The Loves of Charles II (37 page)

She did not understand, of course. Her knowledge of the French language was limited.

He was smiling at everyone in his usual friendly manner; he accepted the congratulations on his marriage; he showed the utmost deference to his bride, and he would not admit, even to himself, that he was miserably disappointed in her. Louis was not given to frequent analyses of his feelings. Marie-Thérèse was his wife; she was the daughter of the King of Spain; his marriage was highly desirable. Mazarin considered that he had achieved a diplomatic feat of great importance to France by bringing it about; his mother had assured him that one of her dearest wishes was fulfilled. Louis must be pleased with his bride.

But how rigid was Spanish etiquette! And what a scrap of a thing was Marie-Thérèse, divested of her robes of state—small and brown and, it must be admitted, far from beautiful. Louis, who had enjoyed the luscious charms of more desirable and desiring ladies in his pursuit of the
doux scavoir
, could find little to attract him in his politically admirable match.

Marie-Thérèse never put ceremony aside, even in the bedchamber. During the day she seemed to wish to do nothing but eat, play cards and go to church. She was very greedy. In spite of her rigid adherence to etiquette, her table manners disgusted him. He would see those little black eyes watching the food; and when her own plate was filled she would still have her eyes on some favorite morsel in the dish, terrified lest someone else should be given it before she could announce her preference for it. There was another thing which was worrying Louis; shy and reluctant as she had been during the first night of their nuptials, she was fast overcoming her shyness and with it her reluctance. Often he would find her eyes fixed on him as though he were a dainty morsel in the dish.

She was going to fall in love with him and, as she did so, he was going to find her more and more repulsive.

But at present Louis would not admit this.

The Spanish marriage had been a good thing for France; therefore it was an admirable marriage. And the next marriage in the family should be between England and France. Two brilliant marriages—and so good for the state policy of Mazarin.

Philippe … and Henriette!

She had changed since her brother had regained his throne, and Louis was glad of it. She was less shy. Silly little Henriette, to have cared so deeply because of the humiliation she had suffered! He remembered the occasion when he had not wished to dance with her; he now reproached himself bitterly for that crude behavior.

Dancing in her blue gown, which was decorated with pearls, she was a charming sight. Philippe looked handsome too—and how ardent he was! Philippe ardent … and for a woman! It seemed incredible, but it was true.

He glanced at his bride. She looked well enough in her cloth of silver and multicolored jewels. He tried not to gaze in Henriette’s direction; but his mother, sitting beside him, had noticed his interest in his cousin.

“Philippe and Henriette!” she said. “What a good match!”

“The best Philippe could make,” replied the King.

“So he can be sure of Your Majesty’s consent?”

Mazarin and his mother had already given it, Louis knew; but he kept up the pretence that he himself made all the decisions affecting the policy of France.

“I see no reason why such a marriage, so advantageous to France, should not take place.”

“Philippe was afraid he might not have your consent,” said Anne.

“He need not have been,” snapped Louis, and his sudden rush of anger astonished him. “He’ll get Henriette. Why, no one else would have her.”

“That was before her brother’s triumphant return. She is a more desirable
partie
now, my beloved.”

“She … she has changed in more than her status.”

“It has made a great difference to her and her mother, and I rejoice to see it. I never thought Henriette so charming before. She seems almost beautiful; and she is so frail, with such a look of innocence. Quite charming. Philippe is eager for the marriage, and it is small wonder.”

Louis said in a mood of unaccustomed ill-temper: “Philippe should not worry. He shall marry the bones of the Holy Innocents.”

Anne looked at him in amazement, but he was smiling fondly at Marie-Thérèse.

Mademoiselle was furious.

The King was married; Philippe was to marry Henriette, and she had always thought that, if she lose Louis, Philippe would be hers for the taking.

What had come over her young cousin? This passion for Henriette had
sprung up so suddenly. It was only a little while ago that he was taking sides against her.

Mademoiselle was no longer young. She was past the time for marriage. If she were not the granddaughter of France and its richest heiress she would be alarmed.

She must marry, and her marriage must be one which would not bring shame to her proud spirit.

There was one marriage which would please her more than any—except perhaps with Louis. Yet when she compared the two marriages she thought she would prefer the one still open to her. She would have wished to be Queen of France beyond anything, she supposed, because France was her native land and the Court well known to her; it would have been completely satisfying to spend the rest of her days in France. But to be the Queen of England—married to that fascinating rake, Charles Stuart—would be an exciting adventure.

Had she known he was to come into his kingdom, she would have married him ere this. But it was not yet too late, for he was still unmarried.

She went to his mother and, after kissing her hand, asked permission to sit beside her. Henrietta Maria graciously gave that permission.

No longer an exile! thought Mademoiselle. She is almost condescending to me now. I shall have to let these Stuarts know that I consider it my privilege to walk before their daughter, for the girl is not yet Madame of France.

Henrietta Maria’s fond eyes were on Henriette now.

“A triumphant day for your daughter, Madame,” said Mademoiselle.

“I rejoice to see her so happy.”

“Is she happy? She does not seem entirely so. Do you think she is as eager for this marriage as … others?”

