Girl on the Golden Coin: A Novel of Frances Stuart

by Jefferson, Marci

  “I am very sorry,” I whispered.

  He cleared his throat and looked up. “Frances…”

  It was only my name, but it was also a question. Vision in my healthy eye blurred. The other was still swollen, and tears welled out of it furiously. I dabbed it and tried to answer him the way I’d longed to tell him. “She … came too early. Before the Dutch sailed into Chatham.”

  There was so much more: the blood, the confusion, the delivery, the agony, the intense need for him to wrap his arms around me and love my pain away. King Charles’s fingers slowly twined with mine, and I grasped his hand desperately. His eyes filled with anguish. “I’m so sorry. So sorry.”

  I clung to him for a long time, taking compassion from the small embrace. “You would have loved her, Charles. I know you would have. She was so small, so perfect. Her hair would have been red. I longed for you so.”

  “A dog deserves more loyalty than I showed you.” He wiped his eyes.

  I squeezed his hand and struggled to find my voice. “You have every right to your pain. I acted deliberately. I had quite feared your heart would be irreversibly damaged.”

  He did not answer that. When I looked at his face, I saw a surprising, sour grin.

  * * *

  Each visit, and they were frequent, we grew easier around each other. We laughed and joked as we used to do. He told me about Madame; she had actually written to encourage him to forgive me. He was glad about the Triple Alliance but said, “I am anxious to show my friendship to Louis again, and I hope my sister can help.” I couldn’t help but wonder what Arlington’s reaction would be when he heard it. I told him of my plans to reorganize Richmond’s finances, and he resolved to do the same with his treasury. His favorite spaniel was about to litter. He had hoped in January to attempt another Declaration of Indulgence but said, “The religious fanatics and brawlers will force me to limit their liberties. I’ll have to enforce the Act of Uniformity to get control of the mob.” He mentioned he’d been enjoying the theater immensely.

  We cautiously avoided the discussion of our relationship. Though my heart was lighter, I often wondered about that sour grin. It had been his only response when I’d tried to ascertain how badly I’d hurt him.

  CHAPTER 62

  May

  A spring rain left the London air unusually clear, so I opened the doors to the terrace overlooking the empty Somerset gardens, which rolled down to the edge of the river. I breathed it in and absorbed the calls of the watermen. Their crafts glided on the Thames, ferrying people to the park, home from the theaters, or to church.

  I was too well to stay in bed. But I had removed the cloths from the looking glasses in my chamber and seen I was not healed enough to go out. It was not as bad as I’d feared it would be. My face had marks, pink and peeling pits, but not as many as most smallpox survivors.

  At any rate, King Charles and Richmond both insisted my beauty was unmarred. I would always wear cosmetics in public now, but I was alive. Alive and in favor with my king once more.

  A hat bobbed up behind the gate in the garden wall that ran along the river. I squinted, my vision still a little blurry from the sore in my eye. The hat bobbed up again, and an arm and foot landed atop the wall. A man scaled it swiftly, planting his boots in the garden.

  Only one man wore a curly black periwig and stood that tall. King Charles had just scaled my locked garden gate. With no attendants in tow.

  I laughed. He heard it on the breeze, caught my eye, and trotted toward me, smiling. When he finally reached me, he grasped my shoulders and kissed me fiercely.

  It was the last thing I expected. In my astonishment, I froze. Perhaps it was more than surprise, for a tiny thought snagged in my mind. Richmond would be devastated.

  I broke the kiss and clung to his neck. “Come to my chambers,” I whispered. I glanced around to make sure no one was in the hall.

  His mouth found mine again and crushed me with kisses. Hot and wet but not quite as I remembered … almost searching … questioning.

  A tiny warmth lit, deep inside me, and I let my passion fall back on his lips. The empty ache I’d harbored all year reached to him, instinctively remembered his touch, and fell into the familiar curve of his arm. It only lasted a fleeting moment. Someone might see.

  I pulled away again. “Please, come in with me.”

  But the gleam in his eye dimmed. “Are you ashamed of me?”

