Reunited at the King's Court

by Helen Dickson

  He had the distinct feeling that he had hurt Arlette by announcing that he was to marry Marian and, he reminded himself, Arlette was the one person whose feelings he’d been most careful not to hurt. He should have been open and honest with her from the start, giving her time to get used to the knowledge before introducing them.

  He did not want to hurt Marian. He owed her father too much. He was betrothed to Marian and he couldn’t let Arlette waste one moment of her precious life believing she could be anything other to him than a friend. He had done well, not letting her know how much he had come to care for her, how much she belonged in his heart. He tried unsuccessfully to block out the image of her enraptured face, trying to forget the way it had come alive when he had kissed her.

  * * *

  As Arlette walked down the long room she seemed not to notice the gauntlet of courtiers, their eyes following her, some discreet, others less so, because she was swamped with disappointment. She had come to Whitehall Palace with the hope that she would be on the threshold of paradise and instead she had come directly to hell.

  Chapter Four

  The day was warm but overcast and thick puffy clouds covered the sky in a blanket of grey mist when Arlette—nursing a deep sadness and desolation—and James were returning to their respective homes by boat. The oarsman was straining against the oars. Occasionally the sun broke through and glittering rays of light bounced off the water.

  ‘What do you think of your visit to the Palace?’ James asked.

  ‘It was certainly enlightening,’ she replied, seeing a desolation in James’s eyes and a melancholia in his manner she had never seen before. Marian clearly meant a great deal to him. ‘Never did I expect anything so grand.’

  ‘And did you see the King?’

  ‘No, I did not have that pleasure. There is to be some kind of entertainment in two days. Lord Latham has told me that if I would like to go, then to let him know and he will make the arrangements. Will you be there, James?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I shall have to ask my father.’

  ‘Telling me you were going to Whitehall to see your father today was just a pretext for you to see Marian. I’m right, aren’t I, James?’ she asked.

  James nodded, looking miserable. ‘How else am I going to see her?’

  ‘Are you in love with her?’

  He nodded, hooking his arm over the side of the boat and trailing his fingers through the water, a light breeze ruffling his fair hair. ‘We walk a dangerous line, I know, but, yes, I love her deeply. But—it is difficult.’

  ‘That I can well imagine since she is betrothed to Lord Latham.’

  ‘I know and I don’t know what is to be done—if anything can be done.’

  ‘Is Marian in love with you?’

  ‘I believe so—at least she says she is—but I cannot be sure.’

  ‘Then—do you not think Lord Latham should be told? It would be quite wrong of you to carry on seeing each other behind his back. They are to be married, James, and probably sooner than you think if they decided to wed before travelling to Warwickshire.’

  James sat forward in alarm. ‘Did Lord Latham tell you that?’

  ‘Not in so many words, but it is probable.’ Arlette was sorry to see the sadness in his eyes. ‘If you both feel the same about each other, then you really should be honest about it. It will save a lot of heartache later on.’

  ‘I’m not ashamed of what I feel for her, Arlette.’ His expression grew suddenly grave. ‘You see, when I first saw her and fell in love with her, I looked on it as a great gift—something wonderful and too precious to waste. It’s the kind of love that everyone hopes for and yet no one believes in. I didn’t know then that her father had betrothed her to Lord Latham.’

  ‘Would it have made any difference if you had?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. It is for Marian to come to me—to tell me she cannot live without me. If she doesn’t do that, then I can only surmise she does not reciprocate my feelings—that she was only toying with my affections, having fun, which she is so fond of doing—and I will have no choice but to let her go.’

  ‘If you go about it the right way and speak to Marian—urge her to be honest about her feelings—then, if she loves you, you must tell Lord Latham. It is only fair.’

  The oarsman guided the boat towards the landing jetty used by the Arden family. Arlette climbed out and looked down at James.

  ‘Don’t do anything foolish, will you, James?’

  Shaking his head in dejection, he sighed. ‘No, no, I won’t.’

