The Three Crowns Page 8

  A year had passed since the death of the Duchess of York and James was beginning to feel the need of domesticity. Often he thought tenderly of his late wife, recalling all the joys of the conjugal life and forgetting its restrictions. He was, he decided, not a man to live alone. Those days at Richmond, when he had believed himself to be going into a decline, and had lived quietly with his sick wife, their children about them, had been the happiest of his life. He forgot his infidelities, Anne’s jealousy, the scandals and trials. Looking back he saw them all about a great open fireplace playing games such as “I love my love with an A.” How proud he had been of Mary’s quickness, how indulgent of young Anne’s inability to find the right word! How he had prompted little Edgar! Oh, happy days! But how could he enjoy more like them without a wife?

  He had soon deceived himself into the belief that his had been the happiest marriage in the world. And the reason? He had married for love. Those early struggles against his family and Anne’s—how well worthwhile they had been.

  If I married again, he told himself, it would be for love.

  He did not at first recognize the charms of Susanna Armine, Lady Bellasis. She was neither very young nor very handsome. But one day something in her manner reminded him of his dead wife and the more he saw of her the more pronounced this likeness seemed to become and he began to picture her seated at a fireside with children around her.

  From that moment he started to fall in love and his resolutions not to marry again were swept away.

  He courted Susanna. At first the Court paid little heed, except to murmur that James had chosen a hard task because Susanna was known to be the most virtuous matron at Court. Charles looked on cynically. How like James, he thought; he would always make difficulties for himself. And why did he always select the least beautiful women!

  Susanna appeared at first to regard the Duke of York merely as a friend and because of the nature of his attachment James was content for a while that this should be so. He would talk to her of the loss he had sustained and she confided in him her own troubles.

  Her marriage had not been a happy one on account of her late husband’s fondness for drink.

  James condoled with her. “I, who was extremely happy in my marriage, can perhaps sympathize more deeply with those who had to make do with so much less.”

  “I thought I should never live through the disgrace,” sighed Susanna, “when they came home and told me he was dead. Killed in a duel—in itself a criminal act. He had taken too much to drink and … his opponent killed him.”

  James put his hand over hers. There were tears in his eyes.

  “How you must have suffered!”

  “Moreover my husband was a Catholic; and my son is being brought up in the same religion.”

  James was ardently enthusiastic. He did not think she should regard that with any misgivings; he would talk to her of his opinions which, she would understand, in view of his position must be kept as secret as possible. “But I feel none the less seriously for that,” he assured her.

  She was a member of the Church of England, she told him, and nothing would change her, because she was convinced there was one true faith and that was the one she would always follow.

  James was determined to convert her; she was determined to convert him; but far from making a rift between them, this drew them more closely together. She was his dear theologian, he told her; not even the Archbishops could put up such a case for the Church of England as she did, but he was going to demolish her arguments … one by one.

  In this he failed and he was almost glad to fail, for it seemed to him that never had he heard such brilliant discourse. He pictured hours at the domestic hearth when they would talk to each other of their feelings for religion and perhaps between them, come closer to the truth than any had ever come before, because he had to admit he was moved by her arguments. She was brilliant; she was sound; she was even beginning to shake his absolute faith.

  And that, he told himself, is what I need. Before I become a Catholic, I must be sure that I am entirely one. There are too many risks to be run for me to take this lightly. What a joy therefore to discuss with Susanna. He called her his confessor, his guide and comfort.

  This idyllic state of affairs could not go on.

  One day Susanna said to him: “I have heard rumors which distress me. Your Grace’s visits to me have been noted and I believe that we have become the subject of one of the Court lampoons. Doubtless my Lord Rochester is behind this for it is what one would expect of him.”

  James could not bear to see her distressed. “I will find out who did this and have him punished.”

  Susanna shook her head. “That will not stop the rumors. More likely will it strengthen them. Nay, you must not come here so frequently; and when you do come we must not be alone.”

  James was aghast. Not see Susanna! Not talk of what he called “their secret matter”! He could not endure such a state of affairs. But he agreed that it was intolerable that Susanna should be compared with those women of light morals who had been his mistresses.

  He made a decision. His first marriage had been for love. Why not his second?

  “Susanna,” he said, “will you marry me?”

  She was astonished. Marry the King’s brother who was heir presumptive to the throne? It was impossible. The King and the Parliament would never allow it. When James married it must be to some foreign princess, and the marriage would be for state reasons.

  “My dear,” murmured Susanna, “that which you suggest could not be.”

  “It shall be,” retorted James. “I married for love once and I shall do so again.”

  “It will never be permitted. I shall never forget the great honor Your Grace has done me, but I fear this is the end of our friendship. It breaks my heart and I know it saddens you. But the fact is without marriage we cannot be together as we wish; and I greatly fear that the King himself would forbid such a union.”

  “I was told this before, but I married as I wished. I swear to you I will do so again.”

