Arden's Act

by Elizabeth Thomas

  Courtenay introduced Arden to Pepys, who said: “Mistress Malley! What a pleasure to meet you! I am so glad you have decided to return to our stage, though I offer my condolences for the loss of your husband.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Pepys,” she said softly, bestowing a quick curtsey. Bloody Malley again, thought Courtenay.

  That baggage Brinks sat here as well, leaning intimately against her patron. Courtenay saw her shoot a pleading glance at Arden, presumably asking her silence. Arden offered her the briefest reassuring shake of the head. Courtenay smiled, wondering why Kitty didn’t beg his silence. Perhaps she had more brains than met the eye. After all, he had no intention of bringing their brief interlude into the conversation.

  Following more cordial greetings from the rest of the table, he and Arden sat down and ate the meal they’d brought from the board. Stewards brought white wine and poured it into their goblets. Fine-tasting vintage―the King did not skimp. Arden, Courtenay could see, appreciated it as well.

  *****

  The crisp, clean taste of the wine lingered in Arden’s mouth as liveried servants cleared the plates. She still could not believe she was actually here, dining as an invited guest of the King. No doubt she could thank the handsome man beside her for it, but she knew the King liked her in her own right. And not just in the same way he liked all women, which was how she wanted it. Arden turned to Courtenay and met his eyes, smiling. She squeezed his hand under the table, and felt its warm, gentle pressure in return. One of his fingers stroked her palm, tickling her into a laugh.

  “Very good, Mr. Pepys!” she said, disguising it as a response to the naval clerk’s jest. Courtenay’s knowing glance made it even more difficult to maintain a semblance of composure. Arden looked away in time to see Charles II slip out from under Castlemaine and move towards her.

  “Lord Robert!” the King exclaimed. “I must speak with your lovely companion.” He extended his large hand to take hers, helping her up from the table, and led her across the Banqueting Hall to a far corner.

  “Dear Mistress Malley,” he said, keeping her hand. “I wanted to offer my deepest sympathy for Mr. Malley’s passing. From all reports, he was a decent fellow. To inspire your loyalty, he must have been even more than that.” His dark eyes were kind.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Arden acknowledged.

  “I didn’t want to tell you that before Lord Robert,” the King continued. “I know he is jealous of your late husband’s memory.”

  And he will respond so much better to your bringing me to a quiet corner! But of course she dared not say such a thing.

  “I know, I know, he will not like this either,” said the King, saving her the trouble. “But he will get over it, since I am his King as well as yours. And he will also get over my choosing you to help me lead the first dance. The Lady Castlemaine is not very graceful these days.”

  “Your Majesty, you do me too much honor!” protested Arden. “Besides, growing up at the mercy of a Puritan head of household as I did, I have not sufficient practice at dancing to be fitting partner to my King.”

  “Even with all the time you’ve spent with the Duke’s Company?”

  “Even so,” Arden confirmed.

  “Well then, Lord Robert has been remiss in not escorting you to many merry occasions, where you might have perfected your skills. He must now pay the price―don’t worry, I am a strong lead,” Charles concluded, propelling her towards the center of the room.

  The guests and the musicians had seen the King rise, and all had scurried to make ready. Stray notes wandered forth, and two more or less orderly lines of dancers formed for the contra. As promised, Arden’s sovereign led her smoothly down the aisle the dancers created as soon as the players began in earnest. The music of the various stringed instruments sounded glorious; her body’s movements and the King’s firm touch felt glorious, too. Arden stole glances at both Lord Robert and Castlemaine. She managed to catch the former in the act of quickly smoothing the displeasure from his features, but the latter did not bother with such subterfuge and scowled at her.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  At the end of their promenade, Charles handed her off to Robert. In clasping her hand, Courtenay did his best to assert his possession of her.

  “You enjoyed that entirely too much,” he whispered in her ear.

  Arden chuckled softly. “For the honor, and because I do quite like him,” she admitted, equally quiet. “But do not bristle so. I am yours entirely, for good or ill.”

