Soldier of Fortune: The King's Courtesan (Rakes and Rogues of the Retoration Book 2)

by James, Judith

  “Matters between—”

  Charles held up his hand. “It is nothing. A bagatelle. Matters that are no concern of yours. What is your concern is my proposition. You will marry her. Tonight. You will remove her from London tonight. You will keep your estates and those adjacent and I will give you a coronet to add to your coat of arms. You will be named Baron Nichols, and created Earl of Newport. Henceforth, Miss Mathews will be a lady. A countess, no less. And those who felt themselves too grand for her shall look to you and regret it. You will keep her well and safe, and when I summon her to court, you will parade her as a lady before them all.”

  “So she won’t be my wife, but your mistress?”

  “You will treat her as the lady she is.” There was a sudden frost in the Charles’ tone.

  “And why have I been chosen for this singular honor?” Robert asked, ignoring it.

  “Because Elizabeth assures me you are an honorable man who has shown her only kindness. I trust her judgment and assume you will do the same for Hope. And because no other suitable gentleman of my court will have her due to her lowly birth. Your great-grandfather had no title. He was a junior officer, barely a gentleman. Your grandfather was given a knighthood and your father made baronet for service to King James. You are a gentleman, but without noble roots so deep that you should fail to see the honor. I will, of course, provide her with a generous dowry as well. Such things never go amiss.” His eyes were calculating now, and slightly cold.

  “And if I prefer General Monk’s offer?” He didn’t really know why he asked. The matter was decided the moment the king mentioned Harris’s name. Perhaps he resented the casual assumption that his honor was for sale. Even if it was true, he wasn’t inclined to make the thing easy for them.

  “You will not be given that choice, Captain Nichols. General Monk had proven his loyalty to me. His service to myself and England are incalculable. You, on the other hand, could be a dangerous man. A disgruntled landless soldier prepared to give his allegiance to a military commander before his king. We’ve had our fill of those. You have never served me. You have proven nothing. Do so now, Captain. It is an opportunity that will not come again.”

  “To be clear…you are asking me to be a knowing cuckold, an accomplice to your own adultery, in order to save my lands?”

  “Exactly! Yes. And you shall be amply rewarded for it. Far more so than if you trotted off to God knows where with some ragtag band of mercenaries.”

  The king smiled at Robert’s startled look. “Come now, Captain. Given the circumstances, it can hardly surprise you that I’ve taken a closer look at you and your connections. You are, by all accounts, an honorable man. It doesn’t please me to put you in this position but I can hardly entrust her to someone who is less than honorable, can I?”

  His Majesty’s sudden smile was full of warmth and charm. “But what a poor host I am! Have some dinner. Enjoy the entertainment. Take some time to think. I must see to my lady. We will speak again later, yes? Think carefully though, Captain. Why sell your sword to make your way when I offer you this? It is always better to make new friends, wouldn’t you agree?” He gave Robert a kindly pat on the shoulder. “Besides...she really is a lovely girl. What have you got to lose?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  From dispossessed landowner to favored nobleman, mercenary captain to mercenary husband, and just possibly—from hunter to hunted—the king had set Robert’s world spinning like a master magician, with suggestion, distraction and sleight of hand. But two things were perfectly clear. His prey had resurfaced and was within his grasp, and the elfin beauty who had made him laugh, had in fact, been laughing at him.

  Tired of over-warm bodies and cloying perfume Robert went in search of the garden. He passed the king and his hostess on the way. His Majesty, head bent, was listening intently as his lady whispered something in his ear. Those innocent eyes were sparkling, her laughter sweet as music. Wondering if they spoke of him he stepped outside.

  The sounds of murmured conversation and distant laughter followed him. He settled on a bench beside a gently flowing fountain and leaned back against an arbor wall. He would never have imagined being summoned to court for this…honor. What did one call the paid cuckold to a king? Baron Nichols, Earl of Newport, he thought with mordent humor. Titles he was supposed to accept with pride.

