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learn English when they were in London, and Henrietta made a naughty grimace and said that she would try but made no promises. Privately she thought it a silly suggestion since everyone of consequence spoke French.
    Charles glanced down at Buckingham, his only friend and confidant, who was not quite so superior to him now that he was married and about to round out his experience of life. He was deeply grateful to Steenie for choosing such an admirable wife, and he sent for him in the middle of the meal to tell him in English how happy he was and how appreciative of his service.
    â€œI am the happiest of men,” Charles whispered to him, one hand laid affectionately on his shoulder. “I defy you to point out one woman in this room more beautiful than the Queen!”
    Buckingham laughed easily. His heart was bursting with jealousy and fear and he could have named at least fifty English women in the Hall who obliterated that sallow brat for beauty and for charm. For a moment their eyes met, and Henrietta stared at him and looked away. Buckingham’s eyes did not change, nor did his smile. He turned smoothly to the King again.
    â€œAll men are envious of you tonight, Sire. All except me, for I love you so well I feel as if your happiness was my own.” He bowed very low and went back to his place. The Duchess of Buckingham looked at him. In spite of everything she loved him deeply.
    â€œHis Majesty seems very happy,” she said.
    â€œToo happy,” Buckingham snapped under his breath. “Did you see her glare at me and turn away? I’ve got an enemy there, by God, and she’ll do her damndest to turn the King against me.”
    â€œNo one could do that,” Kate Buckingham said. “He’s besotted with you, like his father.”
    â€œNot quite like him,” he sneered. “There’s a mighty difference, and you should be glad of it, though I begin to wonder if I am. The old King wouldn’t have sat ogling a woman like a sick pupppy … She’s not even worthy of him!”
    â€œShe’s very young,” the Duchess said. She knew all the details of her husband’s conduct with the Queen of France, and she tried to be fair.
    She was a wife herself.
    â€œLeave them alone, for the love of God,” she said. “She cannot hurt you, and he deserves to be happy with her if he can. You should be thankful to have a Queen as a rival instead of watching every page and groom of the bedchamber!”
    He touched her cheek suddenly with one finger and for a moment the mocking, lazy look she knew presaged desire flashed at her like a bribe.
    â€œYou were very patient then,” he whispered, “And you must be patient now. And good. Good wives get loving husbands. Leave the King and Queen to my discretion and think only of yourself and me.”
    At the end of the Banquet, Charles rose and gave his hand to Henrietta. Then they left the table together, stepping down from the dais and walking slowly to the end of the long room, followed by the peers and gentlemen in attendance in order of rank, headed by the King’s favourite, the Duke of Buckingham and his Duchess, with the French ambassador and the members of the Queen’s household. They mounted the stairs and at the head of them they separated, each going to their own apartments to be undressed by their attendants. They would meet again at the door of the State bedroom, for the ceremony of bedding down which had horrified Henrietta.
    In her own rooms Madame de St. George and the Comtesse de Touillère helped her out of the heavy gold embroidered dress worn for the Banquet and locked away her jewels. They bathed her face with scented water and combed out her long black hair, and all the time the Principal Lady of the Bedchamber wrung her hands and wiped her eyes and muttered under her breath as if the tired, nervous bride were going to her execution instead of her husband.
    In a corner the Duchesse