Charles the King Read Online Free Page B

pointedly at all her ladies and burst into a roar of laughter. She had managed to ignore the Duke, but she did it cleverly, giving all her attention to the strange, intense, yet charming man who was her husband. He thought she was amusing, and he told her, somewhat shyly, that he thought her very beautiful; she had made a conquest of him in one evening, and her vanity and her optimism soared. The threat of Madame de St. George lost all its potency during that delightful dinner and the hours that followed. The day after tomorrow she would truly be his wife, and there was nothing in the prospect to frighten or repel her. Charles came up the stairs to the door of her suite, accompanied by Buckingham and all his gentlemen and the English ladies, some of whom were quite handsome and painted as much as anyone she had seen in France. He bowed low over her hand and kissed it, and to her surprise, he kissed her gently on the lips. It was a pleasant kiss, the first she had received in her life from any man, and she went straight to her detestable, dingy little mirror and looked at her mouth as if she expected to find it altered by the experience.
    It had been perfect, and she slept happily and long through the night, while her husband lay awake until the dawn, thinking about Henrietta, and thinking very impatiently about the night after the next when he would be able to go through the door with her.
    But it was all spoilt on the journey to Canterbury. It was a small thing, relatively unimportant in the lives of both of them, but it disrupted the harmony between them as if someone had thrown a charge of explosive into the carriage.
    In the State procession to the Cathedral City of Canterbury, in the presence of the English Court who had assembled there and the ambassador of France, Madame de St. George demanded to sit with the King and Queen, and the Queen supported her. Faced by two furious, insistent women, joined by the French ambassador anxious to preserve the honour of his country, Charles refused to allow his wife’s attendant to take precedence over a high-ranking English lady. He was white and tight-lipped with anger; it was inconceivable to him that his wife should so far forget her dignity and the obedience she owed him as to argue with him in public and question English custom. He glanced away from Henrietta’s flushed, furious little face; she was holding on to her attendant’s arm and urging her to step into the carriage, and he saw the annoyance and astonishment of his courtiers and the disgusted look of the Duchess of Newcastle who was being deprived of her rightful place by a foreigner. Buckingham came towards him at once.
    â€œWhat is the matter, Sire?” He turned and glared at the Queen of England, who had the grace to stop arguing, and Charles, stammering with anger and embarrassment, explained the situation.
    â€œThe Duchess should ride with us. The Queen insists upon this woman de St. George. I cannot allow it, Steenie. I will not have her in the coach with me.”
    Buckingham addressed Henrietta’s lady-in-waiting.
    â€œGet back to the second carriage, Madam. Go of your own free will or I will remove you by force.”
    Then Henrietta stepped in front of him. She was so angry that she could have struck him. Madame de St. George was the first of her ladies, the highest ranking, her inseparable companion; she had been warned to give no concessions in precedence to any of the English nobility or their wives.
    â€œYou overreach yourself, sir,” she snapped. “Madame de St. George rides with me.”
    Out of the corner of her eye she saw the English Duchess shrug and move away. She turned towards the carriage door and climbed in. The first battle had been won. Then she heard Charles speak in a voice which was as cold as ice.
    â€œLady Newcastle, follow the Queen. And you, Madam, go to the other carriage where you belong.”
    They had made the journey to Canterbury in silence.