  Well...accept them he would. There was no other choice. Though he’d already come to terms with the loss of Cressly, he could never allow one of his sister’s murderers to walk its halls. Not even for the length of time it took to kill him. He must accept the woman…this marriage. It was a gift, though not in the way the king imagined. Harris will be enraged. After all these years of searching, he will come to me and finally, justice will be served.

  Justice would be served and he would have a new wife. He was well aware of his future bride’s background. All of England followed the exploits and intrigues of their amorous king. It was said she was little better than a common prostitute, likely had been one before she became the mistress of rich and titled men. It wasn’t the pedigree one sought in a wife but he’d never put much credence in gossip and he’d seen too much of war and abandoned women to judge what a person did to survive. In truth, it was his role that rankled more than hers.

  Cuckold, pimp, pander, blind man. This is the duty my king and his lady look for from me. Better men have refused them. Prouder men have said no. General Monk serves England as soldier and statesman. I will serve her as stage dressing, for my adulteress king and his mistress. They had expected it of him. They had assumed he’d sell his honor and his pride for a coronet, some land, and a bag of gold, and they were only partly mistaken. He would never do it for riches—but he would to avenge Caroline. He thought back to the crisp midwinter night he’d kissed Kate Bishop. He’d had no idea that vengeance was about to swallow his life whole. He let out a long sigh. Or bring me so low.

  The soft laughter he’d heard earlier had grown closer and wilder, interspersed now with shouts, clapping and cheers. He got up to investigate, walking down the hedgerow and through a small gap into the big garden backing on the park. The moon was new, barely a sliver, but the pitch-black sky glittered diamond-bright overhead. It was a beautiful night, the air soft and gentle, and the trees stirred softly in the breeze. The doors from the salon were opened and the celebration had moved outside. Acrobats and tumblers performed cartwheels and handsprings, conjurers did tricks with ropes and fire, and torches and candlelight illuminated the garden, bathing everything in it with a magical glow.

  Mistress Mathews’ smiling servants skipped through the crowd handing out garlands and May baskets stuffed with sweetmeats and nuts and overflowing with flowers. Robert’s parents had disapproved of May Day celebrations but he had often snuck down to the village to join in the fun. The king’s nymph was enchanting, clapping and dancing and her merry laugh made him smile. He couldn’t stop a rueful chuckle. The wicked Miss Mathews wasn’t really at fault. It wasn’t she who had chosen him and for the sake of enjoyment he let his resentment and anger slip away. Besides, they may think to use me for their own ends, but after tonight she is mine.

  His smile turned into a grin as the sound of drumming, clapping sticks and jingling bells announced the arrival of a troupe of Morris dancers, traditional entertainers costumed as beast men. There were wolves and bears and antlered gentlemen, and some half-man, half-horse. They performed a number of lively folk dances and the servants brought the food outside, the household musicians joined in, and the wine freely flowed.

  A fiddler and piper broke away, slipping through a slim gated arch in the hedge. Mistress Mathews was close behind them. Wearing a necklace of wildflowers, her hair hanging loose to her waist she skipped barefoot over the moon-silvered grass leading her flock of gaily bedecked guests into the starlit groves and fields of St. James’s Park.

  Robert followed, completely enthralled. They stopped in the middle of a brightly lit clearing to exclamations of delight. Standing in the
center was a tall birch pole, its branches removed except at the top. Garlands, ribbons and wildflowers wrapped around its length. The piper blew a high note, calling for silence, and Miss Mathews’ voice, sounding fine and clear, carried above the crowd.

  “Ladies and gentlemen! Dear friends all. His Majesty would like to remind you, ‘It is now past midnight and tomorrow is today.’ He bids me tell you, ‘There's not a budding boy, or girl, this day, is not got up, and gone to bring in May.’”

