by Jean Plaidy
Barbara was beginning to know herself.
So one day she allowed him to discover her stretched out on the grass in the lonely part of the nuttery.
There was a struggle; she was strong, but so was he; she was overpowered and, when she was seduced, she knew that she would never find life dull while there were men to make love to her.
*
From that moment Barbara was aware that her first and most impelling need would always be the satisfaction of her now fully aroused sexual desires; but there was one other thing she wanted almost equally: Power. She wanted no opposition to any desire of hers, however trivial. She wanted to ride in her carriage through London and be admired and known as the most important person in the city. She wanted fine clothes and jewels – a chance to set this beauty of hers against a background which would enhance rather than minimize it. In the clothes she was obliged to wear, her fine already maturing figure was not displayed to advantage; the colour of her gown subdued the dazzling blue of her eyes and it did not suit the rich auburn of her hair. Clothes were meant to adorn beauty, yet she was so much more beautiful without hers; it would seem therefore that she wore the wrong clothes.
Clearly she must be free. She was sixteen and would be no longer treated as a child.
She thought of Chesterfield and wondered whether through him lay a means of escape. There had been more amorous encounters between them. Although there was little of tenderness in their relationship, both recognized in each other a passion which matched their own. Barbara at sixteen was wise enough to realize that her feelings for this man were based on appetite rather than emotion, and Barbara’s appetite was beginning to be voracious.
Chesterfield was a rake and a reckless man. From an early age he had been obliged to fend for himself; he was not the man to sacrifice his life to an idea. He was as ambitious as Barbara, and almost as sensual. His father had died before he was two years old and he had received most of his education in Holland. He was some eight years older than Barbara and already a widower, for Anne Percy, his wife, had died three years ago and the seduction of females was no unusual sport of his.
Barbara often wondered what sort of husband he had been to Anne Percy. A disturbing one, she fancied, and of course an unfaithful one. He did not speak of Anne, though he found a malicious enjoyment in discussing his betrothed Mary Fairfax with Barbara.
He dallied at the house, delaying his departure; and it was all on account of Barbara.
That was why she began to contemplate marriage with him as a means of escape. They were of a kind, and therefore suited. She would not ask him to be faithful to her, for she was sure she would not wish to be so to him. Already she found herself watching others with eager speculation; so she and Philip would not be ill-matched.
He was betrothed to Mary Fairfax, but who was Mary Fairfax to marry with an Earl? Whereas Barbara, on the other hand, was a member of the noble family of Villiers.
She hinted that her family might not be averse to a match between them. He had visited her in her room – a daring procedure; but Barbara could be sure that none of the servants who might discover her escapade would dare mention it for fear of what might happen to them if their tattling reached their mistress’s ears. Moreover she was growing careless.
So as they lay on her bed she talked of her family and his, and the possibility of a marriage between them.
Chesterfield rolled on to his back and burst out laughing.
‘Barbara, my love,’ he said, ‘this is not the time to talk of marriage. It is not the custom, for marriages are not planned in bedchambers.’
‘I care not for custom,’ she retorted.
‘That much is clear. It is a happy quality . . . in a mistress. In a wife, not so . . . ah, not so.’
Barbara sprang up and soundly slapped his face. But he was no frightened servant. His desire temporarily satiated, he laughed at her fury.
He went on: ‘Had you intended to barter your virginity for marriage it should have been before our little adventure in the nuttery, not afterwards. Oh, Barbara, Barbara, you have much to learn.’
‘You too, my lord,’ she cried, ‘if you think to treat me as you would treat a tavern girl.’
‘You . . . a tavern girl! By God, you spit like one . . . you bite and scratch like one . . . and you are as ready to surrender . . .’
‘Listen to me,’ said Barbara. ‘I’m a Villiers. My father was . . .’
‘It is precisely because you are a Villiers, my dear Barbara, that you are a less attractive match than the one I am about to make.’
‘You insult my family!’
