Reunited At The King's Court

‘I’m glad you told me, Hester. I only wish I had been told about my mother earlier. I do not blame you—there was little communication between us when you married Richard and came to live in London. But I cannot believe Father kept it from me—and Blanche. How could they do that? All these years I have believed my mother to be dead—when all the time she is alive.’

‘He was deeply hurt by her deception, Arlette. It was a difficult time for Father. He could not forgive your mother for what she did. Her betrayal hurt him deeply. When she left Mayfield Hall, he forbade her name to be mentioned. She really was dead to him. I spoke the truth when I said that I have no idea where she went—or if she is still alive, even. As far as I am aware there was no further communication when she left Mayfield.’

‘I wish I could find her, Hester. I wish I knew where to look. Do you know the man who...?’

Hester shook her head. ‘No. The only thing I know is that he was a widower. Some believed it to be Lord Stanhope, from Warwick. She talked about him a lot when she returned from visiting her cousin who lived there. You went with her. It was at a time when Father was in London on the King’s business, which happened often in those days before the wars. Lord Stanhope was a frequent visitor to her sister’s house apparently. But it was not known for certain how close they had become. I do recall when she returned from her visit how quiet she was. She appeared to be unhappy about something.’

Arlette had no recollection of that time. She had been far too young to remember. But she stored Lord Stanhope’s name in her mind. At least it was one line she could follow when she had the time.

‘I would like to see you happier, Hester,’ she said softly. ‘There is a great deal of bitterness in you of late.’

‘Circumstances change us all.’

‘But there is so much that is good in life.’

‘I see little of it.’

‘It is a dark period we have gone through. But it is past. It is for us to build a new life.’

‘There are two things that could make me happy—one is to see you settled in marriage and the other would be if I were to have a child. Why have other women been so blessed and not me? It’s a question I ask myself all the time.’

She sat beside Arlette with the pallor of her face like marble, a contrast to those startling blue eyes which were so like their father’s. Arlette immediately felt very angry with herself, angry at being so blind to Hester’s suffering. The child she had lost had meant so much to her and Richard. She felt an overwhelming tenderness take possession of her.

‘I don’t know, Hester. I wish I did. But it’s not too late. Why, you are still of an age for childbearing. Many women have children older than you. Perhaps you worry too much about it.’ With a sigh Arlette took hold of her hand. ‘I know you aren’t looking forward to going to stay with Anne, who has a habit of flaunting her children in your face. Do not let her upset you—I beg of you. Concentrate on why we are going—to see King Charles enter London and to enjoy the celebrations. Why, the whole of London is gripped by the excitement of his restoration.’

‘You forget that Richard is not of your persuasion, Arlette—nor Anne.’

‘Then all I can say is thank the Lord for Edward. He is determined to show his support of King Charles and there is nothing that Anne can do about it.’

Hester gave her one of her rare smiles. ‘No, there isn’t and I will try to enjoy myself,’ she said, her Royalist upbringing coming to the fore. ‘Do you think there will be celebrations in Mayfield village?’

‘I am sure of it. There wasn’t a family who was not loyal to the King.’

‘Have you no wish to go back to Mayfield, Arlette?’

‘I don’t know.’ An image of her brother, now just a dim shadow of her past, appeared in her mind. ‘I’d like to think that Thomas will come back and return to our old home. Perhaps now King Charles has come into his own he might make it possible and the property that was sequestered will be returned. We must put in a petition—which, I believe, is what Royalists who had their houses seized are going to do.’ She was filled with nostalgia for Mayfield—images of childhood, tastes and smells, Mayfield village and the recollections of people she had known.

She thought about what Hester had told her, becoming quiet and withdrawn as she began to consider how she might discover further information about what had become of her mother and sister all those years ago. May God help her for she could not ignore it. Curiosity and the need to know would drive her on. But how could she go about it? There was no way that she could see. If still alive, they could be anywhere. With reluctance she had to admit that she could do nothing at this time. But she would not let it lie and was fiercely determined to pursue the matter when the opportunity arose.

