“And you slept in an oak tree!” I laughed, trying to appear relaxed as well, as he relived some of his days in exile. “Thank God you were safe.”
“Thank the good Catholic Royalists who hid me and smuggled me out.”
I put my hand on his knee. “Truly,” I said softly. “Else I would not have you.”
As a rule, I tried never to touch him first for fear of teasing him. Now, my hand threw his features into confusion. “I am thankful you are here tonight,” I said with a tight squeeze. “I have been meaning to speak with you about … matters.”
He put his warm hand over mine.
“I—I have missed you.” My heart hammered so loudly I could hardly hear my own stuttering. “Indeed—I—I think I’ve grown quite jealous.”
The king burst out, “Jealous?”
“I’m afraid of losing you to—to—Frances Jennings.”
The king shook his head back and forth, seeming dumbfounded. “You are more precious to me than words can express.” He pulled my hand to his lips and kissed it. “But I find I am not able to become so honorable a man after all. Being with you as we have arranged is sweet hell.” He stroked my cheek. “My perfect angel. I cannot do this to you anymore. I fear I will wreck you.”
“Majesty—Charles—I’m nothing near angelic.”
“If you were my mistress, I could commit to you. Queen Catherine must obviously have her place, but I could give you my soul and abandon all other loves. It would be a sort of marriage, bound by the honor in our hearts if not by God and law.” He eyed me. “But you place everyone’s views, everyone’s expectations, above your own happiness.” His shoulders sagged as he took my hand again. “I suppose this is one reason I love you. I will keep you any way you will let me have you.”
“Truly?” My heart kicked up its pace. “Charles,” I whispered. “I cannot risk having a child, but I can give you more.” I stood and spanned the short distance to stand between his knees. “Will it damage your opinion of my virtue if I tell you that I want to touch you? I cannot if it causes you to think your angel has sullied herself.”
“Is that what has stopped you all this time? As long as you are mine alone, you will be my angel. I am a rogue, unchangeable. And I want you all to myself. Can you promise me?”
“Promise?”
“I will love you alone, and you must promise to forsake all others for me.” He grabbed my hips and kept talking, urging me with his eyes. “Promise me. I will worship you forever, my angel, if you will promise to seek no other man as long as we live. Nor any other king.”
My mouth went dry, and I said the first word that landed on my tongue. “Yes.”
He stood with me in his arms and carried me to the bed. He set me down gently, then tore at his doublet and shirt. “You can still stop me. I will not go further than you wish.” He climbed beside me and took my face in both his hands. “But you must not shut me out anymore. Do you understand?”
I nodded, afraid and aching for him to touch me at the same time.
King Charles was forceful. “Say it. Promise me.”
“If you will still love me, I promise not to shut you out.”
He let go of my face and grasped my hand. “Then I will consider you mine forever.”
He placed my hand on his chest and I felt the thud of his heart. I smelled the sandalwood on him and tasted the faint saltiness of skin before I even realized I was kissing his neck. I heard his breath catch, and I moved lower to lick his shoulder, his chest. I did not know what I was doing; I just ran my hands along his arms, across his face, touching as I had always wanted. The ribbons to his trousers strained tight. Gold points at the ends of his laces clinked together as I yanked them. I pulled the final lace and opened his pantaloons.
“I’ll not hurt you,” he whispered.
I touched him with light fingertips. I ran them softly from the base, circled the taut, shiny tip, until it jumped slightly. Amazed, I wrapped the king in my fingers and felt his pulse in my hand. The throbbing between my own legs was almost painful.
Charles lifted his hips, which slid my hand along his shaft. He groaned, and I slid my hand again; he lifted his hips to meet me, and we fell into a rhythm. But I needed to join him, to climb over him and move this way together, over and over. I squeezed him harder and heard myself moan quietly.
