The King's Favorite

by Susan Holloway Scott

  The duke hadn’t looked away from me yet, even if he hadn’t recalled me. That vexed me mightily. I’d copper hair and green eyes, and I didn’t look like other women. If I could remember him clear back to Mrs. Ross’s house, then duke or not, he should have had the decency to remember me, or leastways to pretend to it.

  “Oh, I’d vow Mrs. Gwyn has already achieved that goal, Hart,” he said dryly. “Words seem to spill from her lips like the waters in a brook.”

  “Why, how handsomely you turned that, Y’Grace!” I exclaimed with droll amazement. “You could be a player on the boards, too, Y’Grace, indeed you could.”

  He smiled, surprised, I think, that I’d a wit to match my tits. “And you, my dear,” he said, “could be a courtier at Whitehall.”

  “I’d like that, Y’Grace.” Emboldened by his smile, I tipped my head slyly to one side. “Lady Nelly! Pray, tell His Majesty I’ll be honored to offer my services, if he needs an ambassador to settle those thieving Dutchmen.”

  “Oh, I’ll tell him more than that, Mrs. Gwyn.” He touched my cheek with the back of his gloved fingers, the scent of the costly leather filling my nose. I did not flinch nor lower my eyes. Instead I evenly met and returned his gaze; I’d learned enough of men in my short life to realize the danger in underestimating a gentleman as deceptively disinterested as the duke.

  “I believe His Majesty has long had an interest in Mrs. Gwyn’s abilities,” Charles said, ever the genial host. “We shall be certain that His Majesty receives an invitation to Mrs. Gwyn’s first performance.”

  “Be sure to send me one as well, Hart.” The duke looked at me one last time, then raised his hand in a careless, dismissive farewell. “A pleasant evening to you both.”

  “Take care with Buckingham, Nell,” Charles warned as soon as the duke was out of hearing. “He’s not one of your sots in the pit, to be twisted like a ring around your finger.”

  “He doesn’t scare me, no more than a flea.” I finished the rest of my chocolate and pushed the empty dish away. “You’d make a hugely fine courtier yourself, Charles.”

  “I’d sooner pitch myself into a well full of writhing snakes,” he declared. “I’ve no stomach for the games at Whitehall.”

  “Fah, I can’t see that they’re any different from the ones that are played in the tiring-room,” I scoffed. “Only the jewels aren’t paste. I could swim in those waters, if I wished it.”

  But Charles was too serious to banter such idle jests from me. “I’ll say it again. Don’t take Buckingham lightly, Nelly. I don’t doubt he came here with the purpose of seeing us, though for what reason, I cannot guess.”

  “You heard him,” I said, already weary of this conversation. “He wishes me to come and be a courtier for the king.”

  “Don’t even jest about that, Nell,” he ordered, clearly appalled. “I’d never wish to see you there, sullying yourself with creatures like him. It’s bad enough to witness how those people jockey about and betray one another for gain. But Buckingham destroys those around him for the sport of it, and to amuse the king with the telling afterward. Do you know he’s swiving the Countess of Shrewsbury? ”

  I remembered them all sitting together at the playhouse: the Duke and Duchess of Buckingham, the Earl and Countess of Shrewsbury, the king and Lady Castlemaine, as cozy as ordinary folk in their pew at the parish church. “Does the earl know? ”

  Charles shook his head. “They say she’ll leave the earl for Buckingham, and when she does, that Buckingham will be done with her, and cast her off. His goal was not the lady herself, but the challenge of giving his friend a cuckold’s horns. Are you finished here?”

  “Aye.” I stood to let him drape my cloak around my shoulders, thinking. Clearly peeresses were no better nor stronger than other low mortal women if they let themselves be so cockstruck as Lady Shrewsbury. But then, I was still young enough to preach like a philosopher about matters I didn’t yet comprehend, and young enough, too, not to understand the power of a woman (or man) gone mad with love.

  The chill night air stung my cheeks as we stepped outside into the street, and I drew my hood more closely around my face. “Faith, Mr. Hart, but it’s cold as a witch’s ass tonight.”

