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He glanced down at his own clothes, travel-stained and creased from being so long on the road. ‘And neither am I. Having been on the road since early morning, I am somewhat discomposed myself.’
‘Is this the first time you have been back to England since you went to France?’
‘It is. Nine long years—it seems like a lifetime. I wasn’t alone. It wasn’t what any of us would have chosen—we had no choice.’
‘And what did you do for nine years, William? Did you spend all your time in Paris, enjoying all the gaieties that city has to offer?’
He laughed. ‘No, far from it. When I arrived there it didn’t take long before boredom set in. Along with many others who were not prepared to see out their exile in idleness, I went to the Low Countries with the King, who founded a regiment of guards under the command of his brother, the Duke of York. We went into service under the Spanish flag.’
‘So your fighting did not cease when you left England,’ she said, curious to know more about those missing years in William’s life and wondering what he had got up to when he left for France. She had the feeling that the adventure he had embarked upon was not all he hoped it would be.
‘No. The regiment saw much service and too many deaths. Too many. It’s not always easy to be a soldier and a survivor. I may still be alive, but I have lost all that is important to me. My mother passed away and my sister married a Frenchman.’
‘I’m so sorry, William. That must have been difficult for you.’
He nodded, his expression sombre. ‘It’s a hollow victory over death—but I am grateful to be alive. I’m home now—one of the lucky ones.’
He fell silent, seeming to lose himself in his thoughts.
‘William?’ She touched his arm. It was the merest touch, but she might as well have branded him with a hot iron.
He forced himself back to the present and turned his gaze on her. ‘Like every other Royalist who has been plotting towards this end, there are many things that need to be done. I’m tired of wandering. My years of fighting and adventure are over, but I never had any doubt in my mind about the justice of the King’s cause. It is time to stop dwelling in the past and concentrate on the present and the future. From this day I intend to live out the rest of my life in England and never again pick up my sword in anger.’
‘You will find much has changed.’
‘I don’t doubt it—although things could not have turned out better. It is fortunate that the King has come back to where he belongs. Are you enjoying the celebrations?’
‘Yes. We are staying with Richard’s sister overnight.’
‘And Hester? She is well?’
‘Yes, she is. Speaking of Hester, I should be getting back. She will miss me and scold me most severely because I left the house.’
‘Of course. Come, I’ll escort you.’
Curling his right arm around her shoulders, he casually guided her towards the house. Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips.
‘I shall be in London for a while, Arlette. I’ll call on you later and I would like to pay my respects to Hester and her husband. I did not meet Richard when I brought you, which is probably as well. As a malignant he might very well have had me arrested.’
‘I’d like to think not. You did my father a great service and I know Hester was most grateful.’ She smiled up at him. ‘Goodbye, William. If you are able, you would be welcome at the celebrations later.’
Standing in the doorway for one last glimpse of him, she noted that he moved with a casual grace and an air of authority that she had not encountered in anyone before. Deliriously happy, she almost skipped into the house.
Chapter Two (#u530f9860-6af7-56ec-bece-b3b73d7f31fb)
Taking his leave of her and mounted once more, William forced his way back into the parade. He was troubled. Thinking of Arlette, the young girl he had kept in his heart for so many years, he could not help but wonder why it was that she so easily aroused his desire, for when he had looked at her he had been instantly drawn to her.
In one quick glance he had seen the change nine years had made. She had a fine bone structure and a few freckles sprinkled her nose. He had seen classic beauty rather than sex appeal and there was a slight dimple in her chin below the curve of her rose-tinted lips. Her eyes were the colour of a tropical sea, he thought—blue-green speckled with amber. Had she been any other wench who had thrown him a rose and then come after him, he would have been tempted to draw her into his arms and kiss the full, soft mouth. But she wasn’t any other wench. She was Arlette, no longer the girl he remembered, but a full-grown, beautiful woman.
It was dark when William was able to get away from Whitehall and find his way to the Willoughby house. Revellers were everywhere, spilling out of the taverns into the street, some of them collapsing in a happy, abandoned heap.