  There were shouts and cheers and laughter. The piper played a sprightly tune, and clapping and dancing and singing along, some of the greatest lords and ladies of the land joined in to dance around the maypole. Robert watched Miss Matthews dance with her arms thrown up to the heavens. Not for her the intricate folk steps or careful prancing of her neighbors. She gave herself completely to the music and the moment. He envied her passion. It was something alien to him for far too many years. I wonder... does she do that with everything? Does she do the same when joined with a lover? What would it be like to take her in the soft grass, under the moon and stars?

  “She is enchanting, isn’t she?” The king stood at his shoulder.

  “Yes, she is,” he replied absently, before realizing who it was.

  “As my poet used to say, before he was waylaid, ‘Such sweet tempting mischiefs women are.’” There seemed a hint of regret in his voice.

  Robert sighed, his eyes still on her. “Yes…I know. She’s very beautiful.”

  “Will you have her?”

  “Yes.” What other answer was there?

  “Excellent! I am well pleased. It will be the finest entertainment of the evening.”

  Robert did look at him now, his eyes narrowed. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “You will, Lord Newport. I promise you’ll know it when the time comes. Just play your part and you’ll see soon enough.”

  A gilded carriage had pulled up at the edge of the clearing and His Majesty hurried away to greet it before Robert could respond. Ah, well. What matter how the thing was done? The marriage was a farce in any case. Why shouldn’t it be a part of the evening’s entertainment? Resigned and incurious, he lifted a glass of Rhenish from the tray of a passing jack-in-the-green and put it from his mind.

  He wandered closer to the maypole and leaned against a tree, his arms folded, curious, but not inclined to join the dance. Several ladies were on the edges of the clearing, rustling in the brushes on hands and knees and crawling in the grass. He cocked his head and watched with bemusement.

  “They are collecting the dew,” de Veres said from right behind him. “Surely you’ve heard the nursery rhyme.…

  “‘The fair maid who, the first of May

  Goes to the fields at break of day

  And washes in dew from the hawthorn tree

  Will ever after handsome be.’

  “’Tis also said it will help her capture the heart of the man of her choosing. Are you annoyed with Lizzy? She seems to think so.”

  Robert took his eyes off his fiancée regretfully and glanced coolly at de Veres. “I’ve yet to decide. When I know, I’ll be sure to inform you. I take it she’s curious as to what comes from her meddling. You can tell her she’ll see for herself soon enough.”

  He returned his attention to the dancers in the glade, stiffening when he felt de Vere’s hand on his shoulder. He didn’t look back when he spoke. “For reasons I can’t fathom, she seems fond of you. But if you don’t remove your hand…”

  William opened his hand and lifted it, then carefully straightened the back of Robert’s coat. He spoke close to his ear, his voice a combination of amusement and warning. “Anything that concerns Lizzy is my affair, Captain. A thing you’d be wise to remember.”

  Robert shrugged, and a moment later the poet was gone. He smiled to himself. Good for Elizabeth. It seemed her roguish poet guarded her well.

  A sounding of horns and the ringing of bells marked the arrival of a tall man wearing a sun mask of beaten gold. His left hand held a gilded staff wrapped with flowers and ivy. He bent his knee and held his right hand out to Hope. She took it with a jubilant smile. He rose and turned to face the crowd and led her out, presenting her.

  “‘Hail, bounteous May that dost inspire

  Mirth, and youth, and warm desire!

  Woods and groves are of thy dressing;

  Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.

  Thus we salute thee with our early song,

  And welcome thee, and wish thee long.’

  “Lords and ladies, fellow revelers…I present to you, our lovely Queen of May!”

  ~

  “Oh, Charles! What a wonderful surprise!” Hope almost had to shout for him to hear above the cheering so she threw her arms round his neck. “It’s a night I will always remember. Thank you!” It was a great honor to be chosen Queen of the May. In villages and towns and cities across Britain all the unmarried women vied for that prize. Yet Charles had chosen her over a bevy of noble beauties. Her eyes shone as bright as any star as Charles gently extricated himself from her embrace and placed the leafy staff in her hands.

