Read Online Royal Harlot by Susan Holloway Scott - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susan Holloway Scott
Ads: Link
it, Barbara! The Lord Protector is dead. Can his unlawful Commonwealth not follow soon after?”
“Dead?” I repeated, stunned. I couldn’t recall a time when that grim, wart-covered general had not ruled over England. “How? When?”
“This very day,” he answered, his voice fair trembling with emotion. “You know he had been ill this past fortnight, and we’ve all been ordered to say our prayers for him, but there was no hint nor suspicion of impending death. And now—now he is gone.”
“But what will happen now?” I asked, his excitement contagious. “Surely His Majesty can—”
“Not so soon, not so soon,” Roger cautioned. “They say the Council of State has already confirmed the son’s appointment to the Protectorate, and as his father’s dying wish.”
“Fah,” I scoffed with a little sweep of my hand. “As if we’re to believe that! The old man himself turned down the crown, fearing what would happen if his weakling of a son came to power.”
“Take care of your words, Barbara, I beg you,” cautioned Roger swiftly. “The Commonwealth still holds sway, and their laws with it.”
“But the army won’t follow Richard Cromwell.” I’d well learned the complicated lessons in politics that Roger had taught me. I understood that the true leaders within parliamentary England were not those members themselves, but the old Protector’s generals, Monck and Lambert and Fleetwood, taciturn men of action who were as chary with their allegiances as they were with their men’s lives. “They believed in the father, but distrust the son. If Richard had, say, General Monck in his pocket, then that would be another matter, but without the army’s support, then Parliament’s grip on the country surely must collapse.”
“In time, Barbara, in time,” Roger cautioned. “These things never run swiftly. There’ll be official mourning, of course, and a state funeral, but after that is done, confusion is sure to follow in Parliament and across the country. And you are correct about Richard Cromwell. He hasn’t the stomach for leadership.”
“And then the king shall return!” I’d heard so much of Roger’s plotting and scheming, eagerly following his allies’ successes and failures, that I couldn’t keep from crowing now. “Oh, what a joyful day for England!”
Roger nodded solemnly, though his joy beamed from his eyes there in the slanting sunlight. “And for us, Barbara. An auspicious day for change and transformation of every kind.”
“Of course,” I said, not quite understanding, but not caring, either. “If England is joyful, than we shall be, too.”
Belatedly I drew one of the apples from my muff, and handed it to him like a golden prize.
“Here you are, Mr. Palmer,” I said playfully. “I offer you the bravest of worlds, if you’ll but claim it for your own!”
He took it slowly, briefly clasping his hand over mine with the fruit inside. “I could have all the world in my hand, yet still not be happy were you not a part of it.”
I tipped my head to look up at him from beneath my lashes, still unsure as to where this serious gambit of his might lead, and studied the curves of my own apple for the choicest place to bite. “How vastly kind of you to say, Roger.”
He nodded again and looked down at the apple in his hand while the wide brim of his hat shadowed his face. “It is bold of me, I know, but might I ask the state of your, ah, your connection to the Earl of Chesterfield?”
I felt my smile turn dry and brittle, like the leaves in the trees overhead soon would with the coming season. Once again Philip had chosen to absent himself, though whether for an amorous intrigue or a political one, he’d not vouchsafed to me. His absence and neglect both pained me, and I’d no wish to be reminded of it like this.
“It is bold of you to ask that of me, Roger, unconscionably bold,” I said. “I do not see how my connection with His Lordship is any worry of yours,
“Dead?” I repeated, stunned. I couldn’t recall a time when that grim, wart-covered general had not ruled over England. “How? When?”
“This very day,” he answered, his voice fair trembling with emotion. “You know he had been ill this past fortnight, and we’ve all been ordered to say our prayers for him, but there was no hint nor suspicion of impending death. And now—now he is gone.”
“But what will happen now?” I asked, his excitement contagious. “Surely His Majesty can—”
“Not so soon, not so soon,” Roger cautioned. “They say the Council of State has already confirmed the son’s appointment to the Protectorate, and as his father’s dying wish.”
“Fah,” I scoffed with a little sweep of my hand. “As if we’re to believe that! The old man himself turned down the crown, fearing what would happen if his weakling of a son came to power.”
“Take care of your words, Barbara, I beg you,” cautioned Roger swiftly. “The Commonwealth still holds sway, and their laws with it.”
“But the army won’t follow Richard Cromwell.” I’d well learned the complicated lessons in politics that Roger had taught me. I understood that the true leaders within parliamentary England were not those members themselves, but the old Protector’s generals, Monck and Lambert and Fleetwood, taciturn men of action who were as chary with their allegiances as they were with their men’s lives. “They believed in the father, but distrust the son. If Richard had, say, General Monck in his pocket, then that would be another matter, but without the army’s support, then Parliament’s grip on the country surely must collapse.”
“In time, Barbara, in time,” Roger cautioned. “These things never run swiftly. There’ll be official mourning, of course, and a state funeral, but after that is done, confusion is sure to follow in Parliament and across the country. And you are correct about Richard Cromwell. He hasn’t the stomach for leadership.”
“And then the king shall return!” I’d heard so much of Roger’s plotting and scheming, eagerly following his allies’ successes and failures, that I couldn’t keep from crowing now. “Oh, what a joyful day for England!”
Roger nodded solemnly, though his joy beamed from his eyes there in the slanting sunlight. “And for us, Barbara. An auspicious day for change and transformation of every kind.”
“Of course,” I said, not quite understanding, but not caring, either. “If England is joyful, than we shall be, too.”
Belatedly I drew one of the apples from my muff, and handed it to him like a golden prize.
“Here you are, Mr. Palmer,” I said playfully. “I offer you the bravest of worlds, if you’ll but claim it for your own!”
He took it slowly, briefly clasping his hand over mine with the fruit inside. “I could have all the world in my hand, yet still not be happy were you not a part of it.”
I tipped my head to look up at him from beneath my lashes, still unsure as to where this serious gambit of his might lead, and studied the curves of my own apple for the choicest place to bite. “How vastly kind of you to say, Roger.”
He nodded again and looked down at the apple in his hand while the wide brim of his hat shadowed his face. “It is bold of me, I know, but might I ask the state of your, ah, your connection to the Earl of Chesterfield?”
I felt my smile turn dry and brittle, like the leaves in the trees overhead soon would with the coming season. Once again Philip had chosen to absent himself, though whether for an amorous intrigue or a political one, he’d not vouchsafed to me. His absence and neglect both pained me, and I’d no wish to be reminded of it like this.
“It is bold of you to ask that of me, Roger, unconscionably bold,” I said. “I do not see how my connection with His Lordship is any worry of yours,
Similar Books
