His Last Mistress: The Duke of Monmouth and Lady Henrietta Wentworth

by Andrea Zuvich

  Henrietta looked to the large window, and hoped that they were not being seen – for being alone with the Duke would certainly ruin her good reputation.

  She gave a sad little laugh.

  “That is just the trouble, do not you see? I am not immune to your qualities, Your Grace.”

  His face brightened considerably at this, “Then, dearest Henrietta, there is hope for me after all?” He took her hand between his palms.

  She snatched her hand away, simultaneously disgusted and inflamed by his touch.

  “Nay, Your Grace, there can be no hope for you. I am betrothed to Richard, Earl of Thanet, and this I am certain you know. I will be his wife one day.”

  “Pray, do not torment me thus! And do not call me ‘Your Grace!’ I would be content if you would call me your own James, your Jemmy.”

  “It would be disrespectful of your position, Your Grace, to refer to you as such. And, remember, I have heard another call you by this name before, so therefore you are another’s ‘Jemmy,’ as well.” She had an air of one wounded when she said this.

  He reached out and touched her shoulder but she stepped away from him. “I have not yearned for a woman as I’ve yearned for you! Five years! I have never had to wait so long for a woman.”

  “You’ll have to keep on waiting. I am not one of your court trollops - I was brought up to be a faithful and devoted wife, and I intend to be no less.”

  “I see your face in my dreams, I think of you always, I must be by your side…I’m mad for you,” he added, huskily.

  So he only wanted her favours after all? “If you’re in need of a woman, this debauched court is filled with women who would happily go to your bed, but I am not one of them.”

  “If I wanted another woman, I would have them in an instant!” he said in frustration. She made for the door and he surged forward and took her by her shoulder, “But I do not want anyone else,” he pleaded, “I want you and only you, Henrietta, dearest, now…forever.”

  She pushed him away and moved to the wall. She had to strike back at him, for he was quickly winning her over; “Nay, this is merely your fondness for the chase speaking, and not the truth from your heart,” she countered, with anger in her eyes. “If your feelings towards me were honourable you would do me the courtesy of leaving me alone. I belong to another man! I have given him my word. You must leave me alone. I pray thee, end thy suit.”

  She could have run out of the room then, but her legs would not budge, and she stood there as if affixed to the very floor like two nails hammered through wood.

  “Nay, I cannot,” he whispered. He slowly walked closer towards her, “I have chased many a lady in my life, ‘tis true, but never did my heart bleed as it does now, as it has done ever since I first spoke with you that night of the masque.”

  She shook her head, “Then you look with your eyes and not with your heart! You are married, Your Grace, you have a wife and children. You also have children with Eleanor Needham. It is all so utterly wrong! I was not raised to be the type of woman to be seduced with words uttered by a libertine. To allow myself to be used and disgraced like some common…”

  “But you know that I did not choose my wife! And Eleanor was a welcome distraction from my loneliness, ‘tis true, I have told you this afore. My heart, my soul, chooses you!” He made towards her.

  “I am a maiden, Your Grace, my only prize is my virtue, my chastity. You say that your heart chooses me, but for how long will this passion you feel for me last once you’ve had me? Once I am disgraced and cast off from my family – no man will wish to marry me – not even the Earl of Thanet, whom I know loves me. I have little money to tempt men as it is. Men such as Your Grace use women for sport and then discard them, regardless of the hurt you will undoubtedly cause to heart of another.”

  Monmouth took her hand between his with reverence. “I know I have behaved badly in the past, but I am no malefactor. I can only give you my word, Henrietta, please, trust me. I will want no other but you for the rest of my days, and if I were free to offer you my hand, God knows I would. Do not marry the Earl. Be mine.”

  He gently pressed her against the large tapestry on the wall, and she did not struggle.

  “For the first time in my life, I know what love is, and I love thee, Henrietta, I love thee.”