From his vantage point on the raised terrace in the courtyard at the back of Willoughby House, William idly watched the celebrations without consciously admitting to himself that he was watching specifically for Arlette to appear—and then, as if he was seeing a dream, there she was. Attired in the same yellow gown as earlier that clung to her small breasts and miniscule waist and complemented her complexion, her stance was one of quiet regal poise. Her wealth of glorious bright gold hair, gently curling, was drawn off her face and hung down her back. Everyone paused in their conversations and glanced her way. Her smile was dazzling and she seemed to bestow it on every one of those present—and did he imagine it, or did everyone resume talking with more animation than before?
His whole sum and substance was concentrated on her. She had an individuality that had nothing to do with her beauty. It took William’s breath away. With her creamy white complexion she was utterly feminine. She moved with a fluency and elegance that drew the eye. There was an intriguing, indefinable presence about her that made her stand out, even in the moving kaleidoscope of colour and animated voices. It was as if everyone and everything was in motion except Arlette. But he detected a restlessness about her. She looked about her with a keen interest, her glance filled with anticipation and bright expectance.
And then, as if she sensed his gaze on her, her head came up and she saw him and smiled the widest smile that warmed and lit up her features. Holding her gaze, he headed slowly but purposefully towards her.
‘William! I am most surprised to see you here.’
‘Do you mind?’
‘Oh, no. I’m glad you came. The whole of London is celebrating tonight. But come with me. I know Hester will be most happy to see you. I told her I had seen you in the parade—I did not tell her I had spoken to you—but I told her you recognised me and waved, which will explain your arrival here tonight.’
Hester was happy to see William and relieved to know he had survived his exile in France. When Anne Willoughby asked Arlette to accompany her to the kitchen to fetch more refreshments as the guests continued to pour in, she left William talking to Hester and Richard. She was kept busy for quite some time and when she returned to William’s side he asked her to walk with him awhile in the garden.
She looked at him for a moment and indecision flashed across her face. Considering the propriety of taking a stroll in the garden with him, she glanced at Hester, but her sister was engaged in conversation and did not look her way. The indecision on her face turned to resolution and she smiled at William. ‘If you have the time, I would be happy to.’
‘I have no great desire to return to Whitehall just yet.’
They left the revellers behind and stepped on to a pathway that wound around the flowerbeds, the scent of roses and honeysuckle competing with the smell of roast meats wafting from the kitchen.
‘I think this has been the best day of my life,’ Arlette told him, her eyes alight with happiness. ‘I don’t want it to end. Ever since you left for the Continent I have thought of you, remembering how we travelled together from Mayfield and wondering if I would ever see you again. And now here you are.’
Arlette didn’t know how explicit her expression was—like an open book, exposing what was in her heart. William saw it and was immediately wary, and in that moment he realised that eliminating her from his life now he had become reacquainted with her was going to be harder than he could possibly have imagined.
Having walked as far as they could go, William guided her to a wooden bench against a high stone wall and indicated that they should sit.
‘But not for long, Arlette,’ he replied in answer to her remark. ‘Very soon I shall head for Warwickshire—once the Puritan who took up residence at Arlington Court has been evacuated.’
‘Will you be able to do that—turn him out?’
He nodded. ‘The man was a regicide. His position is threatened now the King has returned. He may not have signed the notorious death warrant for the execution of Charles I, but it is widely known that he actively supported it. He will be lucky to escape with his neck intact. The King has agreed to pardon all those of conscience who appeal for his grace and favour—a generous action in my opinion. However, it does not extend to those who murdered his father—the forty-one men who put their name to that infamous death warrant. It is almost certain that all Royalist properties gained by the regicides and others who supported Cromwell will be rescinded.’
‘Including Arlington Court?’
He nodded. ‘Arlington Court means a great deal to me. The estate was bestowed upon one of my ancestors by the Crown for his acts of heroism and loyalty. Since my father died and the title and estate passed to me, it is my intention to see that this proud heritage is maintained in a manner that represents the grandeur my ancestor earned. I imagine my return will come as something of a shock.’ He smiled down at her. ‘But you need not worry about such things.’
