Virginia Henley (19 page)

“While I give you liberty, I will not have my own taken from me. I have always used that form of service, which I think the best in the world, and have never discontinued it in places where it is more disliked than I hope it is by you.”

The ceremonies were concluded when His Majesty’s chaplain brought forward a number of people suffering from scrofula, known as the King’s Evil. The affliction supposedly could only be cured by the touch of the king’s hand. In reality it was a shrewdly calculated move to show the monarch had divine powers.

A week later, the king and his royal party stepped aboard the newly named
Royal Charles
for their voyage to England. He was greeted by his general at sea, Sir Edward Montagu, who saluted with a round of the ship’s cannon. Though a crowd of fifty thousand well-wishers gathered to watch him depart, Charles Stuart had never been so thankful to leave a place in his life. Many hours later, as he paced restlessly across the deck, eagerly searching for a glimpse of the Dover cliffs, he vowed only one thing:
an absolute commitment to his own survival as king.

Velvet, elevated on a stool, surveyed her new gown of pale green silk in the mirror. “The full skirt is perfect, but I would like the bodice to be much tighter,” Velvet told the dowager’s sewing women. “Could you design it to lace up the back and come to a point at the front?”

Both Velvet and Christian Cavendish were caught up in a whirlwind of plans for King Charles’s return to London, and fashionable new clothes were the first order of business.

“Your undergarment is all wrong for such a design, Mistress Cavendish,” the head seamstress explained.

“Yes, I understand that. I want you to fashion me a new corset that fits high under the arms and lifts the breasts.”

“What a splendid idea! Where did you get the notion for such a flattering style?” Christian inquired.

“To tell the truth, I got it from the French Court. Though I was very young, I realized their fashion sense was superb.”

“Such a corset would allow you to bare your shoulders, which would be deliciously risqué!”

Velvet laughed. “The courtesans bared their
nipples.
They were rouged, of course,” she added wickedly.

“Well, I doubt the Court of St. James will go that far, but I warrant anything will seem daring after the prudish Puritan fashions that were foisted upon us by Cromwell.”

“Do you think that is where Charles will set up his Court?”

“It is where he had his household when he was a child, but I believe he will set up his Court at Whitehall. Most likely he will have apartments at St. James’s Palace as well.”

Christian scrutinized her own image. “I think this gown should have
passementeries
. I don’t believe I can get away with
galants
at my age.”

“What are
galants
?”

“They are bunches of ribbon loops that gentlemen may steal as favors. Silver would be most fetching on that pale green silk.”

“We must have fans too. They are so pretty and feminine.”

“I think perhaps I had better employ some extra sewing women,” Christian told her head seamstress. “Velvet and I will need many gowns for Court, and of course splendorous coronation dresses. I believe I’d like something in royal purple.”

“Because of my hair color, I’d like white and gold.”

“That would be exquisite, darling, and most suitable for an unmarried young lady. A virginal facade is most alluring.”

When Velvet blushed, Christian winked. “I did say
facade
!”

That evening the dowager countess opened up her jewel chest and invited Velvet to select a few pieces that struck her fancy. “You must develop a flagrant fondness for diamonds and rubies.”

“I’ve never worn jewels in my life. You are so generous!”

“Nonsense. I shall drop a note to my daughter-in-law and tell her to fetch the Devonshire jewels. The Devonshires will be arriving any day. They are bound to take part in the Court festivities. Your great-grandmother Bess’s jewels are in the collection. Elizabeth Cecil, the present countess, isn’t a showy female, by any standard. Never puts herself forward. Well, how could she? I’ve always had her firmly under my thumb. I’m the matriarch of the family.”

“I suppose your grandson, Cav, will come too?”

“You suppose correctly, darling.” She lifted a brow. “Do you think you can handle the young lecher?”

Velvet smiled a secret smile. “I’m certain of it.”

Christian reached into her jewel cabinet. “Here’s something to help you. This miniature dagger is called a bodkin. It’s rather old-fashioned, but most effective, I warrant!”

In her own chamber, Velvet threw open the windows. Bonfires had lit up the night sky since the king’s return had been announced, and Londoners were celebrating in the streets by cooking huge rump roasts and chestnuts. Inside she was bubbling with happiness. “You’re coming home at last; you’re coming home. I always knew this day would come. I never lost faith. Oh, Charles, I cannot wait to see you!”

When she drifted into sleep, once again she had a variation of the recurring dream. Greysteel Montgomery dominated it, and dominated her. When he made love to her, she pledged her heart to him and promised to marry him. Then she learned that he had betrayed her and betrayed the king. As always, she was forced to choose between him and Charles Stuart. And as always, Velvet chose the king.

 

Resplendent in rich, dark attire, brightened only by a red plume in his hat, Charles Stuart stepped ashore at Dover on a sunlit afternoon in May.
Home! And home is where I’ll stay. I vow by Almighty God that I will never go roaming again!

Charles fell to his knees on his native soil. “I thank God for this miraculous restoration!” He was acutely aware that to the masses awaiting his return, it would show humility and a submission to Providence. He wanted none to doubt he was the nation’s legitimate king, sanctified by God.

As Charles arose from his knees, the cheers were so loud, they almost drowned out the gun salute from His Majesty’s Navy. “God save the king! God save the king! God save the king!” He walked a direct path to the kneeling figure of General Monck.

“Your Majesty, I am deeply honored.”

Charles raised him. “Nay, General, the honor is mine.” He kissed him on both cheeks. “I thank you with all my heart.”

Then the lord mayor, the bishops and many other dignitaries were presented to the king before he could retire to Dover Castle, where he was to spend the night.

