Soldier of Fortune: The King's Courtesan (Rakes and Rogues of the Retoration Book 2) (12 page)

Mistress Mathews’ smiling servants skipped through the crowd handing out garlands and May baskets stuffed with sweetmeats and nuts and overflowing with flowers. Robert’s parents had disapproved of May Day celebrations but he had often snuck down to the village to join in the fun. The king’s nymph was enchanting, clapping and dancing and her merry laugh made him smile. He couldn’t stop a rueful chuckle. The wicked Miss Mathews wasn’t really at fault. It wasn’t she who had chosen him and for the sake of enjoyment he let his resentment and anger slip away.
Besides, they may think to use me for their own ends, but after tonight she is mine.

His smile turned into a grin as the sound of drumming, clapping sticks and jingling bells announced the arrival of a troupe of Morris dancers, traditional entertainers costumed as beast men. There were wolves and bears and antlered gentlemen, and some half-man, half-horse. They performed a number of lively folk dances and the servants brought the food outside, the household musicians joined in, and the wine freely flowed.

A fiddler and piper broke away, slipping through a slim gated arch in the hedge. Mistress Mathews was close behind them. Wearing a necklace of wildflowers, her hair hanging loose to her waist she skipped barefoot over the moon-silvered grass leading her flock of gaily bedecked guests into the starlit groves and fields of St. James’s Park.

Robert followed, completely enthralled. They stopped in the middle of a brightly lit clearing to exclamations of delight. Standing in the center was a tall birch pole, its branches removed except at the top. Garlands, ribbons and wildflowers wrapped around its length. The piper blew a high note, calling for silence, and Miss Mathews’ voice, sounding fine and clear, carried above the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Dear friends all. His Majesty would
like to remind you, ‘It is now past midnight and tomorrow is today.’ He bids me tell you, ‘There's not a budding boy, or girl, this day, is not got up, and gone to bring in May.’”

There were shouts and cheers and laughter. The piper played a sprightly tune, and clapping and dancing and singing along, some of the greatest lords and ladies of the land joined in to dance around the maypole. Robert watched Miss Matthews dance with her arms thrown up to the heavens. Not for her the intricate folk steps or careful prancing of her neighbors. She gave herself completely to the music and the moment. He envied her passion. It was something alien to him for far too many years.
I wonder... does she do that with everything? Does she do the same when joined with a lover? What would it be like to take her in the soft grass, under the moon and stars?

“She is enchanting, isn’t she?” The king stood at his shoulder.

“Yes, she is,” he replied absently, before realizing who it was.

“As my poet used to say, before he was waylaid, ‘Such sweet tempting mischiefs women are.’” There seemed a hint of regret in his voice.

Robert sighed, his eyes still on her. “Yes…I know. She’s very beautiful.”

“Will you have her?”

“Yes.” What other answer was there?

“Excellent! I am well pleased. It will be the finest entertainment of the evening.”

Robert did look at him now, his eyes narrowed. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.”

“You will, Lord Newport. I promise you’ll know it when the time comes. Just play your part and you’ll see soon enough.”

A gilded carriage had pulled up at the edge of the clearing and His Majesty hurried away to greet it before Robert could respond. Ah, well. What matter how the thing was done? The marriage was a farce in any case. Why shouldn’t it be a part of the evening’s entertainment? Resigned and incurious, he lifted a glass of Rhenish from the tray of a passing jack-in-the-green and put it from his mind.

He wandered closer to the maypole and leaned against a tree, his arms folded, curious, but not inclined to join the dance. Several ladies were on the edges of the clearing, rustling in the brushes on hands and knees and crawling in the grass. He cocked his head and watched with bemusement.

“They are collecting the dew,” de Veres said from right behind him. “Surely you’ve heard the nursery rhyme.…

“‘The fair maid who, the first of May

Goes to the fields at break of day

And washes in dew from the hawthorn tree

Will ever after handsome be.’

“’Tis also said it will help her capture the heart of the man of her choosing. Are you annoyed with Lizzy? She seems to think so.”

Robert took his eyes off his fiancée regretfully and glanced coolly at de Veres. “I’ve yet to decide. When I know, I’ll be sure to inform you. I take it she’s curious as to what comes from her meddling. You can tell her she’ll see for herself soon enough.”

