“She can scarce believe it herself. But she’ll get accustomed to it before long. I was tired of her vapourings—and so I took steps to be rid of her. She’ll hang on here at Whitehall, perhaps for years, but she’ll never count for anything again. For once Old Rowley is thoroughly tired of anyone, whether man or woman, he has no further use for ’em. It’s our best protection against the Chancellor. Now, madame, it’s occurred to me that this leaves a place wide open for some clever woman to step into—”
Amber returned his steady stare. No ally of Buckingham’s was much to be envied. The Duke engaged in politics for nothing but his own amusement. He had no principles and no serious purpose but followed only his temporary whims, rejecting friendship, honour, and morality. He was bound to no one and to nothing. But in spite of all that he had a great name, a fortune still one of the largest in England, and high popularity with the rich merchants, the Commons, and the people of London. Even more persuasive, he had a streak of vindictive malice which, though not always persistent, could do vast damage at one impulsive stroke. Amber had long ago made up her mind about him.
“And suppose someone does take her Ladyship’s place?” she inquired softly.
“Someone will, I’ll pass my word for that. Old Rowley’s been governed by a woman since he first took suck from his wet-nurse. And this time, madame, the woman might be you. There’s no one in England just now with so happy an opportunity. Those gentlemen who are keeping company with the Duchess of Richmond these days are but washing the blackamoor. She’ll never please his Majesty long—that empty-headed giggling baggage. I’ll venture my neck on it. Now, I’m an old dog at this, madame, and understand these matters very well—and I’ve come to offer my services in your behalf.”
“Your Grace does me too much honour. I’m sure it’s more than I deserve.”
The Duke was suddenly brisk again. “We’ll dispense with the bowing and nodding. As you know, madame, if I like I can help you—in your turn, you may be of some use to me. My cousin made the mistake of thinking that all her business was done for her in bed and that it made no difference how she carried herself otherwise. That was a serious error, as no doubt she understands by now—if she has wit enough to see it. But that’s all water under the bridge and need not concern us. I admit to you freely, madame, I’ve made a lifelong study of his Majesty’s character and flatter myself I know it as well as any man who wears a head. If you will be guided by me I think that we might go near to molding England in our own design.”
Amber had no design for molding England and no wish to invent one. Politics, national or international, did not concern her except in so far as they affected the course of her personal wants or ambitions. Her intrigues did not extend—intentionally, at least, beyond the people she knew and the events she could observe. She was inclined to agree with Charles that his Grace had windmills in the head—but if it pleased the Duke to imagine himself engaged upon great projects she saw no reason to argue with him about it.
“Nothing could please me more, your Grace, than to be your friend and share your interests. Believe me for that—” She lifted her glass to him, and they drank together.
FRANCES STEWART WAS not long satisfied with her life in the country. She had always lived where there were many people, balls and supper-parties, hunting and plays, gossip and laughter and a continual rush of petty excitements. The country was quiet, days passed with monotonous similarity, and compared with the Palace her great house seemed lonely and deserted. There were no gallants to amuse her, flatter her, run to pick up a fan or help her down from horseback.
Her husband spent much of his time in the field and when he was home he was too often drunk. The steward managed the house—which she had never been trained to do anyway—and the idle hours bored her desperately, for no one had ever encouraged her to learn to be happy alone. She did not like being married, either, but of course she had not expected to like it.
She had married because it had seemed the only way that she could be an honest and respected woman—and that had been the wish of her life. No doubt the Duke really loved her and was grateful she had married him, but he seemed to her dull and uncouth compared with the well-bred gentlemen of Whitehall who had a thousand amusing tricks to make a lady laugh.
And love-making revolted her. She dreaded each night as it began to grow dark, and invented many small illnesses to keep him away. She had a horror of pregnancy which sometimes made her actually sick, and more than once she experienced all the symptoms without the actuality.
