King Charles had ruled for eleven years. He had long ago come to the conclusion that it was not a divine right, but the right of whoever would take it. He was not a born skeptic, though it was often said that even as an infant his brow had wrinkled into that same cynical and skeptical frown. He had seen his country seized and his father murdered, forcing him into exile at an early age. For eleven years he warred, negotiated, plotted and schemed to regain his kingdom. With the death of Cromwell, Charles victoriously reentered London to be greeted by multitudes of joyous subjects. They were wild with pleasure, for the return of their sovereign had rescued them from the harsh and swift disciplinary hand of the Lord Protector.
Charles was moved by their enthusiasm, but not fooled. He observed their displays and heard the shouts celebrating his return and bore it all gracefully. When it was done and he was allowed to relax and unwind, a brooding cynicism settled over him.
It would have pleased Charles to see England flourish, his people thriving and happy. Instead he saw a great many unpleasant things. Since his restoration a plague had killed hundreds of thousands in the city. The Great Fire had swept through miles of London, and though it killed off the plague, so it killed off people and destroyed homes and public places. His country warred against the Dutch, and while victorious, lost a fortune in ships and arms; many of the sailors starved because they could not be paid. There was no child he could name as heir and England would likely go to York, a weak-willed Catholic.
The people of England, in their tradition, grumbled loudly about their king. Charles was not perturbed. It would be thus until the end of time. Until they had a king who could make every peasant wealthy, every disease curable and every mishap easily remedied, the people would complain. It was the favorite English sport.
Charles had no illusions about himself. He was a man first and then a king. He knew that to do all that was humanly possible for his country and himself would never satisfy the multitudes; therefore, he never brought to bed the nagging feeling that he was solely responsible for every unhappiness around him. There were plenty of others willing to believe that.
He was a man of sound reason and a great deal of tolerance. He wished only that everyone would do as it suited him best while taking care not to injure his fellow. That was the standard by which he lived. Eleven years had not changed him much. He was still the same man with the same values.
Charles was one of the greatest lovers of his time and he knew it well. He loved the romantic game, the great chase, and pursued it at his will. He was chivalrous and suave. He had a great deal of respect for the institution of marriage insofar as it seldom hampered his pursuit of a woman. He hadn’t been allowed the privilege of marrying for love; he had had to marry for an entire empire. It would have pleased him to have found a sensual woman for a wife, one who bore him children and met his sexual and emotional needs, but he was not so fortunate as that.
The princess he made his queen was prudish and barren. He never blamed Catherine, for she had endured years of religious lies that had molded her into the modest and subdued woman she was. That she was barren was another misfortune that plagued her painfully and was not her fault. He could have been relieved of this albatross of a queen and many encouraged him to be so, but he was not so heartless as that. He decided to live with this unhappy circumstance as best he could, as he lived with other things he did not like. But he sought pleasures elsewhere.
There came a bonus in living in such a manner that Charles did not cherish. His mode set the standard for the court and he had no wish to either change his habits or be a moral exemplar for others. He had learned the pleasure of loving at an early age and could never think of a very good reason for giving it up. He watched as the years rolled by, his court becoming more degenerate and perverse while it pursued the pleasures of the flesh to an insulting degree. He was totally aware of it and opted to go on, living in the manner that suited him best and letting other fools kill themselves trying to keep up with him. He would not blame himself. He never forced a noble into bed with a whore and never conspired in a plot from under the skirts of a grande dame. Whether he had been born to a crown or a piece of land to till, he would have had a drive within him that could not be ignored. He would always fill his leisure hours in the arms of a loving woman. If the punishment for fornicating had been death, he would likely have met his death before he started to shave his face.
Whitehall was a den of iniquity. There were a lot of bored people in the cold of winter, with little diversion outside their walls and every conceivable type of indoor entertainment already tried. The faces had started to blend together and looked remarkably the same. When the earl of Bryant brought his lovely young wife to court everyone noticed, especially the men. Charles Stuart was no less a man in this respect than any other.
King Charles immediately counted her among the most beautiful women he had ever seen. There were a great many in that number, but that did not lessen her desirability one bit. Her petite beauty and large, soft brown eyes held a sensual quality that radiated from her. On her third visit to Whitehall Charles defied custom and asked her to dance. The sharp piercing stares from the women and the concealed chuckles from the men, coupled with the lack of concern from the earl of Bryant, indicated that everyone present thought he had chosen yet another mistress. They troubled themselves silly again as the king practically ignored her presence on her next half-dozen appearances at court. The truth was that when Charles danced with the little countess she had trembled and stammered so, he decided to give her some time to acclimate herself to the court before forcing his presence again. She was immature and a little shy. There was not a more patient man on earth than Charles Stuart—nor a more selfish.
Tonight, in the queen’s drawing rooms, he watched her again, and again from a safe distance. She was greeted now with more familiarity, the men beating their way to her with great expectations and the women retreating. The earl did not hover over his young wife, but the anxious glances he threw in her direction were not lost on Charles. That was another reason for his distance. The fact that he liked Hawthorne was not so important as the fact that he detested a fuss, especially over a woman. If Bryant had a possessive nature where his wife was concerned, Charles would retreat.
He made his way to Bryant and struck up idle conversation.
“It seems the lady is much in demand here,” Charles said, gesturing toward Chelynne.
“It seems, sire.”
“She’s lovely, Bryant. Your good fortune with women never ceases to amaze me.”
