Greysteel’s mouth firmed. “I will never fight for Cromwell. I am a Royalist.”
“Did you know that I too was once a Royalist?”
“You are a
turncoat?ʺ
Greysteel’s voice dripped contempt.
Monck ignored the taunt. “I was a prisoner in the Tower of London. Two years felt like a lifetime. Then I was given the choice between rotting in prison or joining the Parliamentarians and fighting rebels in Ireland. I took the latter.”
Montgomery’s piercing grey eyes stared into Monck’s.
In your heart of hearts, you must hate Cromwell.
“I only know of your Scottish service, General. You recruited the Coldstream Guards, a great fighting force who are a credit to you.”
“Then join us, Montgomery.”
Greysteel shook his head. “My loyalty is pledged to Charles.”
Over the harsh winter months, whenever Monck returned from Edinburgh, he continued the exchanges with Captain Montgomery, extending the offer and being refused. The meager rations and the cold were not the hardest part for Greysteel to tolerate. It was the close confinement that was far more difficult to bear, and the thought of his young soldiers being caged up nearly drove Montgomery to the edge of his endurance.
One morning he heard from the guard that one of his men had hanged himself. Greysteel was immediately covered with guilt and blamed himself for the boy’s death. The next time Monck came to Berwick, Montgomery was ready to relent.
“General, extend the choice to my men. If they agree to join you in exchange for their freedom, I make no objection.”
“And you will lead them?”
Greysteel was incredulous. “Nay, General. How can you ask? You know I am pledged to Charles Stuart.”
“Without your men behind bars, I have no leverage with you.”
Two days later a guard unlocked Montgomery’s cell, shackled his wrists and delivered him to Monck’s office. Greysteel, wary as a wolf scenting a trap, remained silent in hope that the general would play his hand first.
Monck came from behind his desk, peered out the door as if to make sure they would not be overheard, then removed the manacles. “I have been testing you for months.”
Greysteel held his silence.
“You have passed the test.” Monck took his seat behind the desk. “The test of unswerving loyalty.”
For my men’s sake, you have no idea how close I’ve come the last two days to giving in to you.
With difficulty, Montgomery forced himself to stand at ease with his arms behind his back.
“I have need of an agent.”
Greysteel remained silent.
You are wasting your time.
“I believe you would make a good secret agent.” When he saw Montgomery shake his head, Monck held up his hand. “I will release your young men back across the Border.”
Greysteel hesitated. “An agent?”
“You will not work for Cromwell; you will work for me. I hear many rumors—that the people are sick and tired of living under a Protectorate, that they have grown resentful, caught between a military regime and religious fanatics. On the other hand, I hear the English love him so much, they want him to be king. Yet another rumor says that Cromwell is in ill health. I need someone to take the pulse of England and report the truth. I could trust a man with your noble sense of honor.”
You needed to make sure I’d remain loyal to Charles Stuart!
“You hold the power here in Scotland. Are you saying that under certain circumstances you would put that power behind restoring the monarchy?” A faint glimmer of hope rekindled.
Monck remained silent for a full minute. “I am saying no such thing. I am a cautious man. That is how I maintain a position of power. I need ears and eyes in London. I pledge to you the release of your men. You pledge to me the truth.”
“Married?” Velvet, who had been numb with grief all winter, was jolted out of her sorrow by her fatherʹs announcement.
“Fortunately you are already acquainted. The noble Lady Margaret Lucas became my countess yesterday.”
Velvet recoiled. “How could you replace my mother with a new wife so soon? And why Margaret Lucas, a bluestocking lady-in-waiting, half your age?”
“Velvet, that is unkind. We will all benefit from this union. Lady Margaret is a young lady of means and it was she who suggested that I appeal to our family in England for funds. With the money Devonshire sent me, I have leased us a lovely house in Antwerp, closer to where King Charles resides. Promise me you will do your utmost to make Lady Margaret happy?”
Velvet nodded, her numbness replaced by heartache. The thought of seeing Charles again was the only glimmer of hope in what she viewed as an intolerable situation.
