‘But … ’ Agnes began to protest, but with three other women all talking at the same time as they pinched, pleated, and pinned the gold fabric around her, she could do nothing but stand meekly and let them have their way.
Margaret Lovell swept into the room accompanied by Kate Thornton.
‘Quite lovely, my dear,’ Margaret said. ‘I forgive my son for springing yet another surprise on me. I’m not sure at my age I should be subject to such a torture, but I have interrogated my step son thoroughly, and as he is incapable of hiding anything from me he has appraised me of your circumstances and character, young lady. Come here.’
Tripping over the excess fabric in the petticoats of the gown, Agnes tottered toward her future mother-in-law. The older woman clasped her forearms, forcing her to meet her eyes. ‘Agnes Fletcher, if half of what Kit tells me is true, you are a remarkable young woman who risked her life for two defenceless children. I will be proud to have you as my daughter.’
Agnes glanced around the circle of women, seeing only love and acceptance, and found her eyes beginning to fill. She had been without the love of mother, sister, or family for so long and yet here they all were, determined to accept her unconditionally for herself and not for what she could do for them. She dashed at the tears.
‘Stupid,’ she said. ‘Stupid … ’
‘Not at all,’ Kate Thornton said. ‘Entirely human.’
Margaret folded Agnes in her arms, and the tears Agnes wept into the woman’s bony shoulder were tears of happiness and belonging.
Chapter 21
Seven Ways, Worcestershire
24 December 1659
In the long years of war and struggle, it had been many years since there had been such a happy gathering at Seven Ways. The Thorntons proved generous hosts, and with Kit and Giles in charge the lively wedding celebrations had gone on until well after midnight. Thamsine Lovell proved to be a talented singer with a fund of inappropriate tavern songs that even had Tabitha missing notes on the virginals with laughing too hard.
In the proper tradition, the women spirited Agnes away and saw her properly arranged, in a nightdress borrowed from Nell, in the Thornton’s guest bed strewn with dried rose petals. A boisterous crowd of men had accompanied Daniel and it had taken Kate Thornton’s firm hand to clear the room. As she left, she handed Daniel the key.
‘You’ll need that,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t trust your brother.’
Agnes sat up in the bed and drew her knees up under her chin and considered her husband, who stood in the middle of the floor, still clutching a wine glass, his jacket undone and his shirt unlaced.
He set the cup he was holding down on the table and sat down heavily on the side of the bed, running his hand through his already disordered hair. He turned his head and grinned at Agnes.
‘Family,’ he said. ‘Miss them when you’re away from them, and can’t wait to get away from them when you’re with them.’
Agnes smiled. ‘I love them all. They are to be treasured, Daniel.’
He reached out and ran a finger down her cheek. ‘I am glad you like them.’ His eyes softened and she read desire in their smoky depths. ‘You are lovely, Agnes.’
‘And you are drunk,’ she retorted.
He shook his head. ‘No, I am completely sober. I wanted all my wits about me tonight. This is our night.’
Agnes shivered. ‘And it’s a cold one, too. Come to bed, Daniel.’
Daniel picked up one of the dried rose petals, sniffed it, and sneezed. ‘What are these for?’
‘They’re not for anything.’
He rose to his feet, brushing the offending petals from the cover. ‘We don’t need me sneezing all night,’ he said, unbuckling his belt.
Jacket, breeches, stockings fell into a pile at his feet, and he threw back the covers.
‘And your shirt,’ Agnes said.
All humour drained from his face.
‘Agnes … last time … I know you can’t … my back … ’ He coloured and sat down on the edge of the bed again.
Agnes knelt up beside him, tugging the shirt over his head, revealing his back to her. He lowered his head, his hair falling about his face, hiding it from her.
‘Agnes, you don’t –’ he began.
‘I do,’ she said, tracing each fall of Outhwaite’s whip with her fingers. ‘They are a part of you,’ she said. ‘Part of what made you who you are. I’m not sure I would have liked the Daniel Lovell who existed before these were laid upon you. When he tried to break you that man Outhwaite may have killed the boy but he forged the man I love. It could have turned you into a monster like him, but it didn’t, because you are essentially a good man, Daniel. I saw it at Charvaley. You could have killed Ashby but you chose not to. That is the man with whom I want to spend the rest of my days.’
She bent her head and kissed each scar.
When he raised his head and turned to look at her, she saw tears in his eyes.
‘Agnes … ’ he began but his voice cracked.
Winding her arms around his neck, she drew him down, her eager kisses matching his own as he slid the chemise from her shoulders, exposing her breasts to the cool night.
She shivered and he wrapped her in his embrace, pulling the bedclothes over them, burying them in a cocoon of their own that excluded the outside world.
The turmoil of emotion and events that had overtaken them over the past weeks was forgotten in their need for each other. No pity this time – Agnes gave herself to him as an equal.
When the first passion was spent they lay together wrapped in a tangle of blankets and sheets, too languid to move, but too alive in the moment to sleep.
Daniel rolled onto his back, carrying her with him. His hands circled her waist and he studied her face in the soft, shadowed light of the dying fire and the single candle that burned on the table.