  He tilted her head up and slowly, tenderly, kissed her hesitant lips. He then gazed in to her eyes, where he beheld her expression of great sadness, for she felt that she had lost the fight. He sensed that she had surrendered to him, in spite of herself. He wished to remove all the sadness from those eyes and as he bent forward to kiss her again, he prayed to be able to do just that.

  Chapter 8

  As soon as he had kissed her that second time, she had run away, terrified that she would not be able to say no to him, but even more horrified to discover that she did not wish to deny him anything. She raced to Richard’s lodgings, leaving a trail of gossiping courtiers in her wake, and burst in upon him in his study. She grabbed him by his embroidered coat with both fists, and kissed him hard and full, taking him by surprise.

  “Richard, you must marry me now!” she exclaimed, breathing heavily, “You must take me away from court, the sooner the better. For your sake and mine!”

  “Henrietta, darling, I would marry you this instant, but I want to have everything ready for you. My house is not yet ready for a mistress and I want only the best for you. I only ask for some more time. A summer wedding would be ideal…”

  “God above, it will be too late!”

  “Hold now, whatever do you mean by too late? I only ask that we wait four or five months. I do not understand the urgency, what is going on?”

  “Oh, nothing! Nothing!” she cried, unhappily.

  “It cannot be nothing, something has changed, I know. It isn’t like you to burst in on me as you have – and not appropriate for us to be alone together, as we now are.”

  She began to weep. “I am trapped, don’t you see? I did not wish to alarm you, but the Duke of Monmouth – he…he has been pursuing me since that day we spoke of him at Whitehall. I cannot bear it any longer.”

  “Monmouth…with such a man, I wonder if you truly want to marry me at all.” There was sorrow in his voice, which caused her to feel no little guilt.

  “How can you say this, after what I have just come here to say to you?”

  “Hush now, dear lady,” he said tenderly, hesitantly placing his hands upon her shoulders. “I must ask you to leave now, and I shall think over the matter at hand.”

  “What is there to think of? You want to marry me and I want it to be sooner, rather than later.”

  “If you so wish to be my wife, you shall have to obey my wishes in this.”

  Henrietta nodded, “Of course,” wiping away her tears with the handkerchief.

  She retreated to her room, confused, and despairing. She hated herself for wanting Monmouth. In spite of everything he had done, the depravity he was capable of - murder, licentiousness, violence - she wanted him. Desiring him went against everything she had stood for and believed in. He was the antithesis of what was right for her, she thought, a man whom she could never trust. He was a man who was surely doomed through his own flaws of character.

  She slumped down in a chair before her looking-glass, seized her hairbrush and ferociously began to brush her ash blonde hair. The Earl simply had to marry her – and take her away from court. Monmouth would then be in the past – a handsome, feckless man who had once desired her. She could live content that she had attracted the most handsome man in the world, but stayed virtuous and true to herself and her beliefs.

  But it was not to be.

  The Earl of Thanet soon came, pacing back and forth about the room as he spoke.

  “I have heard the rumours, Henrietta, about the Duke. I cannot compete with him, and if he has set his sights upon you, I am not strong enough to fight him.”

  “That is just the trouble, you see, for I fear that I do not have t
he strength to fight him either. He pursues me relentlessly.”

  They remained in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Richard’s heart was breaking before her very eyes, and yet she did not love him.

  “Then…we have to end it. I release you from our betrothal.”

  “Richard, no!” she cried, her eyes wide with the shock of what he had said.

  “Yes, I do this because I would not have you marry me if you did not love me as I love you.”

  She stood mute, for she knew then that she loved him not.

  “They do not call him the terror of husbands and lovers for no reason,” he said with a sad little chuckle, “I will not share you, Henrietta, and so it is easier not to have you at all.”

  “You leave me like a sheep to a wolf. You yourself said that he is a villain, did you not? You said that he should have languished in a gaol cell or have been hanged by now.”