Richard’s sister lived in one of the grand private houses along the Strand. Following the austere years of the Commonwealth under the rule of Oliver Cromwell, when all pleasures were denied, when things had been difficult and uncertain and political tension had permeated every household, everyone hoped that with the King’s return to his throne the days would follow a different rhythm. Already the dour cloak of puritanism was being shed and places of entertainment, closed during the interregnum, were beginning to open. In taverns, tankards were raised in toasts to His Majesty, to Charles Stuart, coming home at last to England and his people, Charles Lackland no longer.

It was the twenty-ninth of May, 1660, King Charles’s thirtieth birthday, and the whole of London, gripped with excitement, was rejoicing. The Strand was lined with people who paraded bearing effigies of Charles Stuart adorned with flowers. There were street sellers doing a good trade and thieves looking for rich pickings. The crowd chanted, ‘Long live the King!’, and in taverns pot boys sped backwards and forwards with tankards foaming with ale. Cannons fired from the Tower announced that the King had crossed London Bridge and a cacophony of bells being rung in every church steeple were a joy to hear. The sky was cloudless and the sun gilded the lattice windows of the Willoughby household.

It was a large house and was filled with friends and neighbours all celebrating together, all eager to see the sights from the balcony that overlooked the Strand. Happy children managed to get under everyone’s feet and Richard, testy and often bad-tempered, having resigned himself to the King’s return, was conversing with a group of gentlemen, his head with its black steeple hat bobbing as he showed interest in a consignment of printed calico from India.

Trembling with excitement and eager to welcome the King along with everyone else, aware that this day was too important to be missed, Arlette stood at an open window and looked down upon the parade. For this momentous occasion she had donned her finest buttercup-yellow gown with a tight, pointed bodice, round neckline trimmed with fine lace, full elbow-length sleeves also trimmed with lace, and a sweeping skirt. She wore her honey-gold hair loose with pretty clips at the sides to hold it from her face and secure the sprigs of May blossom she had picked earlier.

Her heart was throbbing a heavy beat when the King, preceded by heralds blowing long slender trumpets, came into view. He was flanked by his two brothers. All three were attired in silver doublets. They were followed by the Lord Mayor and the Aldermen of the City adorned in scarlet gowns and gold chains. Then came the King’s loyal cavaliers. Not for these gentlemen who rode into London along roads strewn with sweet-smelling flowers and herbs the drab garb of the Puritans. These handsome gentlemen who came with the King presented a vibrant, colourful spectacle: scarlets and gold braid, bright blue and green doublets, flowing locks and flamboyant cavalier hats with an array of dancing plumes and cascading lace at their throats and wrists.

They laughed and waved atop prancing horses, catching flowers that were thrown from happy children and besotted maids in low-cut gowns lining the route, pressing forward the better to see. Yet in the eyes of these cavaliers there was a hunger, a world weariness, a resolve never to be poor again. Ten years they had waited for this, ten years in exile in a foreign country, where to relieve the boredom many had turned to debauchery—a legacy they brought with them on this day of Charles Stuart’s restoration.

Along with everyone else Arlette laughed and waved as the parade, which seemed never ending, passed by. She scanned every face, wishing with all her heart that her brother Thomas was here to share this time and not in bondage on Barbados. Her gaze was drawn to one gentleman in particular: a gentleman whose face was partly shielded by the brim of his wide hat. He smiled broadly, his teeth dazzling in a face so handsome she couldn’t resist taking a flower from Anne and tossing it in his direction. He laughed, catching it in his gloved hands, looking up to see who had tossed it, inclining his head in the briefest of bows.

