The King’s role as host created a sensation, for many of them were sure that it was a subtle way of showing his future intentions. Barbara was sure too and she moved about the room like a flame, charming, amazingly beautiful, full of the confidence of her power. Their eyes followed her and their whispers discussed her. But Barbara was not fooled, for she knew well enough that obsequious though they all were now it would take no more than a hint that the King was losing interest and out would come the sheathed claws, every honeyed word would turn to acid, and she would find herself more alone than she had ever been in the days before her dangerous glory.

It had happened before. But it won’t happen to me, she told herself. To all the others, perhaps, but not to me.

Gambling-tables were set up in a third room and there they were soon congregated. Charles sat down to play for a short time, but in less than half an hour he had lost a couple of hundred pounds. He glanced up at Lauderdale who hung over his shoulder.

“Take my place, will you, John. I always lose and I’m a bad loser—What’s worse, I can’t afford it.”

Lauderdale guffawed appreciatively, splattering the King as he did so for his tongue was too big for his mouth, but he took his seat and Charles strolled into the next room to listen to the music. Barbara promptly left her own table and met him just as he was going out the door. Her arm linked with his and he bent to kiss her lightly on the temple, while behind them significant glances were exchanged and some wagers laid.

“It’s my opinion Mrs. Palmer is mad enough to think she might be Queen,” said Dr. Fraser. He was a personal favourite of the King and, since he could with equal dexterity perform an abortion, cure a clap, or administer a physic, his services were much in demand at Whitehall.

“The lady has a husband, you know,” murmured Elizabeth Hamilton, not glancing away from her cards.

“A husband is no obstacle where a king has set his heart.”

“He’ll never marry her,” said Cooper positively. “His Majesty is no such fool as that.” Cooper had acquired a considerable reputation for sagacity by guessing far ahead of anyone else that York was married to Anne Hyde.

Barbara’s old chum, Anne, gave him a malicious smile. “Why, whatever do you mean by that, sir? Sure, now, you don’t think she’d be an unlucky choice?”

“I do not, madame,” he assured her coldly. “But I think that the King will marry where political expediency dictates—as kings have always done.”


By the time they had left, Barbara was thoroughly relieved. She was tired. The muscles in her legs ached and trembled. But she was happier than she had ever been and perfectly convinced that her hopes and expectations—wild as they might have seemed—would soon be fulfilled.

As she and Charles entered the bedroom together Wharton, asleep in a chair by the fire, jumped to her feet and curtsied, looking at her mistress with frightened apprehension. But Barbara smiled and spoke to her kindly.

“You may go, Wharton. I won’t need you again tonight.” Then, just as the girl was leaving, she called after her, “Wake me by half-after-eight. There’s a ’Change woman coming to show me some lace and if I don’t get it first, Carnegie will.” Barbara smiled at Charles as though she were a naughty little girl. “Isn’t that selfish of me?”

He answered the smile but not the question, and took a chair. “That was good food, Barbara. Haven’t you a new head-cook?”

She had gone to the dressing-table and was beginning to unfasten her hair. “Isn’t he a marvel? Guess where I got him. I took him away from Mrs. Hyde—she brought him from France with her. D’you know, Charles, that woman hasn’t once paid me a call?” She shook out her hair and it tumbled in long ripples like dark-fire running down her back; over her shoulder she threw him a quick, petulant glance. “I don’t think the Chancellor likes me—or his wife would have called long since.”

“Well,” said Charles easily, “suppose he doesn’t.”

“Well! Why shouldn’t he! What harm have I done him, pray?” Barbara thought that her new position should command not only the deference but the liking of every man and woman at Court, and she intended to get it, one way or another.

“The Chancellor belongs to the old school of statesmen, my dear. He’ll neither pimp nor bribe, but thinks it’s possible to get along in this world by honest hard work. I’m afraid there’s a new model politician likely to prove too hard for him.”

“I don’t care what his morals are! He was good friends with my father and I think it’s damned bad manners his wife doesn’t make me a call! Why, I’ve heard he even tells you you shouldn’t waste your time on a jade like me!”

