“I’ve given you my reasons before, Barbara,” Roger said, pretending to be the very soul of patience. “But foremost among them is that it’s not proper for my wife to display herself so publicly.”
He looked not at me but studied his own reflection in the glass as the servant fastened the long row of tiny pewter buttons on his doublet. Every tailor in London had spent this last month working long by candlelight, for every gentleman wished a new suit of clothes in which to honor the king. Roger’s doublet and breeches were a soft buff color, with pale blue ribbon points all around and a matching short cloak. His stockings had deep cuffs of knitted lace that flared over the tops of his boots, and his tall-crowned beaver hat carried a curling white plume. Yet such finery looked more like a costume than gentleman’s dress on Roger, his pale face sitting atop his shirt’s collar like a disembodied mask.
“Oh, pish, Roger, no one will be looking at me,” I said. “Every eye will be upon the king, and nowhere else.”
“The king could be naked on his horse, Barbara,” he said, “yet more would gaze at you. Should I wear my ribbon and sword over the cloak, or beneath?”
“Over the doublet, under the cloak,” I said, thinking how Roger himself seemed perfectly capable of not gazing at me, even though I wore nothing beneath my pink dressing gown. “I could take Wilson with me, and a footman, too, if that would appease you, and I—”
“No, Barbara,” he said sharply. “That’s my last answer. It’s not safe for you to be among the crowds on the street.”
I sighed my unhappiness. “Do you remember when we went to view the procession for Cromwell’s funeral? We stood along the Strand for hours, and no one disturbed us then.”
“How can you consider that the same at all?” he asked incredulously. “Besides, I was there to watch after you. If you stand at the open window, you should be able to hear the trumpets and the cheering. That’s the convenience of this house being so nicely located.”
I crossed to the open window, looking down into the Privy Garden of Whitehall Palace that lay beyond our farther fence. As soon as he’d been returned to Parliament, Roger had begun to hunt for a house more appropriate to our new station than our own lodgings, though he’d found none that had suited. Then this one had been offered to him—quite magically, he thought. Belonging formerly to Cromwell’s cousin Edward Whalley, who’d fled to New England when he’d received no pardon from the king, the house in King Street—oh, what delicious irony!—was large and fine, and situated between the palace and Parliament House, with Admiral the Earl of Sandwich and his lady as our closest neighbors. Roger believed the house had come to him as the first of his rewards for his loyalty and that loathsome thousand pounds.
I, however, knew otherwise. This fine house and its clever location so near to the palace had been granted not for Roger’s convenience, but the king’s.
“I’ll remember everything to tell you, Barbara,” he said, lifting his arms so his servant could buckle the wide belt with his scabbard. “It won’t be the same, I know, but you won’t be the only lady left at home today. This is the most important day for England in our lifetimes, and the procession and the ceremonies afterward—it’s how we gentlemen will demonstrate our fealty to the king. What is it, Wilson?”
“Forgive me, Master Palmer,” Wilson said, standing in the doorway. “I came to ask if Mistress Palmer was ready to dress.”
“She’s with me now, Wilson,” Roger said, more crossly than was necessary. “She’ll come to you once I leave.”
“Yes, sir.” Wilson curtseyed again. Yet as soon as Roger turned away, she held up a small letter for me to see. I knew what that letter would say, just as I knew Wilson was showing great wisdom in keeping its arrival secret from my husband. My heart racing with excitement, I nodded quickly before Roger could notice, and Wilson ducked away.
“I still wish I could watch today, Roger,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t betray me. “He’s to be my king, too.”
“I’m sorry, Barbara, but for your own safety, I must insist.” He kissed me with dutiful regard on the cheek, not embracing me so as to keep from mussing his finery. “There will be plenty of parties and dances at the palace to come, I’m sure of it. From what I know of the king, he’ll insist upon it. You won’t be neglected.”
“Oh, I know that,” I said, and smiled. “When will you be home?”
“Late, very late,” he said, full of his own importance. “Perhaps not even until tomorrow. You know how these ceremonial events can be. You go to bed whenever you please. Don’t wait for me.”