The stylish house in Antwerp had once belonged to the famed artist Rubens. It had all the luxuries, including servants, a carriage house and riding horses. Lady Margaret spent her time writing plays and encouraged her new husband to compile his equine wisdom into a book on horsemanship.
From the moment they moved in, the new countess was critical of her stepdaughter. Each day when Velvet came downstairs, Lady Margaret made a point of voicing her disapproval.
“Your clothes are a disgrace. Why did you choose drab grey for your new gown? You have no appreciation that your father is an earl and has provided you with this lovely home. You show little respect for me, the plays that I write or the literary guests we entertain. All you care about is galloping your horse like a madwoman, allowing that untidy red hair to fly about.” She smiled with malice. “I shall ask your father to curtail your riding, Elizabeth.”
Velvet had held her tongue week after week, struggling to keep her promise to her father. Now, however, the threat of taking her horse away, coupled with Margaret’s calling her Elizabeth, made Velvet lose control.
“I chose drab grey because I am in mourning for my mother. I cannot show respect because I
have
no respect for you, or the appalling plays you write. I would show more appreciation for this lovely home if my father had provided it for my mother, rather than depriving her for over a decade.”
“You wicked creature! Your father’s English lands were confiscated and his losses total a million pounds in the Royalist cause.”
Velvet narrowed emerald eyes. “You have a great interest in money—be sure to keep track of every penny. At your shameful suggestion Father got money from the Devonshires, who saved their estates by making a pact with the king’s enemies!”
“I am not without wealth,” Lady Margaret said regally. “Some of my own money goes into the upkeep of this house.”
“If you had wealth, how could you have allowed Her Highness the Queen and Princess Minette to live in abject poverty?”
“Enough, Elizabeth!”
Velvet raised her chin. “I’ve had more than enough, Margaret.” She turned on her heel and ran back upstairs to her room. Impulsively, she stuffed brush and comb and other toilet articles into a saddlebag and flung on her cloak. She knew exactly where she would go.
The two-hour ride to Bruges gave Velvet ample time to cool her temper. When she saw that the entire town was a sprawling military camp filled with rough English and Irish mercenary soldiers, she realized she should not have come. She was shocked at the dress and familiar behavior of the women she saw mingling with the men.
These must be camp followers!
A soldier grabbed her reins. “Lookin’ fer company, luv?”
“I am looking for King Charles. Let me pass, sir!”
He laughed. “You an’ all the other bawds. Fear not, he’ll get around to you—in the meantime, come an’ ride my cockhorse.”
Velvet cried out in alarm and raised her riding crop. A cavalry officer came to her rescue. “What’s the trouble here?”
“I’m the Earl of Newcastle’s daughter. Would you take me to His Majesty the King, sir?”
His eyes widened. “I serve under the Duke of York with your brother, Henry. He’d have a fit if he knew you were here.”
He escorted her to a stone building and turned her over to a member of the King’s Court. “I’ll stable your horse, my lady.”
Used to escorting females to the king, the courtier asked discreetly, “Are you expected, milady?”
Fearing she’d be turned away, she said, “Of course I am.”
He knocked and opened the door, and she stepped into the room.
The man behind the black oak table rose to his full six feet and bowed. His dark eyes roamed over the lovely young creature before him, missing no finest detail. His brows lifted. “Velvet? Can this exquisite young lady possibly be the urchin who always out-rode me?” He hugged her tightly and kissed her cheek. “Your father didn’t tell me you accompanied him today.”
Her wild pleasure turned to dismay. “Father’s here?”
Charles grasped the situation. “He’s gone to visit Henry. Before he returns, why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?” He sat her down in a worn leather chair and brought her a footstool. “I am sorry over the loss of your mother, Velvet. She was always exceedingly kind to me. I understand how you must miss her.”
“It seems that I’m the only one! Father has already taken another wife—that bluestocking Lady Margaret Lucas, who was lady-in-waiting to the queen. I don’t understand!”
