The Perfect Royal Mistress (42 page)

She jostled about alone inside the hired coach, listening to the harness jingle and the horses’ hooves clop a rhythm on cobbles, bringing her even nearer to Whitehall Palace. She had considered the move for hours. It was a risk to seek him out, but they had a child he had acknowledged. Surely, he would accept an impromptu visit. Had he not told her he loved her quite madly? Nearing the Holbein Gate, Nell glanced heavenward, saying a silent prayer to give her courage. Even so, her heart was racing so that she almost could not draw breath. This visit was brash, impulsive. He liked that about her. He would respect her for it now. He must.

As she emerged from the coach, bound by a tightly cinched corset and petticoats, all traces of her pregnancy were gone. Her normally small breasts, now full of milk, swelled more voluptuously than she had expected over the lacy décolleté. Although she must see him, Nell fought with every ounce of determination she had not to turn and run once she saw William Chiffinch emerge from the shadows surrounding a stone staircase to the royal apartments.

“My dear.” He extended his hand to her, and a genuine, though controlled, smile softened the angles of his gaunt face.

“I see news travels fast around ’ere.”

“I am paid to know everything that concerns His Majesty, and to handle it on his behalf.”

She met his gaze. “Then I shall tell the king that you deserve an increase immediately since you could not possibly ’ave known I intended a visit.”

“My apartments overlook this courtyard, madam, that is all.”

“Better accommodations then,
and
a raise in your pay.”

“Mrs. Gwynne.” She watched him draw a short breath, preparing to say more, yet choosing his words delicately. “Madam. You cannot see him now.”

“’E’s not ’ere?”

She saw a small muscle in his jaw tighten in response. His lips closed into a straight line. “He is a complicated man.”

Nell felt a tiny twitch of indignance. “Do you not mean ’e is a restless man, William?”

“That, as well, madam. And if I may say, it is the chase that keeps him, not being chased.”

“But I’ve got to know ’ow ’e is. It ’as been weeks since ’is sister died, and there is so much to discuss about—”

“Since the princess passed from this earth, it has not been easy for His Majesty, and he has required a period of private mourning in order to reflect. I do realize you are very young, madam, but playing in this world is a skill you simply must master if you mean to stand the test.”

“The test, Mr. Chiffinch?”

“The test of time, madam. Pray, love him if you must, but do not pursue him. He must be made to chase you—and, given time, he will. That is my advice to you.”

Nell glanced around, the weight of foolishness descending upon her fully then, and having no earthly idea how she might leave with any small bit of her pride intact. Gazing around at the windows, she wondered how many courtiers had just witnessed her arrival. William Chiffinch took hold of her arm, above the elbow, and drew her back to him. “It is not much,” he said to her gently. “But my wife and I were about to share a lamb pasty and some wine beside the fire. We would be grateful for the company if you would consent to join us.”

She looked at the waiting coach, then glanced back at him. It was likely she was being viewed from the honeycomb of windows above and around them. If she departed now, people would know she had been turned away. William Chiffinch was offering a way through her miscalculation, and she must not be too prideful to reject it.

“I wouldn’t wish to trouble you.”

“My wife fancies that you are a breath of fresh air around this place, child, and I find I agree with her. We would like it very much if you would join us.”

Nell smiled tentatively as he extended his arm. The apartment to which he led her from the prying eyes of Whitehall was well appointed and charming, not the modest servant quarters she had expected. The dark wood furniture was oversized and stately. There were two gold-framed landscapes on the wall, and an impressive tapestry on an iron rod to further warm the room. Mary Chiffinch came quickly to the door with a welcoming smile and a motherly embrace. “How lovely, indeed. It can get rather dreary, just the two of us,” she said. “Do come and sit beside me, child. I have so longed for a visit like this with you. Pray, tell us, how is your new son?”

“’E looks like ’is father.”

Nell saw her exchange a glance with William. There was a slight pause before she smiled more broadly and said, “Then he is destined to become a most magnificent man, indeed.”

