Girl on the Golden Coin: A Novel of Frances Stuart

by Jefferson, Marci

  CHAPTER 65

  Richmond House

  August 1670

  The Duke of Richmond and Lennox, my husband and friend, walked confidently into our great room and sat at our tea table. The wall of high windows behind him brightened our space, and I pointed to the watercraft bobbing outside along the river Thames. A skiff full of men craned their necks toward Richmond House trying to capture a glimpse of the royally cuckolded duke and the woman they assumed was the king’s mistress. “People are peeking in again.”

  He grinned. “When they get to their coffeehouses, they will have something else to prattle about. Everyone’s complaining about King Charles and his actresses, and how he runs his council members against his parliament.”

  Prudence poured steaming water into our dishes with a shaky hand.

  I studied my husband. “And you still want to snatch an appointment to such a council?”

  “Of course.” He winked. “I’m a Stuart, after all.”

  I laughed with him, our ease echoing off the chandeliers and marble floors and settling into the scattered groups of velvet-covered furniture. “Did you order the new coach?”

  He nodded. “And six new horses. We shall travel to Dover in style.”

  A flush of nervous excitement washed through me. Madame was coming to visit her brothers, King Charles and the Duke of York, at Dover. Everyone important would go: the royals, the ministers, titled lords, the court. All in a festive array of new clothes and general merriment to greet Madame. She wasn’t coming to see me, but see me she would. How would it be after so many years? When she saw my face again, would it remind her?

  When Richmond retired to his rooms, I started for my bedchamber, but Prudence wrung her hands, eyeing me.

  “Is something wrong?”

  She nodded furiously. “One of me old friends was arrested fer preaching in public.” Her face broke into worried lines. “May I have permission ta go ta Newgate Prison and buy his release?”

  I glanced to make sure Richmond wasn’t near enough to hear. “Who?”

  She hesitated. “Admiral Penn’s son, milady. Tha judge locked tha whole jury up with him because they refused ta find him guilty. He was jest trying to prove England’s common law heritage, show that people have rights.” Her lips trembled.

  My eyes widened. “No wonder he is in prison. He is sharp enough to start a revolution.”

  Her brows pinched together. “Please. Won’t ye let me do as I wish?”

  I took a breath, waited for the sadness to pass. “I once promised King Charles that I would look after you, protect you. This is a Royalist household. I won’t let you disgrace our name to chase foolish ideals.”

  “Royalist?” She straightened her shoulders. “I have no use fer kings. Milady, I warn ye, if ye don’t let me help him, I won’t be in yer service by tha time ye set off for Dover.”

  I stared at her, trying to decide whether I envied her strength or feared it. “It would be a waste of every farthing you’ve ever earned.” I cut the air with my hand. “You cannot do it.”

  Within a fortnight, Prudence disappeared.

  CHAPTER 66

  Dover Castle

  September

  “Don’t worry,” said Richmond, stroking my hand. “You look magnificent.”

  So did he. He had, once again, extended his credit to deck both of us in the richest clothing attainable. I gazed from the windows of Dover Castle, down soaring white cliffs guarding the Channel. But I wasn’t just worried about receiving Madame. My treatment of Prudence had shaken a regret deep within me. She’d only asked for things I’d sought myself. I longed to know she was well, to apologize, to give her my blessing. I will never make such a mistake again.

  When Madame’s ship was finally spotted, King Charles took the dukes of York and Monmouth and Prince Rupert out in the flagship to fetch her. They disembarked at the port with Madame and a few of her ladies before her ship and household of two hundred attendants had even docked.

  At the castle entrance I stood behind the queen in perfect position as King Charles walked up with Madame on his arm. When he brought her into close range, my breath caught. She was so changed. She wore the most luxurious silk ensemble I’d seen in years and a tasteful array of diamonds and pearls. An ermine-lined cloak draped her shoulders, and silver-slippered toes poked from her trailing skirts with each step. She was perfectly poised as she greeted Queen Catherine and kissed each of her cheeks. But her face, sallow and drawn, was missing the crucial Stuart liveliness.