  “That it is, Mrs. Gwyn.” He settled his arm around me, drawing me closer to his side as we walked.

  I snugged closer beneath his arm to share his warmth. “Are you protecting me from the cold, Charles, or are you keeping this little lamb from the jaws of that wicked old wolf Buckingham?”

  “Both.” He smiled, sheepish himself at being so obvious. “I don’t like imagining you among those jackals at Whitehall, Nell.”

  I chuckled. While I could imagine myself at Whitehall with perfect ease, there was nothing to be gained by admitting it and idly distressing Charles that way. Why, I’d be no better for cruelty than the wolfish duke himself.

  “Snakes and jackals, lambs and wolves,” I said instead. “Where are we bound next, sir? The menagerie of wild beasts at the Tower? ”

  “To the river,” he said, “for the rest of your surprise. The speaking part was only half of it.”

  I’d not expected that, though it made me glad. How could it not? I was young, aye, but I wasn’t a fool. Well-planned surprises like this were rare in men. It was obvious to everyone in the company that Charles was besotted with me, far beyond what was usual for the newest actress. Though I now earned the beginner’s acting fee of fifteen shillings a week, it was as nothing, because Charles paid for my lodging and suppers and new gowns to replace my more humble orange girl’s dress.

  To be such a favorite of the company’s leading actor (and the second shareholder after Master Killigrew) was a most useful place for me to be, and a comfortable one, as well. While I’d great faith in my own talents, Charles’s interest was like a feather bed beneath me, cushioning me against outside blows and easing my peace.

  The late hour and the cold had made the streets too empty to walk safely, and not far from the tavern we found a hackney, driving at Charles’s orders to the Westminster Stairs, below the abbey. The night sky was clear and dotted with stars, with the few fires that remained burning in windows or before houses scattered among the city’s buildings. Marked by the lanterns in their prows, a handful of boatmen slowly worked the channel in the center of the river, away from the pale, rough ice that lay along the banks and clustered in the rushes.

  I could feel the cold from the stone steps through the soles of my shoes, and I hopped up and down to warm them. At least he’d bid the driver wait.

  “Am I next to play a mermaid, sir, frozen and bound by a world of ice?” I asked, my words turning to little clouds before my face. “How will you contrive that on the stage?”

  “If that’s what you wish,” he said, joining me, “I’ll tell Dryden to write it for you.”

  “You blackguard,” I said cheerfully. “I’d like to see you spout your lines when your lips are blue.”

  “Hush, Nell,” he scolded gently, “and find the beauty in the night instead of complaining about it.”

  I laughed, and danced away from him across the top stone step, swirling my cloak and petticoats around my ankles. “Look at the palace, Charles! What do you think they’re about so late? ”

  From the steps we could see the long, large outline of Whitehall Palace, hanging over the north bank of the river not far from where we stood. The palace’s roof was lit by torches, with the shadows of figures moving back and forth silhouetted by the flames.

  “Do you think the king’s on the roof, Charles? It’s the top to his house, so he should be.” I chattered with excitement and the cold. “Do you think he’s there with the queen, or Lady Castlemaine?”

  “His Majesty is there,” Charles said, “and with him is the queen, and they’re on the roof for the same reason as we’re here now.”

  He took me by the shoulders and turned me about, so my back was against his chest, and pointed high up into the night. A huge white star, more brilliant than any o
ther, seemed to move with slow majesty across the sky, with a train of lesser stars streaming after. I gasped with wonder, and with my face upturned, I greedily drank in the rare sight as if I’d never see my fill of it.

  “There’s your comet, Nell,” he whispered. “You’ll never see another like it in your life, the astronomers say. Fit for a queen, and fit for you, too. Not even the king himself can offer better tonight.”

  He kissed me then, blotting the sight of the comet from my view. I’d sensed so long his attraction to me, that now that he finally had acted upon it, I sighed with happy relief, and slipped my arms in a coaxing ring around his shoulders. I didn’t like a debt left so long open; God knows by now I owed him more than I could measure. I was thankful that at last he’d decided the same, and come to collect what was due.