At just turned twenty-two, Arlette had the beautiful, fine bone structure as her mother, the mother she could not remember, and the admiration in this cavalier’s eyes as they passed over her made her catch her breath. All her senses came alive. They stared at one another across the distance and the rapport, the communication between them was tangible. Suddenly a familiarity sprang between them, shooting from one to the other like a spark of lightning. That was the moment Arlette recognised her cavalier of old, the man who had brought her to safety before leaving for France. It was William Latham—out of sight for nine years, but forever in her thoughts. She told herself that she had clung to him as she would any protector or friend, that he had been her means of getting to London and Hester, but her heart had broken in two when he had left her. Even after all this time her memory of him and that short time they had been together had not dimmed. And now he was here. He had come back.

She saw his eyes widen as a slow realisation of who she really was made its way from memory. Pushed along by those coming up behind him he was soon past the house, but not yet out of sight. He looked back at her, craning his neck when others blocked his sight. Unable to stop herself, Arlette turned and ran down the stairs and into the wide hall, which gleamed like a mirror and smelled of lemon polish. Hester was walking by carrying a tray of food in preparation for the celebrations later. On this occasion Arlette took no notice of her when she told her not to leave the house. She had an urgent need which took her on to the street.

Pushing her way through the throng, she didn’t stop until she was close to William. Hampered in every direction, he managed to steer his horse towards her. Not until he was close did he dismount, careful not to let go of the reins lest his horse got carried away. Suddenly a muscular youth in snug breeches and coarse linen shirt reeled towards her. He had broad, peasant features and untidy brown hair, and Arlette didn’t like what she saw in those bloodshot eyes. His wide lips curled into a leering grin as he lurched in front of her and dragged her into a shop doorway.

‘What’s a lovely girl like you doin’ out on her own? Lookin’ for company, love?’

‘Let go of me,’ she demanded coldly, trying to pull away from him as his heavy body weaved in front of her. ‘You’re drunk.’

‘The whole of London’s drunk today. Come now, have a drink with me—and afterwards, well, we’ll see.’

‘You’re disgusting. Let me pass.’

‘Not so fast, little lady,’ he growled as she tried to push past him.

‘I believe you’re bothering the lady,’ a dry voice said.

It came from behind Arlette. A strong hand grasped her arm and pulled her away. William Latham stood between her and her assailant, tall and absolutely nonchalant. The youth flushed, glaring at the intruder. William Latham stood in a lazy slouch, his arms by his sides. There was nothing intimidating in his manner, but the youth hesitated just the same, clearly uneasy.

‘This is none of your affair,’ he grumbled belligerently.

‘I’m making it my affair,’ William drawled. ‘Now on your way before I make you regret bothering the young lady.’

His voice was lethargic, totally devoid of menace, yet the youth turned pale. Stumbling back a step and almost falling, he muttered something unintelligible and then turned and went on his way as fast as his wobbly legs would allow, disappearing into the crowd.

‘Thank you,’ Arlette uttered. ‘He was drunk.’

‘And I appeared just in time.’

‘I’m happy to see you have survived the troubles,’ she breathed, her eyes shining with happiness as they looked into his.

He caught hold of her arm and drew her into the recess of the shop doorway. At the same moment their gazes met and Arlette’s heart gave an unexpected flutter. She couldn’t believe he was here. William did not move. His repressed admiration was almost tangible in his stillness. His eyes burned into hers. His hand holding her arm seemed to pulsate with life, sending shock waves through Arlette. Her lips parted and she moistened her lower lip with the tip of her tongue.

An inexplicable, lazy smile swept over his face as he looked at her and held out his hand. ‘Enchanté, mademoiselle,’ he said quietly.

Arlette had the impression that he actually liked what he saw. Automatically she gave him her hand, thinking he would simply take it in his, but he covered it with both of his and kept it. His eyes were warm with admiration as they looked straight into hers.

‘Arlette! I cannot believe it is you—here.’ Raising her hand, he pressed his lips to her fingers.

She slanted him a smile. ‘Do you make a habit of kissing the hand of every lady you meet?’

William laughed. ‘The devil I don’t. Only those I like.’

‘I did not think you would recognise me.’

‘You have grown up and you are right. I hardly recognised you. What are you doing here?’

They smiled at each other and happiness rose in Arlette’s chest. ‘Don’t look so surprised. You did bring me to London so where else would I be?’

