Richmond emerged from his cabinet with scabbard strapped on, a spyglass in one hand, and a pistol in the other. He knelt before me. “Go to your chamber and stay. I can see the Medway from the park and will send word if you are to flee.” He deftly slipped the pistol under my hands. “Take this.” He caressed my shoulder. “I would die fighting to keep them from coming close to you, my love. You shall not need it.” He leaned, pressed hot lips to mine, and headed out.
I looked at the pistol. Its gleaming metal seemed to sing, What do you have now? No child. A disillusioned lover-king. Ruination wrought by your hands. The weight on my lap was taunting, threatening. Almost promising.
I jumped up and ran to my chambers without it.
The cannon fire shook Cobham even from so far away, as our country’s great pride, our Royal Navy, was destroyed.
CHAPTER 59
To languish in love, were to find by delay
A death that’s more welcome the speediest way.
On seas and in battles, in bullets and fire,
The danger is less than in hopeless desire.
—JOHN DRYDEN’S
song to Frances Stuart, “Farewell, Fair Armida”
The ships at Chatham were burned, sunk, or taken by our enemy. The menacing Dutch sailed up and down the coast. Richmond was ordered to call his militias and arm the villages of Dorsetshire against invasion. He left armed men with me and encouraged me to run the house and manage his business while he was away. I did it with surprising efficiency.
Elbows propped on his wide, gilt writing table, I reviewed a post announcing that a peace settlement with the Dutch had been signed in Breda. I dropped it and rubbed my eyes. The war was officially over, and Richmond would be home as soon as word spread to the last ships. Today alone I had given orders to our workmen to build a courtyard, dismissed one painter and hired another, interviewed one of Richmond’s privateer captains, and written three letters. I realized I had not thought of King Charles or the baby in several hours. I quickly snatched up a letter to keep distracting myself. Opening it for at least the tenth time since I’d found it among Richmond’s papers, I reread the marriage congratulations from Lord St. Albans.
… I beseech your grace to believe that, in order to the first, I take the part I ought, not only in reference to my respects to you, but by the obligations of the honor I have to be related to the person you have chosen, and that I wish you both all sorts of felicity …
I’d rounded the subject in my mind. He wasn’t related to the Stuarts or the house of Blantyre, or he’d have made it widely known for his advantage. His relationship to me must be through my mother! Was this the declaration my mother had dreaded? After I had done everything in my power to keep the question of her paternity quiet, had St. Albans actually revealed himself?
A light scratch sounded at the door. “Come.”
Richmond’s game warden returned, hat in hand, and bowed. “Yer Grace, we cannot get an outlier these last hours.”
“Very well.” Prince Rupert was posted at the nearby Isle of Sheppey, fortifying Sheerness. He’d requested a buck from Cobham to feed his men. “You may shoot one from the herd within the enclosure. Send it without delay.”
“Yes, Yer Grace.” He bowed and backed out, closing the door as he went.
I folded St. Albans’s letter and put it away. I dipped a quill tip in ink, positioned it at the top of a fresh sheet of foolscap, and waited. As soon as the temptation to begin the letter with “My dearest King Charles” had passed, I started writing, continuing my role as a duchess.
CHAPTER 60
Somerset House, London
Late March 1668
“Mary, have the servants light each chandelier.” I pointed to the ceiling of Somerset House’s Great Hall. “I want this reception to be perfect. Tonight may be the night the king comes.”
I glanced at her somber expression before she slipped out, and I knew she didn’t believe King Charles would come. Why should he?
“You look tired, Frances.”
I turned to Richmond, who walked in, tugging at his lace cravat. “My head aches, is all.” I crossed to him, took the lace into my fingers.
He never ceased to express kindness to me. No matter how much I pined for King Charles, he held my hand, patiently waiting. As he watched me, he wore a mixed expression of sympathy and hopefulness.
“There.” I finished the knot. “The handsomest duke in the realm.”
His face didn’t change. “He will come.”
“Such is the rumor these three months, yet still he doesn’t.”
He put his hands on my shoulders, and the scent of wine enveloped me. “Then we will go to France as planned. We shall see your mother. You can help her arrange a marriage for your sister. I will find a post in the navy for your brother.” He put a finger under my chin and lifted until I met his gaze. “And do not forget…” His words faded as he lowered his lips to mine.
It was not our first kiss. There’d been many tearful nights and even quiet days when Richmond had leaned in to comfort me with his soft lips. He greeted me with kisses and parted with them. Sometimes he caressed my arms or my back, a firm, respectful assertion of partnership. I returned the affection. I was neither stiff nor did I fall into him. Richmond’s kisses were a comfort, a reminder of the hope he harbored. Even as my heart ached for my lost love, I accepted Richmond’s kiss and clung to his companionship.
* * *
Instead of King Charles, Arlington attended our reception. “All the rest of London comes to pay court to you for your beauty’s sake. I would be remiss to neglect the Duchess of Richmond and Lennox.” He bowed low before my chair.
I waved a hand. “What news from court?”