‘You are perfect,’ he said in wonder, running his fingers along the soft curve of her hips and the curve of her breasts.
A slow smile lifted the corners of her mouth and she straightened beneath his hands. ‘Far from perfect.’
She stooped to kiss him again, her hair tumbling around her face, and he circled her waist with his hands.
‘I do love you, Daniel Lovell.’
He released her, answering her smile with his own. ‘And I you, Agnes Fletcher.’
He gathered her into his arms, where she fitted as if they had been crafted by a skilled cabinetmaker.
‘I am content, Agnes,’ he whispered. ‘What has been no longer has the power to hurt us, either of us.’
Chapter 22
Seven Ways, Worcestershire
December 24, 1660
In the wintry rose garden at Seven Ways, a battle was in progress. The children, well rugged up, darted between the snow-covered garden beds, in a running battle of snowballs, led by Thomas Ashley on one side and Ann Longley on the other. The younger children, the twins Clare and Richard and little Henry, were towed along by older and larger children. Even shy Tabitha joined in the battle. The older women stood on the terrace shouting encouragement. Kit stood with his arm around his wife’s shoulder, giving instructions to Tom on the finer art of artillery fire.
Daniel paused at the door that led out onto the terrace and smiled as Agnes hurled a snowball with deadly accuracy, taking Tom’s hat from his head. Beside her, Frances appeared to have a ready supply of snowballs, and she showered these on the young man unmercifully.
‘Father! You’re home!’ Tabitha had seen Jonathan and she dropped her missile, running up the path toward the three men.
Kate Thornton whirled around, a smile lifting her face at the sight of her husband.
‘Welcome home,’ she said.
In two strides Jonathan had his wife in his arms, kissing her with the passion of two young lovers long separated.
Kit cleared his throat, and they appeared to remember the company they were in and separated.
Jonathan surveyed the crowd. ‘Exactly how many people do we hav
e staying here? Who are all these children?’
‘Mostly mine,’ Kit responded. ‘Those two,’ he indicated two young women, the younger of whom stood beside Tom Ashley, looking up at him with doe eyes, ‘are my wards … and those three,’ he pointed at three small girls, ‘are ours.’
‘I tell him it is God’s judgment,’ Thamsine said. She looked at Daniel. ‘How went your audience with the King? Did you explain about Kit?’
Daniel nodded. ‘Yes. You have the King’s pardon, Kit, but he counsels against any return to court. Others may not be so forgiving.’
Kit shuddered. ‘I can’t think of any place I would like to go to less.’ He nodded at his brother. ‘But thank you. It eases my mind somewhat.’
Daniel clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. He alone knew the burden Kit carried, and would carry all his life. The ghosts of those men who died for his word would haunt him forever.
Nell shrieked. ‘Giles! You’re home … How was the King?’
‘The King is well, very well,’ Giles said. ‘He did his utmost to persuade us to stay for the Christmas festivities but,’ he glanced at Jonathan and Daniel, ‘these two were most insistent we return home.’
Nell tucked her hand into the crook of her husband’s elbow. ‘Never has anything felt more right,’ she said. ‘The King is back on the throne of England, and we have our lovely home back and our family around us. This is the perfect Christmas.’
Daniel glanced at Kate. ‘My dear Lady Thornton,’ he said. ‘Your house and your hospitality must be sorely stretched.’
Kate Thornton shook her head with a smile. ‘There is nothing that pleases me more than to have people around us again. I would not have invited you all for Christmas otherwise. Now come inside, all of you. There is spiced wine warming in the Great Hall, and you must tell us all the news from London.’
Daniel walked to the edge of the terrace. Agnes stood in the middle of the snowy garden, looking up at him, a snowball still clutched in her hand, wet snow clinging to her hair and clothes.
‘Well, are you going to just stare at her, boy?’ his mother said. ‘Go and kiss the poor girl.’
‘And do it properly,’ Frances put in.
Daniel took the stairs down into the garden in one bound, sweeping Agnes up into his arms and spinning her around. The children cheered.
Daniel smiled as he set his wife down. ‘Should you be playing such roughhouse games in your condition?’
Agnes’s hand went to the swell of her belly, still well concealed by her heavy woollen skirts.
‘I don’t think the baby has any complaints,’ she said.
‘Good.’
He kissed her again, his own hand sliding beneath her cloak to rest on her stomach. From the moment she had told him that there would be a child born in spring, he had been in a state of wonder and awe.
Oblivious to the cheers and catcalls from the crowd around them, she melted into his arms, only to be jerked out of their embrace by a fusillade of cold, wet snowballs.
Wiping snow from her eyes, Agnes looked up at Daniel and grinned. ‘Right,’ she said, whirling on the children. ‘This is war. Who is with me?’
With whoops of delight the children joined in, pelting Daniel with hastily constructed missiles. Flakes of snow clung to his hair as he hastened to retaliate. Tom Ashley joined his force and with their small armies in tow, Daniel and Agnes pursued each other around the garden until they subsided, cold, damp, and exhausted, on the stone bench under the bower.
Daniel waved his hand at the youngsters. ‘You win,’ he said.
