Still I smiled, my mouth as stiff as if it were carved from wood. It would seem that the notion of me tempting Lord Middlesex was so hideously laughable that he’d only to attach my name to his poem for the rest of the Court to understand the satire. If only John Churchill and I had already made our betrothal common knowledge, then no one would be laughing. If only he were here with me now as my intended husband, then they’d all see that I was desirable enough to win a handsome, gallant lover for myself.
“Then it must be true,” Her Highness said thoughtfully, accepting the hateful explanation as all the others did, too. “But explain if you will one more thing. What, pray, is a ‘Black-Guard boy’?”
“If you please, ma’am, there’s little reason for you to know about the Black-Guard boys,” said one of the maids of honor. From where I sat, I couldn’t see which it was; not that it was of much interest to me, considering how they were all so much alike in their pathetic desperation to please.
“They’re always lolling at the back of the palace and near the Horseguards’ Parade, ma’am,” the maid of honor continued. “Packs of unkempt, foulmouthed boys who, for a coin, will take a horse to be watered, or, after darkness has fallen, light the way with their vile, smoky links.”
“True, ma’am, all true,” murmured another lady, languidly stroking the long-eared spaniel in her lap. “Those rascally boys are the vilest creatures imaginable.”
“Yes, my lady,” continued the maid of honor in her cheerful, high voice, refusing to be deterred. It was almost as if she were making a school-room recitation, she was that determined to finish, whether we wished to hear it or not. I certainly didn’t, serving as it did only to heap more insult upon me by way of this infamous Dorinda. My first surprise and shame was now matched with my rising indignation, and I labored to keep my face pleasant and my temper under control. I’d long ago learned that Her Highness had no tolerance for oaths, anger, or other wicked talk among the ladies in her company, and as tempting as it was now to give voice to my outrage, I knew it would be a disastrous mistake, and possibly an end to my welcome in her presence.
Not, of course, that the impudent young maid of honor cared.
“They’re known as Black-Guard boys, ma’am,” she continued, “on account of the dirtiness of their persons and their oaths. To have one serve as Dorinda’s mercenary Cupid, brandishing his link like a pike, shows exactly how despicable and false a lover she must be.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Her Highness, impressed by this spiteful scrap of nothing. “It would seem that Lord Middlesex must have chosen his symbols with the greatest concern for their effect.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the maid said, milky-sweet. “His Lordship has much talent.”
“He does,” the duchess said, smiling with the oblivious indulgence that royalty showed to their favorites like this maid, a kind of favoritism that I’d never receive, no matter how hard I tried. But this lady had become as much a pet as the spaniels curled at the duchess’s feet; there was no doubt of it. Her Highness would never have let her prattle on so long if she weren’t. “We thank you for enlightening us as to this sordid aspect of the poem, Mrs. Jennings.”
Mrs. Jennings, I thought with surprise: the maid of honor whose name had once been bound with my John’s. I’d not expected that. Mary Beatrice rose, determined to go walking through the palace with her cousin, and continue their conversation with more privacy. Respectfully we all stood to curtsy, and one by one and according to our rank, we followed after Her Highness.
At last I could see Sarah Jennings, and what was more, I saw how she was looking at me. No, not looking, but staring, her gaze twisted into a fearsome scowl and her plump red lips pinched so tightly together that they’d nearly vanished. The ferocity of her expression shocked me, especially in a girl of seventeen, yet now I understood why she’d been so determined to explain Lord Middlesex’s slander of me to Her Highness. No matter what John might believe of how he and Mrs. Jennings had parted, I saw at once that she still cared for him, and worse, that she considered me to be a fixed rival.
I’d only a moment to consider how best to cope with this astonishing revelation. The other ladies were moving swiftly before me, their silk skirts shushing against the frame of the open door. Because my father was a baronet and of a higher rank than Mrs. Jennings’s, I would precede her through the door. I took my place, and as I passed her, I nodded in her direction, the smallest (and safest) acknowledgment I could make. But that wasn’t sufficient for Mrs. Jennings.