  The comet forgotten, I embraced him with zeal and eagerness. He proved to be as skilled at kissing as he was at most else, making sure I could taste the heat of his desire without smothering me in the process. When he suggested we repair to his lodgings, I readily agreed, kissing and caressing him all the while in the hackney. By the time we reached his bedchamber, he was afire like a stallion who sniffs a mare. I scarce managed to wriggle free of him, scooting to the other side of the bed to pull off my clothes.

  “Nell, Nell, what is this? ” he demanded, following me around the bed. “We’ve all the night before us. Surely, I would see you as Eve in the garden, but you needn’t act with such haste.”

  “I thought that was what you’d want, sir.” Breathlessly, I untied the tapes at my waist to let my petticoat drop to the floor, and next began to shrug my arms free of my stays. “I know it’s the taste of gentlemen. After all you’ve done for me, I only wish to please you.”

  I wriggled free of my stays and tossed them aside with a flourish and a mock fanfare, my hands over my head. This was not only for a fine dramatic effect, of course, but also to display my rounded breasts to bobbing advantage beneath my linen smock.

  Yet to my considerable surprise, Charles was not made happy by my willingness. In fact, he seemed more displeased than otherwise, confusing me no end.

  “For God’s sake, Nell,” he said roughly, pulling my arms down to my sides. “Not like that.”

  “Not like what?” I asked breathlessly, leaning into him so my breasts would press winsomely against his chest.

  “Not like a whore,” he said, drawing back.

  I caught my breath, stunned he’d say such a thing to me.

  “Maybe I’m like a whore because I am one.” I jerked my arms free of his grasp, my speech unconsciously shifting back to Coal Yard Alley as I backed away from him. “That’s what you brought me here for, aye? Maybe whore’s ways be all I know, on ’count of that’s what’s wanted of me by men such as you.”

  “Then it’s past time you learned better, Nell,” he said sharply. “Don’t offer yourself like that.”

  “And you’ll be the one t’teach me the difference, won’t you?” I said bitterly, turning my back toward him. “You never forget you’re my better.”

  He seized my shoulder and pulled me around. “That’s not what I intended, Nelly. I didn’t mean me. It’s you who are better than that.”

  I shook my hair away from my face and stared back at him, all bold defiance and, if truth to tell, all desire, too. “I don’t believe you,” I said breathlessly. “Not by half.”

  He touched his thumb beneath my chin, the lightest touch possible. “Are you daring me, sweet?”

  I smiled with anticipation, knowing I had him again. “You’ll have to decide that for yourself, sir.”

  “I will,” he said, gathering me into his embrace, “and when I’m done, I vow you’ll thank me for it.”

  He carried me to the bed, laying me on it with the tenderest care. I held my arms out to him, welcoming him to his reward. But instead of taking me quickly as my experience with Mr. Duncan had led me to expect, he held true to his vow. He showed more care with me than a hen with a single chick to mind, kissing and teasing and caressing me with such thorough attention that I felt sure I’d perish from sweet, sweating delight.

  When at last Charles joined with me, he surprised me further by bidding me settle atop him, a posture that Mr. Duncan had damned as a heathen conceit. Now, I’d not confessed to Charles that I had never felt the pleasure to coupling that Rose assured me she did. It had been my secret shame, so sure was I that I was somehow lacking or inferiorly made within.

  But Charles must have guessed this doubt of mine, just as he’d guessed so much else, and once I was astride him, he took care to let me determine our pace, all the while stroking me where I was most stretched around him until, at the last, I was gasping and clutching and weeping with the wondering joy of what we’d done.

  Afterward, I lay upon him as limply as a sated little cat, purring my newfound delight and showering him with grateful kisses.

  “So you took my dare, Charles,” I said, chuckling, “and I took your cock. A fair trade, eh?”

  “A fair trade, with equal profit for both parties.” He smiled fondly, and twisted one of my unruly curls about his finger. “My own Nell! You see now how it should be between lovers.”

  “Like lovers,” I repeated in a husky, dreamy whisper, and lowered myself to kiss him again. In all my life, I’d not known a gentleman like Charles Hart, nor the kindness and regard with which he’d treated me. To be the avowed lover of such a man was an unimginable honor for a girl like me, and I knew it, too, with all my soul and being.

