"Truth is often unpalatable. That's why I hear it so seldom. My advisers, my courtiers, tell me what they wish me to believe and I have learned that most men are self-serving."
"I too am self-serving. I'm here to assuage my conscience."
"Conscience?" Laughter rolled from Charles's throat. "I forgot what conscience was by the time I was sixteen." He poured them each a drink and grimaced. "Holland gin, I'm afraid. Sit, drink and unburden yourself."
"Last autumn I captained young recruits from Northumberland. We were taken captive by George Monck's Coldstream Guards and imprisoned in Berwick."
Charles's face set in melancholy lines. "You were snared like coneys, waiting for my invasion force that never came."
"After a hellish winter, I made a pact with Monck to free my men across the Border. In return he wanted information about Cromwell and wanted the truth about how the people felt."
"And what is the truth, as you see it?"
"The people are sick and tired of military rule. Most feel that the country should be run by an elected government, not the Parliamentarian army. Many secretly long for a monarchy and there is even a rumor that they will ask Cromwell to be king."
"Your unvarnished truth holds little hope for me, my friend."
"You are wrong, Your Majesty. Cromwell is dying."
Charles sat forward, eagerly. "You have seen him?"
"I put on a Roundhead uniform and went to Whitehall. He is stooped, jaundiced, and he cannot keep food down."
"Poisoned perhaps?" Charles suggested blandly.
So the rumors of plots against his life are true. "It is more than that, Your Majesty. Men may recover from poison. Cromwell will not recover from what is ailing him. The Protector has turned into a zealot, who believes he has been chosen as God's instrument to reform religion and turn England into the New Jerusalem. But the people have become fearful of the godly, and embittered by the reform he tries to impose. Cromwell is dying of fanaticism."
"What was in your report to George Monck?"
"He asked for the truth. I gave it to him."
"I wonder why he seeks the truth. What is his agenda?"
"There's more to George Monck than meets the eye. He is an excellent general and governs Scotland easily with his Coldstream Guards. Though there are fewer of them, they are a superior fighting force to England's Parliamentarian army."
"So if—when—Cromwell dies, Monck could hold the balance of power in his hands. Will it be enough to tip the scales?"
"In my opinion, yes. Monck was a Royalist who never took up arms against your father. When he was captured, Cromwell kept him in the Tower for two years. Given the choice of rotting there forever or fighting rebels in Ireland, he chose freedom."
"A man astute enough to choose expedience would do so again. He is well worth cultivating. We need Monck on our side."
"He is cautious, Your Majesty. He'd never commit openly."
Charles nodded thoughtfully. "I too have learned to be cautious. I think we should bring in Chancellor Hyde for his views. He has a shrewd head for policy and has learned to be closemouthed from necessity. I thank you for risking your neck to bring me this information. It will be safer to communicate by letter in future. In your reports to Monck, I know I can trust you to be selective."
"All summer it's been church on Friday, church on Sunday. I cannot stomach one more fire-and-brimstone sermon," Christian declared. "The Anglican service at St. Botoiph's, Bishopsgate, used to be uplifting with traditional prayer and lovely music."
"Music is an instrument of the Devil," Velvet said with a straight face. "Only agonizing probing of the soul can bring one to a state of grace."
"Probing of the soul is pious claptrap. We need a change. Let's take the carriage and go shopping. We'll take Emma."
As the coach made its way to the New Exchange in the Strand, Velvet noticed Emma's face. "I thought you'd enjoy an outing."
"All these soldiers on the London streets frighten me."
"I believe that's their purpose. Protectorate indeed! It is rule by intimidation," the countess declared.
Velvet took Emma's hand. "We'll stay together."
As they walked through the mercantile stalls on the first floor of the Exchange, Velvet took an interest in everything. Christian, however, could not conceal her dissatisfaction. "These stalls were once filled with ribbons and fans. I have a flagrant fondness for fripperies and French fashions. All they have now are Puritan collars and woolen hose. There isn't a fan or a feather in sight. Ah, something has caught your eye, Velvet."
