“Now we must go to my apartments,” he told her, “and they will all come to kiss your hand. I pray you do not grow too weary of kissing this day, for I would you should save a few to bestow on me this night.”

Those words made her heart beat so fast that she thought she would faint. This night the nuptials would be consummated, and she was afraid. Afraid of him? Perhaps afraid that she would not please him, that she was ignorant and would be stupid and mayhap not beautiful enough.

In his apartment the ladies and gentlemen took her hand and kissed it as they knelt to her. She stood beside Charles and every second she was conscious of him.

He was making jocular remarks as though this were not a most solemn occasion. I am not witty enough, she thought; I must learn to laugh. I must learn to be witty and beautiful, for if I do not please him I shall wish to die.

The Countess of Suffolk took one of the bows of blue ribbons from Catherine’s dress and said she would keep it as a wedding favor; and then everyone was demanding wedding favors, and Lady Suffolk pulled off knot after knot and threw the pieces of blue ribbon to those who could catch them.

And amid much laughter Catherine’s dress was almost torn to pieces; and this the English—and the King in particular—seemed to find a great joke, but the Portuguese looked on in silent disapproval as though they wondered into what mad company their Infanta had brought them.

When the merriment was ended, the King was the first to notice how pale Catherine had become. He put his arm tenderly about her and asked if she were feeling well; and she, overcome by the excitement of the ceremony and her own emotions, would have slipped to the floor in a faint but for his arms which held her.

He said: “This has been too much for the Queen. We forget she is but recently up from a sickbed. Let us take her back to it that she may rest until she is fully recovered.”

So the Queen was taken to her bedchamber, and her ladies disrobed her; and as she lay back on her pillows a feeling of despair came to her.

This was her wedding day and she had been unable to endure it. He would be disappointed in her. What of the banquet that was to be given in her honor? She would not be there. A wedding banquet without a bride! Why had she been so foolish? She should have explained: I am not ill. It was the suddenness of my emotions … this sudden knowledge of my love, which makes me uncertain whether to laugh or cry, to exult or to despair.

She could not bear that he should be disappointed in her, and she was on the point of calling to her women to help her dress that she might join the company in the banqueting hall, when the door was opened and trays of food were brought in.

“Your Majesty’s supper,” she was told.

“I could eat nothing,” she answered.

“But you must,” said a voice which brought back the color to her cheeks and the sparkle to her eyes. “I declare I’ll not eat alone.”

And there he was, the King himself, leaving his guests in the great banqueting hall, to sup with her alone in her bedroom.

“You must not!” she cried.

“I am the King,” he told her. “I do as I will.”

Once more he sat on the bed; once more he kissed her hands, and those dark eyes, which were full of something she did not understand, were smiling into hers.

So he took supper sitting on her bed, and he laughed and joked with those who served them as though they were his closest friends. He was intimate with all, it seemed, however lowly; he was perfect, but he was less like a great King than she would have believed anyone would be. Now all the ladies and gentlemen had left the banqueting hall and came to sup in her room.

And all the time he joked so gaily Catherine understood, from the very tender note which crept into his voice when he addressed her, that he was telling her he understood her fears and she was to dismiss them.

“You must not be afraid of me,” he whispered to her. “That would be foolish. You see that these serving people are not afraid of me. So how could you be, you my Queen, whom I have sworn to love and cherish?”

“To love and to cherish,” she whispered to herself. To share this merry life all the rest of her days!

What a simpleton she had been! She had not realized there could be joy such as this. Now the glorious knowledge was with her. There was no room for fear, there was no room for anything but joy—this complete contentment which came of giving and receiving love.

The royal honeymoon had begun, and with it the happiest period of Catherine’s life.