  His regret at having to release her to the next dancer in the contra sequence showed plainly in his dark eyes. Once she had been partnered by every man in the line and come back to the King―and had the trial of noticing Courtenay’s turn with Kitty―the song ended. Other songs, ones that allowed Robert to monopolize her as his partner, followed. Though Treadwell’s presence in her life had deprived her of this kind of education, Arden knew enough of dancing to suspect Robert made his desire for her more obvious than usual in such a courtly amusement. None of the other dancers brought his partner so close, and no other broke the progress of the step to exchange long, luxurious kisses. The King, of course, flirted with every partner. This produced alternating stinging looks at Charles and batting eyelashes at Mr. Pepys from Castlemaine, who had forgone the dancing to bask in her temporary need for male tribute.

  Between the dancing and Robert’s attentions, Arden grew warm. When yet another dance ended with their lips together, he whispered, “Let’s go home.”

  “Let’s,” she agreed quietly, “but keep in mind the reason I consent is that I need to feed Helena.”

  They slipped away unnoticed. Sam waited with the coach outside Whitehall. Other vehicles waited as well, but theirs would be the first to move away.

  “I hope His Majesty is not insulted by our departure,” said Arden.

  “If anyone would understand, it would be our King,” Robert replied, lifting her into the coach. Arden heard him give instructions to Sam before he himself took the cushioned seat opposite her.

  “God, I want you,” he whispered, pulling her onto his lap. Even through the multiple barriers of her shift and dress, and his breeches, Arden could feel the firm evidence behind his statement. He kissed her hard, reaching for her breasts but meeting the layers of flannel she had placed in her bustier to guard against leaking milk. Indeed, the long absence from Helena had made her bosom full and sensitive, even painful. Yet his muffled touch excited her, and she felt the cloth near-est her skin dampen.

  “I told you, I have to feed Helena when we get home,” Arden protested, already a little short of breath.

  “You can’t feed her while we’re in the coach,” he said slyly, abandoning her swaddled breasts for her waist. He bent his head to kiss her throat, then allowed his lips to travel upward to where her diamond earring clung to her left ear.

  “But what about Sam?”

  “Sam is taking his time, and is entirely respectful of our privacy.”

  Because Courtenay had taken the backwards-facing seat, Arden, straddling him, could see that his manservant could not possibly spy upon them. She gave in then, allowing him to reach down and push her skirts up to her hips, his hands slipping under and questing until they touched the newly-bared skin of her upper thighs. Now only the rich brown velvet of his breeches prevented Arden from taking him into her, and she edged herself even further forward upon him than he had pulled her. Her arms wrapped even more tightly around his neck.

  “Ah, yes, my love,” he murmured, his fingers caressing her and working their way further around with each caress to her inner thighs. She gasped as he finally stroked the lips of the opening between them. He teased her gently with one hand, working on the opening of his breeches with the other. His touch exquisite, Arden struggled not to cry out her mingled pleasure and increasing desire. I must be wicked to be so wanton for him, she thought. She stifled a moan as she felt his manhood, finally released, hard against her mons.

  “Moan all yo
u want to, Arden,” he murmured. “Between the coach walls and the street noise, not even Sam will hear.” He cupped her buttocks in his hands, lifting her enough to slide her back down upon his waiting shaft. She did give in then, and cried out with the sheer relief of having him finally inside her.

  Arden moved upon him then, forcing herself to proceed slowly. She gripped his hips tightly with her thighs, supporting herself with her knees and lower legs against the silk of the coach’s cushions. He returned his hands to her hips, holding her firmly but helping her move, helping her take as much of him into her as possible. They used the motion of the coach to their best mutual advantage, and Arden absorbed the sweet effect of every raised cobblestone the vehicle rolled over.

