Frances had heard that Queen Anne had made a number of improvements to the house, but she had not expected it to be so grand – or so extensive. To either side of her, an elegant two-storey building stretched the length of the courtyard, and the low wall at the far end afforded a sweeping view of the river. In contrast to the cobbled courtyards of the other palaces, two huge, beautifully manicured lawns covered the quadrant. The one to Frances’s right was lined with neatly trimmed yews – Anne’s favourite. She hoped the Queen’s health had improved enough for her to stroll among them when the weather was more clement.
The porter had directed her to the large door of a building on the western wall. It was higher than the rest and fronted by an elegant Palladian façade that contrasted with the Tudor style of the other apartments. Frances made her way towards it now.
She had been glad to receive the Queen’s invitation earlier that day. Thomas’s departure had left her bereft, as usual – but uneasy too. She hated to think of him so far away, with little except James’s fickle favour to protect him from Villiers and his schemes. An audience with Anne not only provided some much-needed diversion, but also offered Frances the prospect of being able to do something to help her husband. Even though the Queen seldom attended her husband’s court, she had always been well informed of everything that passed there. She was sure to know all about this loathsome new favourite. Frances was determined to find out everything she could. She remembered a remark that her old enemy Robert Cecil had once made: It is often those details that seem of the smallest consequence that hold the greatest import. The more knowledge she was able to gather about Villiers, the more likely she was to discover a weakness.
When she reached the door to Anne’s apartments, the yeomen of the guard nodded her through. The presence chamber was deserted, but the sound of retreating footsteps indicated that an attendant had been sent to announce her arrival. The large windows flooded the room with light, even on a day such as this. Frances admired the tasteful furnishings, which were far less extravagant than Anne’s status demanded. The delicate scent of rose oil filled the chamber, rendering it much sweeter than those at Whitehall or St James’s, where the air was made foetid by the constant crush of bodies.
Frances heard footsteps again – slower this time – and a few moments later Anne entered the chamber. As she rose from her curtsy, Frances was surprised to see that she was unattended. Anne had aged considerably since she had last seen her at the princess’s wedding two and a half years before. Her hair had turned from light blond to white and her figure had grown even stouter. She leaned heavily on an ivory staff as she shuffled to the ornate chair underneath the canopy, then bade Frances to sit close by.
‘How good it is to see you again, Lady Frances – and looking so well,’ she said, reaching over to pat her hand. ‘Marriage agrees with you.’
Frances smiled. ‘I am blessed in my husband, Your Majesty – and for that, I shall ever be in your debt.’
She had been a good deal less grateful when she had first learned that Anne had prompted Thomas’s proposal all those years ago. The Queen had confided to him that Frances had left court because she was carrying Tom Wintour’s child. She would not have betrayed her confidence unless she had been sure that Thomas would come to her assistance. Frances knew that now, but at the time she had been furious. She would never have predicted that her prospective husband would become the love of her life.
Anne returned her smile. ‘I am glad of it. You deserve such happiness, after all you have suffered.’
‘And how does Your Grace fare?’ Frances asked.
‘Oh, my joints pain me more than ever,’ the Queen replied, ‘and I am tormented by an ulcer on my leg. I can quite see why old King Henry became such a tyrant in his later years,’ she added, with a wry smile. ‘But I take the waters at Greenwich often – Bath too, when I am strong enough for the journey – and my physicians have become my constant companions.’
Frances felt a wave of pity. Even though Anne was making light of it, she knew how much she must suffer. ‘I would be glad to attend you myself, if you would permit me, Your Grace,’ she offered.
‘Thank you, my dear – though we would need to employ discretion, of course. Sir Thomas might be a favourite with the King, but my husband would not hesitate to have you arrested for witchcraft if he heard of it.’
Frances seized the opportunity. ‘My husband has been eclipsed of late, Your Grace, as have others in the King’s service.’
Anne gave a knowing smile and sank back in her chair. ‘You mean his “angel”, I suppose. I met Sir George a few months ago and understood at once why my husband is so enraptured. I have never seen such a pretty fellow. His delicate features and white skin must be the envy of all the ladies at court.’
Many times in the past Frances had wondered how the Queen had borne the humiliation of her husband’s infidelities. He had done little to conceal them. Did the shame lessen with each brighteyed young favourite he paraded in front of her? She doubted it, somehow.
‘My ladies tell me that the King was heard to lament that he cannot make Villiers his wife,’ Anne continued.
Frances failed to hide her dismay. ‘I am sorry, Your Grace. How can you bear it?’
‘I do not bear it, my dear,’ she replied. ‘I encourage it.’
Frances looked at her sharply.
‘The King and I have not shared a bed since I fell pregnant with poor Sophia,’ she went on. ‘It was a difficult birth and left me with . . . well, no prospect of more children. So there was little point. Do not think to pity me,’ she added, seeing Frances’s expression. ‘Daily I rejoice that my conjugal duties are at an end – in that respect, at least. And, given the pleasure I take in my own freedom, it would be churlish of me to begrudge my husband his. Pray, would you pour me a glass of that cordial, my dear?’ she asked, indicating the pewter flagon on the table by the window.
A sharp aroma filled Frances’s nostrils as she did so. She recognised sage and marjoram, but there was something else too. Whatever it was, she hoped it would bring Anne relief. As she handed her the glass, she noticed that a sheen of perspiration had formed on her brow. How greatly she must suffer. Frances resolved to prepare a tincture for her that evening.
‘Forgive me, Your Grace,’ she said, when the Queen had recovered her composure, ‘but you said you had encouraged this latest favourite. Surely that cannot be true. I was at Apethorpe last summer and witnessed their first meeting. From what I saw then and have heard since, Villiers needed no such assistance.’
Anne held her gaze. ‘That is true – in part, at least. His looks were more than enough to recommend him. But my husband is not so easily manipulated as many believe. Often he takes his pleasure and rewards the giver only with fair words and promises. Somerset was clever enough to secure promotions, but most are not. If I had not intervened, Villiers would have remained a humble cupbearer.’
Frances stared. She had always respected Anne for her judgement and discretion. Had she, too, been deceived by Villiers’s beguiling smile and easy charm?
‘When I heard that Somerset had succeeded in frustrating his rival’s ambitions for a place in the bedchamber, I invited Villiers to dine with me here,’ the Queen continued. ‘I knew that he lacked opportunity to spend time with the King alone – Somerset had made sure of that after their return from the progress. So I invited my husband, too. We made quite a merry party.’ She chuckled, noting Frances’s astonishment. ‘I was a generous host and ensured the King’s glass was always full of the Madeira wine of which he is so fond. It took only a mention or two of a bedchamber post that had lain vacant for some time to prompt him. By the time our feast was at an end, my husband had promised it to Villiers. I left them alone then, to seal the bargain.’