“I won’t.” Oh, that was so wicked of me, agreeing to all those things that Roger was saying with another meaning in my thoughts! “Good day, then.”
“Good day to you, too,” he said, and from the door he solemnly touched the brim of his plumed hat in salute. “And God save the king!”
As soon as I heard the front door of the house close after him, I hurried to find Wilson, who was in turn hurrying up the stairs to me with the letter outstretched in her hand. I caught her on the landing and pulled her and the letter into the nearest room, shutting the door tight after us so none of the other servants might hear us.
“The king?” I asked, even as I tore the letter from her hand. “Oh, please, please, say it’s so!”
“It is, madam,” Wilson said, nearly as excited as I. “But oh, Mistress Palmer, if Mr. Palmer had seen the page that brought it! Dressed in crimson and gold, he was, the Whitehall livery. What would he have said then?”
“My husband would have simply assumed the page was delivering some message of importance to him, though God would needs have preserved me if the page had given Mr. Palmer this.” Swiftly I scanned the letter, and I pressed my hand to my cheek. “Oh, Wilson, he wants me to join him—to be waiting for him this very night!”
“Here, madam?” she exclaimed in an awestruck whisper. “His Majesty wishes to visit you here?”
“No, no,” I said, the awe in my voice as well. “He wants me to come to his rooms in the palace. He wants to spend his first night in London with me—with me.”
Everyone who was in London that glorious day—and a great many who weren’t, but pretend to have been—has their own recollection of how warmly the city and people welcomed the return of the king, “this miraculous prince,” as the Dutch did call him. For those who admitted to having been denied such a memory, there were plenty of paintings by artists there to document the ceremonies, and before the end of the summer it seemed that prints of the procession were pinned to the wall of every tavern and rum shop from Portsmouth to Glasgow.
As for me, I saw none of the king’s triumphant entry with his two younger brothers, James, Duke of York, and Henry, Duke of Gloucester, across London Bridge, riding bareheaded in the sun to display his humility and trust of his subjects. In this I obeyed my husband’s edict, not so much that I was the demure wife he wished me to be, but because I feared I’d be spied by one of his friends, and sent home under a more fearsome guard that would prevent me from stirring from the house later.
So yes, I missed the tapestries that hung from the windows and balconies of the great houses along the Strand, and the silken banners that drifted in the breeze from every pole. I only heard later of the girls who’d ridden in wagons from the country long before dawn to strew the path of the king ankle-deep with flowers. I never saw the ranks of cavalry, bright in crimson and gold, as they cantered through the streets, or the stalwart Life Guards. The endless assemblies of dignitaries grand and small—the members of both Houses, the mayor of the City and his aldermen, the ambassadors from every court in Europe—marched in dignified phalanxes or rode their steeds without my notice.
Instead I joined the celebration in my own way, my memories singular to me. For given my circumstances, how, really, could they be otherwise?
It was shortly after nightfall when the plain carriage came to our door for me. Though Whitehall Palace was close by, near enough for me to have walked with ease if
I’d chosen, the celebrations caused the driver to take a longer, more circuitous route.
I didn’t care. That night London was exactly as Roger had predicted, full of drunkards and wastrels, but it was also filled with rejoicing, and merriment, and purest joy. Laughter and cheer bounced from one close-set house to the next as crowds streamed through the ancient streets. Every corner had its bonfire, with shadowy figures dancing and singing before it, and every wine shop and tavern poured freely, so that all might drink to the health of the king.
I grinned as well, giddy to be part of such an adventure. With reckless joy, I shoved my velvet hood back from my face and leaned from the carriage window to drink in the night like a heady draught.
“Here, my beauty!” A ruddy-cheeked man saluted me from the street as my carriage lumbered by. I waved in return, and he tossed a sprig of white primroses to me, doubtless torn from some nearby garden. Laughing, I caught the flowers and tucked them into the deep neckline of my silk bodice, the stems snug between my breasts.