He shot a glance around to be sure no one could hear. “You’ll have heard the Duke of Buckingham is back in favor. My—er—evidence against him did not stand. He regained his offices. He is a nuisance, doing nothing but confusing affairs. It is some consolation that King Charles sees his duplicity and doesn’t include him in the ministry councils.”
“When I heard the king accepted Buckingham back at court, I was all the more glad I had married. We could not have allowed him to encourage King Charles to divorce his queen.”
Arlington went on. “You’ll have heard, too, about Clarendon, gone into exile in France. I owe you thanks.”
“I did but little in that, sir. I am only glad the king did not punish Lord Cornbury for his part in it. I do not think a son is responsible for the sins of his father.”
He nodded with narrowed eyes. “I wondered about that, if you’d arranged Lord Cornbury’s appointment to coincide with the king’s discovery of your absence. Very cunning.”
“I did not do that for your sake but for the king’s. He tired long ago of Chancellor Clarendon but could not bring himself to unlock his shackles. I merely provided the key.”
“Whatever your reasons, it is a more organized cabinet without him. I’m able to do far more than before. You’ll have heard that King Louis invaded the Spanish Netherlands?”
I nodded. “You are to be congratulated on the Triple Alliance. That was a surprise.”
“I must say, I’m rather proud of the work between us, Sweden, and the Netherlands to force France into peace with Spain. There is even a peace between Spain and Portugal now. Louis will have to compromise on the Spanish Netherlands and will be kept in check…”
He droned proudly on. Nothing would keep King Louis in check. Charles would not stand forever as a blockade against his cousin Louis. I knew these men well enough to know that Arlington, though working admirably, was working himself into his tomb.
I held up my palm. “I am afraid I have no more stomach for politics.”
“Forgive me, Your Grace.” He glanced around again for listeners. “I thought your return to favor with the king would place you—”
I sat upright. “What did he say to you?”
Arlington looked confused. “H-he said nothing to me regardin
g Your Grace. But I believe his anger has long since cooled, and he has softened to the idea of readmitting you to court.”
I sat back, repositioning myself in the chair.
“Actually, I thought your presence in London indicated your intention to become his mistress once and for all.”
I stared at the statesman with growing contempt. He was correct, of course. That was exactly why I had come back. It was why Richmond let me come back. It was love for me, and gains for Richmond. But it was the first time I had heard it stated thus. It made me sound like a whore.
“Lord Arlington, my reasons for being so near Whitehall are personal. As you know, I injured the king. I wish to beg His Majesty’s forgiveness and make amends. I had hoped you came to facilitate that.”
“Alas,” he said. “Only rumors of your reconciliation brought me.”
“Tell the full truth. You wish to invest me in your political interests in hopes that I will further them with the king.”
He smiled slyly. “I confess.” He bowed. “Your Grace is a seasoned courtier to see so clearly.”
“Not so seasoned that I will agree. You shall have to seek Lady Castlemaine’s aid and be satisfied.”
“I beg your pardon,” he said, and bowed again. “I only sought Your Grace’s alliance because your temper is so much more amiable than the king’s other mistresses.”
My chest tightened. “Mistresses?”
He arched his brow. “Yes. Um … the king has dallied with a few since your departure. None of your character, rank, or beauty, of course.”
A few? No. If the queen had not satisfied him, he would have sought company with Castlemaine. Wouldn’t he? My head, which had ached all day, started a slow, frightening pound.
“Your Grace?” He extended a blue velvet box. “I’ve brought a present for you.”
Inside, a gold medal, impressed with my portrait as Britannia, sang out to me of yesterday, a song of hollow victory. Its perimeter bore the legend “Favente Deo.” God’s favor.
“It is the medal commemorating the Peace of Breda. I think, Your Grace, I could persuade King Charles to finally relent. If you wish, I will intercede with him on your behalf.”
King Charles had once called this portrait my legacy, and he has used it now to signify peace. I snapped the box shut and eyed Arlington. “No. If King Charles forgives me, it will be of his own persuasion. I’ll not allow you to interfere.”
His expression fell.
“I meant what I said earlier. I’ve no wish to involve myself in politics again. I’ll not take part in any matter beyond my husband’s affairs.” I felt the faint crush of velvet under the grip of my fingers. “I wish only to have my king’s forgiveness and to live quietly.”
* * *
That night I developed a fever. Arlington’s words tormented my dreams. Dreams of Charles, and dead babies, and laughing, careless women.
The fever clung. The fitful dreams grew worse. Images of my childhood and Madame flashed in and out of my mind. I was so hot with fever I dreamed I was running through London while it burned in the Great Fire. I dashed through flaming ruins looking for that gleaming-eyed little boy smeared in black soot. I wanted to help him, but he ran away from me, hiding. He didn’t want me. My skin smoldered. Slipping in and out of consciousness, I heard the physician declare I had smallpox. There was commotion in the chamber. I shuddered with worry for Richmond and my maids who had all been exposed to me.
The dreams took over. Now London was a raging inferno atop the ships of the English navy. I, holding my child and cloaked in my Britannia robes, stood on the rocks of Britain, reaching my spear out to my ships, trying to hook them so I could pull them back. But King Louis, Mother, and the Queen Mother yanked at them from across the Channel, and I slipped, losing my balance, almost toppling into the sea.
