Velvet had held her tongue week after week, struggling to keep her promise to her father. Now, however, the threat of taking her horse away, coupled with Margaret's calling her Elizabeth, made Velvet lose control.
"I chose drab grey because I am in mourning for my mother. I cannot show respect because I have no respect for you, or the appalling plays you write. I would show more appreciation for this lovely home if my father had provided it for my mother, rather than depriving her for over a decade."
"You wicked creature! Your father's English lands were confiscated and his losses total a million pounds in the Royalist cause."
Velvet narrowed emerald eyes. "You have a great interest in money—be sure to keep track of every penny. At your shameful suggestion Father got money from the Devonshires, who saved their estates by making a pact with the king's enemies!"
"I am not without wealth," Lady Margaret said regally. "Some of my own money goes into the upkeep of this house."
"If you had wealth, how could you have allowed Her Highness the Queen and Princess Minette to live in abject poverty?"
"Enough, Elizabeth!"
Velvet raised her chin. "I've had more than enough, Margaret." She turned on her heel and ran back upstairs to her room. Impulsively, she stuffed brush and comb and other toilet articles into a saddlebag and flung on her cloak. She knew exactly where she would go.
The two-hour ride to Bruges gave Velvet ample time to cool her temper. When she saw that the entire town was a sprawling military camp filled with rough English and Irish mercenary soldiers, she realized she should not have come. She was shocked at the dress and familiar behavior of the women she saw mingling with the men. These must be camp followers!
A soldier grabbed her reins. "Lookin' fer company, luv?"
"I am looking for King Charles. Let me pass, sir!"
He laughed. "You an' all the other bawds. Fear not, he'll get around to you—in the meantime, come an' ride my cockhorse."
Velvet cried out in alarm and raised her riding crop. A cavalry officer came to her rescue. "What's the trouble here?"
"I'm the Earl of Newcastle's daughter. Would you take me to His Majesty the King, sir?"
His eyes widened. "I serve under the Duke of York with your brother, Henry. He'd have a fit if he knew you were here."
He escorted her to a stone building and turned her over to a member of the King's Court. "I'll stable your horse, my lady"
Used to escorting females to the king, the courtier asked discreetly, "Are you expected, milady?"
Fearing she'd be turned away, she said, "Of course I am."
He knocked and opened the door, and she stepped into the room.
The man behind the black oak table rose to his full six feet and bowed. His dark eyes roamed over the lovely young creature before him, missing no finest detail. His brows lifted. "Velvet? Can this exquisite young lady possibly be the urchin who always outrode me?" He hugged her tightly and kissed her cheek. "Your father didn't tell me you accompanied him today."
Her wild pleasure turned to dismay. "Father's here?"
Charles grasped the situation. "He's gone to visit Henry. Before he returns, why don't you tell me what's wrong?" He sat her down in a worn leather chair and brought her a footstool. "I am sorry over the loss of your mother, Velvet. She was always exceedingly kind to me. I understand how you must miss her."
"It seems that I'm the only one! Father has already taken another wife—that bluestocking Lady Margaret Lucas, who was lady-in-waiting to the queen. I don't understand!"
Charles sat down beside her and took her hand. He searched her face with his brown melancholy eyes. A quick calculation told him that she was now twenty. He realized her innocence had been overprotected, yet he knew she had a quick intelligence and an innate shrewdness, which could someday match his.
"Your father is a dashing nobleman in his middle years. Women have always thrown themselves at him. His military forays ended in defeat, so it was important that his conquest of a woman end in victory. Can you understand that?"
"Yes." Now that you have explained so bluntly, I understand your need for so many conquests. "But why does she hate me?"
His mouth curved in a lazy, charming smile. "Your youth and incredible beauty are a threat to her, Velvet."
"Lady Margaret pressed Father to accept money from his cousin Devonshire, I'm ashamed to tell you. They made a pact with that devil Cromwell to keep their estates intact!"
"My dear, there is no shame in that. It was a brilliant political move. Your father's branch of the Cavendishes was able to throw its wealth into the Royalist cause only if the Earls of Devonshire preserved their vast domain, wealth and possessions for the future."
"You don't hate the Devonshires for dealing with Cromwell?"
"It was the expedient thing to do. The old countess and the queen are friends. They write often. One must learn to do the expedient thing in order to survive, Velvet. Odds fish, my best friend, George Villiers, just deserted me. No sooner did he arrive in England than he married General Fairfax's daughter."
"Why would the Duke of Buckingham marry the daughter of a Roundhead general?" she asked in outrage.
Charles smiled. "Expedience, Velvet. She is an heiress. I am casting about for my own royal heiress."
Her heart constricted. "You would marry without love?"
"Little innocent! I cannot afford the luxury of love. Look about you. I have begged, stolen or borrowed money for every stick of furniture, every candle, every mouthful of food. I have no money to pay the soldiers, and no money or ships for the invasion I promised my faithful Royalist soldiers waiting in vain since last year for my landing on the Scottish Border."
"Your problems are untenable. I am ashamed that I came to burden you with my complaints, Your Majesty."