At last my carriage drew up before a side door of Whitehall Palace. I should explain that at that time, Whitehall was not a single building in the style of most royal palaces, but a rambling assortment of interconnected houses and halls strung along the river’s bank and wandering back toward St. James’s Park. This “palace” had been built over many years, by many different architects and undertakers, and while parts were exceptionally beautiful, such as the last king’s Banqueting House, other portions were shabby, dark, and worn. It was in short more fit for a nest of conies than for the court of the King of England.
Yet Whitehall’s meandering also granted its inhabitants a measure of privacy. With so many entrances and doorways, it was surprisingly easy to slip inside or out without much notice by the palace guards, or anyone else. With all the excitement of the celebration that night, no one saw the equerry meet my carriage and lead me inside and along the maze of ill-lit hallways. Quite suddenly we stopped and entered through one unassuming door, climbed a narrow staircase, and found ourselves in a large, sparsely furnished bedchamber.
The bedstead was old, with bulbous posts carved of some dark, heavy wood, and of a size nearer to a tennis court than an ordinary furnishing for repose—which, of course, amused me, imagining as I did what other sport could take place within such ample boundaries. The hangings had been replaced, new red velvet with golden embroideries and fringes, and the bed linens were likewise new and fresh and pressed. But beyond the bedstead, the chamber was scarcely better than that humble room in Brussels, and sadly I recalled hearing how Cromwell’s vile creatures had carried away most of the art and rich furnishings from Whitehall, like vultures picking a fresh carcass clean.
“Is there anything you require, madam?” the equerry asked, his expression studiously dispassionate.
I glanced again around the room. On a sideboard, there was wine and other drink and the makings of a light cold supper. Because the evening was warm, the windows were open still, and I could hear the rush of the river’s current far below, and see the glow of bonfires all over the city.
“Thank you, no,” I said. “I’ve all I need.”
Except the king . . .
“Very well, madam.” The equerry bowed, hesitating as he sought the proper words. It had been so long since a king had lived within these walls that we’d all forgotten the correct rules for court ceremony, if we’d ever known them in the first place. “You will, ah, be joined shortly.”
“Thank you,” I said again, though I knew my eyes betrayed my amusement at his inadvertent choice of words. He flushed, realizing too late what he’d said, and scuttled away.
I went to stand by the window, relishing the coolness of the evening breeze from the water. After today, I’d guessed the king would be feeling a surfeit of gold thread and luxury, and thus had dressed myself simply, in a jacket of green embroidered silk and a darker green petticoat beneath. The primrose tossed to me still lay tucked between my breasts. My hair was loosely knotted high on my head, with shorter pieces in front cropped to curl about my cheeks, and I wore neither paint nor powder on my face, and only tiny garnets in my ears.
I leaned from the window, listening. Even now the sounds of revelry and high spirits could be heard—a new beginning for us all. I wondered wryly how many women would wake tomorrow with an aching head and a new-filled belly as a result of this celebration. For how many babes would this night truly be a new beginning?
“Barbara.”
I turned swiftly, for I’d not heard the door open or shut. He was exactly as I’d remembered, or perhaps as I’d not let myself forget: dark and regal, the most charming man I’d ever met, and without doubt the one I most desired. With him were the same two small dogs I remembered from Brussels, plus two more, trotting importantly after him like flop-eared attendants.
He’d come directly to me, without pause, and without changing. While the others around him had strived to outdo themselves in tinseled splendor, he’d chosen to dress in black twilled woolen stuff—though of the highest quality—as a way to let his own innate glory shine through. As he came toward me, I could see the exhaustion carved into his face after so many hours in the adoring gaze of his subjects. Yet the care fell away as he smiled at me, and almost too late I remembered to curtsey.
“Your Majesty,” I said. “What a magnificent day!”
“Barbara, Barbara,” he said as he raised me up. “A glorious day indeed. And after such a day, what good it does me to have you here.”
“You honor me,” I said simply, and it was no empty praise. Although I was no innocent, I was in many ways still very young. As much as I saw and knew him as a man, he was now indisputably the king, and I couldn’t help but be a little awed.
