When they came to her Majesty’s apartments Charles glanced at Buckingham, the Duke stepped forward to offer Barbara his arm—and Amber went in with the King. To both women it seemed a more significant triumph than it was. Barbara, however, had her revenge when Stewart appeared—beautiful as ever in spite of the plain black mourning into which she had changed —and was immediately taken off into a corner by the King.

It was not long before Amber found herself pregnant.

She had no enthusiasm for spoiling her figure, even temporarily, but she understood that unless she gave him a child she would have nothing at all to hold him by once the exciting newness was gone from her bed. For though he might lose interest in their mothers, Charles was never indifferent to children he believed his. When she told him, at the end of February, he was sympathetic and tender, apparently pleased—as though he was hearing the happy news for the first time. And Amber thought that her place at Court was now fixed as the stars.

He startled her out of her complacency two days later by pointing to a young man who stood across from them in the Drawing-Room and asking her if he seemed a likely prospect for a husband.

“A husband for who?” demanded Amber.

“Why, for you, my dear, of course.”

“But I don’t want to get married!”

“I can’t say I blame you—and yet a child’s somewhat embarrassed without a surname, don’t you think?” He looked amused, his mouth beneath the narrow black mustache gave her a somewhat crooked smile.

Amber turned white. “Then you think it isn’t yours!”

“No, my dear, I don’t think that at all. I think it very probably is. I’ve an uncommon knack, it seems, for getting children —all but where I need ’em most. But the child couldn’t possibly be your last husband’s and unless you marry again before long it’s going to have the bend sinister in its Coat-of-arms. That’s a hardship for any young man, no matter what his parentage. And to be altogether honest with you if you married it would help stop the gossiping—outside Whitehall at least. The year’s going to be difficult enough as it is since I see no way we can set out the fleet—and the people will be grumbling more than ever about the little things we do. Do you understand, my dear? It would mightily oblige me—”

Amber was prepared to understand anything. She thought that chronic bad-temper and forever keeping an easy-natured man uneasy had been Barbara Palmer’s undoing, and she did not intend to follow the Lady’s unfortunate example. She guessed, however, at a reason the King had not named: Frances Stewart. For each time he took a new mistress Frances was peevish and sullen and insisted that she had herself been on the verge of surrender when he had destroyed her confidence.

“Well,” said Amber, “my only ambition is to please your Majesty. I’ll marry again if you want—but for Heaven’s sake, get me a husband I can ignore!”

Charles laughed. “It wouldn’t be difficult to ignore him, I should say.”

The young man across the room looked not a day older than she and his youthful appearance was heightened by a pallid skin and rather delicate features. He was perhaps five feet seven or eight and his slender body wore a cheap and undistinguished suit. There was no doubt he felt ill at ease, though he was making an effort to seem gay and laughed excitedly even while his eyes darted anxiously about. Amber would not have noticed him of her own accord if he had been there all evening.

“Lord, but he looks a silly jackanapes!”

“But docile,” reminded Charles, smiling down at her with easy good-humour.

“What’s his rank?”

“Baron.”

“Baron!” cried Amber, horrified. “But I’m a countess!” She could not have been more shocked if he had suggested she marry a porter or street-vendor.

Charles shrugged. “Well, then, suppose I make him an earl? His family deserves it. It should have been done long ago, in fact, but somehow it slipped my mind.”

“I suppose that would help,” said Amber dubiously, her eyes still frankly appraising the young man who had now become conscious that she was watching him and had begun to fidget. “Have you spoken to him yet?”

“No. But I will, and it can be easily arranged. His family lost a great deal in the Wars—”

“Oh, my God!” groaned Amber. “Somebody else to spend my money! Well, this time things are going to be different! This time I’ll wear the breeches!”

CHAPTER FORTY–SEVEN

“DO YOU FIND YOURSELF attracted to Richmond?”

The question had been in Charles’s mind since the Duke had first made his proposal. To him the young man seemed dull and sottish, too much given up to the bottle, and his money affairs were so bad that he could scarcely be considered a good match for a serving-woman, much less a girl like Frances accustomed to luxury since birth.

She looked at him with some surprise. “Attracted to him? Why do you ask that?”

Charles shrugged. “I thought it was possible. There’s no doubt he’s in love with you.”