  He kissed her tenderly, stemming his passion. He went to his apartments and wrote a promise of marriage which he sent to her without delay; and he made no secret of the fact that he had written it. He wanted the scandalmongering Court to know that Susanna Armine was not his mistress; nor ever should be, although he loved her so tenderly, because she was going to be his wife.

  The King sighed deeply when he heard the news. He sent for his brother.

  “James, James,” he cried, “what new folly is this? Do you seriously believe that a man in your position can marry the widow woman?”

  “If you are referring to Lady Bellasis …”

  The King raised his eyebrows. “To whom else should I refer? Don’t tell me you have given more promises of marriage to more widows?”

  “She is the only one I can ever marry.”

  Charles sighed with affected relief. “At least there is only one! No, James, this is out of the question.”

  “I have heard that tale before.”

  “Alas, so have we, and it grows a little more wearisome the second time than the first. You cannot make a fool of yourself again—not at your age, brother.”

  “I do not consider …”

  “Alas, you never do. A little more consideration, James, and you would be a better politician, a better future King, and perhaps a better sailor.”

  “I am in love with Susanna.”

  “I see you are indeed a lovesick boy. Now I pray you oblige me by going to your lady. Tell her that you will give her a house and land, a resounding title perhaps in time; but there will be no marriage. I am sure she will understand.”

  “She could not understand such a proposition. It is marriage or nothing.”

  “Alas, poor James, that it should be nothing as far as this good lady is concerned. Do not fret though. There are many fair ladies in the Court; some are very happy to accept a house and land … they will not ask for the ultimate sacrifice.”


  “Charles … I beg of you …”

  “Pray do not beg. I never could abide beggars. Leave me now and think on what I have said.”

  When James had gone Charles summoned certain ministers to his chamber. When they were assembled he said: “The Duke of York grows restive. It is time he married. Find a suitable bride for him, and we will get the matter settled as soon as possible.”

  When Susanna understood that if James married her against the wishes of the King and the country he might be rejected by them, she herself decided to break off their friendship.

  There was one last interview between them before James went off to join the Navy, for war with the Dutch had broken out again.

  “I see,” said Susanna, “that I can never be happy again. For if I married you I should continually reproach myself for the harm I had done you; and since I cannot, I shall think of you with longing all my life.”

  “Do not despair,” cried James. “Once I have beaten the Dutch I will fight for our happiness.”

  She smiled sadly, for she knew that he would not.

  She begged though to be allowed to keep his promise of marriage. It would be a little souvenir of the esteem in which he had held her and show the world that theirs had been an honorable relationship.

  He declared he would come back to her. They embraced affectionately. Then James went off to win the battle of Solebay and restore to the Navy some of its lost prestige.

  Meanwhile in London plans went ahead to marry the King’s brother with as little delay as possible.

  James, Duke of York, being the only living brother of the King and heir presumptive to the British throne, was one of the most desirable matches in Europe, but the negotiations for his marriage to a suitable lady were again and again frustrated.

  The first choice—favored by the French—was Madame de Guise, but James would not have her, complaining that she was short, ungainly, and did not enjoy good health so would be unlikely to bear him children. The second, Mademoiselle de Rais, he also declined for similar reasons. The Archduchess of Inspruck seemed an ideal choice as far as he was concerned, for she was a Catholic; and he sent off Henry Mordaunt, Earl of Peterborough, who was not only a servant but a friend, to make the necessary arrangements with all speed. Unhappily before the marriage could be completed the mother of the Archduchess died and she decided to choose her own husband. She chose the Emperor Leopold I.

  There were three other ladies who were considered suitable: these were the Princess Mary Anne of Wirtemburg, the Princess of Newburgh, and Mary Beatrice, Princess of Modena. These three were charming girls, but the most delightful of all was Mary Beatrice who was only fourteen years old.

  Peterborough first visited the Duke of Newburgh with the object of reporting to his master on his daughter. He found her charming, but a little fat—and since she was so now, he asked himself what she would be in ten or fifteen years’ time. He did not believe her worthy of his master, and as his object was known and he went away without completing arrangements for a marriage, this was never forgiven the Duke of York but remembered against him by the young lady for the rest of her life.

  A picture Peterborough acquired of Mary Beatrice enchanted him for it showed him a young girl of dark and startling beauty, but since she was not yet fifteen it had been decided that negotiations should go ahead for bringing the Princess of Wirtemburg to London.

  Mary Anne of Wirtemburg was living in a convent in Paris and hither Peterborough hastened, where he asked for an interview with the Princess and told her that her hand was being sought by James, Duke of York, heir presumptive to the British crown. Mary Anne, a gay young girl who found convent life irksome, was delighted, and being inexperienced unable to hide this fact. Peterborough was relieved, although he thought often of that lovely young girl who was by far the most beautiful of all the candidates.

  These negotiations however were destined to fail, for suddenly Peterborough had an urgent message to stop them.