‘Back at Mayfield Hall.’

She shook her head, her eyes clouding with sadness. ‘No. Father died soon after we left and as far as we know, Thomas is still on Barbados—at least that is what we think. Nothing has been heard of him since he was taken prisoner. I am anxious about him. I hate to think some ill has befallen him.’

William frowned. ‘I understand your concern. I, too, expected some news of him before now.’

‘The house and estate have been confiscated. Hopefully things will change now the monarchy has been restored.’

‘Every Royalist has the same hopes.’ He fell silent, looking at her as if he could not get enough of her. ‘You look well, Arlette, so grown up and élégante. Life and London obviously agrees with you.’

‘I’m glad you think so and I like London very well,’ she admitted awkwardly, withdrawing her hand, annoyed with her attack of nervousness. ‘Although when I came here I found it all so confusing at first.’

‘And you became settled with your sister and her husband.’

‘Yes, but I missed my father and my home terribly.’

‘And have they prospered under the yoke of Cromwell?’

‘There were times when things were difficult. When war broke out Richard turned a healthy profit in the wool trade—all those woollen uniforms—but after Worcester everything changed, for everyone, not just Richard. In the beginning I found it strange living in such a strict household—although now I don’t hold a candle for either party as long as there is some form of normality and no more wars. Whatever Richard’s true feelings his business and his home have survived intact and unmolested, although money is in short supply at present.’ Her lips twisted with irony. ‘My brother-in-law has double standards. He trims his cloth to the wind. After the death of Cromwell and thinking the King might be restored, he has become more tolerant in his dealings. Parliament man he may be, but he will not be averse to selling silks and velvets to Royalists in the name of business.’

‘A wise man knows where his allegiances lie in times like these.’

‘That may be so, but Richard is still of the opinion that all pleasures such as music and dancing are the work of the devil.’

‘Let us hope that now the King has come home we will see better times.’

His voice was gentle. It was smooth and deep and wrapped itself winningly around his words and his powerful charm and manner radiated a rapier-sharp intelligence. Arlette was mesmerised. Lithe, tall and extremely handsome, she had no doubt there were plenty of ladies who would find him attractive. There was a vigorous purposefulness about him that bespoke impatience and an active life. With his lively eyes and quick smile, his face demanded attention and respect. The young William Latham she had once known with the boyish good looks had become a man. He presented a dazzling figure, yet there were harsh lines on his face and a tension in his manner that suggested some kind of struggle unrelieved by his return to England. His gaze scanned her face and swept down her body. Self-consciously she ran her hands down her skirts and tried to restore her wayward golden hair to some order. Confused and strangely vulnerable, she averted her eyes.

‘I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a disadvantage. I’m not normally so dishevelled.’

He glanced down at his own clothes, travel-stained and creased from being so long on the road. ‘And neither am I. Having been on the road since early morning, I am somewhat discomposed myself.’

‘Is this the first time you have been back to England since you went to France?’

‘It is. Nine long years—it seems like a lifetime. I wasn’t alone. It wasn’t what any of us would have chosen—we had no choice.’

‘And what did you do for nine years, William? Did you spend all your time in Paris, enjoying all the gaieties that city has to offer?’

He laughed. ‘No, far from it. When I arrived there it didn’t take long before boredom set in. Along with many others who were not prepared to see out their exile in idleness, I went to the Low Countries with the King, who founded a regiment of guards under the command of his brother, the Duke of York. We went into service under the Spanish flag.’

‘So your fighting did not cease when you left England,’ she said, curious to know more about those missing years in William’s life and wondering what he had got up to when he left for France. She had the feeling that the adventure he had embarked upon was not all he hoped it would be.

‘No. The regiment saw much service and too many deaths. Too many. It’s not always easy to be a soldier and a survivor. I may still be alive, but I have lost all that is important to me. My mother passed away and my sister married a Frenchman.’

‘I’m so sorry, William. That must have been difficult for you.’

