Page 54 of The Pirate and the Pagan
Without the distraction of dancing or cards the King and his advisers were able to discuss the problem of the Dutch, and the spying and smuggling which had become rampant in Cornwall.
Hundreds of dishes were set out along the buffet. There were smoked oysters, smoked salmon, and smoked trout. Molds of jellied eels and lampreys sat next to steaming dishes of prawns and muscles. Haunches of venison, kid, and lamb stood at the center surrounded by vegetable dishes which had been prepared with the new and extremely expensive spices from the South Seas. Some were hot like curry and cayenne pepper, others had pungent odors like cloves and cinnamon. Game pies, rabbit pies, and huge Cornish pasties cut into great slabs tempted those with heartier appetites, while others preferred the sweet desserts such as custard laced with nutmeg or traditional English trifle smothered with yellow, clotted Devon cream.
Since Queen Catherine had come over from Portugal, port wine was fast replacing claret as the wine of choice, and of course the ale and cider flowed freely.
The King spent time with his gracious hostess, the new Countess of Bath, and the Countess of Castlemaine’s eyes narrowed in jealousy. Barbara was gowned in royal purple, her décolletage displaying a magnificent set of amethysts, and she thought their hostess looked insipid in her white gown and pearl necklace. However, she knew the pearls were priceless and had been handed down for generations.
Later, when Barbara saw her cousin Buckingham standing beside their hostess, she jostled his arm so that he splashed the Countess of Bath with port.
“‘Sdeath, George, they said you weren’t fit to dine with pigs, but I defended you; I said, oh yes he is!” Those about edged closer, hoping to see the promised display of fireworks early. The Villiers cousins in a perverse way enjoyed besting each other in witty banter, but Buckingham usually came out ahead because there was no level to which he would not stoop. He apologized smoothly to Lady Grenvile. “Forgive me, dear lady, for my clumsiness, but upon your lovely white gown the wine looks like your heraldic crest—a scarlet banner with three gold rests.” He loved to display his knowledge of England’s aristocracy. “You exemplify your noble family motto.”
Barbara was put out because she had no family motto or sentence adopted as a rule of conduct. She smiled smugly and drawled, “The King and I were discussing which crest I should adopt. I rather fancy a swan holding a golden horseshoe.”
Here was Buckingham’s chance to put Barbara in her place with his cruel wit and he didn’t disappoint his audience. “I have the perfect motto for you Barbara. If it swells, ride it.’”
Bess Maitland’s coarse laughter rang out and she smacked Barbara on the back in appreciation. “’Sblood, top that one, if ye can.” The smack unfortunately caused Barbara to swallow a fish bone, which rendered her speechless for fifteen minutes. A rare respite for her friends and enemies alike, one wag commented later.
The King was trying to enjoy Lady Helford’s company but Summer was amazed at the number of courtiers who approached the King asking favors. When they were alone, she looked up at him and said, “Everyone wants something. I’m beginning to realize being a king isn’t always enviable.”
He smiled at her slowly, lazily, “I learned that from my father.”
She looked into his eyes, which for all their cynicism were strangely tender, and she said softly, “I’m sorry, you’ve sacrificed so much for everyone, yet still they ask more of you.”
“My sweetheart, you are wrong,” he said sadly. “Every man in this room lost his father to the Stuart cause, and most of them sacrificed their lands and wealth to fight the enemy. Then, when we failed, a good number accompanied me into exile.” He shook his head. “So gallant … so loyal … all my children … now I can deny them nothing.”
Her eyes sought out her husband’s powerful figure. He was one of these gallant men the King revered. She realized as their eyes met that Ruark had been watching her with the King. Suddenly she didn’t want to pay him back for squeezing her hand to teach her manners, and she certainly didn’t want to make him jealous of the King. He looked across the room at her hungrily and she put her fingertips to her lips and blew him a kiss and a promise.
The musicians with their lutes, citherns, and harpsichords were now assembled in the ballroom and group by group the guests wandered in, drawn by the magic of the music.
