The Perfect Royal Mistress (44 page)

The well-shared place,
she thought. But she did not say it.

“And the Carwell woman?” she cautiously asked instead, as they reached the landing.

William reached for the large brass handle, then turned back to her. “Make of this opportunity all that you are meant to, and think nothing of her. That is my best advice to you tonight.”

Nell wondered then if it were true about her prominence of place, why she still must be brought up the back stairs like all of the other girls who were brought almost nightly to the king of England’s bed?

“I have missed you.”

Nell lay cushioned by the dark tufts of hair covering his chest, one leg slung over his thigh, on top of a spray of silk-covered pillows sewn with the royal crest. She smiled mischievously at him. “And, apparently, I arrived not a moment too soon.”

He chuckled and caressed her bare shoulder. “There’s no one like you, Nelly. Nor shall there ever be.”

She rolled onto her side, then propped her head on her hand. Her hair fell in a cascade onto the thick, inky coils of his chest hair. “And ’tis a good thing, is it?”

“It is a very, good thing.”

“Will ye be as ’appy with me when I go back to work?”

“I was told about that.” He sighed then, and his expression became grave. “You know I shall take care of you and our son. I’ve told you before, you need not return to the stage at all.”

“And I love you for it. But ’tis more than you and I to consider.” Charles Hart’s contrition alone was worth returning to the stage. And there was Rose and Jeddy. Life had taught her that independence must be the lesson most well learned. “Mr. Dryden ’ad already written the play, so I told them I’d do it one more time. Then I would need to consider little Charles and ’is future.”

“What of
our
future, Nell?”

“You know I’ll be yours for as long as you want me.”

“Well, I want you. I want you very much indeed.” He kissed her then and very gently caressed her cheek with the back of his large hand. “Why on earth do you love a devilish rake like me, king or not?”

She kissed his cheek in return. She could be the bawd for him. That was a playing field she need not share with the French virgin. Nell sat back playfully on her knees, bare to him, and smiled broadly with her best stage smile. She poised her hands on her hips and tipped her head. “Because you are, and always will be, my very own Charles the Third—my Charlie—and make no mistake, ’tis a place to be reckoned with!”

“Blasted Buckhurst and Hart,” he said, glancing away, then back at her. “You watch that actor, then, if you mean to go on with this, Nell. I would just as soon see his head on a pike at Tower Bridge if he ever touches you again.”

“Oh, I’ve it on good authority that ’e’s got entertainment enough these days without lookin’ to ’is past for it.” An image of Lady Castlemaine, her hair tossed, dress askew, emerging from Charles Hart’s tiring-room bloomed then in her mind. She wondered what the king would think if he knew Barbara also had a taste for the lower classes. That day at the theater, Richard Bell had told her of a certain circus performer with whom the once-powerful favorite now divided her time.

“Pray, tell me, does your house here at Windsor please you well?” Charles asked her, surprisingly earnest.

She thought of the little place on the cobbled street wedged between a tavern and a cobbler shop, with its tall, narrow rooms, diamond-shaped windows, and little sea-coal fire blazing in the drawing room. “’Tis right snug, it is, Charlie.”

“It is the most prominent on Church Street, with a secret tunnel to the palace any time we like. And it’s yours now, Nelly. I bought it for you and Charles last month, so you shall always have your very own home to do with as you please whenever we are here. And I mean to bring you here quite often.”

She hugged him then, and let their kisses become passionate, expertly teasing him in the way she knew would most swiftly arouse him, because she did not want to think about the future. Or the truth: Lady Castlemaine had long possessed elegant and vast apartments, both at Whitehall and at Windsor. They were the very rooms, it was whispered, in which Louise de Kéroualle now lived. He could not be ashamed of her, she reasoned, because he had personally commanded her presence among the guests tonight at the official reception in his nephew’s honor. Yet there was still the slight sting of disappointment: a house, but not quite a place in the palace. Still, he had given her a miracle. He had given her the world. She would always give him what he desired, and keep her thoughts to herself.

Music from the banquet hall at Windsor Castle filtered from the open doors and down the hill as Nell came back into the bedchamber in the little house on Church Street. She had been dressed for the evening by two court ladies sent over by the king to assist her. Her hair was fashioned into tight curls, and her face was covered with a thin layer of powder. A single small black patch was applied near her eye as she stood completely unnerved, yet waiting for approval. Before her, Rose sat on the edge of the bed, holding baby Charles. Jeddy was beside her, dressed as a grand little lady in her blue silk dress. Mary Chiffinch stood near the door.

The gown Nell wore was grass-green watered silk, with a gathered skirt, and a tight bodice that laced in front. As Nell stood before them now, it was clear that she had added a small personal touch of her own to the fashionable gown. By untying the top two laces just enough, her plain country corset, a thing of coarse linen, was visible. It caught the eye most particularly because she had declined to wear the royal jewelry the king had sent with the court ladies to complete her ensemble.