“Mind your Black-Guard Cupid,” she whispered as I passed. “Dear Dorinda.”
I looked at her sharply, but she was smiling now as if nothing was amiss. I let it pass, and answered nothing. Yet what she’d said had troubled me mightily, and I could scarce wait to share my concerns later that evening with John. I waited until we were alone late that night, together in my carriage, where I was certain we’d not be overheard.
“You worry overmuch about Sarah,” he said, his voice low and calming. “She is a passionate woman, and given to jealousy.”
“She’s also one of the duchess’s little pets,” I said, unable to help myself. “She as much as licks Her Highness’s hand. Did you know that?”
“She has no fortune, and does what she must.” John sighed. “Do not think of her, Katherine. Nothing more will come of it than this, I promise you.”
“But if you had heard how she went on and on about that scurrilous poem, as if to poison Her Highness against me—”
“Hush, hush, sweet,” he said, kissing me lightly by way of distraction. “I tell you, it matters not. Sarah is of no consequence to you. What concerns me far more is the great dislike Lord Middlesex bears you. Isn’t he a friend of your father’s? What would possess him to write such a piece about you?”
I sighed, wishing that in the darkened carriage, I could see more of John’s face to judge his mood. I’d never told him about what Lord Middlesex had proposed and I’d rejected; not that I wished it to be a secret, for I was hardly at fault, but simply because I hadn’t seen the purpose to describing an event that was so long in the past. Now I explained as best I could what had happened between Lord Middlesex and me, and how he’d taken my refusal as a great and personal affront. I’d feared that John might in turn take offense on my behalf and behave in a foolishly gallant way as gentlemen too often do, pledging his sword in the name of my honor, but this was not at all his response.
“Lord Middlesex has much influence with His Majesty, Katherine,” he said. “I cannot believe you would anger him like this over nothing.”
“Over nothing?” I exclaimed. “Faith, would you rather I’d let him rape me instead?”
“No, no,” he said quickly. “But surely, Katherine, there must have been a way to decline his offer without causing such grave offense. I cannot imagine what words you must have used that His Lordship would take so much trouble now to reply to you this way.”
I shifted away from him on the seat. “I used the words that were necessary to preserve my honor, John. When a man is determined to throw a lady’s petticoats over her head, he is not inclined to hear a polite refusal. Even if he’s a peer. Especially if he’s a peer.”
“I am serious, Katherine.”
“I am, too, John.” Disheartened, I sighed again, crossing my arms as I looked away from him and from the carriage window. I didn’t wish to displease him, but his stand made no sense to me. “Here I feared I’d have to coax you from challenging His Lordship to a duel, and instead it seems as if you’re faulting me for his ill-mannered behavior.”
“I’m not faulting you at all,” he said, drawing me back into his arms. “My dear Katherine! All I ask is that you take more care in what you say and do with gentlemen like Lord Middlesex. If you behave rashly, without forethought, then I will be affected by it as well. I wish for us to prosper at Court, my love. For us to succeed, as my wife you must add caution to your demeanor, and behave with more modesty, as befits your rank. There are expec
tations for a Churchill lady.”
I glowered, far from happy with his response. “Oh, yes, the Churchill ladies. Likely your sister could advise me further on the proper manner in which to lift my skirts and spread my legs for whoring with the duke, as she has.”
John made a low growl of displeasure. “Katherine, please. We are not speaking of Arabella.”
“What a pity we are not,” I said. “It would make for a far more interesting conversation than this one.”
“Forgive me if I bore you, Katherine,” John said. “But all I expect from you is that you act with more deliberation and grace than impulse. That’s not so much to ask, is it?”
I sighed unhappily, torn between my own beliefs and my love for John.
“Is it?” he repeated. “Tell me if you think it so, for I’d rather know it now than learn it later.”
Reluctantly I shook my head, not wanting to displease him further, and let him kiss and coax me into an agreeable reconciliation. I knew he had many ambitions for our future together—it was in truth much of his shining attraction for me—and I’d hate to be the cause of any misstep in his plans.