  “I spoke more with jealousy than truth when I spoke to thee of him. Everyone knows of his foul deeds, but few ever speak of his good qualities. Aye, I must confess, he has them, for I have made enquiries and know of them now. The Duke has a kind and generous heart, despite his lecherous ways. He did much to help during the Great Fire and his care and compassion for the soldiers in his regiments is unequalled. He is beloved by the common folk throughout the kingdom, for he possesses the gift of being able to converse with anyone - be he rich or poor. The King knows this well enough, and that is why he has forgiven him so readily many times past, though some say that the King has spoiled him.”

  Henrietta sat quietly, thinking over what Richard had said. “I do not know what to say.”

  He took her hand, “You needn’t say a word. I will love you always, Henrietta. I hope, nay, I pray that you will be happy.”

  Chapter 9

  Already the entire court was swept up in fevered rumour. Rumours that Monmouth had become besotted by Lady Wentworth, or that Lady Wentworth dissolved her engagement with the Earl of Thanet to run away with the Duke of Monmouth. Whispers, innuendos, and plain fabrication roared everywhere around her. In the weeks that passed, she felt stifled by the constant questioning by the other ladies-in-waiting, the whispers as she passed courtiers in the halls, the sneers of the self-righteous few, and the judgement of those who she knew were her moral inferiors.

  Henrietta had not had the time to write a letter to her mother explaining why the Earl had released her from their betrothal, for her mother, having been informed about the scandal that was erupting around her daughter, took action and demanded she return to Toddington Manor at once. Part of Henrietta felt shame at being forced to leave court and the service of the queen, but she did also wish to be free.

  It was too much. All she had ever wanted was a quiet life, and now, she was unwittingly thrust into the limelight to become the subject of universal conversation, through no fault of her own. She was angry with herself – she felt weak and stupid, was she as easy as other girls who had debased themselves by falling prey to his seductions?

  And so she made haste. Servants packed her things away into trunks; her dresses and fans, stockings and cosmetics, and she made her farewells to the Queen and her friends. She gave one last look at the red-bricked St. James’s Palace, a place she had known for many years, and stepped into the carriage. Past the bare trees of St. James’s Park, and the villages, she looked at the people – from the mop-sellers to the farmers herding along their animals to market, trudging along despite the bitter cold. Each person had their role in life, their part to play.

  As the wheels of the carriage jostled her about upon the old Roman road to the North, she had ample time to ponder over what had happened, and she was bedevilled by guilt as she remembered Richard’s tears. But, she remembered, it was he who had ended their betrothal. She crossed her arms in frustration, knowing that had he married her quickly, they would be away from the temptations of court, and the attentions of that dark duke. She was sure that, in time, she would have come to love Richard, and Monmouth would be nothing more than a distant memory. But as things now were, she was free, unattached, and he would soon know of her flight to Toddington. She dared not think of the possibility that he would pursue her thither, and yet, the memory of his kiss consumed her, and she lightly brushed her lips with her fingertips in remembrance of that short joy that he had bestowed upon her.

  “I love thee, Henrietta, I love thee…” His words echoed again and again in her head, and she opened the carriage window to let in the frosty air as if it could blow his words from her mind.

  As the carriage drove into the wintry grounds of Toddington Manor, she looked out the window at the imposing structure that she called home. With four circular towers, at each end, the great rectangular building had welcomed many illustrious personages during its existence – from Queen Elizabeth to the Duke of Buckingham, but its splendour had decreased significantly since Cromwell’s time, and the last Baron Wentworth had been a spendthrift, and it was Henrietta’s mother’s responsible management of the property and the Wentworth finances that enabled them to continue living in their ancestral home.

  Upon hearing the sound of the wheels against the gravel path, Lady Philadelphia, dressed in a simple blue gown and wrapped up warmly in a thick shawl, rushed out to greet her daughter. As soon as she could, Henrietta flew into her mother’s arms and cried, “Oh, Mamma! Forgive me!”

  “There, there, my child, at least you are home, you’re safe. Now, come inside, it is exceedingly cold out tonight.”