Not that he’d let me remain so for long. How much he must have smiled today, yet still he could smile so warmly for me! “You honor me as well, sweet, by being here.”
“I am only another loyal subject, sir, and your servant,” I said, remembering Brussels. “Your most obedient servant.”
He laughed, deep and rich, and as he plucked the primrose from between my breasts, his fingers trailed as if by accident across the warm valley between. “I doubt you’d obey any man, Barbara, not even me.”
“Then for now, sir, I’ll remain simply your servant and no more.” I looked up into his face so far above mine, keeping my eyes heavy-lidded and full of promise. “We’ll leave the pleasure of testing my obedience for another night.”
“Oh, I’ll test you, Barbara,” Charles said, laughing at my flippancy. He tucked the flower into my hair and slipped his arms around my waist. “Just as I did on that other night, I’ll test you and try you, and mark it, I’ll win.”
“Then come, rest yourself,” I urged, leading him to sit on the enormous bed. I crouched down and unlaced his shoes, easing them from his feet.
He groaned aloud from the simple pleasure, and let himself topple backward across the bed. The dogs jumped up beside him, settling there as if they’d every right.
“I’ve been fifteen hours in the saddle this day, Barbara, fair worshipped like some pagan’s gilded idol,” he said, lying flat on his back as he idly ruffled the fur of the nearest dog. “I’ve had every last member of Parliament kiss my hand and the most venerable lords of the land kneel before me.”
I tried not to think of Roger, unwittingly bending with reverence to kiss the hand of the man who’d cheerfully lain with his wife.
“I’ve heard more praise than is wise for any man,” he continued, “so much that I feared I’d shame myself and tumble face-first to the ground, like a boy who gluttonously eats too many sweets. I had to make my apologies for the service at the abbey. I’d reached my fill, and could bear no more.”
“You left early?” I asked, surprised and gladdened. Hah, he’d traded the service of the abbey with scores of clerics and bishops to come here to me. To me.
“I couldn’t bear it any longer,” he said. “Yet it was glorious, Barbara, beyond all
dreams. I cannot tell it any other way.”
I climbed onto the bed to sit beside him, my skirts rustling around me. “It was only what you deserved. You’d been away too long.”
“Would that I’d never had to leave.” He sighed, linking his hands behind his head as he stared upward, unseeing, at the velvet-covered canopy. “My greatest wish was that my sainted father could have felt the same true love and gratitude of the people.”
“I’m sure he did, watching down upon you from his place in heaven,” I said gently. I understood how he could feel melancholy today, even amidst so much splendor and acclaim. Anyone who’d lost and suffered as he had must have no heart to feel otherwise. “Can I bring you wine, a biscuit or an apple?”
He shook his head back and forth, his long hair tousled across the coverlet.
“No, my dear, you’re everything I need.” He smiled at me, and reached his hand up to cradle my cheek against his palm. “Ten thousand men in procession for me today, Barbara. Ten thousand men, and not a single woman.”
“That hardly seems fair.” I turned my face to press my lips against his palm, giving it a languid swipe of my tongue for good measure.
“Oh, but it is,” he said, pulling my face down so he could kiss me, “since the single woman waiting for me here is you.”
He kissed me with leisure, as if he’d the whole night to enjoy me, which, of course, he did.
“Ah,” he said, his smile happy and his face already beginning to lose its earlier sorrow. “That kiss alone was worth a thousand sermons from a thousand preachers. There we are, wise as Solomon.”
“You are wicked.” I laughed, tucking my forward curls behind my ears as I still leaned over him. “You can’t let the canting Presbyterians hear you speak such scandal.”
The Presbyterians were the strictest of any British sect, near as close-minded as the Puritans had been, but much easier to mock, being largely Scots.
“The Presbyterians will never know,” he said, “unless you tell them. Now I’ll play the papist, my dear lady, and make my confession to you. I’m so confounded weary from this day that I can scarce move my limbs. You must toil for us both. Go now, undress yourself, and I’ll watch to make certain you tend to the task properly.”
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