He rose up as I fell back. He deftly lifted my skirts and slid his hand up my thigh. I did not release him. I couldn’t. He looked into my eyes; he had touched my secret places before. But never like this. His fingers slid in, slowly, on slick flesh. He was slow, searching, moving inside me. “God, Frances, you are untouched, a perfect virgin. I won’t take it, I swear, my angel.”
He moved his fingers in a shallow pulsing motion. It only heightened my need, and I groaned. I writhed against him, whimpering. His shaft grew in my hand, and I had trouble keeping my fingers all the way around. He thrust hard in my hand, once, twice.
His creamy seed blasted straight up, splattering the breast of my bodice. Some spilled in my palm, slicking my grip, and I slid down easily on the next thrust. Then I let go of him because I felt like I might shatter. I heard myself call out, buried in the tumult, grasping him, holding on while I seized. I throbbed and writhed and held him, thrusting shamelessly into his hand. “My angel,” he whispered.
CHAPTER 39
June
“Prudence!” I stood in the middle of my bedchamber in a bodice of salmon-pink taffeta—boned with tight, precise stitches that made my torso a perfect, tubular shape—listening to her approaching footsteps. “I can’t find the fan from Ambassador Courtin. Where have you been?”
She entered and headed straight to my cabinet. “With a friend in Pebble Court, come from delivering a message. Admiral Penn’s son. I know him from…” She glanced to see if Mary was around, then handed the fan to me woefully. “He says tha fleet’s positioned fer tha start of battle, milady.”
“Indeed it is,” I said, grateful she held her tongue, did not mention that the admiral’s son was rumored to have Quaker sympathies. Such an accusation was the last thing the admiral needed on the tides of war.
Pink silk ribbon dangled from my shoulders, holding removable sleeves in place. I checked the waist tabs that flared over the draped skirts and the longer tail tab that flared over my backside with more pink ribbons. Palming the bone sticks of my new fan, I spread the kidskin with a skillful flick. When I had accepted this fan, I’d curtsied to Courtin. “I spoke to him for you. He fears Parliament will never let him get out of the Dutch war now and would rather not waste your time belaboring the issue.” Courtin stared blankly. “However, I managed to … persuade him … in private ways … to continue to hear your arguments. You will find him more often in my apartments, which you are welcome to use as your forum.”
King Charles did sit through Courtin’s arguments for my sake. But for how long would he continue to do so? “Thank you, Prudence,” I said, as I took my leave. It was time to cut through the throng of insincere admirers positioned in my antechamber and find the king.
Moments later I entered his presence chamber. He stood when I curtsied before him, and he kissed my hand. So for a few beats I held everyone’s attention. But the formal chaos that always surrounded King Charles soon absorbed me. Spaniels yapped and scampered underfoot and one tugged at a lady’s skirt. The king, with little regard for whoever was trying to speak with him, called the dog’s name, then reached down to shoo one away from his own ankle. Lords laughed, milling about, vying for position, power, money. Gossiping ladies eyed them, maneuvering themselves closest to the ones most likely to prevail.
Queen Catherine gestured for me. “Frances,” she whispered. “You must attend me at Tunbridge again. Sharles say we can go. So we make to go.” The queen then cupped her mouth to shut out anyone who might try to read her lips. “Castlemaine is with shild again and must be staying here.”
Bile filled my throat. Since her last birth, the gossips hadn’t reported Castlemaine
taking any new lovers. Surely not, I told myself. Not King Charles.
I tried to conceal my shock. “She will be the only one of us left to … entertain the king.”
She nodded, as if she had already thought the problem through. “She be getting so heavy and sour. Sharles will not be happy with her. But you.” She tapped my hand with her fan. “You must go. Else the French hector you to death.”
The bellow of a footman sounded from the doors. “Honoré de Courtin, ambassador extraordinaire from France.”
The ambassador walked in, gracefully sidestepping the yapping dogs, and bowed before the royals. With his toe, King Charles nudged a growling spaniel away from the edge of the queen’s skirts, and absently addressed the ambassador. “Courtin. Still haven’t given up your mission?”