Charles knew well how to adapt himself to her company; to Catherine he was the perfect lover, all that she desired; he was tender, gentle and loving, during those wonderful days when he devised a series of entertainments for her pleasure. There were river pageants and sunny hours spent sauntering in the fields about Hampton Court whither they had gone after leaving Portsmouth; each evening there was an amusing play to watch, and a ball at which to lead the dancers in company with the King. There was none who danced so gracefully as Charles; none who was so indefatigable in the pursuit of pleasure.

She believed that he gave himself to these pleasures so wholeheartedly because he wished to please her; she could not tell him that the happiest times were when they were alone together, when she taught him Portuguese words and he taught her English ones, when they burst into laughter at the other’s quaint pronunciations; or when she was in bed and he, with a few of his intimates, such as his brother the Duke of York and the Duchess, sat with her and shared with her the delights of drinking tea, of which they declared they were growing as fond as she was.

But they were rarely alone. Once she shyly mentioned this to Charles because she wished to convey to him the tenderness of her feelings towards him, and how she never felt so happy, so secure, as at those times when there was no one else present.

“It is a burden we must carry with us, all our lives,” said Charles. “We are born in public, and so we die. We dine in public; we dance in public; we are dressed and undressed in public.” He smiled gaily. “That is part of the price we pay for the loyalty of our subjects.”

“It is wrong to regret anything,” she said quietly, “when one is as happy as I am.”

He looked at her quizzically. He wondered if she were with child. There was hardly time yet. He could not expect her to be as fertile as Barbara was. He had had news that Barbara had been delivered of a fine son. It was a pity the boy was not Catherine’s. But Catherine would have sons. Why should she not? Lucy Water had given him James Crofts, and there were others. There was no reason to suppose that his wife could not give him sons as strong and healthy as those of his mistresses.

Then he began to think longingly of Barbara. She would have heard of the life of domestic bliss he was leading here at Hampton Court; and that would madden her. He trusted she would do nothing to disturb the Queen. No, she would not dare. And if she did, he had only to banish her from Court. Banish Barbara! The thought made him smile. Odd as it was, he was longing for an encounter with her. Perhaps he was finding the gentle adoration of Catherine a little cloying.

That was folly. He was forgetting those frequent scenes with Barbara. How restful, in comparison, how charmingly idyllic was this honeymoon of his!

He would plan more picnics, more pageants on the river. There was no reason why the honeymoon should end yet.

As he was leaving Catherine’s apartment a messenger came to him and the message was from Barbara. She was in Richmond which was, he would agree, not so far from Hampton that he could not ride over to see her. Or would he prefer her to ride to Hampton? She had his son with her, and she doubted not he would wish to see the boy—the bonniest little boy in England, whose very features proclaimed him a Stuart. She had much to tell him after this long separation.

The King looked at the messenger.

“There is no answer,” he said.

“Sire,” said the young man, fear leaping into his eyes, “my mistress told me …”

How did Barbara manage to inspire such fear in those who served her? There was one thing she had to learn; she could not inspire fear in the King.

“Ride back to her and tell her that there is no answer,” he said.

He went to the Queen’s apartment. The Duchess of York was with her. Anne Hyde had grown fat since her marriage and she was far from beautiful, but the King was fond of her company because of her shrewd intelligence.

The Queen said: “Your Majesty has come in time for a dish of tea?”

Charles smiled at her but, although he looked at her so thoughtfully and so affectionately, he was not seeing Catherine but another woman, stormy, unaccountable, her wild auburn hair falling about her magnificent bare shoulders.

At length he said: “It grieves me that I cannot stay. I have urgent business to which I must attend without delay.”

Catherine’s face reflected her disappointment, but Charles would not let that affect him. He kissed her hand tenderly, saluted his sister-in-law, and left them.

Soon he was galloping with all speed towards Richmond.

Barbara, confined to her bed after the birth of her son, fumed with rage when she heard the stories of the King’s felicitous honeymoon. There were plenty of malicious people to tell her how delighted the King was with his new wife. They remembered past slights and humiliations, which Barbara had inflicted on them, and they came in all haste to pass on any little scrap of gossip which came their way.