“She will be. She is but a child. Philippe is eager … very eager.” Henrietta Maria stole a malicious look at her niece. “He is as eager to marry her as others are to marry him.”

“Let us hope she will be happy.”

“Who could fail to be happy in such a match, Mademoiselle?”

“There will be matches in plenty in your family now, I doubt not.”

“I doubt not,” said Henrietta Maria. “My son, the King, will not hesitate now.”

“She will be a happy woman whom he chooses.”

“There was a time, Mademoiselle, when you did not consider his wife would ever be in such a happy position.”

“Nor would she have been had he remained in exile.”

“He will remember the days of his exile, I doubt not. He will remember his friends of those days … and those who were not so friendly.”

“Here at the French Court there have always been many to offer him sympathy and friendship.”

“He owes much to his sister Mary.”

“A charming princess. She reminded me of Charles.”

“So you found Charles charming then?”

“Who does not?”

“Many did not during the days of his exile. But I doubt not that the charm of a king—to some—is more obvious than that of a wandering beggar.”

Mademoiselle was growing angrier. Was the Queen suggesting she was too late? Had she forgotten the vast fortune which Mademoiselle would bring to her husband! She had heard that the King of England still suffered from a lack of money.

Henrietta Maria was remembering it. She wondered what Charles would feel about marrying this woman. She must curb her impetuosity; it would not do to offend one who might become her daughter-in-law.

She turned her gaze on Henriette, and was soothed.
There
was one who was to make the best marriage possible—since Louis was married.

Mademoiselle followed her aunt’s gaze, and her anger was turned to something like panic.

Too late for Louis; too late for Philippe. Could it be that she was too late for Charles?

Henriette and her mother were ready to leave France on their journey to England. Henriette was longing to see her brother; but she was bewildered. Too much had happened to her in too short a time. The step from girlhood to womanhood had been too sudden. The thought of marriage alarmed her although as a princess she had been prepared for it, and she had been long aware that love played little part in the marriages of royal persons.

She liked Philippe; she continually told herself that. There had been one or two quarrels when they were children, but was not that inevitable? He had not always been kind to her; but he had been only a boy, and all that would be changed now that he was in love with her. She could not doubt his love; he made it so evident. His eyes scarcely left her and he was obviously proud of her. It was touching to see the way in which he looked at his brother as though he were comparing Henriette with Marie-Thérèse, to the disadvantage of the Queen. How ridiculous of Philippe! And yet she found
it to be rather charming and very pleasant, after all the humiliations she had received, to be so loved by such an important person.

She would not wonder whether Louis was happy in his marriage; she would not think of Louis. Happily she was going to England and there it might be possible to talk with Charles, to tell him all that was in her mind and ask his advice.

She sought her mother, but when she reached the Queen’s apartments she found Henrietta Maria lying on her bed, weeping bitterly.

“What is wrong?” cried Henriette in great alarm. Her thoughts had gone at once to Charles. Had he lost the kingdom he had so recently regained?

“Leave me with the Queen,” said Henriette, and the women obeyed.

The Princess knelt by the bed and looked into her mother’s face. The small dark eyes were almost hidden behind their swollen lids, but Henriette knew at once that her mother’s grief was caused more by anger than sorrow.

“Can you guess what is happening in England?” she demanded.

“Tell me quickly, Mam. I cannot endure the suspense.”

“There is danger of that woman’s being received at Court.”

“What woman?”

“That harlot … Anne Hyde!”

“You mean … Anne … Clarendon’s daughter?”

“Yes, I do mean that rogue’s daughter. That fool James has married her. Your brother has dared … without my consent … without the consent of his brother, the King, to marry her in secret!”

“He … he loves her.”

“Loves her! She has tricked him, as she would well know how to do. He married her just in time to allow her bastard to be born in wedlock. And he … poor simpleton … poor fool … acknowledged the child to be his.”

“Mam, it may well be that the child
is
his.”

“My son … to marry with a low-born harlot!”

“Marriage with James will make her Duchess of York, Mam.”

“If you try to soothe me I shall box your ears! I’ll not be soothed. Thank God we can go to England to prevent further disaster. Can you believe what I have heard! Your brother Charles is inclined to be lenient over the affair and will receive the woman at Court as James’ wife!”

“Yes,” said Henriette, “I can believe it. It is what he would do.”

“Charles is soft. There will always be rogues to get the better of him.”

“No, Mam. He is kind. He says: ‘They love each other; they are married; they have a child. So … let us all be merry together!’”

“For the love of the Virgin, daughter, let me not hear such nonsense
from you. I thank the saints that we shall soon be in England and that I may be able to stop this folly.”

“Mam, if Charles wishes to receive James’ wife at his Court …”

“He must be made to see his folly. Does he want to lose that which he has just gained?”

Henriette shook her head sadly. How could she say to her mother: Nay. It was you with your bad temper, with your insistence on having your way, who lost your crown. Charles’ kindness will make him popular with the people.

One did not say such things to Henrietta Maria. One let her rave and rant, and if one were like Charles, one avoided her as much as possible.