 

Greysteel Montgomery, along with many devoted Royalists who were personal friends of Charles Stuart, had gathered at Dover Castle. He felt himself lucky to have secured a small chamber at the massive fortification and found himself already acquainted with the man in the next room. They emerged from their chambers and descended to the great hall.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Montgomery, isn’t it?” George Villiers stuck out his hand.

“Delighted to see you, Buckingham. I’m surprised that you recognized me.” Montgomery shook his hand warmly.

“It’s the eyes—they skewer a fellow through the vitals and pin him to the wall. A rogue such as I must beware.”

Greysteel grinned as it dawned on him that George had likely delivered his father-in-law, General Fairfax, into Charles’s camp. “We are all rogues and vagabonds, I fear.”

“I’m here to get a close look at the great man himself.”

Montgomery, aware of the duke’s famed irreverence, knew he didn’t mean King Charles. “Monck—I’ll introduce you to him. I’m sure the general will want a close look at you also.”

“You know him?” Buckingham looked surprised.

“He took me prisoner once,” Greysteel acknowledged.

 

Dover’s great hall was crowded to the rafters. Sir George Carteret, governor of Jersey, had sailed in from the Channel Islands aboard the
Proud Eagle
and Montgomery knew most of the crew. The head of the Admiralty, Edward Montagu, who had captained the
Royal Charles
on the king’s voyage, was there with his secretary, Samuel Pepys, and the crews of the two vessels were quick to make friends.

General Monck had brought a few hundred soldiers with him to guard the king, and many of them also crowded into the great hall, mingling with the royal servitors. As well as Charles’s loyal friends from London, ships had been arriving all day, bringing the men who had been in exile with him and at the moment all these people milled about the hall anxiously awaiting the king’s arrival. To a man they were hungry and thirsty.

When Charles entered the great hall, flanked by his royal brothers, he was immediately surrounded by well-wishers. The guards did their best to keep people back from him, but it was an impossible task to separate the gathered crowd from their restored monarch, especially when he too was eager to acknowledge their friendship and goodwill.

Slowly, stopping every few feet to greet another acquaintance, the king finally made his way to the dais and took his seat at the table that had been prepared for the royal banquet. George Monck was seated between King Charles and Chancellor Hyde, while Montagu was seated on the king’s left, between James, Duke of York, and Henry, Duke of Gloucester.

Soon the goblets were filled and the great hall rang with royal toasts. “A health unto His Majesty,” was a cry that was repeated over and over before the feast was done.

Charles’s dark eyes met those of George Monck without subterfuge. “What truly made you decide to help me, General?”

The bulbous eyes looked directly into the king’s. “I fought for your father at the siege of Nantwich. The Royalists lost and I was taken prisoner by the Parliamentarians. When I was starving in the Tower of London, your father sent me a gift of a hundred pounds.” He shook his head. “I never forgot.”

Finally, Charles was allowed to retire to a hastily prepared suite of rooms in the castle. And it was here that his faithful intimates were invited to join him privately.

Henry Jermyn, Earl of Saint Albans, and George Digby, Earl of Bristol, who’d been with Charles throughout his exile, filled goblets for those present.

Charles threw an arm about Buckingham’s shoulder. “Odds fish, George, I actually missed you. Gives you an idea of how desperate I’d become.”

“I knew you couldn’t bear me having England to myself, Sire.”

Charles thumped Greysteel’s shoulder. “You know you have my undying gratitude. You deserve at least an earldom.”

“I have one, Sire,” Greysteel said quietly.

“My condolences on your father’s passing,” Charles said soberly. Then he looked at both men and a smile lit his saturnine features. “Eglinton and Buckingham—you are the best sort of friends a king could have. You already have noble titles and don’t need them from me.”

“Fear not, Sire, I’ll soon think of something else I need.”

“If I know you, George, you already have,” Charles said laconically. He sipped his wine thoughtfully and addressed the dozen men in the room. “You know, the irony of my situation is not lost on me, gentlemen. Over the years, all my attempts to regain my Crown ended in bloodshed and defeat. Now I have been bloodlessly willed into power by the people declaring me their legitimate monarch. I’ve played no part in my own restoration.”

“Not so, Sire,” Greysteel disagreed. “Today is a culmination of all that has gone before—for you, for us, for England.”

“The future is at hand, Sire. I suggest a spectacular entry into your capital,” Buckingham advised.

“I will leave that to Digby, Jermyn, Hyde and my brothers, who have a wealth of ideas. Though four days from now I turn thirty—it would be satisfying to enter London on my birthday.”

“That’s simple enough to arrange, Sire,” Greysteel declared. He counted on his fingers. “Overnight stops at Canterbury, Rochester, and Deptford will bring you to London on May twenty-ninth.”

“We’d like your presence at Court unless you would like a commission in my army, Montgomery?”

“I have no such ambition, Sire. My fighting days are over.”

“Would you consider organizing and heading my King’s Guard?”

Greysteel was surprised. He’d expected nothing, and was not sure he wanted responsibility for the king’s person, yet he didn’t hesitate to accept the duty. “I am honored, Your Majesty.”

T
he preparations for the kingʹs arrival are spectacular! I saw some of the tapestries being hung in the streets yesterday.”

Velvet studied a pamphlet, which had been hastily printed, laying out the route that King Charles and his royal procession would take. “Charles will enter the city at Blackheath, and at St. George’s Fields, the lord mayor and aldermen are to present him with the City Sword. It says that a hundred young girls in white with blue head scarves are to scatter flowers and herbs before his horse. I would so love to see that!”