That made him laugh more heartily. ‘My dear girl, are you ignorant of the state of this country? There has been a turnabout; did you not know? Who are the great families today? The Villiers? The Stanhopes? The Percys? The Stuarts? No! The Cromwells! The Fairfaxes . . . Yet these newly made nobles have a certain respect for old families, providing we do not work against them. I’ll tell you a secret. Oliver himself once offered me the command of his Army; and what do you think went with it? – the hand of one of his daughters.’
‘And you would consider that, would you? You would take up arms against the King?’
‘Who said I would consider it? I merely state the facts. No! I have declined the command of the Army, and with it the hand of either Mary or Frances Cromwell.’
‘I see,’ said Barbara, ‘that you are telling me you are greatly desired in marriage by families which could be of greater use to you than mine.’
‘How clearly you state the case, dear Barbara.’
Barbara leaped off the bed and, putting on her wrap, said with great disdain: ‘That may be so at this time, but one day, my lord, you will see that the man who marries me will come to consider he has not made so bad a match. Now I pray you get out of my room.’
He dressed leisurely and left; it seemed that the talk of marriage had alarmed him; for the next day he left the house of Charles Villiers.
*
Buckingham came to London at this time; he was depressed, and on his arrival had shut himself up in his lodgings and had his servants explain that he was too low in health to receive visitors.
Barbara’s imperious insistence fought a way through the barrier he had set about him. When she saw him she was surprised at the change in him. It was a matter of astonishment to her that a Villiers, a member of her noble family, could give way so easily to despair.
Buckingham was amused with his vehement young relative, and found no small pleasure in listening to her conversation.
‘You forget, my cousin,’ he said to her on one occasion when he had broken his seclusion by calling at her stepfather’s house, ‘that we live in a changing world. At your age you can have known no other, yet you cling to old Royalist traditions more fiercely than any.’
‘Of course I cling. Are we not a noble family? What advantages can such as ourselves hope for in a country where upstarts rule us?’
‘None, dear cousin. None. That is why I lie abed and turn my face to the wall.’
‘Then you’re a lily-livered spineless fool!’
‘Barbara! Your language is not only vehement, it is offensive.’
‘Then I am glad it rouses you to protest, for it is as well that you should be aroused to something. What of the King? He is your friend. He may be an exile, but he is still the King.’
‘Barbara, the King and I have quarrelled. He no longer trusts me. He will have nothing to do with me, and in this he follows the advice of that Chancellor of his, Edward Hyde.’
‘Edward Hyde! And what right has he to speak against a noble Villiers?’
‘There you go again! It is all noble family with you. Cannot you see that nobility serves a man ill in a Commonwealth such as ours?’
‘There are some who would attempt to find the best of both worlds.’
‘And who are these?’
‘My Lord Chesterfield, for one. He seeks to marry into the Fairfax family. He says that Oli
ver Cromwell offered him one of his daughters as well as a command in the Army. He refused the Protector’s offer. He did not, I suspect, wish to set himself so blatantly on the side of the King’s enemies. But a marriage with Fairfax’s daughter is less conspicuous and brings him, he thinks, many advantages.’
‘A marriage with Fairfax’s daughter,’ mused the Duke. ‘H’m! Chesterfield is a wily one.’
‘Why should not Buckingham be as wily?’
‘Why not indeed!’
‘George, you are the handsomest man in England, and could be the most attractive if you would but seek to make yourself so.’
‘There speaks your family pride.’
‘I’ll wager Mary Fairfax would turn from Chesterfield if she thought there was a chance of marrying with one who is not only the handsomest man in England but a noble Villiers.’
‘Barbara, you seem interested in this match. What is Chesterfield to you?’
Her eyes narrowed and she flushed faintly. Buckingham nodded his head sagely.
‘By God, Barbara,’ he said, ‘you’re growing up . . . you’re growing up fast. So Chesterfield preferred Fairfax’s girl to Barbara Villiers!’
‘He’s welcome to her,’ said Barbara. ‘If he begged me on his knees to marry him I’d kick him in the face.’
