped furs over my nightgown and followed the king to his quarters. Castlemaine was already there, turning back his bed. She wasn’t surprised to see me, and strangely, I didn’t mind her presence. She crawled into bed on one side of our king with me on the other, and we kept vigil while he slept.
* * *
“The king must have an heir.” Buckingham loomed in the doorway of the king’s secondary bedchamber. An uninvited pestilence in such a sanctum.
I glanced at him and quickly looked back to my sewing. “King Charles has an heir. His brother, James, Duke of York, is fit and hearty.”
The king had ordered Castlemaine and me to stay here together so we would be at hand when he felt able to leave the queen’s sickbed. Castlemaine had just taken leave to check on her children. “You must go. The king would not be pleased to find us alone in his bedchamber.”
“How fares the queen?”
“Her Portuguese doctors have strange methods of healing: shaving her head and strapping pigeons to her feet.” I shifted my weight. “Lady Castlemaine will be back soon; she will tell the king you—”
“When she dies, the king will marry you.”
My gasp was so loud I feared the king’s guards would rush in.
“It is obvious he loves you.” He turned to gaze at the wainscoted walls. “Did you know Anne Boleyn designed this wing? She left her mark on England and so could you.”
I cringed. That mark had been many things, including a still bleeding wound to England’s peace. “You finally concede he loves me without having taken my maidenhead.”
“At any rate, do not lie with him yet. See if what the people say proves true.”
“People also say the queen was poisoned,” I said. Buckingham lifted a finger and opened his mouth to speak, but I continued. “We both know how familiar you are, Your Grace, with different poisons.”
A door slammed. King Charles entered his bedchamber. “He didn’t serve you poison that nigh
t at his banquet,” he said. “It was merely a sleeping potion.” Buckingham’s face turned a ruddy red.
I was too relieved to be stunned. “You knew?”
“Buckingham thinks I’ll take what I want at any cost.”
“You knew.” He should have stopped it.
“If I had thought you’d accept an invitation from Buckingham, I would have warned you.” He stroked my cheek with the backs of his fingers. “You trust that I would never have harmed you, don’t you?”
It was the first intimate touch in ages. It stilled my breath. “I thought … you were cross when you didn’t come to me, afterward. That you’d given me up.”
“Forgive me for staying away. I was doing what seemed right. The queen needed my attention. I wanted our heir so badly.” His smile seemed heavy. “I thought you would see the honor in it.” King Charles turned to the duke. “Leave Frances alone.”
Buckingham stretched to his full height. “Let me keep her warm for you in case you’re to need another bride again soon.”
The king did not smile. Buckingham finally bowed and backed out.
* * *
Castlemaine talked of her children all day. Baby Henry had suckled the wet nurse dry. Little Charles had taken his first steps. Young Ann had learned a few new words. If Castlemaine wasn’t talking, she was pacing. I sat enough for both of us. The windows, closed against autumn’s first chills, let in enough light to embroider a nightdress. Thread, fabric, and needle flew through my hands. In the days we’d kept vigil for our grieving king, I’d nearly finished it. “My lady, your pacing is quite irritating.”
“How can you sit so calm?” she snapped.
“If you are anxious for the reasons I think, then shouldn’t you be a bit nicer to me?”
“To what end? You hate me, I hate you. If he marries you, he’ll banish me to the country.” She wrung her hands as she crossed the chamber again and again. “You wouldn’t really make him send me away, would you?”
“Of course.” I viciously snipped a thread.
She plopped into the chair beside me. “Why do you sew—can’t you afford a maid?” She twisted her hands in her lap. “Oh, merciful God. If this queen dies, I will be in a bad way. You were not here when that Puritan Cromwell ruled. My father died fighting for the Stuarts. I was nothing then.”
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