  “I just want to enjoy you privately.”

  “There was a time when you let me kiss you publicly.”

  “I—I would not want to embarrass Richmond.”

  He frowned.

  I pulled his hand. “Come with me.”

  He followed the few steps through the hall and into my antechamber. As we entered my bedchamber, I suddenly felt awkward, hesitant. We were so easy together a year ago, surely we could be so again. I turned to him and put my hands on the sides of his face.

  His golden eyes held hurt.

  Why? Because I could no longer be carefree with him? I pulled his head down, rose onto my toes and kissed each of his lids one at a time, then looked into his eyes again.

  They only reflected sorrow.

  I noticed the tension in my body. I was trying too hard to be natural. He could sense it. He clenched his jaw, then seemed to make some decision. He threw off his hat and kissed me again. He pressed his hardness against me, and I thought, Surely we can get back to what we were before. I kissed him back and tried to forget myself. I pretended I was just Frances Stuart kissing the king again, not the Duchess of Richmond and Lennox. But I could not find my King Charles. The change in his kiss … it lacked the tenderness, the openness.

  He pulled my mantua down, coaxed my body. He caressed my breasts, licked my ear. But it was just a physical request without connection. Not a sharing. Finally, he broke our kiss and stepped back. In his eyes, I could see he was aware of it.

  “Oh, Charles,” I whispered. “If you had divorced her, you would have hated yourself.”

  “You took my heart with you when you left. So if I am heartless now, it is my own fault. I should have ordered you back from Kent with it the next morning.”

  But I knew that wasn’t all. He had been overjoyed to see me in the garden and I him. Before I’d unleashed my passion, my first thought had been Richmond’s feelings. King Charles had been right in his fears all along. My husband had indeed come between us.

  * * *

  King Charles visited Somerset House regularly that spring while the court was in London. He attempted passionate interludes with me a few more times. His lips were gentle, his caresses soft. But he could not seem to carry them very far. Open as I was to his advances, he would stop. He’d look away to hide the hurt in his eyes, then chat with me for an hour or so about inconsequential things, struggling to overcome the damage.

  When Cornbury presented himself at Somerset House, I insisted he tell me what he knew about the other mistresses. My old friend shuffled his feet and turned pink.

  “You must, Lord Cornbury. The queen doesn’t want to discuss it, and no one else will tell me for fear of insulting me.”

  “It is true that after you left, the king … sought solace in the arms of other women. He seemed to be searching for relief, distraction. I think you had better leave it at that, Your Grace.”

  “How many?”

  “Ahh—yes.” He looked like a rabbit caught in a snare. “Please forgive me for telling you, Your Grace. That I know of—there were at least five other mistresses.”

  “Five!” I gasped. “So many in such a short span. He could not have shown constancy to any one of them.”

  “Ahh—yes—that is—no. He is not constant in his attentions.”

  “Is not? Are you saying he continues these relationships?”

  “Well—oh, very well. I shall tell you in full if you insist.” He slumped. “When you left, he returned to Lady Castlemaine for a time. But the Duke of Buckingham persisted in presenting him new women. He started w
ith a clergyman’s daughter. Then there were the actresses. One was a virgin when he bedded her. Nell Gwynn he continues to summon to his lodgings at Whitehall. And Moll Davies he has set up in her own house.”

  “Actresses. He has taken up with actresses?” The information stunned me. “Actresses are prostitutes! They aren’t fit for a king’s mistress.”

  “There now, you wanted to know.”

  “They are commoners. They have no noble blood at all!”

  “Some claim to be the illegitimate offspring of one lord or another.”

  “Bastards aren’t worth a king!” I clamped my mouth shut, remembering myself. “You said there were five.”

  “Ah—well. Lady Castlemaine’s maid is carrying the king’s child.”

  “Her maid?”

  Cornbury held up his hands. “She is a very pretty woman.”

  I glared as if he had trespassed on my haven. But of course, none of this was his fault. If blame lay with anyone, it was I. The king was seeking solace without regard for honor. What have I done to him?