Nell felt free to speak about many things after that, as they served her Rhenish wine around a little inlaid table that had been moved into a cozy nook beside the fire.

“And you, my dear. How are you?” Mary asked.

“Bearin’ a child changes your life,” said Nell.

“And bearing a king’s child will change it forever.”

“You understand?”

“One sees a lot living within these old walls, Mrs. Gwynne. It can be hard to watch at times. One only hopes to be of service.”

“After all you’ve done for me, you really must call me Nell.”

The two women smiled at each other as William looked on, the friendship among the trio deepening. Then, as the afternoon sky darkened, a light rain began to fall, sounding like tiny pebbles as it hit the window glass. Nell loved the rain. It cooled everything. It cleaned everything that had been wretched on Lewkenor Lane. Mary Chiffinch stood upon hearing the sound of coach wheels churning gravel in the courtyard below them. Nell was smiling at her, until William’s eyes followed his wife’s, with an expression that had suddenly grown serious. He glanced up at the tall clock, then looked at Nell in an awkward little silence.

Her eyes shifting from one of them to the other, Nell stood then and went to the window, the hem of her dress sweeping across the floor tiles. She touched the windowsill just as the king emerged with a great smile, shoulders back, chest out, even in the steadily worsening rain. He was elegant in claret-colored satin and gold lace, and his onyx periwig, beneath a plumed hat, as he turned and held out his hand. Then an arm emerged from the coach. A woman’s hand, lace spilling back from a tiny wrist. The breath caught in Nell’s throat. It began to burn. The arm became a swirl of blue, became an impossibly beautiful, smiling girl. Blond hair pulled away from full flushed cheeks. The face resembled a child’s. The body was voluptuous. The smile was coy, the gaze purposeful. Nell gripped the windowsill. Ah, yes…the other women. She accepted it as a portion of the price for a royal lover, but to see this played out before her eyes when her own body had yet to fully recover from the child she had borne him…

Nell closed her eyes, exhaled a breath, then opened them again, catching a last glimpse of them running together and laughing, hands linked, through the rain toward the entrance to his privy apartments. When she turned around, William’s expression was stoic. His hands were linked behind his rigid back. “Her name is Louise de Kéroualle, although some at court, who do not fancy her, have taken to calling her Carwell. She was sent from France as a gift from Louis XIV to revive His Majesty. They initially met at Dover.”

“’Ow very thoughtful to give ’im such a
sensual
reminder of ’is sister.”

“His sister understood, and accepted, what pleases him, Nell, as do you.”

“I understand no woman will ever settle ’im.”

“Then, indeed, you do understand him well.”

“I’ve meant only to love the part of ’im I ’ave, and be pleased with it.”

“Then keep to that, child, keep to that.”

She searched their faces. “Why are you tellin’ me all of this?”

“Because you matter, Nell. To him and to us.”

“I should go.”

“Perhaps for now,” William agreed. “But when he calls upon you, which he shall, I trust you will not show him the disappointment you feel, but only your pretty, very witty self, to remind him how much he needs you in his life.”

“’Ow can you be so certain ’e’ll call upon me with a new and even prettier girl to chase?”

“Because, Nell,” said Mary. “Quite simply, Mademoiselle de Kéroualle is not surrendering herself to the king, and His Majesty will entertain virtue for only so long.”

“Well, then,” Nell replied, pressing back the hurt as she turned around, and began to make her way across the room toward the door. “Perhaps I’m still in the game, after all.”

Although, in the end, she had not gotten the chance to speak to him about it directly, Nell’s decision to return to the theater was actually made for her by the king. She decided she would retain her dignity, and her lover, by remaining occupied. For all he had given her, stepping aside to share his favor seemed a relatively simple thing to do. She had not really lost him, after all. No one had ever really possessed him that way. And, she reminded herself, she had responsibilities.