Yet even as I basked in the pleasure of his embrace, I couldn’t entirely put aside my niggling fears. He’d faulted Sarah Jennings as being overly passionate, and now me for behaving rashly. Clearly if I wished to remain in his regard, I’d have to guard myself even more closely against impetuosity. If that was the price to secure John Churchill’s love and my happiness, too, then I’d willingly pay it.
THE KING ALWAYS HELD HIS MOST important entertainments and balls in the Banqueting House, and it was a sign of how much he favored Her Highness (and, of course, of how much he enjoyed any manner of frolic) that he’d granted her the use of it for her ball tonight. As if to prove it further, His Majesty was seen to dance most every dance, with partners that included Her Highness, his elder niece the Lady Mary, his mistresses Lady Mazarin and Lady Portsmouth, and even Her Majesty.
The evening was barely half done, yet I myself had already considered it a success. Both Father and John had vowed I was the handsomest lady in attendance, and with their praise as well as a new mantua of deep blue French silk brocade with a pattern of pomegranates, I felt as close to being pretty as I likely ever would.
John and I danced often together, an elegant couple. Though there was still no formal settlement between my father and John’s, word of our impending match had become known, and we received a heady share of compliments for our coming marriage. Even His Majesty had winked broadly, teasing me about how John and I would surely produce our own little troop of soldiers to bring glory to England, and promised us a generous wedding gift.
I was perhaps proudest of how I’d managed to avoid Lord Middlesex, exactly as I’d vowed to John I’d do, and though I did hear several “Dorindas” directed to me, they were sufficiently well meant and without malice that I could smile and accept them not as an insult, but with good-humored grace.
Sarah Jennings sat with the other maids of honor, clustered together around Her Highness’s tall-backed chair. I knew she watched me dance with John, for I could feel her gaze burning upon us, as hot as the flames of the candles overhead. So determined was she to keep us in view that she didn’t dance herself, though gentlemen asked her and were rebuffed. And I—I did not care a fig.
Now I stood to one side to catch my breath between dances, having released John to speak to several other officers in attendance. Though outside it was a chill January night, in the hall the air was warm and heated with the crush of so many people and so much flirtation. Lord Rochester had come to keep my company; though he claimed he was too weary to dance, his wit was as sharp as ever, and to hear his remarks on the others around us made me laugh like the old days.
“Your father has told me this night that you’re to wed Colonel Churchill,” he said, taking me by surprise. “Is that true, or only another of Little Sid’s idle fancies?”
“It should be true, my lord,” I said, laughing softly. “John has asked me, and I have accepted, and now it’s only the settlements that must be arranged.”
He made a long face, as if smelling something disagreeable. “Oh, aye, the settlements. They’re the true heart of every marriage, aren’t they? Who can lay more waste to whose fortunes, and love be hung and damned.”
“Pray don’t be such a cynic, my lord,” I said, giving his arm a gentle shove. “It’s not pleasing to a bride.”
“Hah, mind the wine, my dear, mind the wine,” he said, raising his arm to make a show of protecting his goblet. Father sadly claimed it was as much a surfeit of wine as the pox that was slowly killing his friend, and when I watched how greedily he emptied the goblet and then thrust it out for a passing footman to refill, I could well believe it. He drank again, and seemed to find some comfort in it, for all that his hand continued to shake as he winked at me.
“You can chide me all you wish as a bride, Katherine,” he said, “but it’s your groom who concerns me at present.”
“John?” I asked, bemused. “Whatever is there to concern you about him?”
“What is there not?” He smiled, but without any humor. “I know your father regards him as a prize, but I’ve my doubts.”
“You shouldn’t,” I said in ready defense. “He’s already achieved so much for a gentleman his age, and he’s only begun his career.”
