of all his public buildings.
Meriel waved Agnes away. "You may return to Whitehall," she said, and then in a whisper, "My eyes are happy to see you, Agnes."
Agnes smiled. "I will do your bidding in all things, nr lady."
"After Chiffinch's," Meriel whispered, an eyebrow cocked.
"But yours with greater pleasure."
Meriel watched Agnes retrace her steps, wondering if this was a friend or only a very clever spy for companion. 'Od's grace! It mattered not. Meriel felt less alone than she had for near a fortnight.
A young courtier escorted her into the hall to a seat near to the king and his dark, childlike Portuguese queen, Catherine of Braganza, seated amidst her pious ladies. Meriel curtsied very formally.
The king smiled a greeting, his mustache newly trimmed since she had left him with his swans and ducks. The Duke of Buckingham was serving the king and knelt, as was custom, to hold up a large platter for His Majesty's inspection.
"Ah, Lady Felice," the king said, "it is some time since you have dined with us. We thought we were all forgot during your absence." His Majesty made an elaborate pretense of introducing Meriel to the company, mostly of his mistresses and ministers. Everyone took it to be an amusing game, and the king's way of chastising a woman who had made herself too absent. There were a few astonished faces, since the king had never paid her any more attention than courtly manners dictated.
Meriel played her part, pretending new delight at each introduction, and blessed the king for the clever way he had given her knowledge of all present.
Barbara, Countess of Castlemaine, sat to the king's left, her hands caressing her belly as if to remind the king that she gave him sons while his queen did not.
The queen stared into her plate, her ladies-in-waiting seeming to murmur continuous prayers.
Yet for all Castlemaine's advanced pregnancy, she was very beautiful and very sensual. Her smoldering gaze rarely left the king's face. Until it was turned on Meriel.
"My lady Felice," Castlemaine said in a sharpened tone that could slice through the mutton bone on her silver plate, "I've never seen you look so well. It is little wonder that His Majesty is newly taken with you."
"Babs?" the king said, but the warning tone was lazy and he looked on with interest to see what might come next from these entertaining women.
Commoners crowded the gallery under Peter Paul Rubens's spectacularly painted ceiling cherubs to watch their monarch dine. The hum of their conversation did not drown Meriel's reply, which she meant to reach to the end of the table where Giles sat, watching her with dark, secret eyes she longed to read.
"My lady Castlemaine, is it not the duty of all His Majesty's subjects to serve him"'—Meriel paused for emphasis—"in any way that furthers the king's many interests? Indeed, every lady in England might take lessons in that duty from you, madame."
There were a few indrawn breaths and some titters, though Castlemaine's fury and influence stifled any real laughter at her expense.
Meriel thought she saw the queen suck at her cheeks.
Castlemaine's gaze measured Meriel, who held her breath. "You think to fish in my pond, Lady Felice?"
Meriel's stomach misbehaved so that she was forced to press on it under the vast table. "Never, your ladyship. My own stream is too excellently well stocked." Meriel turned and deliberately smiled at Giles. All heads turned with her to Giles, then back to Meriel and on to Babs, as if they watched a very erratic tennis match.
Before Castlemaine could proceed as she would have rather than be bested by this upstart rival, the king signaled his musicians, who began to play energetically.
Meriel wanted to steal a glance at Giles, but she could not. She wasn't supposed to care what he thought of her antics, or how he was used by two women fighting for dominance. She turned her attention to a dinner of dandelion sallet, roast beef, mutton, goose, chicken, rabbit, steak pie,
Meriel waved Agnes away. "You may return to Whitehall," she said, and then in a whisper, "My eyes are happy to see you, Agnes."
Agnes smiled. "I will do your bidding in all things, nr lady."
"After Chiffinch's," Meriel whispered, an eyebrow cocked.
"But yours with greater pleasure."
Meriel watched Agnes retrace her steps, wondering if this was a friend or only a very clever spy for companion. 'Od's grace! It mattered not. Meriel felt less alone than she had for near a fortnight.
A young courtier escorted her into the hall to a seat near to the king and his dark, childlike Portuguese queen, Catherine of Braganza, seated amidst her pious ladies. Meriel curtsied very formally.
The king smiled a greeting, his mustache newly trimmed since she had left him with his swans and ducks. The Duke of Buckingham was serving the king and knelt, as was custom, to hold up a large platter for His Majesty's inspection.
"Ah, Lady Felice," the king said, "it is some time since you have dined with us. We thought we were all forgot during your absence." His Majesty made an elaborate pretense of introducing Meriel to the company, mostly of his mistresses and ministers. Everyone took it to be an amusing game, and the king's way of chastising a woman who had made herself too absent. There were a few astonished faces, since the king had never paid her any more attention than courtly manners dictated.
Meriel played her part, pretending new delight at each introduction, and blessed the king for the clever way he had given her knowledge of all present.
Barbara, Countess of Castlemaine, sat to the king's left, her hands caressing her belly as if to remind the king that she gave him sons while his queen did not.
The queen stared into her plate, her ladies-in-waiting seeming to murmur continuous prayers.
Yet for all Castlemaine's advanced pregnancy, she was very beautiful and very sensual. Her smoldering gaze rarely left the king's face. Until it was turned on Meriel.
"My lady Felice," Castlemaine said in a sharpened tone that could slice through the mutton bone on her silver plate, "I've never seen you look so well. It is little wonder that His Majesty is newly taken with you."
"Babs?" the king said, but the warning tone was lazy and he looked on with interest to see what might come next from these entertaining women.
Commoners crowded the gallery under Peter Paul Rubens's spectacularly painted ceiling cherubs to watch their monarch dine. The hum of their conversation did not drown Meriel's reply, which she meant to reach to the end of the table where Giles sat, watching her with dark, secret eyes she longed to read.
"My lady Castlemaine, is it not the duty of all His Majesty's subjects to serve him"'—Meriel paused for emphasis—"in any way that furthers the king's many interests? Indeed, every lady in England might take lessons in that duty from you, madame."
There were a few indrawn breaths and some titters, though Castlemaine's fury and influence stifled any real laughter at her expense.
Meriel thought she saw the queen suck at her cheeks.
Castlemaine's gaze measured Meriel, who held her breath. "You think to fish in my pond, Lady Felice?"
Meriel's stomach misbehaved so that she was forced to press on it under the vast table. "Never, your ladyship. My own stream is too excellently well stocked." Meriel turned and deliberately smiled at Giles. All heads turned with her to Giles, then back to Meriel and on to Babs, as if they watched a very erratic tennis match.
Before Castlemaine could proceed as she would have rather than be bested by this upstart rival, the king signaled his musicians, who began to play energetically.
Meriel wanted to steal a glance at Giles, but she could not. She wasn't supposed to care what he thought of her antics, or how he was used by two women fighting for dominance. She turned her attention to a dinner of dandelion sallet, roast beef, mutton, goose, chicken, rabbit, steak pie,
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