The Perfect Royal Mistress (31 page)

The king’s barge silently slipped down the river at sunset, cutting through the motionless water like glass as crickets chirped in the reeds along the muddy incline of shore. Nell reclined on a banquette of crimson-colored velvet and a spray of cushions, while Charles sat beside her. He propped a shoe heel on a tufted stool and gazed at her intensely. “I want Lely to paint you.”

“The painter who did that lovely portrait at Whitehall of Lady Castlemaine?” she asked, unable to seem too cavalier for the surprise in it.

“The very same.”

“A right grand honor.”

“I want an image of you beside my bed on any night we might be parted.”

Nell smiled slyly. “I’ll just bet you tell that to all the mistresses, wives, doxies, and jades.”

“It would be an awfully crowded wall if I did.” Charles moved across the banquette, took up her hand, and kissed her palm. Nell felt herself grow hot. His touch alone had that power over her now; she wanted only to give in to him. She would deny herself, and him, nothing any longer.

“You are so wonderful.”

“And
you
are very drunk!” she purred as he arched over her, brushing a hair the breeze had blown across her cheek. She hoped he would say he loved her because she wanted to say it to him. She would feel so much more confident about remaining his mistress if he did. But she could see, by how carefully he chose his words at moments like these, that he was far from ready to love her. She was to be fun for him, a diversion. And she had risen higher than an orange girl should. So a diversion she would be.

“Will you allow him to paint you?” the king asked, as the barge swayed upon the water, moved ever so slightly by the sudden breeze.

“You
are
the king, after all. Now ’ow would I dare deny you anythin’?”

“I want him to paint you nude, so that I might remember all of you.”

“So you are king
and
a right lecherous one, you are at that!” laughed Nell.

Rose lingered in the corner of the large dressing room, fingering the tassel on a blue damask curtain, and watching as Nell tried again. Dressed only in a high, crushingly tight corset laced in back, and tall heeled shoes, in which she wobbled slightly, Nell bobbed a graceful curtsy. The effect was much better this time, as her ability to mimic was great, and her desire to improve was strong. But it was a tenuous balancing act: she must improve enough so she would not embarrass herself at court and yet still remain the real Nell, for whom the king so dearly cared.

“Say it again, then,” Mary Chiffinch directed from a stool at the dressing table. William stood beside her.

“Good evening, Your Ladyship. ’Ow did you enjoy the consort today?”

Mary nodded. “And?”

“And
is it not
a grand day?”

“Much improved.” William beamed. “Not an ‘ain’t’ lingering anywhere.”

Behind her, Rose had bobbed the same curtsy, then moved her lips as she whispered the words her sister had spoken aloud. They still felt foreign and awkward in her mind. She had enviously yet proudly watched her younger sister’s amazing transformation all of these months, and it should have been enough. She was at the king’s court! To exist even in the shadow of such fortune at first had been enough. But now she wanted more. For the first time in her life, Rose wanted something for herself enough to believe that she, too, might, with a bit of effort, actually win it.

Again she moved her lips, listening critically to herself. It was not so far off from how Nell now sounded. Rose counted slowly to five as she bobbed a small curtsy of her own. With all of the attention on Nell, no one noticed. She glanced down at her dress, costly topaz satin with ivory lace, then touched the fabric with the tips of her fingers to reassure herself that it was real. She looked up at Nell again, who was biting her lower lip in concentration as she tried to recall the first few steps of the branle. Nell began to smile and, just as suddenly, looked over at her sister.

“Come dance with me, Rose Gwynne!” she said, and held out her hand. “You probably know this better than I do. You’ve always ’ad a way with dances!”

Rose felt her face flush. “I couldn’t.”

“Like when we were girls. Remember?” Nell was smiling. “Come on! I need you!”

Three days later, the king stood across the bedchamber in a white shirt, open at the chest, and black knee-length breeches, as he stared out the window down into the gardens below. Nell woke slowly and, as she did, she saw him there, tall, slim, and graceful. She smiled to herself, her body sore from the night of lovemaking, and her eyelids still heavy. But she had never felt so content.