‘But I do—all the time. More so now the monarchy is restored. I pray Thomas will come home. I cannot bear to think of what he is having to endure on that island, and if—when—I have to think positively, you see—he comes home, I would like to think he has one to come home to. As a consequence of my father’s actions and his failure to pay the huge fines levied against him, Mayfield Hall was sequestered. Will it be possible for me or Hester to put forward a petition?’
‘You told me you’ve heard nothing at all from him.’
‘No, nothing,’ she said softly, shaking her head dejectedly.
‘From what I understand, the prisoners’ term of indenture on Barbados is for seven years.’
‘Then why has he not come home?’ Her eyes, big and dark in her face, filled with tears. Her brother’s situation seemed so much worse now that England was at peace and everyone was celebrating the return of the King.
‘I have no idea. I believe when a prisoner’s term of indenture is over they are free to work for themselves or another employer. Those who wish to return to England will have to earn enough to pay for their passage. It is possible that when Thomas was released he decided to stay there.’
‘But if so, then surely he would have written. Unless—unless he didn’t survive. He’s occupied my thoughts so much over the years and I have wondered what has happened to him. I know he will have been put to work on a plantation; that he might have been sold like a slave and forced to perform hard labour on the sugar plantations and treated cruelly. But no matter what has happened to him, I would still like to petition to have Mayfield Hall returned to my family. I think about the tenants and the servants a great deal: the old, the sick and the children who have served my family faithfully for generations, people who were dependent on us. How have they fared, I wonder? It concerns me greatly.’
‘That I can understand. I remember the pain you suffered when you left.’
‘I was fortunate to have stayed at Mayfield for as long as I did. It was a dark day for me the day I left. I felt the darkness of despair and the fear and the knowledge that I would not see my father again. The fear I felt was for the future, not knowing what was to happen. The real reason Father didn’t send me to Hester sooner was because Richard sided with Parliament. We lost contact with Hester during the latter part of the wars. I was so tired of it all and the estrangement.’
‘The wars are over, Arlette. The gaps are closing.’
‘And you are here. I still cannot believe it. In the brief time we were together I felt as if my spirit was alive...as if I had drunk sparkling wine—not that I knew what sparkling wine was like, but I tried to imagine it—and the bubbles were effervescing and bursting inside me. And then you weren’t there any more and I felt quite desperate.’
‘You had Hester.’
She dropped her gaze. ‘Hester wasn’t you.’
Looking at the young woman sitting beside him, at her bowed head and the dejected droop of her shoulders, something of her anguish and despair penetrated William’s mind. Taking her hand he held it tight for a moment, breathing in the faint sweet scent of her, of roses and jasmine, he thought, and rosemary—for remembrance, remembrance of their time together as they had journeyed to London, when the countryside had been crawling with Roundheads searching out fugitives from Worcester. The memories stirred emotions he had long since thought buried.
Holding his hand, Arlette raised it to her cheek and held it there, her eyes brimming with tears. She had to admit to a stirring of emotions she had never experienced—the tremor in the pit of her stomach when he was near, the warming in her heart when he smiled at her—the desolation that he would leave her. She looked at him as if she could not get enough of the sight of him. They were two people, complicit and close, caught in a fragile net of feelings neither of them could comprehend, but each aware that after all the years they had been apart, when they were once again united and with the testimony of yesterday, the memory of that tragic time was etched on their hearts and minds.
William was immediately riveted upon her tip-tilted eyes and the full pink lips. She touched the corner of her mouth with the point of her tongue, which was pink and moist, wetting her bottom lip, and she smiled a little, as if at some secret thought. William stroked her cheek slowly, wiping away a tear that spilled from her eye with a tenderness that gave Arlette goose bumps and made her insides tremble like leaves on a tree caught in a summer breeze.
He slid slowly closer to her, his voice soft and his breath warm as he whispered her name. And then he opened his hand over the contour of her cheek and touched her lower lip with his thumb and caressed it smoothly, slowly. She did not move away—a mixture of terror and pleasure prevented her from doing so. He placed his finger beneath her chin and raised her face to his, resisting the temptation to tenderly cover her mouth with his own.