“You cannot possibly,” Mary Chiffinch shook her head. “It makes you look—”

“It makes her look like what she is,” Rose declared in defense. “She’ll never fully get away from that.”

Rose knew how intimidated her sister was by the courtiers and the nobility around which she was forced to survive and thrive. The two sisters had spoken of it endlessly as they lay together in the dark at night, talking and gossiping about the day’s events. Even the lessons from the Chiffinches and her merry band had not bolstered Nell’s confidence entirely. And tonight was an actual state occasion.

“I really just think that you should—” Mary Chiffinch began, but Rose swiftly and firmly cut her off. “You go on as you are, Nelly. Be as you are, and proudly, too!”

Nell looked at her sister, feeling an enormous burst of love and gratitude for the only person in the world who could truly know what all of this was like for her. Rose alone, with a single look, could give her the confidence she needed to go forward tonight.

And she had.

Nell was escorted by the Duke of Buckingham into the long, narrow banquet hall. It was paneled in dark oak, and lit to a golden glow by candles in sconces and blazing lamps set along the walls. She saw Lady Shrewsbury talking with the Duchess of Lauderdale, and even caught a glimpse of Lady Castlemaine and her husband. And nearest the door stood the French ambassador, a little bald man in deep conversation with Louise de Kéroualle, who, from a distance, she now knew well. What a snug little evening, thought Nell with well-masked disdain.

“Chin up,” Buckingham whispered to her, their complex friendship deepening. “If I can see what you are thinking, they can as well.”

A seeming eternity later, the guests all turned in response to the opening of a pair of inlaid doors, pulled back by two stone-faced liveried servants, and the flourish of trumpets. Everyone fell into deep bows and curtsies as the music changed to a stoic, formal pavane, and King Charles and Queen Catherine slowly came into view, progressing together, hand in hand, and made their formal entrance. Behind them strode the king’s nephew, William of Orange, the guest of honor.

Nell stood among the crowd that ringed the grand room and watched them dance a more lively branle. She smiled and nodded, leaning in toward Buckingham, then smiling, as though he had just spoken to her, in case anyone was watching.

The evening droned on from there, through a series of lofty welcome speeches to the king’s esteemed guest. An interminably long meal followed. Then a servant touched Nell’s shoulder. He whispered that the queen wished to meet her. She glanced in panic across the room at the dais, draped in folds of burgundy-colored silk, and piled with gold goblets and plates of fruit and marzipan. The king sat beside his wife. Nell caught the exchange between them that was clearly about her. She saw Charles grow increasingly tense. Lady Castlemaine, seated near the queen, was looking at Nell, with an unmistakable smirk, as the servant led her toward them.

A moment later, the chasm that had always separated them fell away as Nell curtsied low before the queen, who was resplendent, seated in a throne of silver-and-blue velvet, her chin tipped up, her neck and wrists covered in jewels. Up close, she was prettier than Nell had expected. She was petite, as Nell was, and her nose was overly long, but her dark, watery eyes held a kindness that was apparent even behind the reserve.

“You are smaller than I had envisioned,” said the queen in a surprisingly soft tone, as the king sat silently watching.

“They say I’ve a rather irritatingly large voice to make up for it.”

Someone behind Nell stifled a cough.

“Do they?”

“They do, Your Majesty.”

“I remember you in
The Indian Emperor.
”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“I did not like you in it.”

Nell nodded.

“You were much better in
The Maiden Queen.
”

“I was, at that.”

“Ironic a role as that was for one such as yourself.”

Their eyes met. Catherine’s expression was stoic, until Nell smiled. “I never did master drama on the stage. I was actually quite dreadful at it.”

“Some roles are simply not suited, no matter how much one wishes to play them,” the queen said pointedly. “See that you take care with the unique role you are carving out for yourself in this world, my dear, as true favor is fleeting.”

“I shall remember that, Your Majesty.”

“The world can be a dark place for those who no longer possess it. Do learn to tread carefully. And tie up your laces, if you are going to attend this court in future.”

Nell understood her, and her meaning. She was ushered back to Buckingham’s side then, knowing precisely where she stood with the tolerant queen of England. Which was more than she could say for most of the rest of England’s court. Amid a rising crescendo of whispers, and with all eyes upon her, the musicians began a sprightly country tune. Nell was uncertain who said it, but as she neared the safety of Buckhurst’s side she heard a woman’s voice, and then another.

“Charming girl,” said one.

“She certainly has set this court on its ear.”

“And, if I may say, breathed a bit of new life into staid, old vulgarities.”

“Well, I think it is positively shameful, trotting her out like this as he does, and she from the very bowels of London! At least if he must, he should escort one of his
proper
whores. What must the poor queen think?”

“I would imagine Her Majesty is well used to it by now,” the second woman remarked, just as Buckhurst took Nell’s hand and smiled, full of sympathy.