  * * *

  When Arlette arrived back at the house, deeply affected by her meeting with William and what had occurred between them and feeling a great need to be by herself, she went directly to her bedchamber. Standing at the window, she swayed heavily, gripping the curtain for support. Tears began to fall, making a thin shining path down her cheeks, then, as her utter sadness overcame her, they ran unchecked, the wetness staining the fabric of her dress. Her breath moaned in her throat and she sank to her knees, resting her arms on the cushioned window seat. She wept for a long time, then gradually became quiet, the storm having gone, though it left the ravages of its passing on her face and spirit. She got up and sat upon the seat, leaning her head against the cool glass.

  The memory of what had passed between her and William was intolerable. She had never cared for anyone very much and certainly not enough to dream the impossible dream—that he would fall in love with her. Somehow she had lost control of the situation. In doing so she had overstepped the bounds of friendship and found herself in unfamiliar territory. When they had been in the Willoughby garden, she had told him she cared for him, that his life was precious to her, and he had just trampled on her declaration by introducing her to his betrothed, making a fool of her. How could he do that? Why had he not told her before?

  But thinking about it, she swallowed down the disappointment in herself. No. She had made a fool of herself, indulged in a daydream. She had come to care deeply for a man who still looked on her as a child—a man who belonged to another woman—a woman who was deceiving him with another. And she was on the brink of becoming betrothed to Sir Ralph Crompton. Her unhappiness folded around her like a shroud and she wished with all her heart that she had never gone to Whitehall Palace, that she had not seen William again.

  Wiping away all trace of her tears and composing herself as best she could, Arlette was aware that the house seemed unusually quiet as she went in search of her sister. Richard had left for the Midlands two days before and she was told by one of the servants that Hester was lying down.

  ‘Why?’ she asked, suddenly alarmed. ‘Hester never takes to her bed during the day.’ Her sister was always busy and never ill.

  Full of remorse and regretting not going directly to her when she had arrived back, accusing herself of having upset Hester by leaving the house without telling her, she immediately went to her sister’s chamber, fully expecting to be severely chastised for being absent for most of the day. She was surprised to find Hester lying on the bed with her eyes closed and her hands folded at her waist. Arlette thought how tired she looked and how tetchy and distracted she had been of late. Her eyes opened when Arlette stood by the bed, looking down at her with concern. She was most surprised when Hester’s eyes met hers and she smiled.

  ‘Hester? What is it? Are you not well?’

  Shaking her head, she reached out and took Arlette’s hand. ‘I am quite well, Arlette, and happy. I sent for Mrs Shepherd earlier.’

  Arlette stared at her. ‘Mrs Shepherd? But—but she’s—’

  ‘The midwife—yes, I know. I’ve been feeling a bit queasy of late—not myself.’

  ‘And?’

  Hester’s lips broke into a wide smile. ‘I’m with child, Arlette. A baby—after all this time. Can you believe it? Out of all the heartache and anxiety of past y
ears has come this joy. Richard will be so happy.’

  Arlette sank on to the bed, still holding her sister’s hand. Hester’s other hand lowered and caressed her stomach. ‘Hester, this is wonderful news and you are right. Richard will be overjoyed. But you must take it easy—no hard work. You must think of yourself and leave the household duties to others.’

  ‘I will. I am doing that already which is why you find me lying down. Oh, Arlette! I am so happy about this, but worried, too. Nothing must go wrong this time. I pray for a healthy baby.’

  ‘So do I.’

  ‘Now, tell me about your day. What have you been up to?’

  Arlette bit her lip, thinking hard. She had to tell Hester that she had been to Whitehall Palace with James. She couldn’t keep it from her—if she did she would find out anyway. Better to get it over with. ‘I—I went to Whitehall Palace, Hester. I would have asked you, but I couldn’t find you. I—I hope you don’t mind.’

  Hester stared at her open-mouthed, pulling herself up. ‘You to went Whitehall Palace all by yourself?’

