But the King’s dark mood had soon returned. His physical health had suffered, too. With no Steenie to take his mind off the pain of his gout-ridden legs, he had kept to his chambers, and whenever he did venture out into the public court, he leaned heavily upon a staff.
‘Will the hunt go ahead tomorrow, do you think?’ she asked her husband.
‘I doubt it,’ Thomas replied. ‘Though I have everything in readiness again, of course.’
Frances could not be sorry at the postponement – she had grown used to spending more time with her husband in the last few weeks. But she had hoped that he might use Buckingham’s absence to regain some of his former favour.
‘Perhaps we might visit Longford, if His Grace will grant you leave.’
‘I had the same thought. William turns five next week – we could surprise him.’
Frances smiled and squeezed his hand. If they could not win any advantages at court while the new duke was in Spain, they could secure an arguably greater prize by spending time with their sons. A movement on the dais caught her eye. A slender young man was bowing before the King. His hair was so fair as to be almost white, and his large eyes were of the palest blue. James was watching him with interest.
‘Who is that?’
‘Arthur Brett – Lord Cranfield’s brother-in-law,’ Thomas murmured. ‘He is newly arrived at court. Cranfield hopes to win him a place in the privy chamber.’
They exchanged a knowing look. It was a clever ploy on Cranfield’s part. Although he, too, had failed to gain any greater influence during his rival’s absence, he had clearly judged that a younger, more attractive man might.
Gradually, the conversations around them began to die down as people noticed the scene that was unfolding on the dais. The King had invited Arthur Brett to sit by him and was talking animatedly, his cheeks flushed.
‘I’ll wager His Grace will soon find the separation easier to bear,’ murmured the gentleman next to Frances.
‘This young buck will be in attendance before the week is out, you mark me,’ replied the other. ‘The duke has a new rival, it seems.’
Frances took a long sip of wine.
‘I will only be gone for two weeks, I promise,’ Frances said, clasping her friend’s hands. ‘The King’s passion for hunting has been reignited so Thomas will soon need to return to his duties.’ She did not add that other passions had been awakened, too. Master Brett had barely left his new master’s side since his appointment as a groom of the bedchamber.
Kate resumed folding Frances’s linens into one of the coffers – she had insisted upon helping when she had arrived to find her friend busy packing for the journey. They had met in Thomas’s apartment many times over the past month or so. Frances had been overjoyed when the first message had arrived, inviting her for a ride in Hyde Park. There had been more meetings during the weeks that followed, and gradually something of their former closeness had been restored – though Frances had learned not to mention what had happened that night in Chelsea. She had also been careful in her choice of words about the absent duke.
The chimes of the chapel clock sounded through the window as they worked. Kate cast an anxious glance towards it. ‘I should go. The countess will soon be calling on Mary and me.’
Buckingham’s mother had watched her daughter-in-law like a hawk since his departure for Spain, so Frances and she had been obliged to employ some discretion. ‘Have a care, Kate,’ Frances said, rising to embrace her.
‘God speed your journey. I will look for your return daily.’
Frances breathed in the earthy scent of woodland as the carriage rumbled along the path that led towards the castle and felt the familiar surge of contentment. The journey had seemed endless, such was her impatience to see her sons, her mother and Longford. Glancing at Thomas, she saw the same anticipation in his eyes. But they were tinged with sadness, she thought. He would never return to his own family home.
Helena and the boys were waiting to greet them at the entrance to the courtyard. Frances scooped a laughing William into her arms and he whooped with delight as she whirled him around. Robert clung to her skirts as soon as she had set his younger brother down and John smiled shyly at her from behind the long brown locks that covered his forehead. Frances experienced a pang as she realised that she no longer had to stoop to kiss his cheek. Behind him stood George. Almost five years had passed since she had seen him, and in that time he had become a man. He was so like Tom that she blinked back tears as he bowed first to her, then to her husband.
‘Anyone would think we were at court!’ Thomas scoffed, clapping him on the shoulder. Frances was relieved to see her son’s accustomed grin as he moved to embrace them both.
‘Mama, Papa, I am very glad to see you.’ Frances was surprised by how much deeper his voice had become. ‘My younger brothers have been running quite wild here in Wiltshire.’
‘How you exaggerate, George!’ His grandmother shook her head in mock-despair. ‘Besides, it is you who has encouraged their more wayward tendencies – all except John, of course.’ She planted a kiss on John’s head and he flushed with pleasure. ‘Now, where is my greeting?’
Frances was in her mother’s arms in a moment. ‘How I have missed you.’
Helena’s eyes sparkled with tears as she examined her daughter. ‘You have lost weight,’ she declared. ‘You look tired, too.’
Frances laughed. ‘We have been travelling for three days, Mother.’
‘And the King’s table is not as fine as yours, my lady marchioness,’ Thomas added, as he stepped forward to kiss his mother-in-law on both cheeks. Helena beamed at him. She had always loved him like a son.
‘How is Samuel?’ Frances asked.
‘Sleeping – God be praised,’ her mother replied, rolling her eyes. Frances’s gaze lingered on her as she turned to address Thomas. Her mother would be seventy-five this year, yet still she had the energy and looks of a woman half her age. There were a few more silvery hairs intertwined with the red, it was true, and her mouth and eyes were more deeply lined than when Frances had last seen her, but her waist had hardly thickened since her youth and she had the same proud bearing that had set her apart from the other ladies of court.
‘Come, let us dine,’ Helena said now, taking her son-in-law’s arm.
The sun was sinking behind the trees that edged the woodland as Frances strolled towards them, following the riverbank. It would take longer this way, but she wanted to commit every detail of her beloved home to memory so that it might sustain her during the long months at court that lay ahead. Although the bells of St Peter’s had already struck eight o’clock, there was still warmth in the sun’s rays and she longed to unlace her heavy gown. Her stays had grown tighter, too, since eating the succession of delicious dishes that her mother’s cooks had prepared.
Longford always calmed her soul and made her troubles seem far distant. That all those she loved most were here made this visit even more special. She allowed her mind to wander, to imagine staying here for ever as she watched her boys grow into men – like George. How proud she was of her firstborn. He would be eighteen next year. Over dinner, they had discussed his plans for Cambridge. Frances had thrilled to hear him talk so animatedly about studying law. He would never know that he was following his father’s profession – Thomas was his papa and always would be. To tell him the truth would place his life in mortal danger. The Powder Treason was seen now as an even more shocking crime – against God, as well as the King – than it had been when first discovered. The numerous pamphlets that had been published since had presented it as a satanic conspiracy, aimed at damning James and all his subjects to Hell. If it was discovered that Tom Wintour’s line had not died on the scaffold that cold January day, but that he had a healthy son and heir who had been raised to revere the Catholic faith, the King would not hesitate to have him thrown into the Tower – or worse.