"I want there to be no Majesties between us, Velvet. I want only friendship. Try to cope with your problems and I shall do the same. With a little expedience, we shall muddle through."
A knock interrupted them. It was Newcastle, beside himself with fury that his willful daughter had followed him to Bruges.
"William, I forbid you to be fierce with Mistress Cavendish. I call you to task for not including her in your visit." He looked at Velvet and allowed one eyelid to close in a slow wink.
Oh, Charles, I do love you! Velvet, deciding upon expedience, lowered her lashes and presented a meek face to her father.
The long ride home gave the earl and his daughter a chance to talk to each other. Velvet held nothing back; she told her father her true feelings about Margaret Lucas.
"Velvet, my dear, I've tended to think of you as a child, but now I realize you are a lady grown who does not need the ministrations of a stepmother. I've selfishly thought only of my needs and not yours. Two grown women cannot be happy in one household, I fear. It is unfair to both."
"I've tried to hold my tongue for months, but the truth is that Margaret doesn't like me and resents sharing you with me."
"She is a new bride. You will understand these things when you are a wife. At your age you should be married and have your own household. Living in exile has robbed you of these things."
Velvet blushed. She was extremely sensitive about reaching the age of twenty without being married. She harbored a fear of being left on the shelf—a spinster forever.
"Would you like to return to England, Velvet?"
"I have dreamed of going back to England for years."
"I shall write to the Devonshires and make the arrangements. We shall get you back across the Channel in no time."
Velvet was reluctant to live with the other branch of the family when they had chosen Cromwell over Charles, but at least she would be living in England and she and Margaret would not be at each other's throats. With great daring she found the courage to voice a thought she'd kept hidden deep, and never spoken aloud before. "What about my betrothal?"
Newcastle rubbed the back of his neck. "I wouldn't c
ount on it, Velvet. Circumstances have changed considerably over the years we've lived in exile. The Earl of Eglinton will not be eager for his heir to take a wife without a substantial dowry."
Deeply stung, she tossed her head. "Nor am I eager to wed Eglinton's heir. I am delighted the betrothal is null and void. I don't even remember the callow youth," she lied.
"Of course, should King Charles be restored to the throne and we get back our confiscated estates, I have no doubt your union would once again become most desirable to Eglinton."
Velvet lifted her chin. "That will be too bad. I wouldn't have his son for a husband if he were the last man alive!"
When the awaited letter arrived, it wasn't from the Earl of Devonshire or his wife, but from his mother, the Dowager Countess of Devonshire. William read it to his daughter:
My Dearest Newcastle:
It is with anticipated delight that I invite your daughter, Velvet Cavendish, to come and make her home with me. It is my great honor to correspond with my dear friend Queen Henrietta Maria, and know from her letters the hardship of life in exile.
On my advice, my son, Devonshire, does not reside at Chatsworth. (Far too ostentatious in a Commonwealth.) He now lives at Latimers in Buckinghamshire.
Tired of my cutoff life in the country at Oldcoates, I have recently moved back to my late husband's house in Bishopsgate, London. Velvet's company will be most welcome, I do assure you, until such time as you return to your own estates.
My felicitations on your union with the noble Lady Margaret.
Christian Bruce Cavendish, Dowager Countess of Devonshire.
"I don't remember her," Velvet said blankly.
"Christian Bruce is the daughter of the late Scottish lord Kinloss. She'll be about sixty now." Newcastle did not tell his daughter that the dowager wielded her great power with an iron hand and had certainly always had his cousin Devonshire under her dominant thumb. "I expect she will be lonely rattling about in a house in London and would benefit from your company."
A house in London sounded like heaven to Velvet. "Thank you, Father. I have decided to take the dowager up on her offer."
Chapter 3
Greysteel Montgomery was given permission to speak to his men on the eve of their release. He found them thinner and quietly subdued, as if their cocky spirits had been knocked out of them.
"I have bargained with General Monck for your freedom on the condition that you do not take up arms again. Our Royalist force is disbanded and you are free to return home to Northumberland. You served me well and I thank you."
His lieutenant said quietly, "Nay, sir, we thank you for whatever sacrifice you made so we wouldn't rot in prison."
The gratitude in their eyes made him glad he'd made the pact with Monck regardless of whether it was morally right or wrong.
The following day, before he left Berwick, George Monck handed him a ciphered code using numbers to represent names and places. "Commit this to memory; then burn it." Monck gave him a written pass in case he was stopped by the military. "There are spies everywhere, so it is best not to use a false name. As heir to the Earl of Eglinton, who made his peace long ago with the English Protectorate, you should not be under suspicion in London. Cromwell's official residence is Whitehall. I shall leave it to your ingenuity to gain access." Monck returned his sword and pistol. "I want regular reports."
"Whom will I use as courier, General?"
"When you get to London, my man will contact you."
Greysteel crossed the Border and rode directly south to Montgomery Hall, in Nottinghamshire. He was relieved that he was free to set his own course of action and his own timetable. Monck's only stipulation was that he report regularly.
Greysteel hadn't seen his father since he'd retired from the Royalist army six years ago. Though the earl was still curt and abrasive, his son was surprised to see how much he'd aged.