  “Your scepter, my lady. And now…” Charles slowly circled the glade, his finger dipping and rising as if he were counting each man that he passed. “The May Queen...” there was a hush of anticipation, “must have…a May King!” His finger tapped Robert’s shoulder.

  “Why not me?” the Duke of Buckingham shouted to roars of laughter.

  Ignoring him, Charles drew Hope and Robert to stand in front of the Maypole. “It is my decree that Miss Mathews be the Queen of May, and Lord Newport, Baron Nichols, be her consort.” The announcement generated excited whispers as well as applause. “I call now for a priest of the wood to step forward, to bestow a blessing on the joining of the Lord and Lady of May.”

  Hope was a little surprised at this turn of events, but she grinned and tried to straighten the flower wreath that was sliding over her brow. Giving up after her third attempt, she turned to give her towering consort a winsome smile. Buckingham would have been a more comfortable choice but the captain made her heart beat faster and she supposed it might be fun continuing the game she’d started earlier, trying to make him smile.

  A shower of roses was thrown at their feet, and Hope was adorned with a necklace of willow and ivy entwined with flowers matching those strewn through her hair. Robert grew impatient when he was crowned with a wreath of flowers and draped with a rainbow-hued scarf, but Hope was glowing, her smile was contagious and she looked so delightful with her flowered crown that he couldn’t play the churl. For a moment he wished the this night was real and they were lovers joined in truth. He felt a pang, keen as a blade, for innocence lost.

  The merry din around them rose as the crowd made way for a corpulent man wearing the robes of a priest, a green mask, a chaplet of leaves, and a mantel made of flowers. “I will perform the blessing, great lord,” he said with a deep bow. He went to stand between Hope and Robert. The crowd hushed, straining to hear him. “Children of the maypole! The woods have echoed with joy and mirth and now the hour is at hand. The winter is put behind us and before us the joys of summer await. Sweet May has returned, and awaits the dawning of the sun.” He made a sweeping gesture to the king. The sun bowed graciously to wild cheers as the priest took Robert and Hope by the hand.

  “To honor this gentlest, merriest month, fertile and sweet and toward lovers inclined, here stand the Lord and Lady of May, whom I shall now join in marriage. Up with you now and to the dance. Join us in laughter and song and wish a toast on the marriage of the Lord and Lady of the May!”

  Suddenly jack-in-the-greens were everywhere bearing trays of wine. Several barrels of mead were broken open and the guests surged forward to join the May King and Queen in a toast. A fiddler started up, a piper joined in, and a ring of animal men encircled them—and as the Morris men resumed their bell ringing and drumming, the heathen priest led them through some surprisingly traditional vows.


  The game being over and still an hour before dawn, Hope curtsied to her consort then rose to her toes, looking for Charles, ready to dance. But despite his height she couldn’t find him. Ah, wait! There to the left. The flash of gold mask from beneath a leafy bower. His head was bent. He was engrossed in conversation with a tall auburn-haired woman masked like the moon to his sun.

  A physical pain like a blow to the gut forced the wind from Hope’s lungs and almost doubled her over, and though a glacial chill froze her blood, her cheeks burned hot and she blinked back scalding tears.

  ~

  Robert followed her stricken gaze and felt a twinge of pity. A resplendent Lady Castlemaine was holding court, surrounded by sycophants, her waist encircled by the king.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Hope clenched her fists and took several deep breaths, doing her best to tamp her hurt and fury. Even so, as she crossed the glade with a cool smile pasted on her face and her head held high her limbs felt so weak she almost stumbled and the aching in her throat made her fear she couldn’t speak. “Lady Castlemaine.” She refused to give her nod or curtsy. “Charles.”

  Charles looked only vaguely uncomfortable. “Ah! ’Tis the Queen of the May! Are you enjoying yourself, my dear? You’ve done a splendid job. Everything is going marvelously well.”