  In June, when Richmond and I hosted a lavish banquet for the king and queen, they announced my new appointment as lady of the bedchamber. With pomp and ceremony, King Charles held my hands before the guests and called me one of his most important friends. But the golden hue in his eye lacked its old warmth. He kissed each of my cheeks, then returned to stand by Queen Catherine, the woman who loved him unconditionally. He seemed not to stand as tall as he once did. Understanding finally resonated within me. I had tried to save him from ruining his honor. Instead, my actions had left him so despondent that I had ruined him.

  CHAPTER 63

  Whitehall Palace

  The Duchess of Richmond is likely to go to court again, and there put my Lady Castlemaine’s nose out of joynt. God knows that would make a great turn.

  —SAMUEL PEPYS’S DIARY

  Come summer, Richmond finalized improvements to his house at Whitehall. Richmond House was an independent building overlooking the Thames on one side and the Bowling Green on the other. The prettiest and most private lodgings at the palace, it was fit for the highest-ranking duke in England. And his duchess.

  We settled in. And in August, when summer was hottest, I was finally healed enough, with careful application of cosmetics, to be seen at court. On my first day of return to the queen’s service, I walked out of Richmond House into the bright expanse of the Bowling Green and turned right—and there was the Countess of Castlemaine.

  She turned to go the other way. Her abrupt change in direction threw her attendants into confusion, and they tried to scurry into place behind her again. She was going to avoid me! Like hell. My new rank gave me precedence over any countess. I didn’t even have to call her Lady anymore. Once I acknowledged her, she was obligated to show deference to me. With a wicked flash of pride, I called out, “Castlemaine.”

  She halted, almost toppling in her reluctance to stop. Slowly she turned around, nose high in the air. Servants scurried out of her way again. Her fists clenched as she gave a quick curtsy. “Your Grace.”

  I approached her, waving her attendants off. When I was several feet away, I extended a kindness that I was not obligated to give. I curtsied.

  She eyed me, as if weighing her conceit against affection. “It is good to see you again, Fr—Your Grace.”

  I smiled. “You look well. I heard you moved to Berkshire House with your children.”

  “King Charles is very generous.” She cast her eyes down as she said it, as if she were not completely satisfied with the new situation. “He is kind to us, visiting the children often. I do not wait on the queen much anymore.” Her shoulders slouched as she studied me. “So you shall have no trouble from me as you take my place once and for all.”

  I’d heard she was very troubled by my return to London, delighted when I fell ill with smallpox, and melancholy again when the king forgave me. I didn’t discredit the gossip entirely, but I knew she cared for me in her lofty way. Thus, at my first opportunity to gloat over my old rival, I found I could not do it.

  I sighed. “I don’t think I’ll actually be able to take your place after all. He is distant. As if he only extends kindness without fully feeling it.”

  “I had never seen him cry. Never seen him so upset over anything as he was when you left. I thought he would never heal.”

  I glanced at her attendants and whispered. “How could you let him resort to taking in actresses? Why didn’t you comfort him?”

  “I did all I could. But it was never enough. It was as if he were just … broken.” She shook her head as if the memory still bothered her. “I hated the idea of your return, but, honestly, I thought you were the piece of him that was missing.”

  My spirit recoiled at her words because, for all her selfishness, she did know the king well. “It seems there is a part of him that I can no longer reach.”

  “You are the only woman he has ever loved,” she whispered with only a trace of bitterness. “If you can’t restore him, then what you did to him is irreversible.”

  CHAPTER 64

  September 1669

  After a year and a half of marriage, I became Richmond’s true wife. He was a gentle lover, considerate and passionate. We made progress curbing his spending and his drinking. The king tolerated his presence at court, though he never showed him much favor.

  Thankfully, my friends in France persuaded King Louis to concede Aubigny to Richmond. Which shocked me, but made me smile to think King Louis cooperated partly out of respect for me. Perhaps he considered my old oath to him fulfilled after all?

  Richmond had to go to France for several months himself to take possession. “My precious bride, won’t you come with me?”