  When Queen Catherine stepped aside and turned to walk her into the great hall, Madame’s gaze fell on me. My heart nearly stopped. I curtsied low.

  She leaned forward, took my arms, and urged me up. Her eyes, deeply shadowed and crinkly along the edges now, filled with kindness.

  I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her frail body as if we were children again.

  She laughed, dismissing my breach of etiquette. She embraced me, and when we looked into each other’s eyes again, we both wore smiles of understanding. I had always loved her, and perhaps she couldn’t help but love me, too.

  King Charles had Dover Castle adorned with splendors to regale Madame, and each hour was packed with constant entertainment. The Duke of York brought actors in from London to play for her. Balls went into late hours of the night, though she never danced. Through the banquets, games, and receptions, she always sat. And at suppers, Madame never ate. She sipped milk, not wine, and used her fork to toy with food on her plate. Her fatigue, though concealed behind her perfect smile, was evident to me.

  She asked Queen Catherine if I could wait on her a few nights. Thus, we sat on her bed sharing stories about Colombes, remembering the years that connected us. I looked at miniature portraits of her daughters with heavy longing in my chest. I held her hand when she told me of her son’s death and a stillborn girl. She told me of the Queen Mother’s passing with dry eyes. She told me of Louise de La Vallière’s children, that King Louis had finally replaced her, and how lonely she now seemed. She’d tried to move to a convent to repent her life as maîtresse-en-titre, but he forced her to remain at Versailles to conceal the fact that he had a new mistress. Her replacement was our old friend Françoise-Athénaïs de Mortemart, now Marquise de Montespan. My cousin promised that Montespan would become more infamous in her excesses than even Castlemaine.

  At first, we laughed about her husband’s preening vanity. “He’s wretchedly unpleasant.” She pursed her lips. “His fits of rage and jealousy shake the palace walls.”

  “Does he still … entertain men?”

  “He treats his men as one would a wife.” She spoke plainly. “While he treats his wife like butchered meat.” She waved her hand. “I am used to it. If I truly require help, I need only call on King Louis. Of course, my favor with the king infuriates my husband even more, so I must be cautious.”

  I looked down. “And how are things between you and King Louis?”

  “You mean, are we still lovers?” She sighed. “No. That ended between us”—she shot a shadowed glance at me—“long ago. I knew you rejected him.”

  Shocked, I looked up at her. “You did?”

  “Well,” she said. “I didn’t know for sure. But he seemed so offended by you one day when he had been so smitten by you before. I suspected he made an offer to you.”

  “Did you know I refused him to spare your feelings?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “But my pride … I couldn’t forgive either of you for a long time.”

  “Mmm. A trait you share with your brother, I think.” I laughed ironically. “At one time, I thought I could brush away all the hurt by telling you King Louis wanted me to conduct important political business with King Charles. He demanded I come here to form an alliance between France and England the moment I rejected him, you know. I thought you might be persuaded to believe that was all he ever wanted from me.”

  “That was what he wanted even then?”

  I nodded. “He made me s
wear fealty to him. He sent ambassadors with further instructions a few years later. But war with the Netherlands made it impossible—”

  “That is why I’m here,” she whispered, leaning in. “King Louis has finally gotten his alliance with England. Through me.”

  I shook my head, thinking I’d heard her incorrectly. “King Charles formed a Triple Alliance to keep King Louis suppressed. He cannot have one alliance against and another for. Besides, it would cause an outrage with the English people.”

  She smirked. “That is why it is a secret treaty. No one must know. Charles will fulfill his end in his own time. I only tell you so you know King Louis truly did want what he asked of you. It was not just some futile punishment.”

  My shoulders slumped. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “What?” she asked. “Are you surprised at Charles?”

  “Yes.” How could King Charles be so duplicitous? “Quite shocked, really.”