He returned his attention to the dancers in the glade, stiffening when he felt de Vere’s hand on his shoulder. He didn’t look back when he spoke. “For reasons I can’t fathom, she seems fond of you. But if you don’t remove your hand…”

William opened his hand and lifted it, then carefully straightened the back of Robert’s coat. He spoke close to his ear, his voice a combination of amusement and warning. “Anything that concerns Lizzy is my affair, Captain. A thing you’d be wise to remember.”

Robert shrugged, and a moment later the poet was gone. He smiled to himself. Good for Elizabeth. It seemed her roguish poet guarded her well.

A sounding of horns and the ringing of bells marked the arrival of a tall man wearing a sun mask of beaten gold. His left hand held a gilded staff wrapped with flowers and ivy. He bent his knee and held his right hand out to Hope. She took it with a jubilant smile. He rose and turned to face the crowd and led her out, presenting her.

“‘Hail, bounteous May that dost inspire

Mirth, and youth, and warm desire!

Woods and groves are of thy dressing;

Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.

Thus we salute thee with our early song,

And welcome thee, and wish thee long.’

“Lords and ladies, fellow revelers…I present to you, our lovely Queen of May!”

~

“Oh, Charles! What a wonderful surprise!” Hope almost had to shout for him to hear above the cheering so she threw her arms round his neck. “It’s a night I will always remember. Thank you!” It was a great honor to be chosen Queen of the May. In villages and towns and cities across Britain all the unmarried women vied for that prize. Yet Charles had chosen her over a bevy of noble beauties. Her eyes shone as bright as any star as Charles gently extricated himself from her embrace and placed the leafy staff in her hands.

“Your scepter, my lady. And now…” Charles slowly circled the glade, his finger dipping and rising as if he were counting each man that he passed. “The May Queen...” there was a hush of anticipation, “must have…a May King!” His finger tapped Robert’s shoulder.

“Why not me?” the Duke of Buckingham shouted to roars of laughter.

Ignoring him, Charles drew Hope and Robert to stand in front of the Maypole. “It is my decree that Miss Mathews be the Queen of May, and Lord Newport, Baron Nichols, be her consort.” The announcement generated excited whispers as well as applause. “I call now for a priest of the wood to step forward, to bestow a blessing on the joining of the Lord and Lady of May.”

Hope was a little surprised at this turn of events, but she grinned and tried to straighten the flower wreath that was sliding over her brow. Giving up after her third attempt, she turned to give her towering consort a winsome smile. Buckingham would have been a more comfortable choice but the captain made her heart beat faster and she supposed it might be fun continuing the game she’d started earlier, trying to make him smile.

A shower of roses was thrown at their feet, and Hope was adorned with a necklace of willow and ivy entwined with flowers matching those strewn through her hair. Robert grew impatient when he was crowned with a wreath of flowers and draped with a rainbow-hued scarf, but Hope was glowing, her smile was contagious and she looked so delightful with her flowered crown that he couldn’t play the churl. For a moment he wished the this night was real and they were lovers joined in truth. He felt a pang, keen as a blade, for innocence lost.

The merry din around them rose as the crowd made way for a corpulent man wearing the robes of a priest, a green mask, a chaplet of leaves, and a mantel made of flowers. “I will perform the blessing, great lord,” he said with a deep bow. He went to stand between Hope and Robert. The crowd hushed, straining to hear him. “Children of the maypole! The woods have echoed with joy and mirth and now the hour is at hand. The winter is put behind us and before us the joys of summer await. Sweet May has returned, and awaits the dawning of the sun.” He made a sweeping gesture to the king. The sun bowed graciously to wild cheers as the priest took Robert and Hope by the hand.

“To honor this gentlest, merriest month, fertile and sweet and toward lovers inclined, here stand the Lord and Lady of May, whom I shall now join in marriage. Up with you now and to the dance. Join us in laughter and song and wish a toast on the marriage of the Lord and Lady of the May!”