In a snatch of lucid thought, I told myself not to die without first seeing Charles, to tell him I was sorry. Remembering his anger was sickness again, and I hoped for an end to my torment. Back in the dream, the ships and burning London were out of reach. I planted the end of my spear through the water to the ocean floor, braced my feet firmly on the rocks, and knew I would not fall. The baby was no longer in my arms, but I was firmly planted and would not sink.
Then the pain began.
When I shook the delirium from my mind, it was only to grasp my disaster. My palms and soles were agonized by blisters. My face felt excruciating. I focused on the maid sent in to care for me and noticed her skin was deeply pockmarked.
“I’ve had the pox and lived, as will you, Your Grace.”
“I don’t want to live,” I said in a gravelly voice. I closed my eyes and wished I could have fallen into the ocean of my dream.
“But you have so much to live for, Your Grace! Just now there’s a message from the king himself.”
Tears sprang to my eyes and burned so badly I almost forgot my skin.
“He says to tell you all is forgiven.” She paused. “Did you hear me, Your Grace? He says all is forgiven.”
Much good may it do me now.
CHAPTER 61
At my goldsmith’s did observe the king’s new medal, where, in little, there is Frances Stuart’s face as well done as ever I saw anything in my whole life, I think: and a pretty thing it is, that he should choose her face to represent Britannia by.
—SAMUEL PEPYS’S DIARY
When the hellish blisters turned to scabs, my own maids returned. They kept their thoughts and feelings carefully concealed when they looked at my face. I was too weak and somber to talk.
Richmond smelled strongly of whisky when he came to my bedside. His eyes were swollen and red, with dark shadows beneath. “So relieved that you will live,” he said, squeezing his own hands together because I would not let him touch mine. “Could not have gone on without having you as my wife.”
It was the only time I’d ever thought Richmond a fool. It would have been much better for him if I’d died. Over his shoulder I could see large cloths draped over all the looking glasses.
One day I opened my good eye, for one was swollen with infection, and saw a figure in the chair beside my bed. I assumed it was Richmond, but when I stirred, the figure sat up.
It was King Charles. “Are you awake?”
I gasped and futilely turned my face away, both astonished to see him and ashamed to let him see me.
“It’s not bad,” he said, taking my hand. “You don’t have very many marks.”
I yanked away, thinking only of the danger to him. “You mustn’t touch me. You shouldn’t even be here.”
He held up his hands. “I’ve had so much exposure to smallpox, I don’t believe I can catch it.” He grinned, that mischievous grin I’d ached for. “Or do you not want me because you are still so angry with me?”
“Me angry?” I dropped the little shield I’d made with my hand. “You haven’t wanted to see me in a year. You were the angry one.”
“When I feared for your life, none of it seemed important anymore.”
Unsure what to say, I lay silent. In the moment I’d longed for these twelve months, I only wanted to hide my disfigured face from him. But I didn’t turn away again, and he did not avert his eyes. He showed no trace of distaste.
“You will not be marked much. But you are ill, and I will not stay if it distresses you.”
* * *
The next time he came, I was ready. I felt almost healthy when the herald announced his approach. Hair washed and arranged, scabs all fallen off, supper eaten, and linens fresh, I sat up in my bed, with Richmond waiting at the center of the chamber.
I’d insisted Richmond stay. He was so much a part of me now, my closest and only friend for so long, that I had to ensure he was included in my return to favor. He’d planned and revised an apology, then discarded it, admitting to me that he really wasn’t sorry he’d married me. Now an air of dignified humility rose about him where he stood.
King Charles entered. His gaze fell on Richmond first, a
nd his expression went sour.
Richmond presented his leg and bowed low over it.
King Charles’s entire body stiffened, as if the sight of Richmond were rousing his old anger.
I held my breath. Richmond stood firm. He glanced at me. In his eyes was a message of tenderness, affection, and that old hope that love would grow between us. It was also a farewell. He would leave me alone with King Charles because it was my wish.
The king saw it, too. Richmond turned to the king and bowed again, and this time stayed low as he spoke. “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty. I acted on the inclination of my heart without heeding your commands or considering any injury my actions would inflict on you. I submit myself to your mercy.”
King Charles frowned, but I could see his shoulders relax a little. By the time Richmond had risen from his bow, I knew the king would forgive him. He didn’t nod or gesture. He didn’t need to. He only muttered, “Richmond.”
Richmond nodded. Then, with regret, he stepped around the king and backed from the chamber.
When the door closed, King Charles looked at me. “He’s in love with you.”
“We’ve been each other’s only company for a year.”
“And do you love him?”
“After all he has endured for my sake, I would be heartless to say no,” I said. “But what I feel for him is nothing like my love for you.”
There was long silence. Each of us looked away. I cleared my throat and gestured to the chair by my bed. “Let us spend some time talking of happier things. How is my queen?”
He took off his hat and stepped toward the seat. “Catherine had been very well, dear woman.” He paused as he sat down. “It would be best to talk of other things. She was with child again, you see.” He looked at the floor. “She is well now, but, alas, she has lost the child.”
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