For a fortnight, he had escorted her to his banquets, dinners, card parties, everywhere. She had new gowns with which he had surprised her, made especially for her gamine shape. A dresser was brought to her from Paris, who made certain her petticoats were crisp and new, the strings of her busk were properly tight, and her shoes were
à la mode française.
A French stylist came to arrange her hair into the latest fashion, and ornament it with tiny flowers and ribbons to match her gowns. Rose and Jeddy, who were with her everywhere as companions, had new clothes as well. The latter had a sweet little dress of shiny blue serge. “Forever” was becoming a fantasy she had nearly begun to allow herself to believe.

The king turned and saw her lying on her side, with three of his favorite spaniels lounging at the foot of the bed from where he had only just risen. Instead of coming back to her, he rested his hands behind him on the window sash and exhaled. She could see his intense expression, even across the room. “The queen is arriving today,” he said bluntly.

Nell sat up, pulling a sheet across her bare breasts, feeling suddenly as if she had been dropped from a great height. It took a moment to catch her breath so that he would not notice the change. “Here at Windsor?”

“I only received word last night that she desired to speak with me about something particular, and then to remain here for a few days afterward, if I would consent.”

He came to her then, across the parquet flooring that creaked with each step before he settled onto the edge of the bed beside her. “I want you to remain. We will only need to show a bit of care in…” His words fell away. “She’s a good woman, Nell, a kind woman, and I have no wish to flaunt anything before her that might bring her more pain than she has already suffered.”

“Of course.” Nell swung her legs to the side of the bed and drew on the dressing gown of ivory-colored Spanish lace that she had left atop the bedcovers. Then she stood and shook out her long hair. The movements were disjointed and too purposeful, designed only to buy her a moment to press back her disappointment, and to give him what he wanted from her now, the freedom to see his wife. “I ’ad no chance to tell you, but Mr. Dryden ’as sent me another play. As it ’appens, right from the first that this one was read to me I could tell ’twill be uproariously funny.”

Charles cupped a hand beneath her jaw and kissed her tenderly. “I do not wish you to return to the theater. I need you here with me.”

She gave him her best carefree smile. “Oh, now,” she said, taking his palm from her face, where it stilled for a moment, and pressing a kiss onto it in return. “Once an actress, always an actress. You know that. I miss it, I really do: the crowds, the applause.”

“Will they do Dryden’s play next?” he asked as two of the dogs suddenly bounded from the bed and scampered across the room.

“They’ll do anythin’ to have me back troddin’ the boards. Mr. Killigrew as much as told me so. Whenever I was ready, ’e said. After all, I
am
Nell Gwynne. I fill the King’s Theater! And it doesn’t ’urt a bit that I’ve been mistress to that same sovereign!”

“You
are
mistress to that sovereign king for as long as you desire it.” He kissed her more deeply then, and she could see the conflict on his face, his brow furrowing with guilt and regret.

“Then I desire it
and
you.” She was smiling as determination alone pressed back the tears fighting to fall. “Besides, Lely’s portrait of me is not yet finished, nor adornin’ your wall. I’ll ’ave to return to see to that!”

“I do not wish you to remain in London during the summer. There is too much risk there.”

“Then if Mr. Dryden ’asn’t another brilliant play for me to act in, you’ve but to send for me, after the run is over.”

“I’m sorry about this, Nell. I truly am.”

“No regrets, Charlie,” she said, working hard to smile endearingly. “I’ve got none. Nor should you.”

Out along the private corridor, Nell sank against the oak paneled wall, arms wrapped around her waist. Silent tears fell in long ribbons onto her cheeks. She had closed her eyes so she did not see Mary Chiffinch approach. Nor did she see William linger in the next doorway just beyond them. There was only the shadow of his long face, etched with concern, before he slipped back inside.

“Come, child. ’Twill do you no good. You’ve got to be stronger than the others, and smarter by half.” Mary’s voice was soothing, her arm across Nell’s shoulder a gentle balm. Like a mother’s love. A thing Nell had forgotten how to long for. “Come with me. We’ll practice your curtsy again, and then I’ll feed you a nice bowl of porridge with a bit of honey. Nothing like honey to set you to rights,” she said, as if that alone could stop all of the uncertainty.

Chapter 18