  When they had both reached satisfaction, they stayed joined for a time, Courtenay holding her tenderly on his lap. He stretched beneath her just a little, opening the window separating them from Sam only enough to tell him he was now free to head straight to Arden’s lodgings. “You amaze me, Arden,” he whispered.

  “And you make me wonder,” she replied. “I cannot believe the wickedness you bring out in me!”

  “’Tis not wickedness. ‘Tis merely impatience.”

  Arden laughed and kissed him again.

  Despite their arrival having caught Helena in mid-wail, Bonnie had managed to ready the fire in Arden’s room. They took their daughter there, and Arden sat again in the rocker. Robert lounged sideways upon the bed, facing them. Though her flannels had become wet during her recent exertions, Arden still had plenty to feed Helena, who quieted quickly once her needs were met.

  “This is all very cozy, Arden,” said Robert, “but wouldn’t you like to go back to the flat I gave you? I still have it.”

  “And imagine you with Kitty every time I walk into the dining room? I think not! Sell your lease.”

  “Well, all right. I can get you another.”

  Despite his light tone, Arden sensed she’d have difficulty getting him to accept her will. “Please don’t take this as any kind of insult,” she began. “But I don’t wish to be kept again.”

  “You said you were mine entirely.”

  “So I did. I do love you, Robert,” she assured him, “but I want to love you freely.”

  He wore a look of utter bewilderment.

  “Brian left me a little, the King rewarded me for Worchester, and I’m doing Brian’s old job as well as my own. I can get by well enough. I needed you to keep me at first―so I’d be safe from Treadwell. Now―now I don’t want to love you because you provide for me. I want to love you because I love you!”

  He looked as though he began to understand, but said: “And what of Helena? When she is older—”

  “Of course you may see that she is educated, that she is well-dowered, and that she wants for nothing. She is your daughter, too.”

  “All right,” he said, “for now, anyway. You can always change your mind later.” The last comment seemed good-humored enough, but after a few moments’ pause, he asked: “Arden?”

  She nodded for him to continue.

  “I’m aware that you had great feeling for your late husband. Yet you say you love me more. I understand why you loved Malley. He rescued you from trouble I brought you. He was, however, almost completely my opposite. Earnest, hard-working, even ambitious, if the rumors I’ve heard about his writing his own play were correct. So―why do you love me?”

  “I did not realize your depth of understanding,” said Arden. “See, there is more for me to love all the time.” She chuckled nervously.

  “Seriously, Arden. Is it mostly lust you feel for me?”

  “Is that what you feel for me?” she returned.

  “You know I cannot resist you―our ride home proved that. Yet though I obviously find you beautiful, it is your fire I love. Your passion for acting, the passion of your response to me. I’ve never known anyone like you. I would love you if your face were plain, if your legs were short and stocky. I find you lovely even in your Puritanic disguise!

  “Now,” he continued, before she could interrupt, “I see myself as having only a few natural advantages over Mr. Malley. The biggest, of course, is being above ground. Oh, don’t look stricken, dear. I’m not trying to be cruel. I’m serious! Life itself is a gift not to be slighted!”

  “True,” agreed Arden, venturing a cautious smile as she switched Helena to her other breast.

  “And then,” Courtenay resumed, “there are my riches―of which you refuse to take advantage. So it cannot be my wealth you love.”

  “No,” Arden agreed quickly.

  “That leaves my looks―and perhaps a moderate amount of skill,” he said.

  His mischievous leer did not fool her. She could tell real feeling stood behind his analysis. While she had no wish to hurt her lover, she could not help defending her husband and friend. “Brian had beautiful eyes,” Arden protested. “And he was very—enthusiastic,” she added, a blush warming her face.

  He nodded acknowledgment of her points, but continued to look expectantly at her.

  Sighing, she bravely began. “I have often said to myself that you were born to please a woman.”

  “So that’s it, then? A handsome man, a good lover? That’s enough to provoke the gift of your heart?”

