“Join me,” she whispered to Buckingham, as he assisted her to her seat within.
“Later, Louise, later,” he replied. “I must back to the neighbouring inn, before the huntsmen miss me.”
Portsmouth waved to the chairmen, who moved silently away among the trees.
Buckingham stood looking after them, laughing.
“King Charles, a French girl from Louis’s court will give me the keys to England’s heart and her best honours,” he muttered.
He glanced once again quickly at the windows of the house, and then, with altered purpose, swaggered away down a side path. He was well pleased with his thoughts, well pleased with his chance interview with the beautiful Duchess and well pleased with himself. His brain wove and wove moonbeam webs of intrigue as he passed through the light and shadow of the night, wherein he would lend a helping hand to France and secure gold and power for his pains. He had no qualms of conscience; for must not his estates be kept, his dignity maintained? His purpose was clear. He would bring Portsmouth and the King closer together: and what England lost, he would gain–and, therefore, England; for was not he himself a part of England, and a great part?
Then too he must and would have Nell.
CHAPTER VI
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“Softly on tiptoe; Here Nell doth lie.” |