Charles smiled, one arm over the back of the chair and his legs crossed, his eyes lazily admiring as he sat watching her undress. “The Chancellor has been telling me what I may and may not do for so many years I believe he half thinks I pay him some attention. But he’s a very good old man and very loyal, and his intentions are the best even if his understanding is sometimes faulty. However, I wouldn’t trouble myself with whether or not his wife calls, if I were you. I assure you she’s a dull old lady and no very entertaining company.”

“I don’t care whether she’s dull or not! Don’t you understand? It’s just that she should call on me!”

He laughed. “I understand. Let’s forget it—”

He got up and went toward her and Barbara turned, just slipping her smock down over her breasts, to look at him. Her eyes lighted with a bright passion that was perfectly genuine, and as his hands reached out a shudder of expectation shook her, driving everything else from her mind. But not for long.

As they lay in the bed, her head resting on his shoulder so that she could feel beneath her cheek the pulsing of his blood, Barbara said softly, “I heard the most ridiculous rumour today.”

Charles was uninterested and merely murmured, “Did you?”

“Yes—someone told me that you’re already married to a niece of the Prince de Ligne—and have two sons by her.”

“The Prince doesn’t even have a niece, so far as I know. None I’ve married, anyway.” His eyes were closed and he lay flat on his back, a faint smile on his mouth. But he was not thinking of what they were saying.

“Someone else told me that you’re contracted to the Duke of Parma’s daughter.”

He did not answer and now, raising herself on one elbow, she said anxiously: “You’re not, are you?”

“Not what? Oh, no. No, I’m not married.”

“But they want you to marry, don’t they? The people, I mean.”

“Yes, I suppose they do. Some fat squint-eyed straight-haired antidote, no doubt,” he said lazily. “Odsfish, I don’t know how I’ll ever get an ugly woman with child.”

“But why should you marry an ugly woman?” With one pointed forefinger she was tracing a pattern in the matted black hair on his chest.

He opened his eyes and looked up at her, and then his face broke into a grin and he reached out his hand to stroke her head. “Princesses are always ugly. It’s a tradition they have.”

Barbara felt the excitement begin to mount within her, and her heart was pounding at a furious rate. Unable to look him full in the face, she dropped her eyes before she spoke. “But-Well, why marry a princess if there’s none you like? Why not—” She took a deep quick breath and her throat felt dry; a sharp pain stabbed at the base of her skull. “Why not marry me?” Then she raised her eyes quickly and looked at him, searching.

Instantly Charles’s face grew wary, the smile faded, and it settled once more into the old lines of moody cynicism. She could feel him draw away from her, though actually he had not moved at all. Barbara was shocked and she looked at him with horrified disbelief on her face. She had been so sure, so perfectly confident that he loved her madly, even enough to make her his wife.

“Sire,” she said softly, “hasn’t that ever occurred to you?”

He sat up and then left the bed to begin dressing. “Now come, Barbara. You know as well as I do that it’s impossible.”

“Why?” she cried, growing desperate. “Why is it impossible? I’ve heard it was you who made the Duke marry Anne Hyde! Then why can’t you marry me—if you want to. If you love me.” She felt her temper getting away from her and caught at it frantically, telling herself that this was too important to throw away because she couldn’t hold her tongue. She still thought that she could wheedle him into anything.

Someway I’ll make him marry me. I know I will. He’s got to. He’s got to!

With his breeches on he pulled the thin white linen shirt over his head and fastened the full sleeves at the wrist. He was eager to get away from her, bored and impatient at the prospect of a useless quarrel. He was, and he knew it, thoroughly infatuated with her, for he had never found a woman more exciting to lie with. But if she had been Queen of Naples he would not have cared to marry her—he knew her too well for that, already.

“The two cases aren’t exactly comparable, my dear,” he said now, his warm voice low and soothing, hoping to lull her into quiet and then get away. “My children will succeed to the throne. James’s, most likely, never will.”

Certainly that seemed perfectly reasonable for Charles had already recognized at least five illegitimate children, while Barbara herself was convinced that the child she carried was his and not her husband’s—or Chesterfield’s.

“Oh, but what’s to become of me if you marry another woman? What will I do?” She was close to tears.