“What a lucky chance this is! Not ten minutes since I heard something of the greatest importance—something you should know about, Chancellor.”
He scowled unconsciously for he was worried about a great many things, not the least of which was his own precarious position. “I should be glad of any information, madame, which would better enable me to serve the King, my master.” But his eyes looked at her disapprovingly and he was plainly eager to be on his way.
But Amber, full of the self-importance of her early and easy triumph at Court, was determined to succeed with him where every other mistress of the King had failed. She wanted to parade him like a trophy, wear him like a jewel no one else had been rich enough to buy—even though she agreed with everyone else that his political days were numbered.
“As it happens, Chancellor, I’m giving a supper at Almsbury House this Friday evening. His Majesty will be there, of course, and all the others—If you and her Ladyship would care to come—”
He bowed stiffly, angry that he had wasted so much valuable time. The gout in his foot stabbed him painfully. “I’m sorry, madame, but I have no leisure for frivolous amusements these days. The country has need of some men of serious purpose. Thank you, and good-day.” He walked off, followed by his two secretaries, both of them loaded down with papers, and left Amber staring open-mouthed after him.
And then she heard a sudden hearty shout of feminine laughter behind her and spun around to face Lady Castlemaine. “God’s eyeballs!” cried Barbara, still laughing. “But
Amber was furious that her humiliation should have been seen by Barbara Palmer, of all people, though there had been onlookers enough that the news would be all over the Palace before nightfall. “That formal old fop!” she muttered. “He’ll be lucky if he lasts out the year at Court!”
“Yes,” agreed Barbara., “and so will you. I’ve been watching women like you come and go for seven years now—but I’m still here.”
Amber stared at her insolently. “Still here, but mightily out of request, they say.”
Barbara had fallen so far since the days when she had been violently jealous of her, and she had herself risen so high, that now they were face to face she hated her less than she had thought she did. Now she could afford to be scornful and even condescending.
Barbara lifted her brows. “Out of request? Well, now—I don’t know what the devil you call out of request! At least he thinks well enough of me to have paid off my debts not many days since to the tune of thirty thousand pound.”
“You mean he bribed you, don’t you—to get rid of that brat you were starting?”
Barbara smiled. “Well? Even so—that’s a mighty good price for an abortion, don’t you agree?”
At that moment Frances Stewart passed them, going along the corridor in fluttering blue-silk robes with a black-velvet cloak flung over her shoulders, her feet in gilt sandals and all her bright brown hair caught into a gold filet and streaming loose down her back. She had been sitting for her portrait to Rotier—a portrait commissioned by the King who intended to use her image as Britannia on the new coins. Frances did not pause but nodded coolly to Amber and barely glanced at Castlemaine. She suspected that they were talking about her.
“There,” said Barbara, as Frances went on, followed by three waiting-women and a little blackamoor, “goes the punk who could put all our noses out of joint. A duchy in exchange for a maidenhead. That seems a fair enough bargain to me. I assure you mine didn’t go as high—”
“Nor mine,” said Amber, still watching Frances as she swept off down the hall, taking every eye with her as she went. “Though I doubt if he’d value it so high once he had it.”
“Oh, he might—for the novelty of it.”
“What d’you suppose makes her so stubborn?” asked Amber, curious to hear what Barbara would say.
“Don’t you know?” Laughter and malice glittered in Barbara’s eyes.
“Well—I’ve got at least one mighty good idea—”
At that moment the King with his courtiers and dogs rounded a corner and came suddenly upon them; his deep voice boomed with laughter. “Ods-fish, what’s this! My two handsomest countesses in conversation? Whose reputation are you spoiling now?”
The brief camaraderie was gone; the two women were once more intense rivals, each passionately determined to outdo the other. “We were wishing, your Majesty,” said Amber, “that the war would end so we could get the fashions from Paris again.”
Charles laughed, slipped a casual arm about both their waists, and they walked slowly along the gallery. “If this war is inconveniencing the ladies, then I promise you I’ll negotiate a peace.”