Charles sat down beside her and took her hand. He searched her face with his brown melancholy eyes. A quick calculation told him that she was now twenty. He realized her innocence had been overprotected, yet he knew she had a quick intelligence and an innate shrewdness, which could someday match his.
“Your father is a dashing nobleman in his middle years. Women have always thrown themselves at him. His military forays ended in defeat, so it was important that his conquest of a woman end in victory. Can you understand that?”
“Yes.”
Now that you have explained so bluntly, I understand your need for so many conquests.
“But why does she hate me?”
His mouth curved in a lazy, charming smile. “Your youth and incredible beauty are a threat to her, Velvet.”
“Lady Margaret pressed Father to accept money from his cousin Devonshire, I’m ashamed to tell you. They made a pact with that devil Cromwell to keep their estates intact!”
“My dear, there is no shame in that. It was a brilliant political move. Your father’s branch of the Cavendishes was able to throw its wealth into the Royalist cause only if the Earls of Devonshire preserved their vast domain, wealth and possessions for the future.”
“You don’t hate the Devonshires for dealing with Cromwell?”
“It was the expedient thing to do. The old countess and the queen are friends. They write often. One must learn to do the expedient thing in order to survive, Velvet. Odds fish, my best friend, George Villiers, just deserted me. No sooner did he arrive in England than he married General Fairfax’s daughter.”
“Why would the Duke of Buckingham marry the daughter of a Roundhead general?” she asked in outrage.
Charles smiled. “Expedience, Velvet. She is an heiress. I am casting about for my own royal heiress.”
Her heart constricted. “You would marry without love?”
“Little innocent! I cannot afford the luxury of love. Look about you. I have begged, stolen or borrowed money for every stick of furniture, every candle, every mouthful of food. I have no money to pay the soldiers, and no money or ships for the invasion I promised my faithful Royalist soldiers waiting in vain since last year for my landing on the Scottish Border.”
“Your problems are untenable. I am ashamed that I came to burden you with my complaints, Your Majesty.”
“I want there to be no
Majesties
between us, Velvet. I want only friendship. Try to cope with your problems and I shall do the same. With a little expedience, we shall muddle through.”
A knock interrupted them. It was Newcastle, beside himself with fury that his willful daughter had followed him to Bruges.
“William, I forbid you to be fierce with Mistress Cavendish. I call you to task for not including her in your visit.” He looked at Velvet and allowed one eyelid to close in a slow wink.
Oh, Charles, I do love you!
Velvet, deciding upon expedience, lowered her lashes and presented a meek face to her father.
The long ride home gave the earl and his daughter a chance to talk to each other. Velvet held nothing back; she told her father her true feelings about Margaret Lucas.
“Velvet, my dear, I’ve tended to think of you as a child, but now I realize you are a lady grown who does not need the ministrations of a stepmother. I’ve selfishly thought only of my needs and not yours. Two grown women cannot be happy in one household, I fear. It is unfair to both.”
“I’ve tried to hold my tongue for months, but the truth is that Margaret doesn’t like me and resents sharing you with me.”
“She is a new bride. You will understand these things when you are a wife. At your age you s
hould
be married and have your own household. Living in exile has robbed you of these things.”
Velvet blushed. She was extremely sensitive about reaching the age of twenty without being married. She harbored a fear of being left on the shelf—a spinster forever.
“Would you like to return to England, Velvet?”
“I have dreamed of going back to England for years.”
“I shall write to the Devonshires and make the arrangements. We shall get you back across the Channel in no time.”
Velvet was reluctant to live with the other branch of the family when they had chosen Cromwell over Charles, but at least she would be living in England and she and Margaret would not be at each otherʹs throats. With great daring she found the courage to voice a thought she’d kept hidden deep, and never spoken aloud before. “What about my betrothal?”
Newcastle rubbed the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t count on it, Velvet. Circumstances have changed considerably over the years we’ve lived in exile. The Earl of Eglinton will not be eager for his heir to take a wife without a substantial dowry.”