‘Yes, cousin, I doubt not that you would.’
They smiled at each other; both were thoughtful, and both were thinking of Mary Fairfax.
*
Barbara was amused and exhilarated by the manner in which events followed that interview of hers with Buckingham.
Certainly George was handsome; certainly he was the most attractive man in England when he cared to be. Poor plain little Mary Fairfax found him so.
It had not been difficult to obtain access to her. Abraham Cowley and Robert Harlow, friends of the Fairfaxes, were also friends of Buckingham. It was true that the lady was betrothed to Chesterfield, but Buckingham was not one to let such a thing stand in his way. Nor was Mary, once she set eyes on the handsome Duke.
Chesterfield was haughty; he was of medium height – neither tall nor possessed of grace; he was, it was true, unusually handsome of face; accomplished in social graces but very condescending to those whom he considered his social inferiors. Desirous as he was to bring about the match with Mary Fairfax, he could not hide from her the fact that he felt he was vastly superior in birth and breeding, and Mary, though shy and awkward in his presence, was unusually intelligent and fully aware of his feelings.
How different was the charming Duke of Buckingham who was so humble and eager to please! How such qualities became a gentleman of birth and breeding! He showed that he understood full well that the reversal of a way of life had altered their positions; yet, with a charming nonchalance he could suggest that such difference would have been unimportant to him in any age.
Mary had been well educated; she was, she knew, excessively plain. Neither her father’s nor her mother’s good looks had come to her; her gift was a calm shrewd intelligence. Yet as soon as she set eyes on the handsome Duke she fell in love with him; and nothing would satisfy her but the marriage which the Duke was soon demanding.
Barbara, in the privacy of her own room, laughed merrily when she heavyrd of the marriage. This was her first real triumph, her first dabbling in diplomacy – and, as a result, her relative Buckingham had a bride, and her lover had lost one!
But when she next saw Chesterfield, although her sensuality got the better of her wish to remain aloof, and they were lovers again, she laughed at his desolate state and told him, although he made no such suggestion, that she would never marry him and one day he might regret the choice he had made.
*
In the next two years Barbara blossomed into her full beauty. At eighteen she was recognized as the loveliest girl in London. Suitors called at her stepfather’s house and, although it was said that Barbara’s virtue was suspect, this could not deter these young men from wishing to marry her.
Oddly enough Chesterfield remained her lover. She was completely fascinated by the man, even while she declared she would never marry him. Others were more humble, more adoring; but it was Chesterfield who, having first roused Barbara’s desires, continued to do so.
There was one young man whom she singled out from the rest because in his quiet way he was so eager to marry her. His name was Roger Palmer and he was a student at the Inner Temple. He was a modest man and unlike Barbara’s other admirers, for she had attracted to herself people of a temperament similar to her own.
It was not long before he declared his feelings and begged her to marry him.
Marry Roger Palmer! It seemed to Barbara at that time that he was the last man she would marry. She had no intention of marrying yet. She was enjoying life too much to wish to change it. She had all the pleasures, she assured herself, and none of the boredom of marriage. Certainly she would not marry Roger Palmer.
Her mother and her stepfather tried to persuade her to marry Roger. They were growing alarmed by the wild daughter whose reputation was already a little tarnished; they were hoping that Roger or someone would take out of their hands the responsibility for such a vital and unaccountable girl. But the more they persuaded her, the more Barbara determined not to marry.
Her appearance was so startling now that wherever she went she was noticed. People turned to stare at the tall and strikingly beautiful young woman, with the proud carriage and the abundant auburn hair. She was voted the most handsome woman in London; many declared there could not be one to match her in the world. But her temper did not improve. She would, when her rages were on her, almost kill a servant who displeased her. Her lovers were terrified of her tantrums, yet so great was her physical allure that they were unable to keep away from her. She was like a female spider – as deadly yet as irresistible.
When she heard that Sir James Palmer, Roger’s father, had said that he would never give his consent to his son’s marriage with Barbara Villiers, she laughed poor Roger to scorn. ‘Go home to Papa!’ she scolded. ‘Go home and tell him Barbara Villiers would die rather than have you!’
