Frances slowed as she breathed in the heady scent of the myrtle hedges, made more pungent by the dew that clung to the tiny leaves. Already she could feel the tension ease from her shoulders, her racing mind begin to still. The fears that had robbed her of sleep seemed to subside, too. George would leave for Cambridge in two days’ time. Although she would miss him keenly, she would be comforted by the knowledge that he was far from this place, from the duke’s scheming and the King’s lustful gaze. God willing, he would soon forget about them both – as they would him.
As she stooped to pluck a few stems of sage, a movement on the path ahead drew her eye. A woman was hastening towards the gate that led out onto the street, her grey silk skirts billowing around her. Frances watched, transfixed, as she lifted the latch and ducked under the archway, then turned to close the gate. She glimpsed the woman’s face through the ornate iron bars.
Anne Vaux.
CHAPTER 55
11 October
‘His Excellency, the Marquis de Châteauneuf.’
There was a rustle of silks as James’s courtiers greeted the King’s new guest. Frances stole a glance at the exquisitely dressed man who was mounting the steps onto the dais. He wore robes of crimson satin edged with silver thread that glittered in the sunlight streaming through the windows of the great hall. On his head was a small cap of the same material, around which curled blond tresses. His flamboyant moustache and long pointed beard only partially hid a mouth that seemed set in a permanent grimace, and his thickly arched eyebrows added to his air of disdain.
‘Your Majesty.’ His accent was pronounced. He kissed the King’s bejewelled hand, then bowed to the prince.
The proposed alliance with King Louis had been announced just a few hours before the arrival of his envoy. Frances had given little credence to the rumours that had been circulating for a few weeks that Prince Charles would soon be betrothed to the French King’s sister. She knew that speculation about his marriage was bound to grow more intense as his father’s health continued to falter but saw no reason to believe this latest rumour any more than she had the one that preceded it. Even Thomas had been surprised. It troubled Frances to think that the King had chosen not to confide in him, despite the many hours they had spent hunting together.
Judging by the self-satisfied smile on Buckingham’s face, the news had not been unexpected to him. Not so long ago he had declared his allegiance to the Spanish King; now it seemed his heart was set on France. He was greeting the envoy now, kissing him warmly on both cheeks. Few people would have believed it was the first time they had met. Beside her, George was craning his neck for a better view. The cold hand of fear clutched her heart as she thought of Lady Vaux. Frances had not seen the woman since, but the thought of what confidences she might have betrayed to Buckingham made her sick with anxiety. She stole another glance at her son. Had Lady Vaux revealed her secret that George’s father was a notorious traitor? It would surely be their undoing.
Frances watched as Buckingham led the French envoy to a table laid with delicacies. They were soon joined by the King and his son, though Frances noticed that Charles said little during the ensuing conversation.
‘I have seen more cheerful faces at a funeral,’ Frances heard the man next to her mutter.
‘Monsieur le marquis must be confident of success, or he would never have bothered to make the journey,’ replied his companion. ‘Do you know anything of the lady?’
‘Henrietta Maria? A slip of a girl, by all accounts. But at thirteen, she is of marriageable age.’
‘I wonder that she has not already been betrothed to some foreign prince. Perhaps there is some impediment.’
‘What – apart from her being as stubborn a papist as her brother? I wonder His Majesty entertains the idea at all.’
‘He would have the Pope himself to dinner if it pleased his Steenie.’
The two men’s sniggers sounded in Frances’s ears as she steered her son away from the dais. ‘Would you fetch me a glass of wine, George? My throat is quite parched.’
She saw him cast a glance towards the royal party before obeying her request.
‘The duke seems very pleased with the new arrival,’ she murmured to Thomas, who nodded grimly.
‘Whatever fresh scheme this is, we can be sure it will bring him some advantage. French gold is as good as Spanish, after all.’
‘And King Louis’s sister is as devout a Catholic as the infanta – for that at least we should be grateful. Oh, thank you, George,’ she said quickly, hoping her son had not heard any of their conversation. He was looking at the dais now.
‘His Majesty is fortunate to have such a servant as the duke, is he not?’ George did not seem to notice their silence as he stared at Buckingham in open admiration. ‘So full of grace and accomplishments, and nothing escapes his notice – even a lowly subject such as myself.’
Frances turned sharply to him.
‘To think that he should invite me to dine with him tomorrow, when he might have kings, princes and ambassadors for company,’ her son continued, his eyes alight with joy.
Frances stared at her husband in alarm. She had told him of Lady Vaux’s visit. He knew as well as she the danger it might carry.
‘It is an honour indeed,’ Thomas agreed, ‘but you are leaving for Cambridge in the morning.’
‘It is worth delaying my departure for, Papa – God knows I would sacrifice a great deal more for such an invitation.’
‘But everything has been arranged and there is no time to send word to your master now.’
‘He will hardly object, when he knows the reason, Mother.’ The excitement faded from his eyes as he looked from one to the other. ‘It is as if you are anxious to be rid of me.’
Frances forced a bright smile. ‘You know that isn’t true, George. I would keep you by my side for ever if I could. But you are a man now and must make your own way in the world. Once in Cambridge . . .’
Her son’s face brightened at once. ‘I knew you would understand. If I win favour with the duke, he might recommend me for the King’s service when my studies are completed.’ He bent to kiss his mother’s hand, then gave Thomas’s arm an affectionate squeeze. ‘Who knows where else this meeting might lead?’
Frances shielded her eyes against the sinking sun as she gazed across Hyde Park. Buckingham would have to come this way – there was only one gate on the south side and it led directly to the road he would take back to Whitehall. She had heard of the duke’s excursion from Thomas, who had been glad of an afternoon to undertake his duties in the stables unimpeded. He did not know she had left the palace to find Buckingham. He would hardly approve of the idea. The duke had taken great delight in rebuffing his own attempts to persuade him to revoke his invitation to George. Frances could hope for little more success, but she had at least to try.
A distant rumble carried on the wind. Frances peered at the horizon again and saw the outline of a rider. The ground at her feet vibrated as he thundered towards her. He must have seen her by now, but he dug his heels into the horse’s sides, urging it on. She forced herself to stand perfectly still, though she might be trampled underfoot. Only at the last did Buckingham pull back sharply on the reins, causing his horse to snort loudly, its front legs rearing so high that Frances was sure the duke would fall.