"Yes, I believe I see Greysteel Montgomery, up ahead. You didn't tell him we were coming, did you?"
"Of course not, darling. This is a happy coincidence."
They came up behind him as he was buying paper and sealing wax. He turned and saw them. "Ladies, such a pleasant surprise." His glance lingered on Velvet and he could not let her go without making an assignation to see her again. "I know that you ladies attend St.Botolph's. It would be my pleasure to escort you to church tomorrow evening."
Velvet looked appalled and Christian burst into laughter. "We've been twice this week, and been purged of our sins. We need a diversion, and I was thinking of taking Velvet for a drive in the country tomorrow. Though it's autumn, London's hot and oppressive. Why don't you come too, if you can get away?"
"We mustn't impose upon Mr. Montgomery," Velvet said coolly.
"I'd like nothing better than to explore the countryside," he insisted, determined to overrule her objection.
"Then it's settled. I have a small manor house and an estate at Roehampton along the river. The fresh country air will be like a tonic."
It is obvious to him that the countess is throwing us together. He thinks that with Christian on his side he has the upper hand. I must make sure that I am the one in control!
The following morning, as they drove along the river road with Montgomery riding along beside their carriage, Velvet's eyes were drawn again and again to the way Greysteel sat his mount. His straight back and military bearing, as well as the ease with which he handled his horse, fascinated her. She finally admitted that the dark, powerful male, who enjoyed being in control, was becoming more attractive to her every day.
This morning at Bishopsgate she had purposely kept him waiting, then apologized profusely when she finally arrived. "Do forgive me, my lord, I had no idea you were here yet."
He gave her an amused and tolerant look, which told her she was a little liar. She was deliberately demonstrating her indifference to him and he was determined not to let her see that her disdain affected him.
When they arrived at the Roehampton estate, Greysteel could tell Velvet was enchanted with the place. She looked at the house and the grounds with a hungry longing. She left the carriage with eager steps that carried her into the stables.
"Oh, Christian, you have riding horses! Roehampton is like paradise. Would you mind if I took a gallop?"
"Now, why do you suppose I brought you here? I'm sure I can entrust Montgomery to keep an eye on you. Off you go. Explore to your heart's content. There's a lake over there, somewhere. I shall go and have a word with the staff. Don't hurry—it will give them time to prepare some lunch for us."
Velvet grabbed a saddle, but Greysteel tried to take it from her. "Allow me to ready your mount."
She refused to let go. "I am perfectly capable of saddling my own horse, sir. Father taught me when I was a child."
"So long as you are with me, Velvet, you will never saddle your own mount. That is a man's job."
She stopped struggling, let him have the saddle and laughed. "You enjoy being in control, but I give you fair warning, Montgomery. You will never have the least control over me!"
As he saddled the black palfrey, his eyes never left her. When he was done, he closed the distance between them, placed firm hands at her waist and, deliberately lifting her high, set her in the saddle. "I shall, Velvet. Never, ever doubt
it."
Without waiting for him, she trotted the palfrey from the stable and, the moment she was outside, gave the animal full rein. Each time Greysteel caught up with her, she raced ahead, throwing him a playful look that said, Catch me if you can!
For a while, Montgomery let her take the lead, content to watch how happy and carefree she was, galloping across the meadows, pretending to be the lady of the manor. It was easy to see that she was enchanted with the place, and Greysteel suddenly knew that he wanted Roehampton. Velvet may be able to resist me, but the potent allure of this exquisite estate so close to London would capture her heart and hold her fast.
A slight pressure of his knees brought his horse, Falcon, abreast of hers. "How about a race around the lake?"
She was off on the wind, laughter trailing behind her.
Greysteel let her lead until they were two-thirds of the way around; then swiftly, surely, he closed the distance between them. When their stirrups touched, he reached over and deftly plucked her from the saddle and set her before him.
Though she gasped from his audacity, her eyes were filled with joy and excitement at the reckless thing he had done.