  “I have been working on this for some time, and I am rather surprised at him, too.” She reclined against her pillows. “He has changed.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Since your marriage, he has taken a new approach to political dealings. I know I can trust him, but no one else can. Ministers with clear sight complain he is evasive, shifty, steering one man against another. Some merely say he is empty.”

  I crossed my arms. “If his politics have changed, it is because Lord Clarendon is no longer his chancellor.”

  “Did Clarendon not fall because of you?”

  I changed direction. “If I hadn’t married, King Charles would have divorced Queen Catherine. I could not allow your brother to ruin his honor, embitter his nation.” My throat started to tighten. “He let bitterness chip away at his own soul in my absence. It was only when I nearly died that he did forgive me and by then…”

  “Go on.”

  But I couldn’t.

  She shook her head. “He is still a good man. He will always do what he thinks is right for his country. Balance the extremes. He is judicious, cautious, and cool-headed.”

  I nodded. “There is a sort of honor left in him. He is resolute now in his devotion to Queen Catherine. He will not hear of divorcing her. I do think he can yet be a great king.”

  “You must promise to be good to him.”

  I put my hand on her arm. “Don’t fret. I shall ever be his friend. I promise.”

  * * *

  Madame went home from Dover and, in about a month, we received word at Whitehall that she had died. Buckingham raved that her heartless husband poisoned her, and an angry mob attacked the French embassy in London. King Charles retired sadly with Queen Catherine. She was the best to offer him comfort. Richmond took me home, and I cried myself to sleep that night.

  CHAPTER 67

  Whitehall Palace

  February 1672

  King Charles wrapped one arm around my shoulder and nuzzled his nose against my cheek. I inhaled deeply to catch that whiff of sandalwood and Stuart. Much as I tried to suppress them, I felt familiar sparks of wistfulness and longing. But no passion. That had long since dimmed.

  “I trust your husband knows by now that you have the finest legs in England.”

  I shoved my hand against his chest lightly, pretending to push him off. “Of course he does. You know better than anyone I couldn’t live without some passion in my life.”

  King Charles tightened his embrace. “You seem well content, and for that I’m glad.”

  Even if I hadn’t made that last promise to Madame, I would have remained King Charles’s loyal friend. At times, indeed, we were so friendly it roused the old suspicion I was his lover. As I gazed across the Banqueting House at subtle glances tossed our way, I knew this would be one of those times.

  Richmond, standing across the hall with Cornbury, swigged a sip of whisky from the flask in his pocket. His eyes met mine and he grinned. It reminded me not to let King Charles’s caresses linger too long, for every time they called me the king’s mistress, it was calling Richmond a cuckold.

  I’d come to see the king’s repeated flirtations as subtle requests. As if he sought reassurances to himself that he still had his old angelic Stuart’s regard. “At one time you promised to declare to all England that mine are the finest legs in the land.”

  “Which I’ve honored. Your portrait as Britannia will be on the copper farthings minted next year.”

  My smile widened. “That will make your new mistress flutter with worry.”

  He tried to stifle his laugh. “Yes.”

  Shortly after Madame’s death, King Louis sent one of her maids of honor, Louise de Kéroüaille, to England to plant herself in King Charles’s bed and in his politics. Some said she used my old “trick” of holding on to her virtue as long as she could to enflame the king’s ardor. It had worked. The fresh-faced girl was the new official mistress.

  “On the other hand, your old mistress will hardly notice. She is quite content with her new title.”

  “Yes,” he said, laughing again. “Barbara started hectoring me to make her Duchess of Cleveland as soon as she learned you were a duchess.”

  “It won’t be long before Louise wants to be a duchess, too.”

  “She takes jabs from the people for my sake. Indeed, she’s incurred such hatred from the people, I’d do almost anything to secure honors for her.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. I was a mistress who had refused to suffer for his sake. But he appeared nonplussed, merry as ever, apparently not meaning to slight me by his remark. “Your Majesty, I want to thank you.”

