“I suppose,” said Elizabeth, “that you are thinking now Edgar is dead you will be Queen of England. That will never be.”

“You seem to know so much. Does His Majesty ask you to share his counsels?”

“You never will be Queen. Your father will marry again.”

“He will never marry again.”

Elizabeth laughed and Mary turned away. But Elizabeth’s words stayed in her mind.

Charles was well content. He had a new mistress whom he adored in Louise de Kéroualle, the girl who had come to England to comfort him after the loss of his sister; she it was whom he had seen in Minette’s suite and coveted; he guessed of course that Louis had sent her to spy on him, but she was so desirable and the very fact that she was probably working for Louis added a piquancy to her charm. Charles was sure of his ability to look after himself as far as both Louis and Louise were concerned. There had as yet been no occasion to proclaim his faith to his country and he told himself sardonically that there might well never be—and he was receiving the installments of his pension from the King of France. A very satisfactory state of affairs.

A year had passed since the death of the Duchess of York and James was beginning to feel the need of domesticity. Often he thought tenderly of his late wife, recalling all the joys of the conjugal life and forgetting its restrictions. He was, he decided, not a man to live alone. Those days at Richmond, when he had believed himself to be going into a decline, and had lived quietly with his sick wife, their children about them, had been the happiest of his life. He forgot his infidelities, Anne’s jealousy, the scandals and trials. Looking back he saw them all about a great open fireplace playing games such as “I love my love with an A.” How proud he had been of Mary’s quickness, how indulgent of young Anne’s inability to find the right word! How he had prompted little Edgar! Oh, happy days! But how could he enjoy more like them without a wife?

He had soon deceived himself into the belief that his had been the happiest marriage in the world. And the reason? He had married for love. Those early struggles against his family and Anne’s—how well worthwhile they had been.

If I married again, he told himself, it would be for love.

He did not at first recognize the charms of Susanna Armine, Lady Bellasis. She was neither very young nor very handsome. But one day something in her manner reminded him of his dead wife and the more he saw of her the more pronounced this likeness seemed to become and he began to picture her seated at a fireside with children around her.

From that moment he started to fall in love and his resolutions not to marry again were swept away.

He courted Susanna. At first the Court paid little heed, except to murmur that James had chosen a hard task because Susanna was known to be the most virtuous matron at Court. Charles looked on cynically. How like James, he thought; he would always make difficulties for himself. And why did he always select the least beautiful women!

Susanna appeared at first to regard the Duke of York merely as a friend and because of the nature of his attachment James was content for a while that this should be so. He would talk to her of the loss he had sustained and she confided in him her own troubles.

Her marriage had not been a happy one on account of her late husband’s fondness for drink.

James condoled with her. “I, who was extremely happy in my marriage, can perhaps sympathize more deeply with those who had to make do with so much less.”

“I thought I should never live through the disgrace,” sighed Susanna, “when they came home and told me he was dead. Killed in a duel—in itself a criminal act. He had taken too much to drink and … his opponent killed him.”

James put his hand over hers. There were tears in his eyes.

“How you must have suffered!”

“Moreover my husband was a Catholic; and my son is being brought up in the same religion.”

James was ardently enthusiastic. He did not think she should regard that with any misgivings; he would talk to her of his opinions which, she would understand, in view of his position must be kept as secret as possible. “But I feel none the less seriously for that,” he assured her.

She was a member of the Church of England, she told him, and nothing would change her, because she was convinced there was one true faith and that was the one she would always follow.

James was determined to convert her; she was determined to convert him; but far from making a rift between them, this drew them more closely together. She was his dear theologian, he told her; not even the Archbishops could put up such a case for the Church of England as she did, but he was going to demolish her arguments … one by one.

In this he failed and he was almost glad to fail, for it seemed to him that never had he heard such brilliant discourse. He pictured hours at the domestic hearth when they would talk to each other of their feelings for religion and perhaps between them, come closer to the truth than any had ever come before, because he had to admit he was moved by her arguments. She was brilliant; she was sound; she was even beginning to shake his absolute faith.

And that, he told himself, is what I need. Before I become a Catholic, I must be sure that I am entirely one. There are too many risks to be run for me to take this lightly. What a joy therefore to discuss with Susanna. He called her his confessor, his guide and comfort.

This idyllic state of affairs could not go on.

One day Susanna said to him: “I have heard rumors which distress me. Your Grace’s visits to me have been noted and I believe that we have become the subject of one of the Court lampoons. Doubtless my Lord Rochester is behind this for it is what one would expect of him.”

James could not bear to see her distressed. “I will find out who did this and have him punished.”

Susanna shook her head. “That will not stop the rumors. More likely will it strengthen them. Nay, you must not come here so frequently; and when you do come we must not be alone.”

James was aghast. Not see Susanna! Not talk of what he called “their secret matter”! He could not endure such a state of affairs. But he agreed that it was intolerable that Susanna should be compared with those women of light morals who had been his mistresses.

He made a decision. His first marriage had been for love. Why not his second?

“Susanna,” he said, “will you marry me?”

She was astonished. Marry the King’s brother who was heir presumptive to the throne? It was impossible. The King and the Parliament would never allow it. When James married it must be to some foreign princess, and the marriage would be for state reasons.

“My dear,” murmured Susanna, “that which you suggest could not be.”

“It shall be,” retorted James. “I married for love once and I shall do so again.”

“It will never be permitted. I shall never forget the great honor Your Grace has done me, but I fear this is the end of our friendship. It breaks my heart and I know it saddens you. But the fact is without marriage we cannot be together as we wish; and I greatly fear that the King himself would forbid such a union.”

“I was told this before, but I married as I wished. I swear to you I will do so again.”

He kissed her tenderly, stemming his passion. He went to his apartments and wrote a promise of marriage which he sent to her without delay; and he made no secret of the fact that he had written it. He wanted the scandalmongering Court to know that Susanna Armine was not his mistress; nor ever should be, although he loved her so tenderly, because she was going to be his wife.

The King sighed deeply when he heard the news. He sent for his brother.

“James, James,” he cried, “what new folly is this? Do you seriously believe that a man in your position can marry the widow woman?”

“If you are referring to Lady Bellasis …”

The King raised his eyebrows. “To whom else should I refer? Don’t tell me you have given more promises of marriage to more widows?”

“She is the only one I can ever marry.”

Charles sighed with affected relief. “At least there is only one! No, James, this is out of the question.”

“I have heard that tale before.”

“Alas, so have we, and it grows a little more wearisome the second time than the first. You cannot make a fool of yourself again—not at your age, brother.”

“I do not consider …”

“Alas, you never do. A little more consideration, James, and you would be a better politician, a better future King, and perhaps a better sailor.”

“I am in love with Susanna.”

“I see you are indeed a lovesick boy. Now I pray you oblige me by going to your lady. Tell her that you will give her a house and land, a resounding title perhaps in time; but there will be no marriage. I am sure she will understand.”

“She could not understand such a proposition. It is marriage or nothing.”

“Alas, poor James, that it should be nothing as far as this good lady is concerned. Do not fret though. There are many fair ladies in the Court; some are very happy to accept a house and land … they will not ask for the ultimate sacrifice.”

“Charles … I beg of you …”

“Pray do not beg. I never could abide beggars. Leave me now and think on what I have said.”

When James had gone Charles summoned certain ministers to his chamber. When they were assembled he said: “The Duke of York grows restive. It is time he married. Find a suitable bride for him, and we will get the matter settled as soon as possible.”