Chad eyed his king suspiciously. The mischief in Charles’s eyes told of the train of thought. Charles would consider Chad a lucky man, loving romance as he did. Chad had successfully eluded attachments for many years and his accumulating wealth and prospective inheritance had made him a much sought after catch. Now, though no longer in good prospect for matrimony, he had one of the most beautiful women in England for his bride.
“The countess seems well acquainted with the baroness,” Charles observed.
Chad looked to where Chelynne stood chatting with Lady Stelanthope. “It seems my wife spent many years abroad and in the homes of Lord Mondeloy’s acquaintances for her education. Lord Stelanthope and the baroness are old friends she visited several times. The countess was orphaned at a very early age.”
“Then they would seem like family to her. She has precious little of that, I imagine. Have you introduced her to your other friends?”
“I hadn’t found the need, sire.”
“Bringing her in here like this, my lord, is much like cornering a fox in the hunt, wouldn’t you say?”
Chad raised his brows suddenly. “There seems to be plenty of space, should the fox decide to run.”
“And if she doesn’t run?” Charles asked, looking all the while at Chelynne and not Chad.
“Then as in the hunt, sire. Not much pleasure comes from trapping lame prey. Would you have me lock her up?”
“Ods fish, and deprive us all?” he laughed. “You’re not so heartless as that, are you, my lord?”
Chad bowed. “Indeed no, Your Majesty.”
“But neither are you foolish, Bryant. If she is anything to you, you don’t show it.”
“I have never been much for show, sire. Not even in that,” he returned, indicating the little countess with his eyes.
The conversation could have gone on and on, each trying to guess the other’s thoughts, but Charles was beckoned by some gentlemen. Chad took the subtle hint and sought out his wife, still talking to Lady Stelanthope.
“I’m glad you’ve come about, my lord,” Chelynne greeted him brightly. “Have you made the acquaintance of my lady Stelanthope?”
“I’ve had that pleasure,” Chad returned suavely, bowing over the woman’s hand. Lady Stelanthope curtsied and her eyes warmed with admiration.
“Chelynne has been special to me for a long time, my lord,” the good lady said softly. “It pleases me greatly to see her married so well and to a man I’ve personally admired.”
“You’re too kind, madam.”
“I had no idea,” Chelynne said with delight. “How long have you known each other?” she asked Chad.
“Longer than either of us cares to admit,” he said lightly.
“Then our paths might have crossed even before...?” She stopped herself and tried to wiggle out of that slip. “I did spend a good many summers with Lady Stelanthope. I fear I was much her cross to bear. My uncle thought to have me schooled in the graces, but...” Her eyes grew warm with fondness. “I fear my lady Stelanthope was schooled in tolerance. Those days must have been a trial to you.”
Chad’s expression was passive. Chelynne apparently did not know about the real Lady Stelanthope. She was not so kind and virtuous as Chelynne thought. Had their paths crossed before the carefully arranged marriage it could have been rather embarrassing for all of them.
“You’ve made me a proud teacher on this occasion,” the good lady returned, acting out her part beautifully. “I’ve brought someone with me this trip, my dear. I heard him singing in his leisure time and have had him entertaining for me this past year.”
“Who?” Chelynne asked quizzically.
“Reuben. The gardener,” she said, one brow raised. “Do you perhaps remember him?”
Chelynne blanched, and fought to recover herself. “Of course I remember him,” she said softly.
“Why,” the baroness said as if suddenly remembering. “He was a playmate of yours, wasn’t he?”
Nothing quite so innocent as that, Chelynne thought. “Yes,” she fairly whispered. She had been young then but not all her ways were childlike. It was Reuben, dear Reuben, who was the first to ever desire her, pursue her. He loved her in a desperate, hungry way. It was after one of their secret encounters was found out that Chelynne was sent from Lord Stelanthope’s home. Chelynne silently prayed that Lady Stelanthope didn’t remember and that if she did, she wouldn’t speak of it.
“Ah, I think they’re ready to hear him now. Won’t you join us, my lord?”
“With pleasure,” Chad returned, offering Chelynne his arm.
Chelynne was seated in a chair very near the entertainer and Chad stood behind her. Reuben sat on the floor, not taking notice of her then. He was dressed as a jester, with multicolored chausses and a silk jerkin covering his broad chest. He looked so strange in this garb, so out of place. He was a laborer, filling the days since early in his youth with much hard physical work. To be placed in a manor house instead of the fields was quite a lift in his status, but still he was common. His large muscular frame in this entertainer’s costume belied his position as minstrel. But he was handsome. More handsome than ever. He would be now twenty-one years and there was not a youthful or boyish affectation to his appearance. He was every inch a man.
Chelynne hadn’t imagined his voice for he never sang to her, but it was glorious. The rich tones floated through the drawing room and those present praised his efforts loudly. Reuben, possessing now the enthusiasm of an entertainer, played another song and his rich baritone enthralled them all.
After the third song a stool was brought for him, and more people gathered in the small audience. He was prepared to begin when his eyes caught sight of Chelynne. To her complete dismay he looked pointedly at her, his eyes glowing with emotion. He looked nowhere else as his fingers sensed the strings and a lilting melody floated through the air.
A summer’s day a-passing,
I blew away the clouds.
On cupid’s back she came a-riding, a-riding,
To steal my youth away, away,
To seal a man to stay.
I knew no kindled fire,
Till she brought me to a touch,
And she lingered for a moment, a moment,
To creep into my heart, my heart,
To creep into my heart.
I longed to hold her to me,
To love her all I would,
To fill her with a promise, a promise,
To claim her for all time, all time,
To make her truly mine.