He turned from the lake into a freshly mowed hayfield, which slowed his horse to a canter. He jumped to the ground and lifted his arms, knowing she'd take the chance. He rolled, cushioning her body from the impact, and they came to rest against a sheaf of hay.
Laughter made her lush breasts rise and fall as she gazed up at him. "A gentleman would have let me win!"
"I'm a man, Velvet. I've too much pride to let a female beat me at any game." He picked a straw from her disheveled hair.
If a man is smitten, he will find an excuse to touch you. Bess had also written: If you want to be kissed, lick your lips.
Velvet carefully touched the tip of her tongue to her top lip.
In a flash, Greysteel took possession of her soft mouth and groaned with the pleasure it brought him. His powerful arms went about her back and he held her captive with the tips of her breasts against the solid muscle of his chest. "Will you reconsider our betrothal, Velvet?"
"Montgomery, I am penniless. Without a dowry it is impossible—do you think I have no pride? When Charles is restored to the throne and I am an heiress, ask me again."
He was stunned. "When Charles is restored? Velvet, that could take another decade, or mayhap it will never happen!"
She flung herself at him in outrage and pummeled his chest. "You faithless swine! You must believe in him, you must! I will never lose faith in him. Not in a hundred years."
She was fierce as a wildcat and though Greysteel realized her trust was completely unrealistic, he felt a sharp stab of envy at the deep devotion she felt for Charles Stuart.
"Forgive me. You were filled with joy, and I spoiled it."
She stood up and brushed off her skirt. "Of course you didn't. How could I suffer a moment's unhappi-ness in a magic place like Roehampton?"
"I'll get the horses—lunch will soon be ready."
She took the palfrey's bridle. "I shall walk down to the lake and look at the swans... perhaps make a wish. Will you tell Christian I wanted to be alone for a while?"
* * *
When Greysteel entered the manor house, he knew he would do his utmost to buy it. The polished oak floors, leaded windows and high beamed ceilings spoke of its Elizabethan origins. He searched out the countess. "Velvet is fascinated by Roehampton. She's still exploring. Why don't you put me to work?"
"If you could carry the table and chairs out to the terrace, we could dine alfresco. The flower borders are ablaze with yellow and bronze chrysanthemums—the first blooms of autumn,"
Greysteel carried out the table, and the housekeeper set it with linen and silver. He brought out some cushioned chairs and he and the dowager countess sat down. "It is no secret that I would like Velvet to reconsider our betrothal."
Christian eyed him coyly. "Have you asked her again?"
"I have, but she resists me. She finds it easy to say no to me, I'm afraid. Now, if I had something to offer her that she could not resist, I believe I could change her mind."
"You are offering her marriage; what more could she ask? I am in favor of this match. I think you are exactly what Velvet needs. Is there something I can do to help persuade her?"
"You could sell me this manor house, my lady."
"Roehampton? Oh, dear, I am rather superstitious about selling land. It goes against my acquisitive instincts."
"Velvet has fallen head over heels in love with the property and the horses. She would thrive in a setting like this."
"Yes," Christian said slowly, "I can see its attraction for a young woman who has had everything taken away from her. The security of having her own home would be a great incentive. But I'm afraid Roehampton isn't for sale. Don't be disappointed—there are only twelve acres that bring in no income whatsoever."
"I am not considering it for crops or profit. I think it would be perfect for Velvet and her future children."
"I admire a man who knows exactly what he wants and goes after it. But I advise you to look elsewhere. Ah, here comes the fair damsel now. Not a word of our conversation to Velvet. You mustn't get her hopes up when Roehampton is not for sale."
"Please don't say no—say you will think about it."
Christian spoke to Velvet. "The fresh air has put roses in your cheeks. Greysteel would like a row on the lake after lunch, but I'm sure he'd prefer your company to mine, darling."
"If I may have a tour of the manor house first, I will gladly go out on the lake."