“I’ll grant you that he’s brilliant when it comes to his own gain,” he answered. “It’s the more noble qualities that are lacking in the rogue. Consider how he treated my cousin Barbara, no paragon herself. He wheedled five thousand gold crowns from her in return for warming her bed, then left her with a bastard brat that he still won’t own as his. Thank God His Majesty showed himself the greater gentleman and let Barbara pin the babe on him, else she would have been thoroughly disgraced and ruined.”
He smiled drolly, for his cousin Barbara was the Duchess of Cleveland, and she’d borne so many bastards to the king that one more or less would make no difference to anyone. But I understood his warning. Even now, John spoke openly of Her Grace’s immense gift to him as somehow his by right, rather than by the lady’s fond generosity, and shrugged away any question of accepting responsibility for the child he’d sired on her. Neither posture showed him well, but like any dazzled lover, I was willing to explain it all away.
“He has many fine qualities, my lord,” I said. “If you knew him, you’d see for yourself. His Highness has just recommended him to King Louis as the most qualified to command an English royal regiment in French service.”
But His Lordship remained unconvinced. “Has he made you any gifts, such as one does with a betrothed?”
“No,” I admitted reluctantly. “Not as yet. But then, his father is so far in debt that John has little ready money of his own, and must employ nearly all he earns to restoring the estate.”
“Yet I’d wager five guineas that you’ve remembered him after some fashion.”
“Small tokens, yes.” I blushed for myself, not John. The small tokens had not been small at all, but a pair of costly Italian pistols with silver-wire inlays that John had admired in the window of a gunsmith. I’d later bought them for him as a surprise, and though he’d been delighted to receive them, he’d yet to reciprocate with so much as a posy of flowers from Covent Garden.
“No matter how small your tokens were, I’d wager his were smaller still, so small that a mite would find shame in them.” Over the rim of his goblet, His Lordship studied me with pity, clearly guessing all I hadn’t said. “But then, that’s handsome Colonel Jack, isn’t it? Shameless, blameless, and full of avarice.”
“You’re unkind, my lord,” I said, even as the flush on my cheeks deepened.
“No one’s ever said otherwise,” he agreed, and smiled, the same beatific smile I’d first seen at Epsom now beaming from his ravaged face. “But take care before you yoke yourself forever to Jack and ambitions, my dear. You’re far too clever to play camp follower to anyone.”
/> For no reason at all I felt tears sting my eyes. Before they betrayed me, I took my leave from the earl and began across the crowded hall to rejoin John. Being as slender as I was, it was not an easy progress for me, and I was forced to dodge this way and that among the scores of others, excusing myself over and over as I hunted for John’s scarlet coat. I’d only reached the center of the hall, not far from the little dais where the royal party was seated, when I first heard the man’s mocking, braying voice, purposefully raised high to be heard over the rest of the voices and revelry.
“May all the gods on mighty Olympus preserve my sight!” he cried, fit more for the stage than here in the palace. “Here passes that ill-famed Gorgon, the notorious Dorinda!”
As if by arrangement (and perhaps it was), the courtiers stopped their conversations and stepped back and away to clear a wide swath before me. At the far end, His Majesty sprawled in his gilded armchair with Lady Mazarin on one side and Lady Portsmouth on the other, and yet all his interest seemed turned toward me as he grinned with wolfish anticipation of what would come next.
Come it did, too, in the apish, squat figure of Sir Carr Scroope, continuing the same declaration he’d already begun.
“It is Dorinda I spy before me!” he exclaimed, covering his face and howling piteously. “Oh, pray let this not be my last sight!”
Now I noticed Lord Middlesex, standing slightly behind the king. No wonder Sir Carr dared so boldly, with His Lordship to tug his puppet strings. It was not right to do this to me, nor was it fair. Yet this time my anger overwhelmed my shame, and I realized how mighty weary I was of playing the indulgent victim and meekly waiting to be struck again. It was time—no, past time—that I finally struck back on my own, and in that determined moment I forgot my promise to John to cause no scandal, and my vow to be only another pleasing lady to Her Highness. Instead I would be only myself.
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