  Having already informed Mary Anne that she was to marry the Duke, he was horrified by these instructions. It appeared that the King’s mistress, Louise de Kéroualle, who was now the Duchess of Portsmouth, had selected a candidate—the daughter of the Duc d’Elbœuf; and although the King guessed that his mistress’s plan was to bring her fellow-countrywoman into a position of influence that they might work together, so besotted was he that he allowed the negotiations already begun by Peterborough to be withdrawn.

  It was typical of Charles that while he listened to his mistress and made promises to give her what she asked, he should find an adequate excuse for not doing so.

  Mademoiselle d’Elbœuf he decided was too young for marriage to the Duke of York, being not yet thirteen; and James, being of more sober years, needed a woman who could be a wife to him without delay. So Louise de Kéroualle did not have her way as she had hoped; but at the same time it was impossible to reopen negotiations with Mary Anne of Wirtemburg.

  The Duke of York must be married. There was one candidate left. It was therefore decided that plans to marry James to Mary Beatrice of Modena should go forward without delay.

  When James saw the picture of Mary Beatrice he was completely captivated and felt faintly relieved—although he would not admit this—that Susanna had rejected him.

  When he showed it to Charles the King agreed that there was indeed a little beauty.

  “She reminds me of Hortense Mancini,” said Charles, nostalgically, “one of the most beautiful women I ever saw. You’re in luck, brother.”

  James believed that he was. “Why,” he said, “she cannot be much older than my daughter Mary.”

  “I can see you are all eagerness to have her in your bed.”

  James sighed: “I have a desire for domestic happiness. I want to see her at my fireside. I want her and Mary and Anne to be good friends.”

  Charles raised his eyebrows. “Spoken like a good bridegroom,” he said. “One thing has occurred to me. The Parliament will do all in its power to stop this marriage. Your little lady is a Catholic and they will not care for that.”

  “We must make sure that the matter is settled before Parliament meets,” said James.

  “I had thought of that,” Charles told him slyly.

  He wanted to ask: And how is Susanna at this time? But he did not. He was kind at heart; and he was relieved that James had come out of that madness so easily.

  Henry Mordaunt, Earl of Peterborough, Groom of the Stole to the Duke of York, had a task to his liking. He was going to Italy to bring home Mary Beatrice Anne Margaret Isobel, Princess of Modena, and although his previous missions of this nature had ended in failure, he was determined this should not; he was secretly delighted because as soon as he had seen the portrait of this Princess he had made up his mind that she was the ideal choice for his master.

  Peterborough was devoted to the Duke of York; he was one of the few who preferred him to his brother; and since Mary of Modena was quite the loveliest girl—if her picture did not lie—that he had ever seen, he wanted to bring her to England as the new Duchess of York.

  James had pointed out to him the necessity for haste. “Because,” James had declared, “unless the marriage has been performed before the next session of Parliament, depend upon it they will make an issue of the fact that she is a Catholic and forbid it to take place.”

  Peterborough had therefore left England in secrecy; he was, he let it be thought, a private gentleman traveling abroad for his own business.

  When he reached Lyons after several days, and rested there for a night before proceeding, he was received with the attention bestowed on wealthy English travelers, but without that special interest and extra care which a messenger from the Duke of York to the Court of Modena would have received. He planned to be off early next morning that very soon he might be in Italy.

  While he was resting in his room a servant came to tell him that a messenger was below and would speak with him. Peterborough asked that the man be broug
ht to his room, thinking that a dispatch had followed him from England. To his surprise it was an Italian who entered.

  “I come, my lord,” he said, “with a letter from Modena.”

  Peterborough was aghast. How did the writer of the letter know he was on his way to the Court. Who had betrayed his mission?

  He took the letter and the messenger retired while he read it, but the words seemed meaningless until he had done so several times.

  “The Duchess of Modena has heard of your intention to come here to negotiate a marriage for her daughter Mary Beatrice Anne Margaret Isobel, and wishes to warn you that her daughter has no inclination toward marriage, and that she has resolved to enter a convent and lead a religious life. I thought I must give you this warning, that you may convey to your Master His Majesty King Charles the Second and His Royal Highness the Duke of York, that while the house of Esté is very much aware of the honor done it, this marriage could never be.” This was signed “Nardi,” Secretary of State to the Duchess of Modena.

  Peterborough was bewildered. His secret mission known! And moreover the Duchess already declining the hand of the Duke of York for her daughter!

  And these messengers, what did they know of the contents of the letters? Was the project being discussed in Modena and throughout the countryside? Was this going to be yet another plan that failed?

  Peterborough was determined that this should not be.

  He asked that the messenger be sent to him and found that there were three of them. He offered them refreshment in his room.

  While they drank together, he said: “It is strange that the Duchess of Modena should think it necessary to write to me. I am only a traveler who is curious to see Italy.”

  But of course they did not believe him; and as soon as they had left him he sat down to write to Charles and James, to tell them of this incident.