  “I don’t think I want to face that court. What is past is past. I shall stay and oversee your affairs.”

  Richmond met my family at Colombes and sent reports. Young Walter, after all my worry for him, hadn’t been pressed into King Louis’ army. He’d joined Lord Douglas’s regiment, a group of Scottish soldiers stationed in France, and thus managed to avoid fighting against the English. Richmond now obtained a post for him aboard the Montague in the English navy. He sent my sister to me by my mother’s request. I fulfilled one of my greatest hopes and arranged a marriage for her to the Royalist Henry Bulkely, fourth son of a viscount, master of the king’s household. Sophia had grown taller than me, with darker hair and our mother’s poise. She told me she was relieved to wed and folded into Bulkely’s quarters at Whitehall comfortably. The Queen Mother died while Richmond was there. Thus, my mother returned to England in Richmond’s retinue, and I arranged for her to live quietly at Cobham Hall.

  I watched her tall, graceful figure step off the ship at Greenwich, and I extended confident arms to greet her. “It is so good to see you!”

  “My daughter-duchess,” she said.

  At Cobham, I sat her down at Richmond’s writing table and pulled out St. Albans’s letter. She cradled it and read it wide-eyed. When she finally let it fall to her lap, she seemed hesitant to look at me. I waited for her to relinquish her story.

  “It is said that before the civil wars, the Earl of St. Albans was the most handsome courtier at Whitehall, the queen’s favorite. He wasn’t titled then, he was only Henry Jermyn, but many ladies fell in his bed anyway. One of them was a maid of honor to Queen Henrietta Maria, Eleanor Villiers, and she became pregnant. He proclaimed her a slut and refused to marry her, for he was infatuated with the queen. Charles the First sent him to the Tower for it. Eleanor’s family sheltered her during her accouchement, and Henry Jermyn’s father, Sir Thomas Jermyn, governor of Jersey, sent for the child.”

  I studied my hands for a long time. “The child was you.”

  “My earliest memories are of playing under Elizabeth Castle on the Isle of Jersey, and of a man who came to visit me at times. He would inquire about my health and my lessons. I was young when the civil wars began. The Prince of Wales’s troops sheltered on our island for a tim
e. Eventually the queen, who had escaped by fleeing to France, sent her vice-chamberlain to collect the prince. The chamberlain was Henry Jermyn, the man who’d visited me before. And this time he took me to France with him.”

  She sighed. “I was a child when he put me in a convent in Paris. I was a young woman when he was elevated to earl, and he brought me to the Queen Mother’s house in Colombes. To present me to your father.” She buried her face in her hands. “Walter was studying medicine in Paris, a Stuart, a loyal Royalist. We spoke of marriage, and I could not believe my happiness. I fell into him with every intention of becoming an honorable wife so that I might keep my good fortune, make a real family, a place I would finally belong. I became pregnant.” Her hands fell and she stared, seeing a past invisible to me.

  “St. Albans was disgusted. He said he should have known I was too beautiful to be anything but foolish. He ordered your father to take me to Blantyre in Scotland to wed me, and not to return until the baby—you—were old enough that scandalous talk could be avoided. I will never forget the look in his eyes when he thought my indiscretion would bring him shame. He couldn’t risk losing the Queen Mother’s regard; they were lovers by then. I swore I would never do another bad thing.” She glanced at the letter. “I was merely too young. He never acknowledged he was my father. I learned his story in snatches of gossip through the years. This letter is the only indication he has ever given that we are related.”

  I waited a moment. “The Duke of Buckingham knew.”

  She blinked, as if awakening. “As a Villiers, he would have known Eleanor’s story and might have deduced the rest. I always wondered what became of her but couldn’t risk getting close enough to that family to find out.”

  “Did Lady Castlemaine know? The other Villiers? Did they all know what I didn’t?”

  Her gaze, soft and hurt, fell back to the letter, and I could see she didn’t know. Nor did it matter. She reached her hand to me, and I saw frail skin over something that had once been so strong. I kissed her hand and left her at quiet Cobham when I returned with Richmond to our house at Whitehall Palace.