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Authors: Diane Haeger
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was that a woman’s virtue should not be made an easy target of conjecture. But a confrontation with someone so much more powerful did not now suit his plan. His was a grander game of resourcefulness and opportunity. “She is but an orange seller, Mr. Hart.”
“And Mary Meggs’ll have my hide for knowing it! She’s lost three girls this past fortnight, and you will never convince her they weren’t all my fault!”
Richard Bell stepped closer. “Why not give Mrs. Gwynne a small part, as an apology. Nothing grand, mind you, just something in the background. A crowd scene along with me, perhaps.”
Charles Hart looked up. “The girl is no actress!”
“She has agreed to work on my lines with me for the performance tomorrow morning herself, playing Morgana. Mrs. Knepp once again wants my head on a platter for, she says, trying to upstage her in the second act, and she won’t rehearse with me. Why not watch from the side, and make up your mind about Nell then?”
“A more colossal waste of both our mornings could not likely be had.”
“And yet you might appease your conscience.”
“I’ve little conscience left about me, Bell. In this life, my concern has become self-preservation only.”
And a good dose of self-aggrandizement, thought Richard Bell. But he wisely chose not to say it. Something told him from the beginning that Nell Gwynne was worth holding his tongue.
Rose Gwynne’s hand went to her mouth. “What in blue blazes happened to you?”
Nell slumped against the warped door. It was not supposed to have been like that. Her life was meant to be different. Somehow, suddenly now, she felt herself on the same path as her sister. “’Tis all right.”
“The devil it is!” Rose moved across the room and put the back of her hand gently to Nell’s cheek.
“You and Ma manage it. Why should I not learn as well?”
“Because you’re different, Nelly. You are the ’ope of the Gwynne’s!”
“I’m no one’s ’ope.”
“You’ve ’eld out for so long.”
“’Tis what ’appens sooner or later, right?”
“I expect so.”
“And you make somethin’ of it, if you’re pretty enough. Ma used to say that to us. I can’t remember much else she ever said, much I’d want to remember.”
“If you’re pretty or very clever. That’s what she used to say,” Rose answered. “Ma used to say men always fancy the clever ones, and ’tis no tellin’ what a pretty, clever girl can achieve.”
Chapter 4
A PRINCE OF MANY VIRTUES, AND MANY GREAT IMPERFECTIONS.
—John Evelyn on King Charles II
H E swam with powerful strokes through the calm waters of his private canal at Whitehall Palace. Behind him, fighting one another to keep up, was a length of aides and courtiers who fancied not the swimming so much as the bragging rights. Keeping pace with the energetic and athletic king of England was a necessity to retaining one’s place. Aware of it, and amused by it, Charles plunged beneath the surface again. Some days it was just good to be king.
After tormenting them sufficiently with his superior skill, he moved toward the mossy bank, beneath a branching oak, and stepped out of the water. His Medici skin was naturally tanned and glimmering in the midday sunlight. The others shook, shivered, and grumbled as Charles stepped toward a waiting blanket and a fresh pair of velvet slippers lined with down. Then, without turning to acknowledge them, Charles moved up the embankment and began to walk with long-legged strides as each man scrambled for his own place nearest him. None of them, not even Buckingham, would ever fully know his painful, twisted course to the Crown. To flee his father’s murderers, Charles had been forced to seek safety in France, until troops could be amassed to help him win back England. There was no other way. To accomplish his escape, Charles was forced to send all of his faithful courtiers away. All but one made their way toward Scotland, and were captured and
“And Mary Meggs’ll have my hide for knowing it! She’s lost three girls this past fortnight, and you will never convince her they weren’t all my fault!”
Richard Bell stepped closer. “Why not give Mrs. Gwynne a small part, as an apology. Nothing grand, mind you, just something in the background. A crowd scene along with me, perhaps.”
Charles Hart looked up. “The girl is no actress!”
“She has agreed to work on my lines with me for the performance tomorrow morning herself, playing Morgana. Mrs. Knepp once again wants my head on a platter for, she says, trying to upstage her in the second act, and she won’t rehearse with me. Why not watch from the side, and make up your mind about Nell then?”
“A more colossal waste of both our mornings could not likely be had.”
“And yet you might appease your conscience.”
“I’ve little conscience left about me, Bell. In this life, my concern has become self-preservation only.”
And a good dose of self-aggrandizement, thought Richard Bell. But he wisely chose not to say it. Something told him from the beginning that Nell Gwynne was worth holding his tongue.
Rose Gwynne’s hand went to her mouth. “What in blue blazes happened to you?”
Nell slumped against the warped door. It was not supposed to have been like that. Her life was meant to be different. Somehow, suddenly now, she felt herself on the same path as her sister. “’Tis all right.”
“The devil it is!” Rose moved across the room and put the back of her hand gently to Nell’s cheek.
“You and Ma manage it. Why should I not learn as well?”
“Because you’re different, Nelly. You are the ’ope of the Gwynne’s!”
“I’m no one’s ’ope.”
“You’ve ’eld out for so long.”
“’Tis what ’appens sooner or later, right?”
“I expect so.”
“And you make somethin’ of it, if you’re pretty enough. Ma used to say that to us. I can’t remember much else she ever said, much I’d want to remember.”
“If you’re pretty or very clever. That’s what she used to say,” Rose answered. “Ma used to say men always fancy the clever ones, and ’tis no tellin’ what a pretty, clever girl can achieve.”
Chapter 4
A PRINCE OF MANY VIRTUES, AND MANY GREAT IMPERFECTIONS.
—John Evelyn on King Charles II
H E swam with powerful strokes through the calm waters of his private canal at Whitehall Palace. Behind him, fighting one another to keep up, was a length of aides and courtiers who fancied not the swimming so much as the bragging rights. Keeping pace with the energetic and athletic king of England was a necessity to retaining one’s place. Aware of it, and amused by it, Charles plunged beneath the surface again. Some days it was just good to be king.
After tormenting them sufficiently with his superior skill, he moved toward the mossy bank, beneath a branching oak, and stepped out of the water. His Medici skin was naturally tanned and glimmering in the midday sunlight. The others shook, shivered, and grumbled as Charles stepped toward a waiting blanket and a fresh pair of velvet slippers lined with down. Then, without turning to acknowledge them, Charles moved up the embankment and began to walk with long-legged strides as each man scrambled for his own place nearest him. None of them, not even Buckingham, would ever fully know his painful, twisted course to the Crown. To flee his father’s murderers, Charles had been forced to seek safety in France, until troops could be amassed to help him win back England. There was no other way. To accomplish his escape, Charles was forced to send all of his faithful courtiers away. All but one made their way toward Scotland, and were captured and
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