  She was ushered into the house, whilst the servants unpacked the carriage and the horses were taken to the stables and looked after. Lady Philadelphia urged her pale daughter to sit by the fire where both sipped warm ale.

  “I shall not press you for information now, my dearest, but I am concerned. Perhaps tomorrow, when you have rested, you may like to discuss what happened in London.”

  “I would dearly like to converse with you now upon this matter, Mama, for I have had it pressing upon my chest for some time now, without another soul to speak to of it.”

  “Certainly - as you wish.”

  “Our engagement is at an end, through no fault of my own, please be in no doubt of that. I spurned the Duke’s advances time and again, but he refuses to be denied. I suppose that is what befalls men who are spoiled in their youth. He was never denied anything. Richard believed that even if I were to marry him that would be no impediment for the Duke. He would attempt to woo me, married or no.”

  “Do you have love in your heart for the Duke?” her mother asked, gently.

  Henrietta had known the answer to this question for some time now, “Aye, mother, I love him. In spite of his many faults, I love him for the man I now know he is, not the man he is reputed to be. I did not think anyone could be wholly bad. People have been warning me against him for years now, but he has ever been good to me.”

  “My poor daughter, after this scandal, your reputation hangs by a thread. I so wished you could marry! It certainly was not easy to catch even Thanet, for there was Feversham, and the others, and none of them wanted you because of the little money you would take. I only hope Monmouth loves you as you do him, though I have heard how inconstant a lover he is.”

  “He has said that he does, but he thinks I think ill of him. I have been uncivil to him; I’ve tried to push him away by being horrid. Now he will never know what I truly think, how I truly feel. I have tried, mother, I have tried so very hard to put him out of my thoughts, keep him locked out of my heart, but I am weaker than I knew. Please do not be troubled; my reputation will survive this, I am sure of it. The Duke of Monmouth is in the past, he will find another to pursue. I do not think I shall ever see him again.”

  “That is for the best, do you not agree? There is only sadness in store for you were you to become his mistress - a terrible fate.”

  “Aye, mother. I would be harming another - a woman I do not know and have never seen - were I to have accepted his attentions. I cannot ever let myself for
get that, before God, and in the eyes of the law, he belongs to Anna Scott, body and soul. It would be a crime to become associated with him, no matter how I long for him. It is not to be.” She shed a tear then, feeling acutely the pain of never seeing him again. “I pray thee, let us speak no more of him, it vexes me to do so.”

  “Very well, my child, we’ll speak no more of him.”

  At length, Henrietta dried her tears and smiled, “I must confess to the joy I have to be back home here in Toddington. I have missed it so. I’ve missed the green expanses of Bedfordshire.”

  “I think you need some rest after your journey and from having to endure the ignominious tittle-tattle of courtiers.”

  She attempted a smile. “I will go up to my room now. Thank you, Mamma.” She kissed her mother’s cheek, and slowly walked down the old corridor and up the great oak staircase. She ran her hand along the banister, and cast her eyes down the stairwell to where the costly red Turkish rug lay. The mediaeval tapestries adorned the walls, the portraits of her ancestors, which dotted the dark wooden walls. So many memories, and she smiled in recollection of them all.

  As she opened the door to her bedroom, she was comforted by the sight of familiar things. The large oak four-posted tester bed, her dressing table with its gilded framed looking-glass, sitting against the wood-panelled wall beside the casement window, with its ancient iron bars and glass. The wainscoted panels covering the walls in oak and the two polished brass wall sconces, fitted with new beeswax candles. The hearth, on whose mantelpiece rested her doll from her childhood and a miniature portrait of her father from the time of the Civil Wars, hidden inside its velvet pouch. The servants had lit the fire, so the room was a comfortable temperature in spite of the draught.

  Her nights were restless; she could think only of him. She had left court without saying goodbye to him, without seeing him one last time. She could still feel his hands upon her shoulders; his lips upon her lips. The memory intoxicated her, and again she felt the burning flames of intense emotion in her chest.