After a lunch of lamb cutlets with fresh mint from the garden and a cheese souffle, followed by a cream-filled apple tart, Christian took Velvet and Greysteel through the manor house. As they moved from room to room she watched Velvet's face for her reaction. When they explored the bedchambers and she saw the longing in her eyes as she looked from the upper windows, the countess saw that Velvet had fallen in love with Roehampton.
The autumn light was fading from the afternoon sky by the time they arrived back in the city. They parted company at Ludgate Hill, with Montgomery turning down toward Salisbury Court and the carriage proceeding on to Bishopsgate.
When the dowager countess arrived home she was surprised to learn that a visitor awaited her. The butler had barely uttered his name when the young man descended the grand staircase as if the mansion and everything in it belonged to him. "Surprise, surprise, Grandmother. I've come to banish your boredom."
"Cav? Is that you, my boy? Come to banish your own, I warrant." Christian turned to Velvet. "This is my grandson, Lord Will Cavendish. Selfish to the core, as only an eighteen-year-old can be."
The Earl of Devonshire's son was handsome in the extreme. His blue eyes and thick blond hair gave the impression of a youthful sweetness he did not possess. His glance slid over Velvet, taking note of her damp, bedraggled skirts and her muddied slippers. "Is this a new maid?"
Velvet flushed. "Please forgive my appearance, Lord Cavendish. We were in the country all day."
"No, Cav, this is not a new maid. Her nobility is quite on par with yours, dear boy. It gives me the greatest pleasure in the world to present Mistress Velvet Cavendish, who is a guest of mine—an invited guest, I might add, unlike someone else I could name. I must tell the butler to lock up the whiskey."
"You have a wicked wit, grand-mère, which is why I adore you."
"I am delighted to meet you, Lord Cavendish. Please excuse me. I must go up and change."
Once Velvet reached the security of her bedchamber, she was most reluctant to leave it again that night. Young "Cav" had made her feel distinctly self-conscious and she found herself wishing that he had never come. Since she wasn't the least hungry, she didn't want to go downstairs for dinner. Finally, she convinced herself that it was only good manners to allow Christian and her grandson to spend the evening alone together.
When Cav poured his grandmother a second glass of wine
and carried it into her favorite sitting room, she suspected that he wanted something. She watched the play of candlelight on his golden hair. He looks exactly like his grandfather. Let us hope and pray the resemblance is only physical.
"You have no idea what a blessed relief it is to get away from Buckinghamshire. The slow pace of Latimers suits Father down to the bloody ground, but in truth the estate is no more than a glorified sheep farm."
"Don't disdain sheep, dear boy. Their wool provides you with all of life's luxuries."
"Ah, I do appreciate that, Grandmother, but it makes for a stultifying existence. I swear that the ennui I experience in Buckinghamshire will drive me mad if I stay there any longer."
"An eighteen-year-old shouldn't know the meaning of ennui."
"My own sentiment exactly! I shall be nineteen soon, a man in fact, and as such, I loathe and detest the idea of having to live with my parents. I need a home of my own, and not one in the wilds of Buckinghamshire. London is much more to my taste."
"I fail to see how living with your grandmother would be any less stultifying than living with your parents," she said dryly.
"Oh, no, I'm not talking about living here in Bishopsgate. Roehampton is the property I have in mind. Being just a couple of miles from London makes it an ideal home for.a bachelor."
"Roehampton belongs to me," she reminded him.
"As does all Cavendish property. But shortly, you will pass it on to my father. Then in turn he will pass it on to me. Why should I have to wait, when Roehampton suits my purposes now?"
You think I'll die soon, but not soon enough, apparently. "Did it never occur to you that I might wish to sell it?"
He laughed. "Grandmother, you cannot sell entailed property. It can only be inherited by your lineal descendants."
"I am most impressed that you know the law. It tells me that you haven't frittered away your entire eighteen years. It may come as a shock, but Roehampton is not entailed property."
He stared, speechless for a moment. "Then in theory you could give it straight to me, without Father getting it first?"