Mary.”
“I can see you are all eagerness to have her in your bed.”
James sighed: “I have a desire for domestic happiness. I want to see her at my fireside. I want her and Mary and Anne to be good friends.”
Charles raised his eyebrows. “Spoken like a good bridegroom,” he said. “One thing has occurred to me. The Parliament will do all in its power to stop this marriage. Your little lady is a Catholic and they will not care for that.”
“We must make sure that the matter is settled before Parliament meets,” said James.
“I had thought of that,” Charles told him slyly.
He wanted to ask: And how is Susanna at this time? But he did not. He was kind at heart; and he was relieved that James had come out of that madness so easily.
Henry Mordaunt, Earl of Peterborough, Groom of the Stole to the Duke of York, had a task to his liking. He was going to Italy to bring home Mary Beatrice Anne Margaret Isobel, Princess of Modena, and although his previous missions of this nature had ended in failure, he was determined this should not; he was secretly delighted because as soon as he had seen the portrait of this Princess he had made up his mind that she was the ideal choice for his master.
Peterborough was devoted to the Duke of York; he was one of the few who preferred him to his brother; and since Mary of Modena was quite the loveliest girl—if her picture did not lie—that he had ever seen, he wanted to bring her to England as the new Duchess of York.
James had pointed out to him the necessity for haste. “Because,” James had declared, “unless the marriage has been performed before the next session of Parliament, depend upon it they will make an issue of the fact that she is a Catholic and forbid it to take place.”
Peterborough had therefore left England in secrecy; he was, he let it be thought, a private gentleman traveling abroad for his own business.
When he reached Lyons after several days, and rested there for a night before proceeding, he was received with the attention bestowed on wealthy English travelers, but without that special interest and extra care which a messenger from the Duke of York to the Court of Modena would have received. He planned to be off early next morning that very soon he might be in Italy.
While he was resting in his room a servant came to tell him that a messenger was below and would speak with him. Peterborough asked that the man be brought to his room, thinking that a dispatch had followed him from England. To his surprise it was an Italian who entered.
“I come, my lord,” he said, “with a letter from Modena.”
Peterborough was aghast. How did the writer of the letter know he was on his way to the Court. Who had betrayed his mission?
He took the letter and the messenger retired while he read it, but the words seemed meaningless until he had done so several times.
“The Duchess of Modena has heard of your intention to come here to negotiate a marriage for her daughter Mary Beatrice Anne Margaret Isobel, and wishes to warn you that her daughter has no inclination toward marriage, and that she has resolved to enter a convent and lead a religious life. I thought I must give you this warning, that you may convey to your Master His Majesty King Charles the Second and His Royal Highness the Duke of York, that while the house of Esté is very much aware of the honor done it, this marriage could never be.” This was signed “Nardi,” Secretary of State to the Duchess of Modena.
Peterborough was bewildered. His secret mission known! And moreover the Duchess already declining the hand of the Duke of York for her daughter!
And these messengers, what did they know of the contents of the letters? Was the project being discussed in Modena and throughout the countryside? Was this going to be yet another plan that failed?
Peterborough was determined that this should not be.
He asked that the messenger be sent to him and found that there were three of them. He
“I can see you are all eagerness to have her in your bed.”
James sighed: “I have a desire for domestic happiness. I want to see her at my fireside. I want her and Mary and Anne to be good friends.”
Charles raised his eyebrows. “Spoken like a good bridegroom,” he said. “One thing has occurred to me. The Parliament will do all in its power to stop this marriage. Your little lady is a Catholic and they will not care for that.”
“We must make sure that the matter is settled before Parliament meets,” said James.
“I had thought of that,” Charles told him slyly.
He wanted to ask: And how is Susanna at this time? But he did not. He was kind at heart; and he was relieved that James had come out of that madness so easily.
Henry Mordaunt, Earl of Peterborough, Groom of the Stole to the Duke of York, had a task to his liking. He was going to Italy to bring home Mary Beatrice Anne Margaret Isobel, Princess of Modena, and although his previous missions of this nature had ended in failure, he was determined this should not; he was secretly delighted because as soon as he had seen the portrait of this Princess he had made up his mind that she was the ideal choice for his master.
Peterborough was devoted to the Duke of York; he was one of the few who preferred him to his brother; and since Mary of Modena was quite the loveliest girl—if her picture did not lie—that he had ever seen, he wanted to bring her to England as the new Duchess of York.
James had pointed out to him the necessity for haste. “Because,” James had declared, “unless the marriage has been performed before the next session of Parliament, depend upon it they will make an issue of the fact that she is a Catholic and forbid it to take place.”
Peterborough had therefore left England in secrecy; he was, he let it be thought, a private gentleman traveling abroad for his own business.
When he reached Lyons after several days, and rested there for a night before proceeding, he was received with the attention bestowed on wealthy English travelers, but without that special interest and extra care which a messenger from the Duke of York to the Court of Modena would have received. He planned to be off early next morning that very soon he might be in Italy.
While he was resting in his room a servant came to tell him that a messenger was below and would speak with him. Peterborough asked that the man be brought to his room, thinking that a dispatch had followed him from England. To his surprise it was an Italian who entered.
“I come, my lord,” he said, “with a letter from Modena.”
Peterborough was aghast. How did the writer of the letter know he was on his way to the Court. Who had betrayed his mission?
He took the letter and the messenger retired while he read it, but the words seemed meaningless until he had done so several times.
“The Duchess of Modena has heard of your intention to come here to negotiate a marriage for her daughter Mary Beatrice Anne Margaret Isobel, and wishes to warn you that her daughter has no inclination toward marriage, and that she has resolved to enter a convent and lead a religious life. I thought I must give you this warning, that you may convey to your Master His Majesty King Charles the Second and His Royal Highness the Duke of York, that while the house of Esté is very much aware of the honor done it, this marriage could never be.” This was signed “Nardi,” Secretary of State to the Duchess of Modena.
Peterborough was bewildered. His secret mission known! And moreover the Duchess already declining the hand of the Duke of York for her daughter!
And these messengers, what did they know of the contents of the letters? Was the project being discussed in Modena and throughout the countryside? Was this going to be yet another plan that failed?
Peterborough was determined that this should not be.
He asked that the messenger be sent to him and found that there were three of them. He
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