Love Romances of the Aristocracy | Page 6

rival, the Duke of Richmond, at the other side of it.

Charles was incredulous, furious at the suggestion. "Come with me,"
Lady Castlemaine answered, "and I will prove that I am telling you the
simple truth;" and taking his hand she led him exultantly down the
gallery from his apartments to the threshold of Miss Stuart's door,
where, with a sweeping curtsy and an invitation to enter, she left him.
On throwing open the door, to quote Hamilton, the King
"found Miss Stuart in bed, but far from being asleep. The Duke of
Richmond was seated at her pillow, and in all probability was less
inclined to sleep than herself. The King, who of all men was usually
one of the most mild and gentle, testified his resentment to the Duke of
Richmond in such terms as he had never used before. The Duke was
speechless and almost petrified; he saw his master and King justly
irritated. The first transports which rage inspires on such occasions are
dangerous. Miss Stuart's window was very convenient for a sudden
revenge, the Thames flowing close beneath it. He cast his eyes upon it,
and seeing those of the King more incensed and fired with indignation
than he thought his nature capable of, he made a profound bow, and
retired without replying a single word to the vast torrent of threats and
menaces that were poured on him."
But if the Duke proved thus a poltroon, Miss Stuart showed a very
different metal. She was furious at the indignity of the King's intrusion
on her privacy, and proceeded to read him such a lecture as his Royal
ears had never listened to. She was no slave, she said, with flashing
eyes, to be treated in such a manner, not to be allowed to receive visits
from a man of the Duke of Richmond's rank, who came with
honourable intentions. She was perfectly free to dispose of her hand as
she thought proper; and if she could not do it in England, there was no
power on earth that could hinder her from going over to France, and
throwing herself into a convent to enjoy that tranquillity that was
denied her in his Court! And the enraged beauty wound up her lecture
by pointing imperiously to the door and bidding the King begone, "to
leave her in repose, at least for the remainder of the night."
Charles went away baffled and cowed, but with a fierce rage in his
heart. He had been defied, browbeaten, insulted by the woman for

whom he would almost have bartered his crown; and he vowed that he
would be revenged. On the following morning Miss Stuart, her anger
now cooled, and awake to the enormity of her offence against Charles,
sought an audience with Queen Catherine, to whom she told the whole
story, begging her to appease the King, and to induce him to allow her
to retire to a convent. So affecting was this interview that, we are told,
the Queen and the maid-of-honour mingled their tears together, and
Catherine promised to do her utmost to bring about a reconciliation.
One final attempt Charles made to capture the prize before it was lost to
him for ever. He offered to dismiss all his mistresses, from the
Castlemaine herself to saucy Nell Gwynn, and to dower her with large
revenues and splendid titles if she would but consent to be his
_maitresse en titre_; but to all his seductions and bribes the inflexible
maid-of-honour turned a blind eye. No future, however dazzling, could
compensate her for the loss of her dearest possession. "I hope," said the
King at last, "I may live to see you old and willing," as he walked away
in high dudgeon. To the proposed match with the Duke he point-blank
refused his consent, and vowed that if his sovereign will were defied,
the punishment would be in proportion to the offence.
But the fair Stuart had finally made up her mind. It had long been her
ambition--from childhood, it is said--to be a Duchess, and she was not
going to let the opportunity slip for all the kings in the world. What
might come after was another matter. A Duchess's coronet and a
wedding-ring were her immediate goal. Thus it came to pass that one
dark night she stole away from the Palace of Whitehall, and was rowed
to London Bridge, where the Duke awaited her in his coach. Through
the night the runaway pair were driven to Cobham Hall, in Kent, where,
long before morning dawned, an obliging parson had made them man
and wife. Frances Stuart was a Duchess at last; and Charles's long
intrigue had ended (or so it seemed) in final discomfiture.
On hearing the news the King was beside himself with anger.