A shiver ran up Arlette’s spine at the feel of his fingers on her cheek. She basked in his closeness and found she couldn’t move—she had neither the desire nor the strength to do so. Her heart thumped so wildly in her breast that she could hardly breathe. His eyes were both gentle and compelling. The world around her seemed to vanish, leaving her locked in a circle of unreality. Her heart swelled with an emotion of such proportions she was overwhelmed. It was as if she were being sucked down into a pool of deep, dark, swirling water, a turbulence of longing—a longing she had never known before, but which this man could provide.
Recollecting himself, William pulled away. They continued to look at each other with startled eyes, a look that lasted no more than a moment and yet seemed to last an eternity. This strange turn of events was more than either of them had expected for, no matter how attracted William was by her, he had no intention of becoming involved with her for reasons she knew nothing about. He stared at her lovely face, framed by her golden hair flowing down her spine. He noticed how her firm breasts strained beneath the bodice of her gown, how her moist lips trembled as she tilted her head slightly to look at him.
‘My apologies. I forgot my manners. I was quite mesmerised by you for a moment,’ William murmured.
She smiled softly, raising her eyes to his. ‘Don’t apologise. I don’t mind—I care for you, William, and I like it when you touch me—although I shudder to think what Hester would have to say about me sitting on a garden bench in such close proximity to you.’
‘She’d probably thrash me to within an inch of my life,’ he said, his lips breaking into an impudent smile in an attempt to lighten her comment. ‘I’m sorry, Arlette. I got quite carried away—but seeing you here, I am unable to believe my good fortune that I have found you again, that I am here at all.’
‘And not still in France or The Hague, where King Charles had his Court,’ she whispered.
‘Exactly.’
‘I once told you that your life was precious to me. Do you remember?’
He nodded. ‘I do. It was when I was about to leave for France.’
‘It is still. You are still precious to me, William.’
William laughed softly in an attempt to lighten the moment, to dispel the seriousness from her eyes. ‘And you have turned into a very beautiful young woman. I’m afraid if I don’t watch my step I am in danger of letting my emotions get the better of me.’
Suddenly the darkness of the night was illuminated by a fabulous firework display, which lit up the night sky in a fantastic array of colour. Cries of awe and excitement and laughter from those watching the display destroyed the magic of the moment like someone bursting a bubble. The clarity of her thoughts now recovered, Arlette looked around, as though awaking from a dream.
‘I’d quite forgotten about the fireworks. What happened to Hector, by the way? Did you take him to France?’
‘I did and he served me well, until a couple of years ago when he died of old age.’
‘Poor Hector. I’m glad he was with you at the end. We were speaking of the petitions being presented to the King by returning Royalists. I would like to know more about that.’
Resisting the urge to take her in his arms and bury his face in her glorious wealth of hair, William drew back a little. He must not, he told himself. A moment ago, in a moment of weakness, he had almost given in to the desire to kiss her. To do so would bind him to her in ways he would find hard to break and this he must not do, not when he was bound to someone else. But as he looked at her lovely face his thoughts were anything but honourable and he prayed he could be forgiven any impure thoughts that crossed his mind. She really did have the deepest, loveliest blue-green eyes he had ever seen and her lashes were long and dark and swept her cheeks when she lowered her eyes with a fresh naivety, which he knew stemmed from innocence. His eye was drawn to the faint shadow beneath her jaw line and the tendril of silken hair in her nape. He imagined the tiny curl around his finger, his hands at the back of her neck, just where the heavy mass of her hair lay above the lace of her gown.
Forcing himself to concentrate on her question, he said, ‘Every Royalist in England wants something back, be it land, property or money. Some Royalists who are not impoverished and had their property confiscated have bought it back. Others whose properties were sold may not be so fortunate. After the enormous fines exacted on Royalists after our defeat at Naseby, many of them were forced to sell off land to pay them. As if that were not enough, the house and the rest of the land were confiscated. It is hopefully expected that everything claimed by whoever claimed jurisdiction in London will be returned to its rightful owner. Earlier you told me that Mayfield Hall has been confiscated.’