Tom Ashley grinned and winked. ‘Let’s build a snow king,’ he said to the children, and they turned to follow him to a patch of snow untouched by human hand.
Daniel slid his arm behind Agnes, drawing her closer. She rested her head on his shoulder.
‘You’re wet,’ he complained.
‘So are you,’ she retaliated.
He drew in a deep breath, letting it out and watching it fog in the cold air. ‘Christmas Day. Do you remember the Christmas of our childhood, Agnes?’
‘I can’t answer for your childhood, Daniel, but mine was a huge log in the Great Hall, spiced wine, wassailing, and carols.’
‘Fifteen years of no Christmas,’ Daniel said. ‘When we rebuild Eveleigh, we will have Christmas with all the tenants invited to a feast. A roast ox, I think.’
‘And plum pudding,’ Agnes mused. ‘And gifts.’
Daniel straightened. ‘Which reminds me, I bring a Christmas present from the King,’ he said, producing a paper from deep inside his jacket. He handed it to her and she scanned the contents. He smiled as her face lit up.
‘It is official then?’ she asked.
‘It is. I am now the legal guardian of Henry and Elizabeth,’ he said. ‘I asked for it to be both of us, but Hyde was insistent a woman could not be made a legal guardian.’
Agnes sighed. ‘It is enough,’ she said. ‘It means we can make Charvaley our home until Henry is of age, and we can rebuild Eveleigh, and … ’ She clutched the paper to her chest. ‘I can think of no better Christmas present.’
Daniel glanced up at the terrace, at Jonathan and Kate, Kit and Thamsine, and Giles and Nell. To see them all together, content in each other’s company, one could almost forget what each one had endured over the past twenty years. The deaths they had seen, the imprisonment, the loneliness, and the fear were now all lost in the past. He let his hand rest on the bump of his unborn child. God willing, this child would never see civil war or its like.
Shrieks of laughter diverted his attention to the gaggle of youngsters clustered around Tom Ashley’s snow king, who wore a crown of ivy twirled around his head.
The King sat once more upon the throne of England. Time would tell if he would be a good king, but for now it was enough that he had returned to a country tired of war and anxious for peace. The exiles had truly returned to England, and a new age was coming.
Historical Note
Charles I was executed in January 1649, and for the next ten years, England flirted with a form of republicanism, presided over by the ‘Lord Protector’, Oliver Cromwell. The young King Charles II made a bid to regain the throne in 1651 but after being resoundingly defeated at the Battle of Worcester (see Jonathan Thornton’s story: By The Sword), he remained in exile for the next nine years, joined by many of his supporters. Those loyal to the King who remained in England saw their estates seized or had to endure heavy fines.
During this Interregnum (literally ‘between Kings’), disenfranchised Royalists plotted to restore the King but without success (see Kit Lovell’s story: The King’s Man). It was only after the death of Oliver Cromwell in September 1658 that the Royalists saw the first glimmer of hope of a return of the monarch. Cromwell’s son, Richard (‘Tumbledown Dick’), succeeded his father, but he was not the man his father had been and by May 1659 had been deposed and exiled. England was governed effectively by the Army and a ‘Rump’ Parliament to provide some sort of legislative validity for its decisions.
The Royalists, seeing their opportunity, began to negotiate with different factions within the Government and the Army, leading to a failed uprising in July 1659, but in the end the restoration of the King came down to one man, General George Monck, the commander of the Coldstream Guards in Edinburgh. In January 1660 Monck marched south, carrying with him the support of the Army, and on reaching London deposed the remnants of the Rump Parliament. Negotiations carried out between Sir John Grenville and Monck led to the return of the King to England in May 1660 without a drop of blood being spilled.
These complex events being played out on the wider political stage provide only the backstage noise to this story, which brings together the threads of the preceding two stories, By The Sword and The King’s Man. We are blessed with the knowledge of hindsight but for those living at the time, they had no certainty of knowing how, when or in what circumstances the King would return or even if he would return.
I co
nfess to taking a small liberty with the dates of the King’s presence in Belgium and had him returning to Brussels from his negotiations with the Spanish in December 1659, some days earlier than occurred.
With the exception of historical figures such as the King himself and Sir Edward Hyde and John Mordaunt, the people and events depicted in the book are entirely fictional.
Alison Stuart
Thanks for reading EXILES’ RETURN, I hope you enjoyed it.
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You’ve just read a book in my GUARDIANS OF THE CROWN series. The other books in this series are BY THE SWORD and THE KING’S MAN.
If you liked this book, here are my other book LORD SOMERTON’S HEIR.
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By The Sword
Alison Stuart
From award-winning author Alison Stuart comes a stirring historical trilogy about soldiers, spies, and the strong women that love them.
England 1650. In the aftermath of the execution of the King, England totters once more on the brink of civil war. The country will be divided and lives lost as Charles II makes a last bid to regain his throne.
Kate Ashley finds her loyalty to the Parliamentary cause tested when she inherits responsibility for the estate of the Royalist Thornton family. To protect the people she cares about, she will need all her wits to restore its fortunes and fend off the ever-present threat of greedy neighbours.
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