Frances clasped her husband’s hands. ‘We must take advantage of this, Thomas. His Majesty’s esteem for you grows daily. Your modest, steady nature forms a welcome contrast to that of the duke. Little wonder the King seems ever more inclined to hunt.’
Her husband looked grave. ‘That may be true, my love, but I have earned His Grace’s trust by not involving myself in the intrigues of his court. I would be a fool to forfeit it by changing my stance now.’
Frances pushed down her irritation. She loved Thomas for his constancy, but it made him vulnerable to those with fewer scruples – Buckingham in particular. The duke would not hesitate to act against him as soon as the opportunity arose. But it was futile to try to persuade her husband to take a different course. If he will not act against the duke, then I must. For too long, she had watched Buckingham’s hold on the King – on the entire court – grow stronger, his lust for power ever more insatiable. He would not rest until he had destroyed everything and everyone in his path, plunging the kingdom into wickedness and sin. Surely the danger of opposing him could not be more deadly than what would follow if he was left unchecked.
CHAPTER 54
9 October
Frances stared in disbelief. Pray God he may be real. He took another step towards her, his smile now faltering a little.
‘Mother?’
She was in his arms, her tears soaking into his fine wool coat.
‘You will squeeze the breath out of me!’ he exclaimed, laughing.
Frances drew away from him and reached out to touch his cheek, as if afraid that he would suddenly dissolve before her eyes. She had thought of her eldest son more than ever lately. He had turned eighteen three months ago. It had grieved her not to be with him.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked at last, brushing the tears from her cheeks. ‘I thought you would be in Cambridge by now.’
‘And so I intended. But London lies between there and Longford, and I could not resist the chance to see you – Papa too – though I can stay only a few days.’
‘I am so glad you have come, George.’ Frances’s throat tightened. ‘I have missed you so much since we left Longford.’ She did not add that she had missed him for many years before that. ‘How is your grandmother? And your brothers?’
‘They are all well – though Robert and William are still as mad as rabid dogs. I do not know how John will keep order now I am gone.’
Frances grinned. ‘I am sure your grandmother will help. Now, shall we go and find your papa? He should have returned from the hunt by now.’
She had barely finished speaking when her son took her arm and led her out of the garden.
‘Do you think I might be presented to His Majesty while I am here?’ he asked, as they reached the gate.
Frances shivered. The pain she had experienced at being parted from her eldest son all these years had been offset by the knowledge that he was safe from the dangers of court, from the King who had put his father to death. What if James or one of his advisers should see the resemblance between this fine young man and one of the most notorious plotters in the Powder Treason? Although she tried to reason that the King had barely known Tom Wintour, that few of his advisers from that time remained at court, fear still gripped her heart.
‘You have already been presented to him.’ She kept her voice light.
‘But that was years ago, Mother. I was only a boy and hardly remember it. Besides, Papa would surely cause offence if he failed to introduce his eldest son and heir to his royal master. I am eager to see His Grace the prince too. I wonder if he will remember his childhood companion.’
Frances had no answer to this so they walked on in silence. She prayed that James would be exhausted by the hunt and retreat to his privy chamber for several days afterwards, as had become his custom lately. God willing, her son would be on his way to Cambridge by the time he emerged.
‘A letter arrived for you, Mother,’ George said, as she closed the door behind her. She had left him sleeping when she went to chapel, but had hastened back to their apartment as soon as the service was over, anxious in case her son should decide to explore the palace in her absence.
Frances recognised Kate’s careful, looping script. ‘May we delay our ride a few minutes longer? It is from a dear friend and I long to know how she fares.’
George gave an exaggerated sigh. then stooped to kiss his mother’s cheek. ‘I will prepare our things.’
Frances moved to sit on the window seat. Her eyes were not as sharp as they once had been and she needed the light for reading now, as well as needlework. As she broke the seal, she noticed with a pang that the letter was inscribed ‘Tyringham Hall’. Kate had been there for almost a year now but had seldom written – whether for fear of exciting her husband’s anger or out of the guilt she felt at inheriting Frances and Thomas’s former home, she did not know.
My dear Frances,
I trust you are in good health.
I pray that you do not regard me as a faithless friend. I have thought of you often since arriving here. It has been both a pain and a comfort to imagine you in the rooms that I must now call my own. I can see why the house was so beloved of Sir Thomas. The hall reminds me of my father’s at Belvoir, and the views are just as fine. But I have taken the greatest joy in the woodlands surrounding the estate. Little Mal delights in them too, as you predicted.
The works are progressing more slowly than my husband would desire. I find myself unable to make sense of the plans he gave me before I left court, and therefore cannot direct the improvements as he instructed. It is well that he has not yet visited us here, or he would find the place little altered.
Frances smiled. Kate had told her how she had once supervised the building of a new lodge at her father’s estate while he and the late countess were at court. She understood those plans well enough. Frances felt a surge of affection for the young woman – admiration, too, that she was not so easily cowed by the duke as Frances had believed.
The rest of the letter was filled with news of the neighbours whom Frances and her husband had once known, of the imminent harvests, and of how Mal could now recite her Pater Noster. A hurried postscript had been added at the bottom of the page:
I pray you will remember me to my father, when he is next at court.
Frances folded the letter and placed it carefully in the drawer of her husband’s writing desk. She had not seen Lord Rutland since his departure from court after the Christmas celebrations at Greenwich. It was a source of frustration that he had failed to take advantage of the King’s obvious favour towards him after the Spanish voyage. His desire to rid himself of Buckingham’s presence had proved stronger. She wondered if he would ever return.
‘Mother?’
George was looking at her expectantly.
‘Forgive me. I am ready now,’ she said brightly, taking her boots from him. ‘Where shall we ride? Hyde Park or Blackheath?’
The walls of the palace were bathed in a deep golden light when they returned several hours later. Frances had delighted to see her son’s face flushed with exhilaration as they had raced across the open fields that lay close to Greenwich Palace.
‘Will we have missed dinner?’ he called over his shoulder, as they passed under the archway into the stable-yard.