"Damned glad to see you've come to your senses. Fighting wars is a thankless business. No profit in it."
Greysteel neither confirmed nor denied that he was finished with the Royalist cause. He kept his own counsel.
The earl grudgingly modified his authoritative manner. He could see that young Greysteel was an authority unto himself. "It is time you eased my load with the estate business."
"I can see you have tripled the sheep flocks."
"Sheep—or rather, wool is money, especially on the London Wool Exchange. I don't enjoy traveling back and forth anymore. If you have a nose for business, you could act as our agent."
"Agent?" His grey eyes flickered with irony and then it was gone. "Since the business end is all conducted in London, it would benefit us to establish a permanent office there."
His father nodded, immediately seeing the merits. "It would cut out the cost of using middlemen as brokers."
"I will have to go and familiarize myself with the capital. I'll rent a small house and set up an office."
"If you can find a good piece of property with a manor house on the outskirts of London, I recommend that you buy it."
"That's exactly what I had in mind. Land always increases in value. A London property would be a sound investment."
"Our banking is done with a goldsmith in the Temple by the name of Samuel Lawson. I'll give you a draft so you may draw whatever you need. The spring shearing is finished and the wool has been shipped to a warehouse we rent at Paul's Wharfe on Thames Street. That will allow you time to get the best price."
"Tonight I'll go over the account books with your steward."
"The books will tell you we're in excellent financial shape."
"By the way, is the Derbyshire land my mother entailed to me still leased for grazing? I'm sure it would bring a higher income if we leased the mineral rights. I should consult with the Earl of Devonshire about his coal contracts."
"Devonshire's mother controls the purse strings in that family. She obtained full legal guardianship over the heir's inheritances when her husband died. She's the one to advise you. The dowager countess recently moved from her Oldcoates property to the city. I still owe her for a few hundred sheep I bought when she left. You should pay a call on her in London and settle the account. It doesn't hurt to have connections." With a look of guilt the earl lifted a decanter of whiskey and poured them each a drink. "Damn Puritans consider every act of comfort a sin! London has been ruined with religious fanatics."
Velvet, accompanied by Emma, disembarked from the small trading vessel, which had brought them across an extremely rough Channel. She stood on the London dock trying to exude confidence but felt her optimism ebbing away as she eyed a black cloud. She looked about for shelter and found none; then her fears were fulfilled by a downpour of summer rain.
When it stopped, a somberly dressed man of middle years approached. "Excuse me, mistress. I am looking for the Earl of Newcastle's daughter, who was supposed to arrive on this vessel today. Do you know anything of the lady's whereabouts?"
"I am she," Velvet said with a rush of relief.
The man gave her a doubtful look. "Are you sure?"
Velvet's self-esteem plummeted, yet she knew she must convince the lofty servant. "Yes, I am Mistress Cavendish and this is my traveling companion. Did the Dowager Countess of Devonshire send you?"
He recovered his aplomb. "She did indeed. The carriage is waiting over yonder. Where is your luggage, my lady?"
Velvet blushed as she indicated the single bag at her feet.
The coach driver bowed politely and picked up the bag. "My name is Davis. Kindly follow me, ladies."
The carriage departed the docks and eventually left the dilapidated area behind. Velvet gazed with curiosity at the bustling streets of London. She tried not to think of her upcoming meeting with the wealthy countess after the reception she had received from the servant. The buildings and residences they drove past became more imposing and she glanced nervously at Emma, who sat clutching her bundle. / shouldn't have come!
They came to the London Wall and the carriage left the city through the Bishops Gate. Here, the large houses had their own gardens. They drove up a long driveway and stopped before a great mansion. With resolution, Velvet went up the steps and was about to knock when the door was opened by a manservant. She stepped into a black-and-white marble reception hall and came face-to-face with the Dowager Countess of Devonshire. As they stared at each other, Velvet's knees began to tremble.
"What a radiant woman you have become!" The rail-thin countess, with iron grey hair, had a faint Scottish accent.
Velvet feared she looked like a drowned rat and the dowager was mocking her, and her hand flew to her hair. With relief, she realized that in the carriage it had dried into a mass of tight curls. Belatedly, Velvet remembered to curtsy.
"None of that." The countess tapped her ebony stick on the floor. "My own hair used to be red, but nothing like your glorious golden shade. I am delighted you are here."
Velvet's voice quavered. "Thank you, Countess—"
"I'm the dowager—you will call me Christian. Who's this?"
"This is Emma, who was kind enough to travel with me.
The countess pointed her stick at her coachman. "Take Emma into the kitchen and tell Cook to give her a good hot meal." She waited until they left, then told Velvet, "The woman is constantly trying to fatten me up. Emma will divert her."
Velvet smiled as some of her apprehension and preconceived notions melted away. The dowager is a delight!
A few hours later, after a warm bath, Velvet sat propped in bed and pushed away the dinner tray. "Everything was delicious. I couldn't eat another morsel."
"Tomorrow, my sewing women will start on your new wardrobe. Well, actually, you will need two wardrobes."
"Two?" Velvet tried not to feel overwhelmed. The elegant chamber she had been given was the last word in luxury, from its polished silver mirrors to its satin bed hangings.