Only for Chesterfield did she feel some tenderness; she would be mad with rage at his treatment of her, yet still she continued to receive him. He was so like herself that she understood him; she was furious when she heard that Lady Elizabeth Howard shared the role of Chesterfield’s mistress with her. His temper was as hot as hers. He had already been in trouble on two occasions for duelling. They quarrelled; she took other lovers; but back, again and again, she went to Chesterfield, and the chief gossip in London concerned the scandal of Lord Chesterfield and his mistress Barbara Villiers.
‘Do you realize,’ her parents pleaded with her, ‘that if you go on in this way, soon there will not be a man in England who will marry you?’
‘There are many men in England who would marry me,’ she said.
‘You think so. They say so. But what would their answers be if brought to the point of marriage, think you?’
Barbara rarely stopped to think; she allowed her emotions of the moment to govern all her actions.
‘I could be married next week if I wished!’ she declared.
But her parents shook their heads and begged her to reform her ways.
Barbara’s answer to the challenge was to send for Roger Palmer. He came. His father had recently died and there was now no obstacle to their marriage; he was as eager to marry Barbara as he ever was.
Barbara studied him afresh. Roger Palmer, mild and meek, Roger Palmer, of no great importance, to be the husband of Barbara Villiers, the most handsome woman in London! It seemed incongruous, but Barbara would show them she was different from all other women. She would not look to her husband to provide her with honours; she would provide them for him and herself. How, she was not sure, but she would do it. Moreover, the more she studied him the more clear it became to her that Roger was just the husband for her. He would be dull and easy to handle. He would provide her with freedom – fr
eedom to take her lovers where she wished. For Barbara needed lovers, a variety of lovers; she needed them even more than she needed power.
So she and Roger were married, to the astonishment of all, and then poor Roger realized how he had been used. The foolish man! He had believed that marriage would change her character, that a ceremony could change a passionate virago into a submissive wife!
He quickly learned his mistake and complained bitterly. But Chesterfield continued to be her lover until he was sent to the Tower during that year on suspicion of being involved in a Royalist plot; and after he was released at the beginning of the year 1660, he killed a man in a duel at Kensington and had to escape to France to avoid the consequences.
So at the beginning of the momentous year Barbara was missing her lover sorely when something happened which made their love affair seem of less importance.
Plans were afoot to bring the King back to England; Cromwell was dead, and the country was no more pleased with the Protectorate than it had been with Royalist rule. Cavaliers were disgruntled because of lost estates; the middle classes were groaning under heavy taxation and it was clear that the new Protector lacked the genius of his father; above all, the people were tired of the Puritans; they wanted the strict rules relaxed; they wanted to see pageantry in the streets; they wanted gaiety and laughter; they were weary of long sermons; they wanted singing, dancing, and fun.
General Monk was in favour of the King’s return; Buckingham had been working for it with his father-in-law, Lord Fairfax; and Roger Palmer was entrusted with a sum of money which he was to take to the King’s exiled Court in Holland; not only money did Roger take, but his wife, and there were many even at that time who said that it was the lady who pleased the young King more than the gold.
As for Barbara, she had never been so delighted in the whole of her life.
The tall dark man was a King and therefore worthy of her; he was as recklessly passionate as she was; in other ways his nature was completely opposed to hers, for he was tolerant, good tempered, the most easy-going person in the Court; yet while his eyes were upon her Barbara knew how to be sweetly yielding. She affected surprise that he could wish to seduce her; she reminded him that her husband would be most displeased; she hesitated and trembled, but made sure that there was plenty of time during her visit to Holland for the King not only to become her lover but to learn something of that immense satisfaction born out of her own great sensuality and complete abandonment to pleasure which she was fully aware she could give as few others could. Barbara was determined that the King should not only revel in a love affair which must necessarily be brief, that he should not forget her but look forward to repeating that experience as eagerly as he looked forward to wearing the crown.