  ‘No, I was with James.’

  ‘But why, for heaven’s sake?’

  ‘James was going to see his father and he asked if I would like to go with him. We went by boat.’

  For a few seconds Hester continued to stare at her, lost for words. ‘Oh, I see. Well, I would certainly not have approved of you going there—I am sure you know that—and Richard would certainly have forbidden it. But you are back and no harm is done, for the present, at least. But should Sir Ralph hear of this... I shudder to think what his reaction will be. Did—did you see the King?’

  ‘No, Hester, but I saw William—my reason for going there was to see him—to ask his advice on having Mayfield Hall returned to us. There is some kind of entertainment taking place the day after tomorrow and he asked if I would care to go. The King is to be there.’

  ‘Goodness! And? What did you tell him?’

  ‘That I would love to go, but I would have to ask you. William is betrothed, Hester. He introduced me to her. Her name is Marian. She is charming. You would like her. If you agree, I have to send a note to him at Whitehall Palace and he will arrange for a coach to fetch me. Will you allow me to go, Hester? I would so love to see the King.’

  Hester considered Arlette’s request at length, then to Arlette’s immense surprise she agreed.

  ‘What about Richard?’

  ‘He isn’t here to ask. When he gets back from the Midlands in the next few days and I tell him he is to be a father he will grant you anything you ask for. Besides,’ she said, lowering her eyes, her expression grave, ‘it will be too late for him to do anything about it, although should Sir Ralph hear of it things could become—unpleasant.’

  Arlette stared at her. ‘I have not yet given Sir Ralph my reply to his proposal, Hester, so whether I go to Whitehall or not is not his affair. Everything inside me recoils at the idea of being his wife. Do my feelings count for nothing?’

  ‘Of course they do, Arlette. Sir Ralph is not the man I would have chosen for you. You are so full of life, so spirited and bright. You deserve better than an ageing widower with two young daughters for a husband. But you do not understand how it is. There is a good deal more to Richard’s acquaintance with Sir Ralph than he would have you know.’

  Hester’s expression sent dread crawling up Arlette’s spine. ‘What is it? Tell me.’

  ‘I will, when Richard returns from the Midlands. For now I have no issue with you going to Whitehall, but please be discreet, Arlette.’

  Arlette knew there was no use arguing with Hester. Unwilling to upset her, she would not press her on the matter.

  * * *

  In the privacy of her room, Arlette hugged herself tight. She was unable to think of anything else but her forthcoming visit to Whitehall Palace and the convoluted relationships between William and Marian and the love James bore for Marian—and now her own feelings for William. She knew she should be happy for William, that after all his years as an exile he had found someone to share his life with, someone to love.

  Where Marian was concerned she could not tell William about the closeness between her and James. It was not her place—besides, the teller never came off well in these situations. Thinking of her own relationship with William made her feel ashamed, for herself, for all of them. Whatever the outcome, Marian must tell William of the feelings she carried in her heart for James herself. If she didn’t do this and she married William, then they would go on and make a family, and that thought left a hollow emptiness in Arlette’s heart. But keeping something of such importance from William was tearing her apart. She didn’t like secrets. Nothing good would come from it, that she was sure of.

  As she prepared for her next visit to Whitehall Arlette struggled to get William out of her head, not to recall his warm breath in her ear and the tender touch of his lips on hers. She fought with all her strength to resist and she lost. There was nothing she could do to impose rationality on the uncontrolled attraction he made her feel.

  She felt quite wretched and was unable to see her way forward. She would like to leave London, to go to Mayfield Hall, but she should not even think of it with her betrothal unresolved and Hester with child. She had to do something, she thought wretchedly, otherwise it would be too late and she would fall hopelessly in love with William. She must put an end to something that had hardly begun.