  “No, of course not!” she cried. “Before I found myself pregnant, before Brian offered to marry me, all sorts of men of wealth and stature showed up the moment you left. They tried to lure me from your keeping. Some of them were even handsome! And yet I turned them all down!”

  “Because we had an understanding, the terms of which had not yet been nullified by Shire’s brutish behavior!”

  “No!” countered Arden. “Because at the time, I was content to wait your return!”

  Helena broke off and uttered a querulous cry at the sharpness of her mother’s tone. Arden patted her gently, and she resumed feeding.

  “But why, Arden?” Courtenay persisted, in a softer voice. “What is it that put me above those others?”

  “Certainly not your talent for aggravation!” she hissed. She kept her voice low enough for Helena with effort. Yet Arden knew he needed an answer, and she wanted to be honest. She did not know exactly why she loved him, why she wanted him more than she had ever wanted her truest friend. Was it mostly lust? She didn’t believe she could be ruled so by that emotion. To calm herself, she took a long, deep breath.

  “You speak of the differences between yourself and Brian,” Arden began. “I assume, when you wonder so much how I could possibly love you, you are seeing yourself as the jaded aristocrat. A reasonably young man who has nothing to do but see plays and wallow in sensual pleasure as he waits for his father to die and make him a Lord.” Reading his face, Arden knew she had guessed his perceptions.

  “And you’re right―I don’t have much of a reason to love that man,” she continued. “But you have more in common with Brian than you think. You have some of his kindness.”

  “Only some?” he queried, bemused.

  “You can say the most scathing things sometimes,” Arden replied. “Brian was incapable.”

  “Fair enough,” Courtenay conceded.

  “Nevertheless, you saved me from an awful fate the first day you met me. And later, when Brian told you about my situation with Treadwell, you helped me.”

  “Oh, yes, and it was so difficult, when helping you fit in so well with my own desires.”

  “Another man, hearing of my shame, might have shunned me as tainted,” said Arden, quietly. “Or taken me back to the alley and given me what his friends thought I should have had the first time. Or decided that even the slightest possibility of dealing with an irate Puritan stepfather made me suddenly unappealing.

  “And,” she continued, “when the time came to introduce me to the act of love, you did it with care and gentleness. Aside from what almost happened to me the day I first arrived in London, I’ve heard many a tale of ‘jaded aristocrats.’ Men such as you claim to be, who’ll take a girl’s
virginity with hardly a thought beyond his own quick satisfaction, hardly a thought that the body he’s using has a mind and a heart to go with it.”

  “So I am at least decent,” countered Courtenay. “There are probably many others equally so.”

  “You are more optimistic than I on that account. One last point,” said Arden, “which I hope shall content you. You spoke of Brian’s hard work and ambition, in contrast to your own idleness. That is a real contradiction. And yet, you have something. A potential, if you will. I don’t know, but I sense it―and love it. If and when you put your whole will to something, you’ll knock the very planets from their orbits.”

  Courtenay laughed, then sighed. “I suppose I should just be glad you think so. I have my doubts.” He looked to the bundle at Arden’s breast. “Is she asleep yet?”

  “Yes.” Arden rose and took her daughter to Bonnie’s room, returning to find the bed turned down on her side and Robert undressed and under the covers on his own. He beckoned to her, and she stripped to her shift and her flannels. She slipped between the sheets and slept in his embrace.

  *****

  Arden woke abruptly a few hours later, still encircled by Robert’s arms. He slept soundly, and Arden easily extricated herself enough to sit upright in the bed. Brian again sat in her rocking chair, smiling at her.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Arden spent a week’s worth of idyllic days with Robert Courtenay. On one morning before her performance, they took Helena, Bonnie, and Sam with them and picnicked in St. James’ Park. On another when she had no performance, they spent the day touring old Great Henry’s Hampton Court, with their present monarch’s blessing and permission. In the evenings Courtenay would return to Arden’s lodgings and they would make love, urging each other to ecstasy upon ecstasy, then relaxing in each others’ arms, talking drowsily and companionably before falling asleep.