The Perfect Royal Mistress Read Online Free

a fit of fury, followed closely by Thomas Clifford, a young, quick-witted man, who was at court by the grace of his uncle, and who was intent on making his own connections.
    As the candle and holder clattered to the floor, the guard posted at the door flinched then signaled for a maid. A moment later, a young girl entered the room, curtsied, and went to clear away the mess.
    “That bastard, Arlington, seeks to undermine me with the king at every turn!”
    “And yet, is there a soul alive who can achieve such aims?” Clifford flattered him. “You are, after all, His Majesty’s dearest childhood friend, and his closest confidant.”
    “I shall not remain so if Henry Bennet has his way! And all over some low wench who caught the king’s eye!”
    Clifford burst out laughing. “It always is ! Yet, might this not work to your advantage since our king seems to be getting nowhere with the virginal Lady Stuart?”
    “And how can you fathom that?”
    “I thought Your Grace was hoping to unseat Castlemaine with someone new?”
    “Not with this wench! This was a pathetic orange girl! Nevertheless, our great ruler actually gave her a moment, a compliment, and a silver crown for her pluck, if you can imagine anything so vulgar!”
    “Well, he has shown a penchant for low girls, actresses, and the like.”
    “Penchant or no, I am the power behind the king of England, and that power I mean to remain!”
    “I fancy Lady Castlemaine would disagree. Unless we find her weakness.”
    “Other women are her greatest weakness. We need only wait for the right time, and the right woman to remind her.”
    “We, my lord?”
    Buckingham turned to him. “You need an entrée into the higher echelon at court, dear Thomas, and I…well, I could do with a protégé. ”
    Thomas tipped his head in agreement. “I am honored, sir.”
    “I shall squash Arlington like the insect that he is. Castlemaine, too.”
    “There was a time, not so long ago, when you and Lady Castlemaine were…close.”
    “That was a lifetime ago. Yes, one has to learn that timing is everything.”
    “Indeed. I had heard that.”
    “Good,” said Buckingham. “Now prove to me that you know what it means.”
    “How might I do that, Your Grace?”
    “By helping me vanquish the king’s great secretary, Arlington, my enemy. And yours now as well. Castlemaine will come next.”
     

    As barge lights lit the Thames, masking the horror of charred wood and debris, Charles entered the candlelit banqueting hall with Lady Castlemaine a half pace behind him. The queen was already seated. Courtiers dressed in lengths and swirls of brightly colored silks and satins bowed as the royal musicians played the tune for a branle from the carved Tudor gallery above. As Charles was seated with great ceremony, a kneeling page, in royal livery, held out a silver ewer of scented water for his hands. Another held the cloth. From a linen-draped table, arrayed with silver platters and crystal flagons, a gentleman of the banqueting hall tasted first the food His Majesty had selected before a plate could be put before him. The same process was repeated before the queen. Then it was repeated for the king’s mistress.
    Queen Catherine, a small-boned Portuguese woman with a plain face, sallow skin, and watery dark eyes, had watched the entrance with a well-honed combination of disgust and resignation. She had married a man who was never, and could never, be faithful to her. Or to anyone. It was one thing to know that. It was quite another to be forced to see it played out before her eyes with humiliating frequency. The only compensation, if there was one, was that Charles was equally as unfaithful to his trollop, Castlemaine, as he was to her. And Catherine was quite certain it bothered Castlemaine more. She felt a smile turn up the tight corners of her mouth, then forced it away. Gloating had no place in the life of a pious queen. She would force herself to pay for the unholy sentiment with