  “For the coins?”

  “For Richmond’s appointment.”

  The glimmer left his eyes. “If anyone can present themselves in a splendor of ostentatious finery to the Danish, it’s Richmond. I want them to be impressed by our wealth. The position of ambassador extraordinaire to Denmark suits him.”

  “He longs to be a credit to England and perform a service for Your Majesty that is consistent with his rank.”

  King Charles loved to dislike poor Richmond even still. He had accepted his presence at court, dined with us, even drank himself drunk with Richmond at times. But his subtle resentment always pervaded the rest of the court. If the king could really forgive him, Richmond might regain the regard he deserved.

  King Charles’s gaze landed on someone behind me. He patted my hip and pulled away. Strange, even after all this time, the loss of his touch saddened me. “I’m going to pay the queen a call now, to see if she is feeling better.”

  I turned my cheek, which he promptly kissed. “Oh,” he said quickly. “Be nice to Louise, would you? For my sake.” Then he walked away.

  “Your Grace of Richmond and Lennox.”

  I turned to see Arlington, with Kéroüaille hanging on his arm looking tearful.

  “Your Grace,” he repeated as he bowed low. “You have the best French—would you speak to Louise? I want to catch up with the king to discuss—” He glanced at Kéroüaille. “A personal matter.”

  “Oui,” I said with an easy smile.

  He bowed and hustled away.

  A terrified expression flashed across her face, but she concealed her feelings quickly. She curtsied to me, then swept her glance up and down my person with a pretend hauteur. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped her fan.

  I felt a slight twinge of sympathy for her. “I hear the new French ambassador is taken with you, ever pressing you with beautiful gifts,” I said in French.

  “All to decorate my new rooms at Whitehall. I’ll have the most luxurious décor, the finest of everything. King Charles insists I shall have anything I wish.” She gave me a little smirk.

  “Yes. King Charles is very generous.”

  She placed both hands on her flat bodice front. “He is especially now.”

  Was she with child? All sympathy vanished in a rush of jealousy. Richmond and I had tried to get him his heir. We were disappointed time and again. “Lord Arlington will be a great a
dvocate for you in your condition.”

  “Do you really think I should continue to allow Lord Arlington to sponsor me?” She narrowed her eyes. “I shall surely need a determined advocate.” She leaned her head toward me. “I shall need protection, a title, money, an estate, and a title for my child. And when it comes to the queen, so frail and always ill, I will need someone to negotiate for me. It is only a matter of time before—well—before King Charles will need a new queen.”

  I excused myself, found Richmond, and made him take me home.

  * * *

  I tossed about in my bed that night. I tried fervently to forget Kéroüaille and our differences. I had placed honor above love. Was honor all I had left? Almost all. I tore open the bed curtains, padded into Richmond’s chamber, and climbed into bed with him. “Rich?”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, voice groggy.

  “Nothing.” I tucked myself under his arm. “Will it bother you if I sleep here? Does your head still ache?”

  “Yes—I mean, no. You won’t bother me, of course. But yes, my head aches.”

  “Then lean into me—let me hold you.”

  I did have an honorable marriage with my husband. He would be an ambassador. With time, we would have heirs, a large family to fill our estates. Richmond leaned over me and kissed me, deeply. Perhaps I would be with child even before he took leave. We had our title, and Richmond’s reputation would soon be repaired. We were free to pursue happiness together.

  * * *

  I did not get with child in the months before Richmond left. In Denmark he worked diligently and finally earned the praise he longed for from King Charles. We wrote often. I managed our affairs while he was gone. I missed him. I prayed he would fulfill his mission quickly and come home to me so we could build our family.

  But before the end of the year, before the mission was complete, King Charles presented himself at Richmond House with a troop of Life Guards dressed in black. I stood before the wall of windows and watched him cross the room toward me. I saw the anguish in his eyes, saw the roll of parchment with huge black seals clutched in his hand. He had come to give me grave news. Richmond had died in Denmark.