Courtin rose with a smile and spoke in French. “I wanted to speak with you regarding the chancellor’s request that we continue our negotiations in writing.”
“Ah—oui,” King Charles said. Then he continued in broken French, “You see, I can hardly remember my French and hold my thoughts for as long as it takes me to comprehend your words. So doing this formally—in writing—would be easier for everyone.”
“Some of your ministers speak French as well as I do.” He eyed me. King Charles noticed as Courtin went on. “I regret, I cannot proceed in writing.”
The king muttered in English, “Can’t you see that what you want is out of my control?”
Courtin shot a glance at me as the presence chamber doors opened once more. A new herald called, “Her Majesty Henrietta Maria de Bourbon, Queen Mother of England.”
She swept in on a cloud of black velvet. The court turned in her direction and bowed. The Earl of St. Albans entered behind her, towering over everyone else, looking down his nose at no one in particular. My family wasn’t with them, praise God. Are you my grandfather? What exactly would you do if I forced that secret out?
King Charles reached to take his mother’s hands; she only allowed him to grasp one. With the other she reached out to Courtin. “I do wish France and England would come to an understanding.”
King Charles hid his exasperation well. Then he broke the circle to drape an arm over St. Albans’s shoulder. “I can neither convince Ambassador Courtin of the necessity of our war with the Dutch, nor can I silence him, Albans. You must try to do it for me.” Without waiting for a reply, King Charles said, “Very well, then, I’m off to supper.”
With that, he left.
I realized the man who had promised to love only me must be headed to Lady Castlemaine. Had he lied? I had to know when her child was conceived. I couldn’t accept it if I’d committed myself to another untrustworthy king.
* * *
During our month at Tunbridge, the queen received regular communication from London. We had news of the first engagements of war: England had defeated the Dutch off Lowstoff but had not pursued them when they fled. What could have been a swift victory was a promise of more battles to come, and our ships had returned with heavy casualties. The Duke of York had come so close to getting killed that the king forbade him from going to sea again.
Every lord and gentleman in the realm hustled about accounting money, moving goods, or overseeing a warship, while every lady sat busy at prayer. Queen Catherine marched us to her chapel several times a day to pray. For the safety of King Charles and the Duke of York, for the bravery and stamina of the poor wretches recruited to man the ships of the Royal Navy, and for delivery of the evil Dutch to England’s victorious pride.
* * *
When we rolled back into London in Queen Catherine’s carriages, we met a grim, quiet city. The summer heat sweltered, intensifying the usual stench. Stores were closed, and few people dotted the streets. Housefronts had red markings across their doors. Plague.
CHAPTER 40
But, Lord! To see how the plague spreads.
—SAMUEL PEPYS’S DIARY
July 1665
The plague spread. Alarmingly fast. King Charles placed the palace under strict security. No one came or went unless under royal employment. When there were deaths near Whitehall, he ordered everyone to pack; we would leave London. But I sent Prudence with a Life Guard to Somerset House to fetch my family. I hid every gold coin I had saved within the lining of a jewel casket, wrapped it in lace and petticoats, and packed it into a shabby-looking sack. Then I sat down to write Richmond a letter. I would use force with Mother if I had to, but I was determined to send my family to one of Richmond’s country estates. Prudence called from the antechamber, a shrill urgency in her tone. I dropped my quill and rushed out to find her.
“Milady! Tha Queen Mother … tha king…”
“Speak. What’s happened?”
“He’s approved her leave, milady! Tha Queen Mother is going back ta France this very day ta escape tha plague. Her household is all prepared, milady. Tha king and queen have ordered tha state barge ta row down tha Thames. If ye hurry, ye could go. Milady … milady?”
Mother is leaving. The Queen Mother, too. And taking my brother and sister. “What?” I said in a daze. “Go where?”
“Ta say good-bye. There should be no threat of contagion just rowing down tha river…”
I grabbed the old sack, terrified and elated at the same time, and rushed to the privy stairs by the Thames.
