The Perfect Royal Mistress by Diane Haeger

woman in one of the other boxes lowered her vizard and smiled at him. She looked familiar, but he could not place her. She was too old to have been a dalliance…perhaps it was one of her daughters he had known? It could have been anyone at all.
    “That new actress, Nell Gwynne, is starring today, Your Majesty,” Arlington leaned over to remark behind a raised hand. “They say Dryden finds her absolutely fascinating.” He was clearly glorying in his place beside the king, with Buckingham now locked away in the Tower.
    Nell Gwynne …why was the sound of it familiar? The old woman was still smiling at him and now clearly trying to suggest something with her eyes. Great God, was she trying to suggest that ? She looked old enough to be his own mother!
    “I saw her last month in The English Monsieur. She was hilarious. Had half the balcony throwing flowers to her, instead of oranges.”
    “Now there’s a switch to note,” Charles chuckled.
    Moll, who had been listening from the king’s other side, shot him an irritated glance. He chose to ignore it. Finally, the candle lamps rimming the stage were lit and the crowds in the pit, and around him in the various other boxes, broke into thunderous applause.
    First onstage was a stout, white-haired man in velvet robes, who acted as the narrator for the prologue. By his presence, the cheers turned to thunderous disapproval and great shouted choruses of “Bring on Nelly!”
    Charles bit back a smile and settled against the high-backed gilded chair. This afternoon might shape up to be a bit of fun, after all. As he glanced down again, even the woman with the vizard was shouting for Nell. This girl must be something unique indeed. A moment later, wearing a remarkably elegant dress, her full copper hair cascading down her back, Nell Gwynne took the stage. Before she spoke a single line, the entire crowd erupted in applause, whistles, and catcalls. Brazenly and with a charming smile, she looked directly out at the men before her in the pit. She smiled broadly, blew a kiss, and then turned to her costar, Charles Hart, who was making his own entrance from the other side. They met onstage, joining hands, as a couple intending to marry. The rumor of their real liaison was so rampant that the audience began to chuckle at once.
    “As for the first year, according to the laudable custom of new married people, we shall follow one another up into chambers, and down into gardens, and think we shall never have enough of one another. So far ’tis pleasant enough, I hope,” he said loudly.
    “But after that, when we begin to live like ’usband and wife, and never come near one another, what then?” she said with a bold wink.
    The crowd rewarded Nell by laughing so boisterously that Hart’s next line was completely lost. The king bit back a smile and remembered Nell Gwynne. Of course. How delightfully surprising! The orange seller with the big heart, standing outside after the fire, had become a star. Absolutely marvelous!
    “She has only been on the stage for six months and already she has captured London,” said the Earl of Arlington, who leaned forward from his chair behind the king.
    “And a number of hearts, I would imagine.”
    “It is well known in the theater that she is Charles Hart’s mistress,” said Moll gratingly.
    “Fortunate Mr. Hart,” said the king, as the crowd erupted for her once again.
    The next hour rushed by in a whirl of laughter, surprise, and delight, and the king was charmed as he had not been for a very long time. As he watched Nell, he could feel her sensuality even with the theater’s length between them. That, combined with her wit, made her positively irresistible to every man present. She was gamine, saucy, and wildly exciting; knowing she was from the darkest streets, he recognized her as a consummate survivor. The King was disarmed.
    When Nell took her bows, he leaned casually toward Arlington and lifted a hand across his face to mask his words.