am told they are as fond of you as the audience is.”
“’Tis not a fact I know of, and one should never indulge in speculation, Your Majesty. The opportunity for disappointment is too vast.” Charles smiled at that, straight white teeth shimmering in the lamplight, and she was flooded with memories of that day, well over a year ago now, in front of the theater. So that is how Rose made it out of the gaol! Of course it was him! Who else? In her mind, Nell saw him as he had been that day, the simple costume, his unadorned head, the lack of jewelry or ornamentation. There had been nothing of the pampered royal about that man, with the two-day growth of beard, the bloodshot eyes, and look of shock on his face, she thought now. That day, they had both been someone else. It was a dark time in London’s history that oddly linked them.
“It is a great pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Gwynne.”
“But of course we’ve met, you know, Your Majesty,” she said.
“So we have,” returned the king. “But in circumstances somewhat divergent from these. May I say, you have changed, and charmingly so.”
“And you are exactly ’ow I remember you, but now with the wig.”
“And how is your sister?”
“She is well, sire, very well, thanks to a mysterious intervention of kindness.”
In the doorway suddenly stood a man with auburn hair and youthful blue eyes. Nell remembered him at once. Seeing the king before he saw Nell, the man lowered himself into a courtly and proper bow, sweeping his plumed hat before himself.
“Your Majesty.”
“It has been a while, Buckhurst,” said the King. “How is your mother?”
“She is well, Your Majesty, thank you. Completely recovered from her ague.”
Both men, named for the previous King Charles, looked at Nell then.
“Lord Buckhurst,” said the king with a slight and bemused smile. “May I present London’s newest sensation, the lovely and talented Mrs. Gwynne.”
He was ever the gentleman about meeting her as an orange girl, silent and discreet. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Gwynne.”
Nell nodded. “The pleasure’s mine, Lord Buckhurst.”
“You were magnificent just now. I find I never laughed so hard at anything.”
“Lucky for me the play was a comedy.”
Hearing the swell of chuckles around her, Nell felt herself draw a breath, standing between two such impressive and noble men, one of them, quite amazingly, the king of England. She lifted her face and looked into his dark eyes. His gaze upon her was direct and intense, as if they were the only two in the room.
“There you are! I should have known!”
Moll Davies’s harsh accent was like a brittle twig snapping.
“Oh, do let’s depart, Your Majesty,” said Moll. “The force of a royal child grows weighty on such shapely little legs as my own.” The soft cackle that escaped her lips then was a taunting, ugly sound. Nell watched the king’s expression change. He looked back at her more formally, the connection between them extinguished.
“Mrs. Gwynne,” he said with a courtly nod. “Best of luck to you with the new play and the ones to follow. Though I doubt you shall need it.”
“I ’ope Your Majesty will be watchin’.”
Moll Davies glowered as the king nodded to Nell once again. Then they turned together and left the tiring-room to a rising crescendo of whispers from the crush of costumed actresses who, once he had gone, broke apart and went back to changing. No one cared that Lord Buckhurst had remained. Soon two other gentlemen entered, each bearing flowers for someone. Nell turned then to face Buckhurst, suddenly alone in a sea of other activity around them.
“You must be quite impressed to have caught the eye of the king.”
“If I wanted to end up like Mrs. Davies, I might be.”
A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Have supper with me.”
You’ve got to find yourself a well-placed man, then make ’im fall in love with you …Moll Davies’s words came at her almost
“’Tis not a fact I know of, and one should never indulge in speculation, Your Majesty. The opportunity for disappointment is too vast.” Charles smiled at that, straight white teeth shimmering in the lamplight, and she was flooded with memories of that day, well over a year ago now, in front of the theater. So that is how Rose made it out of the gaol! Of course it was him! Who else? In her mind, Nell saw him as he had been that day, the simple costume, his unadorned head, the lack of jewelry or ornamentation. There had been nothing of the pampered royal about that man, with the two-day growth of beard, the bloodshot eyes, and look of shock on his face, she thought now. That day, they had both been someone else. It was a dark time in London’s history that oddly linked them.
“It is a great pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Gwynne.”
“But of course we’ve met, you know, Your Majesty,” she said.
“So we have,” returned the king. “But in circumstances somewhat divergent from these. May I say, you have changed, and charmingly so.”
“And you are exactly ’ow I remember you, but now with the wig.”
“And how is your sister?”
“She is well, sire, very well, thanks to a mysterious intervention of kindness.”
In the doorway suddenly stood a man with auburn hair and youthful blue eyes. Nell remembered him at once. Seeing the king before he saw Nell, the man lowered himself into a courtly and proper bow, sweeping his plumed hat before himself.
“Your Majesty.”
“It has been a while, Buckhurst,” said the King. “How is your mother?”
“She is well, Your Majesty, thank you. Completely recovered from her ague.”
Both men, named for the previous King Charles, looked at Nell then.
“Lord Buckhurst,” said the king with a slight and bemused smile. “May I present London’s newest sensation, the lovely and talented Mrs. Gwynne.”
He was ever the gentleman about meeting her as an orange girl, silent and discreet. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Gwynne.”
Nell nodded. “The pleasure’s mine, Lord Buckhurst.”
“You were magnificent just now. I find I never laughed so hard at anything.”
“Lucky for me the play was a comedy.”
Hearing the swell of chuckles around her, Nell felt herself draw a breath, standing between two such impressive and noble men, one of them, quite amazingly, the king of England. She lifted her face and looked into his dark eyes. His gaze upon her was direct and intense, as if they were the only two in the room.
“There you are! I should have known!”
Moll Davies’s harsh accent was like a brittle twig snapping.
“Oh, do let’s depart, Your Majesty,” said Moll. “The force of a royal child grows weighty on such shapely little legs as my own.” The soft cackle that escaped her lips then was a taunting, ugly sound. Nell watched the king’s expression change. He looked back at her more formally, the connection between them extinguished.
“Mrs. Gwynne,” he said with a courtly nod. “Best of luck to you with the new play and the ones to follow. Though I doubt you shall need it.”
“I ’ope Your Majesty will be watchin’.”
Moll Davies glowered as the king nodded to Nell once again. Then they turned together and left the tiring-room to a rising crescendo of whispers from the crush of costumed actresses who, once he had gone, broke apart and went back to changing. No one cared that Lord Buckhurst had remained. Soon two other gentlemen entered, each bearing flowers for someone. Nell turned then to face Buckhurst, suddenly alone in a sea of other activity around them.
“You must be quite impressed to have caught the eye of the king.”
“If I wanted to end up like Mrs. Davies, I might be.”
A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Have supper with me.”
You’ve got to find yourself a well-placed man, then make ’im fall in love with you …Moll Davies’s words came at her almost
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