She stood with Richard Bell at the back of the theater, the day after she had gone to Whitehall. They were behind the stage in the little corridor outside Hart’s private tiring-room, the door still closed. As they waited, Nell chatted with several other actors who were excited at the prospect of her return. Her presence in a play assured them all work, and ovations over jeers. Beck Marshall came to her then as well, and the two women embraced fondly. Beck’s expression was full of such joy that Nell did not see the door open and Hart emerge with Lady Castlemaine, who was still adjusting her gown.

“Well, well. What have we here?” Castlemaine asked haughtily. “Groveling, Mrs. Gwynne?”

Nell met Castlemaine’s gaze directly. “If so, then ’tis Grovelin’ who’s right pleased to meet Arrogant, Lady Castlemaine,” she daringly returned. “’Tis a right fancy word I learned from Mr. Dryden.” She glanced at Hart, his face drained of its color. “Hello, Charles,” she said with an easy smile. “Surprisin’ company you keep these days.”

“Well, we do all have to be somewhere when we’re not sharing His Majesty’s bed,” Barbara retorted, her small nose tipped up as she bit back a contemptuous smile. “And variety, they say, is the spice of life.”

“But does not one usually rise
from
an actor
to
a king and not the other way around?”

“Clever tongue for a tart.”

“I don’t flatter myself, my lady. I’m just a ’umble girl, like a dozen others, from Coal Yard Alley.”

“Trust me, Mrs. Gwynne. Humility really is an overrated commodity.”

“On par with loyalty?”

Beck coughed into her hand. Richard bit his lip. Glances were exchanged as everyone went absolutely silent. Then Nell’s gaze met Lady Castlemaine’s again, like two opposing cats, backs hunched. Castlemaine’s blue eyes were hard and cold.

“The game, not the motivation, is the thing,
Nell.
Has His Majesty taught you so little?”

“I’ve learned well what ’e wishes me to know. Which is why both of us are ’ere and not with ’im at this moment, I expect.”

Castlemaine’s smile became a foxlike grin. “So you’ve met the new French whore.”

“I’ve seen ’er.”

“There’s quite a buzz about her, you know. The girl looks ten, but can play Frances Stuart’s game better than any expert doxy, myself included. He’s quite on the string over her already.”

Nell had heard from Buckhurst just how long Lady Stuart had held the king with little more than a tempting smile. But the king’s lust was a powerful thing, and that was precisely where she could do battle against anyone. She lifted her chin and smiled confidently. “I’m not worried. Besides, at the moment, I’ve a job to do.” She looked back at Charles Hart. “I’ve come to tell you I’ve decided to do the play.”

“Oh, bless you, Nell!” He lunged at her, embracing her tightly. “You’ll not be sorry! We shall be brilliant together!” He touched her cheek. “As we always have been.”

Nell stepped back. Her smile fell. “I’m ’ere to work, Charles. Only that. For anythin’ else, I leave you to Lady Castlemaine’s very capable ’ands.”

“Oh, now. Don’t be a spoilsport, Nell,” Castlemaine purred. “You took the king from me, and I took Mr. Hart. Can we not share and share alike without this reproach?”

“No reproach, Lady Castlemaine, just the truth. I’ve no interest now in any man but my son’s father.”

“Would that he were capable of returning your fidelity, my dear.”

“The part of ’im I’ve got is enough. And, after all, while ’e’s occupied, so am I.”

Charles Hart moved a step away from Castlemaine. “I cannot thank you enough. I know I don’t deserve this, after everything.”

Nell tossed her head and the coppery curls, done into fashionable ringlets, bounced on her shoulders. “Oh, “I’m not doin’ it for you, Mr. ’Art. Surely you knew that. There are people dependin’ on me. Every day that I’m near you, ’twill only ever be for them.”

With her words still hanging in the air, she turned and walked away, basking in the heady glow of a powerful moment that had taken her two years to earn, and which she knew she would savor forever.