‘Yes, at least that is what we understand. We had a letter from Blanche recently and she told us a man and his wife were living there. The lady of the house died a year ago and her husband lives there alone. He is not in the best of health and not expected to live long.’
‘Then you may be fortunate if you petition to have the estate returned to you. But it is early days yet. Whitehall is filled to capacity with Royalists and their families wanting something from the King. But all that is for another day.’
‘Will he be a good king?’
‘Time will tell, but I believe so. Hester told me of your impending betrothal to Sir Ralph Crompton. He’s a lucky man—no doubt he has your head in a spin.’
His words penetrated the fog of Arlette’s senses, bringing her back from the languorous narcosis into which the magical evening, the moon and the stars and his presence had sent her. She felt as if something were shattering inside her; a raw, illogical panic slithered into her. She had not wanted to think of Sir Ralph Crompton. It spoiled the moment.
She stepped back, horrified that Hester had confided this to William. ‘It’s clear you have never met Sir Ralph.’
‘No, I am not acquainted with him.’
‘Clearly.’ Her eyes flashed rebelliously. ‘I feel no joy in being betrothed to him. He’s an old man—fifty and a widower with two young daughters. Father would never have given his permission for me to marry a Puritan—a man who pledged himself to Cromwell and the Commonwealth.’
‘Why not? Hester married one.’
‘Richard did not declare his allegiance to Parliament until after their marriage, otherwise Father would not have allowed it, even though Hester would have no other. Richard hadn’t been of any persuasion then, until he met Sir Ralph. Impressed and influenced by Sir Ralph, he soon fell under his spell.’
‘And you have no wish to marry Sir Ralph. I hear it in your voice and see it in your eyes. Your life is not yours to order, is it, Arlette?’
‘What woman’s life is? I have lived in Richard’s house since you brought me to London and the price I have to pay is obedience. An alliance between Sir Ralph and me would be advantageous to Richard—they are both in the same trade and Sir Ralph is important and powerful in the guild. Marriage to Sir Ralph is a way in which Sir Ralph would honour Richard with such an important connection—I often get the feeling that Sir Ralph has some kind of hold over him, although what it can be I have no idea. I am duty-bound to show my gratitude for all Hester and Richard have done for me since I came to live with them. Indeed, if I don’t marry him, Richard has told me the consequences are too dire to contemplate.’
William was uneasy by her reply. If what she said was true and Sir Ralph Crompton was indeed an old man—as old as Methuselah to a young woman—then he couldn’t blame her for having an aversion to the match. He was badly affected by this lovely young woman who had commanded all his attention from the moment he had seen her when he had ridden up the Strand. Strangely, the thought of Arlette with another man—in his arms, kissing him, lying with him, young or old—disgusted him. Looking at her afresh, he could not help feeling that such perfect beauty would be sadly wasted on an old man.
‘So am I to understand that you would prefer it to be an affair of the heart when you marry?’ he asked, with a teasing twinkle in his eyes.
‘A love match. That’s what I really want, nothing less,’ she replied, meeting his eyes steadily.
William cocked an eyebrow with wry amusement and mastered a faint smile. ‘Love! My dear Arlette, people rarely marry for love.’
‘Oh, but you are wrong,’ she enthused, her eyes sparkling with animation. ‘I know many who have.’
‘Then you must make your feelings clear to Richard. He may not be in accord with our beliefs, but he appears to be a reasonable man. I doubt he would force you into such a marriage.’
‘He will try, no matter how hard I protest my aversion to Sir Ralph. He considers me problematical and cannot wait to get me off his hands. But it goes against the grain marrying a Parliamentarian.’
‘You cannot hold that against him, Arlette. Many families were divided during the war years. For those who had faith, believing that the things they fought for were right, then they deserve our respect. They were our enemies—but honourable enemies.’ He got to his feet. ‘I must take my leave of you, I’m afraid. I’ve arranged to meet up with some gentlemen at Whitehall later. I expect the celebrations will continue throughout the night.’
‘Yes, I expect they will,’ she replied, disappointed that he had to go.
Arlette accompanied him to the door where they paused, stepping aside as people went in and out.
