‘We will stay here only until the funeral, won’t we?’ Frances asked.
‘I would not have expected you to be so eager to sit in a carriage again so soon,’ her husband teased. ‘But, yes, His Grace has granted us leave to enjoy our newly restored estate.’
The new King had been quick to honour his word. At his insistence, Buckingham had been obliged to sell Tyringham Hall back to its original owner at a vastly reduced price. Thomas and Frances could have afforded a dozen such estates with the money Charles had granted them. Kate had already started to make arrangements for the removal of her furnishings. Frances smiled to think that their sons would soon be making their way there from Longford, her mother with them. She had written to George, asking that he might relinquish his studies for a week or so to join them.
As they passed under the archway that led through to the next courtyard, Frances felt her husband’s arm stiffen. Following his gaze, she saw the duke strolling nonchalantly in their direction.
‘Welcome back to court, Sir Thomas – Lady Tyringham,’ he said, then waited for them to make their obeisance. Neither did. After a short, stony silence, Thomas swept past him, Frances following close behind. She knew that he was watching them as they hastened towards their apartment.
‘I did not think to see him back here so soon,’ Frances muttered, once they were out of earshot.
‘Nor I,’ Thomas agreed, his words clipped. ‘He can hope for little at the King’s hands.’
Frances nodded. Charles’s dealings with Buckingham over the Tyringham estate had made clear that he would not enjoy the same favour he had in his father’s time. She hoped that the new King would soon make good his threat to strip the duke of his offices and titles.
She tried to shake away thoughts of him as they neared the door to their apartment, anticipating the familiar peace and repose that the cosy chambers offered.
‘Mother.’
She stared, astonished, at the sight of her eldest son sitting by the fireplace.
‘George!’ Her smile faltered as she saw his grim expression. He rose to his feet as Thomas went to greet him.
‘Sir Thomas.’ George waited for them to feel the impact of his words. ‘I cannot call you Papa – in truth, I never should have, should I?’
‘George, I—’ Thomas began, but the young man raised a hand to silence him.
‘I will hear no more of your lies – or yours, madam,’ he snapped. ‘I wish that I no longer had to call you Mother either.’
‘You will not speak to your mother like that,’ Thomas reprimanded him. ‘Whatever has caused this ill humour, we will overlook it as being out of character – the result, perhaps, of too much waywardness in Cambridge.’
‘On the contrary, Sir Thomas,’ George said, ‘I have been a most diligent student and my thoughts have never been so ordered . . . thanks to the duke.’
Buckingham. Frances had known it as soon as she had laid eyes upon her son.
‘I received his letter yesterday,’ her son continued. ‘He was most insistent that I visit him here. My master objected, of course, but I could hardly refuse the duke after his many kindnesses to me. Besides, I was eager to renew our acquaintance. How glad I am that I did, else I would have lived the rest of my life in ignorance.’
‘George, listen—’
‘No, Mother, you listen!’ Frances was taken aback by the hatred that flashed in his eyes. ‘My father is not this fine gentleman here, but a notorious traitor. Were you ever going to tell me that my name should be Wintour, not Tyringham?’
Frances opened her mouth to speak, but her throat tightened over the words.
‘You pretend to such virtue, yet you are no better than a whore of Satan.’
Thomas stepped forward then and slapped him across the face before Frances could stop him. Her son put his hand to his reddening cheek, his eyes blazing with fury.
‘You have ruined my life,’ George spat, his voice rising. ‘How will I ever thrive, knowing what I am? If you had not succumbed to your wicked, selfish lust, I would never have come into existence – I pray God that I had not!’
He turned from them then, and Frances could see his shoulders heave. She reached out a tentative hand to comfort him, but he shook her off.
‘Goodbye, Mother – Sir Thomas,’ he said, still staring at the door. ‘You will not lay eyes upon me again.’
Frances stood frozen in horror and watched as her son swept from the apartment. As his rapid footsteps echoed into silence, her legs buckled underneath her and she fell to the floor.
EPILOGUE
23 August 1628
Frances pressed her forehead to the glass, relishing the momentary coolness. The sultry heat from the late-afternoon sun hung over Whitehall like a shroud, sapping her of energy. In the courtyard below, she could see one of the palace dogs slumped in the shade of a wall. It seemed many hours since she and Kate had been obliged to retreat to Buckingham’s apartment, abandoning their walk in the privy garden.
‘Perhaps we might play a round of Primero,’ Kate suggested, her voice flat and listless.
Frances looked at her. Her face was flushed and a fan lay discarded on her lap. With a smile, Frances set down the book she had been holding. A History of Life and Death had been Bacon’s last gift to her. It was not his finest work, but she treasured it nonetheless. More than two years had passed since his death, but she still missed him sorely.
‘I wonder if the fleet is assembled yet,’ Kate murmured, as she pretended to focus on the cards she had been dealt.
Frances kept her expression neutral. The duke had travelled to Portsmouth three weeks earlier on the premise of planning another expedition against the French – as if the voyage to Île de Ré had not been disastrous enough. His vainglorious enterprise had brought him and his wife to the brink of bankruptcy and left England at war with the Queen’s native land. Charles had banished him from court, and had petitioned his brother-in-law for forgiveness. But King Louis had not been minded to accede, despite his sister’s pleading.
‘I do not imagine many men will rally to his cause,’ she replied.
Kate nodded. Although she rarely spoke of her husband, Frances knew that she was not in ignorance of how deeply he was despised throughout the kingdom for his overweening arrogance and lust for power, which had become ever more frenzied as he had felt it slipping from his grasp. Rumours that he had had the old King poisoned by Dr Lambe had been fanned by Charles’s refusal to comment upon the matter. Soon the physician had become as reviled as his patron.
Lambe had courted further scandal the previous year when there had been reports that he had raped a young girl in the Countess of Buckingham’s household. Furious that he had yet again escaped justice, an angry mob had set upon him when he next appeared in London, stoning him to death. The King had pardoned all those who had taken part.
‘I am glad Sir Thomas was not obliged to accompany him,’ Kate remarked.
‘As am I,’ Frances replied. Daily, she rejoiced that her husband had risen so high in the King’s favour. Charles was not as fond of hunting as his late father had been, so instead he had appointed Thomas to serve in his bedchamber, alongside others who had proven their faith. Among them was Lord Rutland, and it gladdened Frances to see how close he had grown to his daughter once more – though he took care to avoid her husband.