The King opened the ball, dancing with his hostess, the Countess of Bath. Her husband, Jack, partnered the Countess of Castlemaine, and the rest of the guests chose their partners. The Cornwall people chose to dance with their husbands and wives, while the London people chose anyone but.
It was a minuet, slow and stately, and when the stilted figures were complete, the ladies were passed on to another partner. Ruark reluctantly passed Summer over to Charles and partnered Jack Grenvile’s wife. The King looked at Summer with deep appreciation. “Keep count of how many propositions you receive. I shall be most interested.” She wagged her finger at him for teasing her and he laughed delightedly.
After the minuet came a slow pavane. It was a good dance for carrying on a conversation, not like the courante with its quick running and gliding steps, and Summer was asked to partner Bunny Grenvile. She smiled up at her husband’s friend and said, “Do all the Grenviles have that attractive auburn hair, my lord?”
He whispered, “Yes, darling, upon our heads and in other interesting places. If you’d care to go for a little stroll with me, I’d be more than pleased to show you.”
Summer gave a shocked little “oh!” The King, still within earshot, turned and raised his eyebrows in a question. She nodded in answer and the King threw back his head and laughed.
Lord Buckhurst begged her for a dance. He had a decided stutter, but it didn’t inhibit his libido in any way. Before the dance ended he remarked, “Your b-bridegroom is much older than you, d-dearest Lady Helford. Should you ever wish for d-diversion with a man your own age, I pray you will give me every c-consideration.”
“My dearest Lord Buckhurst, my husband has the most violent temper in England. Do you suppose it’s his age?” she asked innocently.
The King called for one of his favorite country dances, Cuckolds All Awry, and Summer found herself being swung high by the very loud and very Scottish Earl of Lauderdale. His hair flamed like a torch and Summer blushed as she pictured what he must look like undressed. As he lifted her a second time his hands slipped up to cup her breasts and he leered at her and said something totally incomprehensible to her. She knew he had suggested something, and she knew that suggestion was both lewd and lusty, but she hadn’t the faintest idea what it was. The King caught her eye and raised his eyebrows in question. Summer held up three fingers in reply and the King shouted, “Bravo!”
The men were all asking for a dance called the brawl, in which kissing was part of the routine. Summer found herself being swung up into strong arms and knew that Ruark had come to claim what was his. As their mouths fused, the world faded away and there were only two people who mattered in the whole world.
The dawn was gray as the footmen carried Lady Helford’s baggage downstairs to the awaiting traveling coach. Without doubt she had more pieces of luggage than any other guest, and the baggage rack plus the top of the coach were inadequate to carry everything. Some of the boxes would have to go inside and the lady would be forced to share the seat with Lord Helford.
She had thanked her gracious hostess the previous evening, knowing Lady Grenvile would not likely be abroad at the ungodly hour Ruark would get on the road. As she descended the stairs she saw Jack Grenvile in the hall below and called down to him; however, when she reached the bottom stair, she saw that it was not Jack. It was obvious to her, however, that this man was a Grenvile. He was somewhat older than Jack, with twice the arrogance in his aristocratic face, and Summer was most curious about him. “I’m sorry, milord, it seems I have mixed up one Grenvile with another.”
She held out her hand, but the man said coldly, “Madame, you are mistaken,” and brushed past her.
“What an uncouth wretch,” she muttered, “and what a miserable day for traveling.”
The previous night’s festivities had lasted until four in the morning, then Ruark’s private entertainment had lasted another two hours and she had had no rest at all. As Ruark handed her into the carriage he noticed the dark smudges beneath her lovely eyes and experienced a pang of guilt at his selfishness. He gave his coachman some last-minute instructions and climbed in beside his wife. She put up her hand to stifle a yawn and he said, “Darling, I’ve exhausted you. You must learn to say no to me when I’m too demanding. Come, let me hold you while you try to sleep.”
She gave him a grateful look and snuggled down into his arms. She was asleep in five minutes.