  Like lovers, aye. But I did not love him. No, I did not love him, nor ever would.

  Chapter Seven

  THEATRE ROYAL, LONDON March 1665

  Balancing on Charles’s thigh with his arm around my waist to keep me steady, I held the goblet of wine high in one hand, using my other to keep my heavy plumed crown from tumbling backward off my head. All of us players, actors and actresses alike, had crowded into the women’s tiring-room for this hasty toast to our play’s author before we finished dressing for today’s performance. As the youngest, I’d the honor of offering a word or two along with our wine.

  “To John Dryden,” I declared, “whose glorious pen puts words in our mouths, and this wine in our glasses, too. Ahh, dearest Johnny, what would we do without you?”

  “Another bloody revival of Macbeth, Nelly, that’s what,” boomed Mr. Lacy from the back of the room. “To the devil with all them infernal Scots and witches, and to the long health of Dryden and The Indian Emperor!”

  Together we all gave our roaring, laughing approval, while Mr. Dryden, a shy fellow at the best of times, blushed like a maiden and nodded happily as the men clapped him on his narrow back. He’d do nothing to cross us today, anyway; this was the third performance of The Indian Emperor and the playwright’s benefit by custom, and therefore his due to claim for himself whatever profit the company earned. This play would run only three more days after that, the standard allotment, to finish the week before we staged another.

  I’d no complaint of my own, either. At Charles’s request, Mr. Dryden had written me a splendid role—Cydaira, that selfsame emperor’s daughter—and though it was hardly the merry part that would have suited my tastes, I still was dazzled by my new fame as a leading player.

  “Prettily said, Nell, prettily done,” Charles remarked as he handed me down. “I doubt there’s ever been a finer tribute from a lady.”

  “Thank’ee, sweet,” I said, and kissed him, too, for good measure. “But mind you that tribute came from an actress, not a lady.”

  He laughed and patted me tenderly on the bum as the others scattered to go about their own preparations for the performance. There was not a soul in the playhouse who didn’t know we were lovers, nor did anyone object to it, either. We were open in our affection for one another, both here behind the scenery and upon the stage itself, where we played as lovers, too—his Spanish Captain Cortez to woo my Indian princess—a charming conceit that was pleasing our audiences as much as it did
us.

  And it was, of course, a most beneficial arrangement to me. I had been hugely fond of Charles even before I’d begun sharing his bed, and now that he’d extended my education there as well as upon the stage, my regard had only grown. He’d taught me how to garner my own pleasure as well as to grant it to him, and together we’d explored all manner of delightful postures and experiments. The perfunctory style of Mr. Duncan was forgotten in the dust where it was best buried, and replaced by countless new joys. I was flattered to have so splendid a man as Charles Hart as my besotted lover, and if our dalliances did occasionally stretch from night into morning, and past the time for our rehearsal at the playhouse, well, then, so be it. Because of Charles’s protection, there’d be no fines nor punishments imposed upon me, no matter how young and green an actress I was. Likewise, I received endless small indulgences in the form of richer costumes and better lodgings and meals.

  As can be imagined, with the preference I also earned my share of envy and spite from several of the other, older actresses, and it took all my budding skill as a politician to keep peace in the tiring-room.

  Charles could vow he’d want no part of palace intrigue, but Whitehall itself was as nothing compared to the constant scheming and backbiting that went on among the actresses.

  Not that Charles, being a man, was aware of any of it. “If I’m to see the Indian princess,” he said now, “then you’d better finish dressing. We’ve nearly a full house. Too many folk to keep waiting while Cydaira binds up her garters.”

  “Oh, a pox on my garters, Charles.” In fact, I hadn’t so much as put on my stockings, let alone my garters, and to prove it I pranced my bare toes before him. I wore my tall brass crown with the red plumes, true, but below it only my smock and my stays, and the sheer linen did little to hide my charms. Though we’d no false modesty in the tiring-room, I’d thrown the emperor’s long purple cape over my shoulders, where it dragged and trailed on the floor behind me.