He nodded, his expression sombre. ‘It’s a hollow victory over death—but I am grateful to be alive. I’m home now—one of the lucky ones.’

He fell silent, seeming to lose himself in his thoughts.

‘William?’ She touched his arm. It was the merest touch, but she might as well have branded him with a hot iron.

He forced himself back to the present and turned his gaze on her. ‘Like every other Royalist who has been plotting towards this end, there are many things that need to be done. I’m tired of wandering. My years of fighting and adventure are over, but I never had any doubt in my mind about the justice of the King’s cause. It is time to stop dwelling in the past and concentrate on the present and the future. From this day I intend to live out the rest of my life in England and never again pick up my sword in anger.’

‘You will find much has changed.’

‘I don’t doubt it—although things could not have turned out better. It is fortunate that the King has come back to where he belongs. Are you enjoying the celebrations?’

‘Yes. We are staying with Richard’s sister overnight.’

‘And Hester? She is well?’

‘Yes, she is. Speaking of Hester, I should be getting back. She will miss me and scold me most severely because I left the house.’

‘Of course. Come, I’ll escort you.’

Curling his right arm around her shoulders, he casually guided her towards the house. Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips.

‘I shall be in London for a while, Arlette. I’ll call on you later and I would like to pay my respects to Hester and her husband. I did not meet Richard when I brought you, which is probably as well. As a malignant he might very well have had me arrested.’

‘I’d like to think not. You did my father a great service and I know Hester was most grateful.’ She smiled up at him. ‘Goodbye, William. If you are able, you would be welcome at the celebrations later.’

Standing in the doorway for one last glimpse of him, she noted that he moved with a casual grace and an air of authority that she had not encountered in anyone before. Deliriously happy, she almost skipped into the house.

Chapter Two

Taking his leave of her and mounted once more, William forced his way back into the parade. He was troubled. Thinking of Arlette, the young girl he had kept in his heart for so many years, he could not help but wonder why it was that she so easily aroused his desire, for when he had looked at her he had been instantly drawn to her.

In one quick glance he had seen the change nine years had made. She had a fine bone structure and a few freckles sprinkled her nose. He had seen classic beauty rather than sex appeal and there was a slight dimple in her chin below the curve of her rose-tinted lips. Her eyes were the colour of a tropical sea, he thought—blue-green speckled with amber. Had she been any other wench who had thrown him a rose and then come after him, he would have been tempted to draw her into his arms and kiss the full, soft mouth. But she wasn’t any other wench. She was Arlette, no longer the girl he remembered, but a full-grown, beautiful woman.

It was dark when William was able to get away from Whitehall and find his way to the Willoughby house. Revellers were everywhere, spilling out of the taverns into the street, some of them collapsing in a happy, abandoned heap.

From his vantage point on the raised terrace in the courtyard at the back of Willoughby House, William idly watched the celebrations without consciously admitting to himself that he was watching specifically for Arlette to appear—and then, as if he was seeing a dream, there she was. Attired in the same yellow gown as earlier that clung to her small breasts and miniscule waist and complemented her complexion, her stance was one of quiet regal poise. Her wealth of glorious bright gold hair, gently curling, was drawn off her face and hung down her back. Everyone paused in their conversations and glanced her way. Her smile was dazzling and she seemed to bestow it on every one of those present—and did he imagine it, or did everyone resume talking with more animation than before?

His whole sum and substance was concentrated on her. She had an individuality that had nothing to do with her beauty. It took William’s breath away. With her creamy white complexion she was utterly feminine. She moved with a fluency and elegance that drew the eye. There was an intriguing, indefinable presence about her that made her stand out, even in the moving kaleidoscope of colour and animated voices. It was as if everyone and everything was in motion except Arlette. But he detected a restlessness about her. She looked about her with a keen interest, her glance filled with anticipation and bright expectance.

And then, as if she sensed his gaze on her, her head came up and she saw him and smiled the widest smile that warmed and lit up her features. Holding her gaze, he headed slowly but purposefully towards her.