  * * *

  The gathering at Whitehall Palace was a study of lavish elegance, the room into which they entered a burst of brilliant, vibrant colour. The moment Lord Latham with his lovely betrothed and the delectable Mistress Arlette Dryden, attired in a simple but tasteful pale green gown, her hair dressed in perfect curls and gleaming like a shining light, arrived in their midst, they commanded total attention. A group of painted and bejewelled courtiers soon surrounded them, their eyes drawn to Arlette, much to William’s chagrin. The appearance of a fresh female face at Court always attracted interest.

  Rivalry was rife at Court. The stylishly dressed unattached young ladies eyed her from behind their fluttering fans. Some had seen Arlette when she had made a fleeting visit to Whitehall two days before and others had all heard about her beauty, fearing and admiring her at once. The married women watched her with the greatest disapproval, their eyes cold as they subjected her to searching scrutiny, their eyes hard and uncompromising. There was nothing extravagant about her dress, but this only accentuated her beauty.

  Dancing was already in progress, the dancers, both male and female, looking like brightly coloured peacocks. Goblets of wine were handed around by footmen and tables were laden with every kind of delicacy imaginable. Before disappearing to speak to an acquaintance, Marian eagerly pointed out courtiers of note to Arlette: the Duke of Buckingham—a handsome man who was close to the King—the beautiful Barbara Palmer—the King’s mistress and of no uncertain desires or ambitions—and the Duke of York—the King’s brother—whose bewigged dark head was bent as he listened with quiet amusement to some witty comment the lady by his side had just made.

  Suddenly there was a distraction when, attended by his retinue of noblemen and ladies, the King entered the large hall.

  Surrounded by all this pomp and circumstance of royalty, Arlette’s heart quickened. She had never felt so excited, so eager or so scared. The King paused now and then to acknowledge the bowing, curtsying courtiers, speaking to some and all the while coming closer to where they stood.

  Smiling, William took Arlette’s hand and with due ceremony led her forward. When the King stopped in front of them, Arlette thought her heart would surely burst, it was pounding so hard.

  ‘Why, Latham,’ the King said, with the familiarity of long acquaintance, ‘it’s good to see you here.’

  ‘Sire, might Your Majesty grant me the honour of presenting to you Mistress Arlette Dryden? This is her first visit to Court.’

 
With a typical flamboyant and courtly gesture, the King leaned forward and picked up Arlette’s handkerchief that had fluttered to the floor. He lifted it to his face to smell its perfume before handing it to her with a slow, lazy smile that was so strangely tender.

  ‘The honour is all mine. I am charmed to meet you, Mistress Dryden. And what do you think of our Court?’ His voice was rich and deep.

  ‘I am quite lost for words, Your Majesty, but I am certain it will be the most memorable day ever,’ she replied, spreading her skirts and sinking into a faultless curtsy, lowering her head gracefully. Her hand was instantly taken and she was raised up to look into the King’s dark eyes that were full of melancholy. Suddenly the wide, full, sensual mouth broke into a smile and he bowed his head slightly, kissing her hand, his eyes never leaving hers. She felt the colour mounting in her cheeks beneath his close scrutiny and sensed first-hand his legendary affability. He possessed an easy-going countenance everyone who knew him loved because no matter how distorted a rendition they drew, no one ever mistook his effortless warmth and amiable smile. His eyes mirrored sincerity and dignity at all times.

  ‘I am delighted to make your acquaintance. It is always a pleasure to see a new face—particularly when one is blessed with so rare a beauty. You must come again. I cannot remember when I last saw such a pretty face at Court.’

  The low intimacy of his voice caused Arlette to flush softly, for she was unused to such adulation.

  The King looked at William. ‘You must bring her again, Latham. I shall hold you to it.’ He winked at a flushing Arlette and gave her hand an affectionate squeeze before walking on.

  Arlette watched him go with enchanted eyes. ‘How handsome he is. He told me to come again. I wonder if he will remember me.’ In her excitement she had altogether forgotten William just beside her, silent and unmoving, a dark scowl on his face.