Diana wore a velvet gown of pale lavender. Cynara was in burgundy. Fancy in a blue-green. Bess did each of the girl’s hair, fashioning the dark locks on the three heads into ringlets.
There was music and dancing in the king’s banqueting hall. There was much laughter when Harry Summers, the earl of Summersfield, was chosen as the lord of Misrule. He was a tall, dark saturnine young man in his late twenties, whose sobriquet was Wickedness. Cynara eyed him almost greedily, remarking to her cousins that the earl was most outrageous handsome, no matter his reputation for mischief.
“He is not the sort of gentleman one marries,” Diana said primly.
“I don’t want to wed him, Siren,” Cynara said. “I just want to know him better and perhaps play with him a bit.”
“He looks as if he would eat you alive and not even leave the bones,” Fancy observed. “I do not like men who are too handsome.”
The evening wore on with Diana being surrounded as usual by a host of eligible, and not so eligible but hopeful, gentlemen while Cynara and Fancy found themselves once again on the perimeter of their cousin’s circle of admirers. Finally Cynara had had enough.
“I am going to see if I can find the lord of Misrule himself, and get him to take notice of me,” she said.
“Be careful,” Fancy told her, and Cynara moved off into the crowd of courtier. Fancy, however, remained where she was. She didn’t mind being ignored for it allowed her the opportunity to observe all that was going on about her. She watched the men attempting to gain Diana’s favor with interest. Two stood out. They were identical twin brothers The duke and the marquis of Roxley. Tall with wavy auburn hair and blue eyes, they vied eagerly for Diana’s attention.
“Mistress Devers?”
Fancy looked up into the face of the king’s personal servant, William Chiffinch. “His Majesty has sent me to escort you to supper,” Mr. Chiffinch said in quiet tones. “If you would please to follow me.” He turned and moved away.
Fancy arose and followed him. She noticed that no one was paying the least bit of attention. Mr. Chiffinch was a man who could render himself invisible, and Fancy Devers was neither known yet by the court nor important enough to be noticed as she left the banqueting hall. She followed him through a maze of corridors, wondering if she would ever find her way out again. Finally Mr. Chiffinch stopped before a set of double oak doors. On either side of the doors stood a man-at-arms in the king’s livery. Mr. Chiffinch opened the door and escorted Fancy inside.
“His Majesty will be with you shortly,” he said, and then withdrew.
She looked about her, awestruck. She was in the most elegant room she had ever been in. The walls of the room were covered in red silk brocade and hung with huge magnificent pantings of landscapes and of romantic scenes. On one wall there was an enormous fireplace of red and black marble flanked on either side by carved pillars. The great andirons held large logs of applewood that burned with a sweet aroma. The furniture was golden oak, and the seats were upholstered in either dark tapestry or scarlet velvet brocade. Drapes of scarlet velvet brocade hung at the windows. A great crystal chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling. It was filled with beeswax tapers all burning brightly. There was a second door in the room as well as the one through which she had entered. Curious Fancy crossed the room and opening the portal peeped through.
It was a bedchamber with white and gold silk walls, a second fireplace that was also burning brightly, and the biggest bed that Fancy had ever seen in all of her life. Blushing, she quickly closed the door and, not certain what she should do, sat down to wait for the king. On the mantel an elegant clock ticked rhythmically. A gust of wind sent a rush of sparks up the chimney. The fire crackled sharply. Fancy stared across the room, her eyes unfocused. Was she doing the right thing? Was she really the kind of woman that a king would desire? For a moment her late husband’s words on the wedding night slipped back into her conscience. You are as cold as marble, he had said to her. But had she been? Or had she just been afraid, and with good reason, considering what had followed. She shivered and again questioned herself as to why she was here.
The door to the apartment opened, and Charles Stuart, king of England, entered. Fancy jumped up, and curtsied low. It was too late to retreat now, she thought. And besides, weren’t first thoughts always best? “Good evening, Your Majesty,” she said breathlessly.
“My dear girl,” the king greeted her with a warm smile. “May I say how lovely I thought you looked this evening. These shades of blue and green more than suit you.” Reaching out he raised her up, and gazed into her eyes. “Amazing!” he said with another smile. “What beautiful eyes you have, Fancy Devers.”
There was a knock upon the door, and it opened to allow a small line of servants into the apartment. They set up a table with linen, silver, crystal, and gold plates. The sideboard was filled with covered dishes, and then with the utmost gallantry the king seated Fancy at the table before the fireplace.
“I did promise you supper,” he said with a twinkle in his black eyes.
“I never doubted it, Your Majesty,” Fancy replied. “I have been told that Your Majesty is a man of his word.”
The king laughed. “You have a quick wit,” he said sounding very pleased. “I suspected that I was right about you, my dear.”
“Right about what, Your Majesty?” she asked him.
“You are intelligent, sensitive, and amusing,” he replied, smiling again as a servant placed a dish of raw oysters before him.
“Are you going to eat all of those?” Fancy heard herself asking aloud as a dish of prawns steamed in white wine was set before her.
His dark eyes met her turquoise ones. “Every one,” he said with emphasis and began to swallow the mollusks.
Fancy nibbled at her prawns, suddenly nervous again. “It seems a great number of oysters to me,” she noted.
“I am a man of vast appetites, madame,” he told her. “Are your appetites large?”
“I do not know, Your Majesty, for my experience is slight,” she responded. “But the ladies in my family do have a certain allure of sorts and seem to charm the gentlemen.”
“If you have inherited from your grandmother not just her beautiful eyes, but the same allure that bewitched my uncle, then I suspect we may get on very well, Fancy. Do you understand me, my dear?”
“Your Majesty wishes to make me the last course in his meal this evening,” Fancy replied with utmost seriousness.
Charles Stuart burst out laughing, and he laughed until he was weak and there were tears rolling down his face. When he finally regained control of himself, he asked her, “Are you always so bloody forthright, Fancy Devers?”
“I have always thought it best to be candid, Your Majesty,” Fancy answered him. “I hope I have not displeased you by it.”
“No, “ he said, “you have not. More often than not I am spoken to with such delicacy of feeling and couching of phrases, that I often find it difficult to even understand some of the things that are being said.”
A servant removed the dish of oyster shells from before the king, and another whisked away the remaining prawns. The gold plates that had been briefly removed from the table were now returned filled with a selection of foods. There was rare beef and sliced