* * *
Out on the river, rowers brought the state barge alongside the Queen Mother’s ship. I stood behind the queen as the royals conversed across the water and scanned the deck of the ship frantically for my mother, my sister, my brother. I finally spotted them midship. I broke rank and walked down the barge so I could be closer. My throat tightened; my eyes started to ache from the effort of keeping tears in. Sophia and Walter were crying; they reached down for me. I stretched up, but their ship was too high for me to reach their hands.
“Mother, put your arms out.”
She did, and I tossed the sack up. Praise God, she caught it.
“Don’t do this.” My mother’s face softened. “The Queen Mother keeps us well.”
“I need to know you have it,” I said. “Just in case…”
King Charles put his hand on my shoulder. “I can order everyone to stop at the Nore,” he whispered. “You can board their ship and I’ll send your things to Paris.”
I glanced at the tense lines around his mouth. Somehow I knew that even if the worst did happen, things would still be well between us. “No,” I whispered. Regardless of everything … I wanted to stay with him.
* * *
The king commanded the household to Hampton Court, and we made the brief journey by river the next day. Church bells echoed over the water, constantly tolling the deaths, and the smell of burning frankincense, lit on doorsteps to ward off pestilence, carried on the wind that filled our sails. The French ambassadors’ arrival was delayed because no one there would agree to lodge them. The English people considered the French to be friends of the Dutch, and anything Dutch was hated. When their coaches finally lumbered in, they didn’t delay their pursuit of me for a moment.
“How nice for you that Lady Castlemaine went on to Richmond,” said Courtin to me while King Charles stood at my side under the row of lime trees in the garden.
“You mean how good for you, Courtin,” King Charles answered for me. “Since the other ambassadors follow her like puppies, and now Frances can help you monopolize me.”
I cringed inside at this blunt truth and resented it at the same time. Then he pointed a long finger at Courtin. “As a cousin and a monarch, Louis ought to stop the Dutch rather than help them. They are a mere republic, after all.”
Courtin turned red. I took the king’s arm and steered him down the row. Courtin stayed behind as we promenaded through the garden. “You’re harsh with them.”
“Still wielding Louis’ standard?”
Letting him see my anger would get me nowhere, so I kept my tone light. “Well, I must have something to hold on to if I learn Lady Castlemaine’s baby w
as conceived after your commitment to me.”
“Don’t you trust me?” He grinned.
Infuriatingly, I didn’t know. I changed the subject. “Will the plague get worse?”
“I don’t see how it can possibly get worse.” He rubbed a hand over his brow.
“Do you remember that comet we observed? Some are now saying it was a portent of disaster, that this plague and this war are a curse on England. They say fire will be next. Ruination.”
He took my face in his hands. “That,” he said, “is ridiculous.”
* * *
Mid-August, word arrived that at least six thousand people had died in London in one week. Then one of the king’s Life Guards fell, seizing and bleeding from his ears, at Hampton Court. Panic rose to a furor. The Yorks decided to take their household north to York, and King Charles ordered the queen’s household to Salisbury where it was hot, rainy, windy, and crowded. All of her ladies rode horseback through Farnham in men’s riding habits, smiling all the way to cheer the people. Queen Catherine selected me as the only lady to stay with her in the royal lodgings.
The plague arrived in Salisbury almost immediately.
A royal groom fell sick and was shut into his house. All its inhabitants were forbidden to leave; condemnation for all of them. Then another man fell dead right in the street. We all feared our own mortality, and the weeks turned to months in Salisbury. My only solace was word that the Queen Mother’s train had arrived, healthy, in Paris. We played basset until we could tolerate indoors no longer. We hunted. We played bowles. We did our best to ward off melancholy. King Charles came to my bedchamber often, and I spent every moment devising ways to assist the French.
“Your Majesty,” I said at the supper table one evening, reaching for him. “I had a dream that would be amusing to tell the French ambassadors. Call them over so I can tell all of you.”
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