Suddenly jack-in-the-greens were everywhere bearing trays of wine. Several barrels of mead were broken open and the guests surged forward to join the May King and Queen in a toast. A fiddler started up, a piper joined in, and a ring of animal men encircled them—and as the Morris men resumed their bell ringing and drumming, the heathen priest led them through some surprisingly traditional vows.

The game being over and still an hour before dawn, Hope curtsied to her consort then rose to her toes, looking for Charles, ready to dance. But despite his height she couldn’t find him. Ah, wait! There to the left. The flash of gold mask from beneath a leafy bower. His head was bent. He was engrossed in conversation with a tall auburn-haired woman masked like the moon to his sun.

A physical pain like a blow to the gut forced the wind from Hope’s lungs and almost doubled her over, and though a glacial chill froze her blood, her cheeks burned hot and she blinked back scalding tears.

~

Robert followed her stricken gaze and felt a twinge of pity
.
A resplendent Lady Castlemaine was holding court, surrounded by sycophants, her waist encircled by the king.

Hope clenched her fists and took several deep breaths, doing her best to tamp her hurt and fury. Even so, as she crossed the glade with a cool smile pasted on her face and her head held high her limbs felt so weak she almost stumbled and the aching in her throat made her fear she couldn’t speak. “Lady Castlemaine.” She refused to give her nod or curtsy. “Charles.”

Charles looked only vaguely uncomfortable. “Ah! ’Tis the Queen of the May! Are you enjoying yourself, my dear? You’ve done a splendid job. Everything is going marvelously well.”

Few had noticed Lady Castlemaine’s presence yet, but now they all did. Conversation died as people strained to hear. It had been a wonderful night and to have it end with a brawl between two of His Majesty’s mistresses would make it the best entertainment of the year so far.

Hope’s voice rang out, carrying through the glade. “Surely, even as illustrious a whoremonger as you, needs only one of us at a time. Tell her to leave.”

Lady Castlemaine gasped in outrage. “Charles! Will you allow your guttersnipe to address me this way? If she were one of my servants I’d have her whipped. She needs to learn respect for her betters!”

Robert sighed, and downed his drink. For a short while he had been glamoured, caught in a dark enchantment of glitter and gaiety and sweet summer’s night, but the spell was broken, exposing the cruel deception that lurked beneath.
And I am part of it now.
Should he play his role? Step forward as husband and defender?
She’s not really mine. Why should I step between them? Let His Majesty sort it out himself.

Yet despite his new wife’s seething anger, she was clearly in distress and it seemed there was no one else to offer her support.
He tossed his empty goblet to a passing footman and stepped forward.
“Forgive me, Lady Castlemaine. I had the pleasure of meeting you earlier. No doubt you speak in jest and mean no insult to the countess. Lady Nichols is neither guttersnipe nor servant, madam. She is my wife.”

“Quite so, Barbara. You remember meeting Captain Nichols. You were quite taken with him, as I recall. He is also Earl of Newport and has married our May Queen. She is a countess now like you, so you must be polite.” England’s king favored them all with his most charming smile. “Off you go a-Maying then, Lord Newport, and congratulations to you and your lovely bride.”

Robert went to take Hope’s arm but she tore it from his grasp. “This game is over! I am not playing anymore.” She tore off her crown of flowers and flung it at Charles’s feet. “How could you do this? After all the effort I put in it? To please you! This night was supposed to be ours! Not hers! Yours and mine.”

“Don’t make a scene, Hope. Lord Nichols, it is time for you to take your wife home. You may borrow my coach.” Charles motioned to a footman, who came running over, nodded, and then hurried away.

“Come, sweetheart.” Robert reached for her elbow.

Hope whirled on him. “
Don’t…
put your hands on me. I don’t even know who you are! I have
not
given you permission to touch me. Mind your own business. This is not your affair.” He released her immediately, stepping well back as if he’d been stung. It was then she saw the jolly priest puffing toward them, one hand holding his cumbersome robes as he walked, the other clutching the green mask he’d been wearing just minutes before. She recognized him instantly. She had seen him earlier in the evening and before at court. There was a very sick feeling building inside her.

He approached them, smiling and wheezing, completely oblivious to the tension around them waiting only for a spark to explode. “Your Majesty! I come to pay my respects before taking my leave. I trust all was to your satisfaction?”