Loyal in Love: Henrietta Maria, Queen of Charles I

HENRIETTE

Oh yes, life had changed. My dream had come true. My son was now the King of England. I knew it could not be all joy and happiness but the great tragedy was at an end. I had no doubt that Charles would be able to hold the throne. He was not like his father. He lacked the strong moral attitudes; he had shown more than once that he would never cling rigidly to controversial doctrines if by doing so he endangered himself and his throne. He had said he had no intention of wandering again and he meant it. The people adored him already as they never had his father. How strange life was! The good man—moral, religious, virtuous in every way—failed to win them, and yet my son with his ugly looks and excessive charm of manner, his easygoing acceptance of whatever life had to offer, won their hearts in a matter of days. They loved him for his sins—for his love affairs were notorious—as they had never loved his father for his virtues.

It was wonderful for me and for Henriette to hold up our heads again.

Henriette was longing to go to London but I held off for a while as a very interesting situation had arisen.

I had greatly enjoyed the entry into Paris of Louis and his bride Marie Theresa—a rather insipid girl who made me feel how much happier it would have been for everyone if Louis and Anne had not been in such a hurry and had waited until Charles’s restoration which would have made my Henriette an acceptable bride.

However, in spite of that disappointment it was a great joy to be no longer a poor supplicant.

Henriette and I sat with the Queen on a balcony of the Hôtel de Beauvais, the canopy of crimson velvet over us—completely royal now. I was proud to be of a similar rank to Anne—mothers, both of us, of reigning sovereigns and nothing to choose between us.

What a magnificent procession it was—magistrates, musketeers, heralds and the grand equerry holding the royal sword in its scabbard of blue velvet decorated with the golden fleurs-de-lis. And then there was Louis—a king for any country to be proud of, looking magnificently regal seated on his bay horse with a brocaded canopy held over him.

The people cheered him wildly. I felt proud of my nephew and I was thinking of course of that other King who had made such another entry into his capital city a short time ago. Louis looked like a god in silver lace covered with pearls, the elegant plumes in his hat—which was pinned on by a large diamond brooch—falling over his shoulders. Behind him rode Philippe and I could not look at him without speculation. He was not the first prize, of course, but he was a worthy second. He looked very handsome; he was in fact better looking than his brother though he lacked Louis’s manliness. He was also in silver most beautifully embroidered with jewels scintillating from his person. I looked sharply at Henriette. She was gazing ahead at Louis. Perhaps a little wistfully. I was not sure.

The bride came next—not nearly beautiful and elegant enough for Louis. And to think it might have been Henriette riding there, Queen of France! If only they had had the good sense to wait. My Henriette was not such an undesirable proposition now.

Marie Theresa’s coach was covered in gold lace and she herself was dressed in material which looked like gold. She looked quite beautiful—and who would not, so attired and in such a setting?—but a little coarse if one looked closely. And how elegant and ethereal my little one would have looked. I should not have dressed her in gold either. It was faintly vulgar and the bride wore too many jewels of contrasting colors. I should have dressed Henriette in silver and her only jewels would have been diamonds.

But what was the use? The prize had gone to that little Spanish Infanta. They would regret it, I knew.

Now I was laughing to myself for behind the bride’s coach came that of the Princesses of France and there sat the Grande Mademoiselle. She glanced up as she passed so that we were able to exchange glances. I smiled at her sardonically and managed to infuse a certain condolence into the smile. She would have interpreted it and not been very pleased, I knew. I was implying: “My poor dear niece, so you have missed again. Dear, dear, are we ever going to find a husband for you?”

I guessed now that she would have her eyes on Philippe. Oh no. That must not be. The daughter of a king is of far greater standing than the daughter of the brother of a king—particularly one who had disgraced himself by becoming involved with the Fronde.

The King was on a level with the balcony now and he paused to salute us. I noticed that his eyes lingered on Henriette and hers on him. They smiled at each other almost tenderly.

I was filled with chagrin.

Too late, I thought angrily. This is another mocking trick which fate has played on me.

Queen Anne embraced me warmly. It was the day after Louis’s entry with his bride. She was smiling as she did when she had something pleasant to convey.

She said: “I have been made so happy. My son Philippe has been talking to me. He is in love and wishes to marry.”

My heart started to bounce about in a most uncomfortable way. It must be Henriette. If it were not she could not look so happy.

I tried to steady myself and she went on: “He wishes to marry Henriette.”

I was wildly happy. If it could not be Louis—and that was now quite out of the question—then Philippe was the next best chance. My little Henriette would be the third lady in France and if Louis were to die without heirs—but that little Spaniard did look as though she might be fertile—my Henriette could still be Queen of France.

“I am so delighted,” Anne was saying, “and he is so much in love.”

It was hard to imagine Philippe’s being in love with anyone but himself, although he might spare some affection for that close friend of his, the Comte de Guiche, a young and extremely handsome nobleman, who had been married at a very early age to the heiress of the House of Sully though he had never shown much interest in his bride, except with regard to her fortune, and was delighted to be Philippe’s close friend.

However he was the brother of the King—next in line to the throne at the moment, and Henriette had known him for most of her life. When she married she would not have to go away. I should not lose her. To say the least I was delighted with the prospect.

Anne knew I should be and rejoiced with me.

“Louis has given his consent to the match and the Cardinal is in favor of it.”

Of course he would be, the old fox, I thought. Close ties with Spain through Louis’s marriage and with England through that of Henriette and Philippe.

It was what I wanted though, what I had angled for, and I had learned most bitterly through the latter part of my life that if you cannot get your heart’s desire you must settle for the next best thing.

There was another reason for my pleasure. I knew the Grande Mademoiselle had wanted Philippe when Louis was out of her reach, so this was a blow for her. I really did believe she was never going to get a husband and I could not wait to see her face when she heard that Philippe and Henriette were betrothed.

Henriette was less enthusiastic about the proposed marriage. It was often difficult to know what my daughter was thinking. She looked rather sad and said: “Does Philippe really want to marry…and to marry me?”

“Of course he wants to marry. It is his duty. Why, if his brother died tomorrow he could be King of France.”

“Dear Mam, you should not say such things.”

“So even you are telling me now what I should say and what I should not say. I begin to believe that I have brought a family of tutors into the world.”

She kissed me and said she knew how I had always loved and cared for my family and if I wished it and Philippe wished it she supposed she must marry him.

“My dear daughter,” I cried, “you do not sound very appreciative of the second best match in France.”

“I think I would have chosen not to marry for a while. I have a great fancy to go to England and to be near Charles.”

“Charles is the King and it is right that you should love and admire him, but he is only your brother, remember. You have your own life to lead.”

“But we are going to England.”

“We are. As soon as I have made sure that the betrothal is firm, we shall visit your brother and then we shall come back for the wedding…your wedding, my dear child. I shall see my son on his throne and my best-loved child married. I really begin to see a great deal of brightness in the sky. It has been so dark…so very dark…for such a long time.”

Enjoyable weeks followed. I reveled in the preparations and tried not to think of the sea voyage which I always loathed. But it would be worthwhile this time. I had had the pleasure of a little conversation with Mademoiselle who was beside herself with jealousy of Henriette. She called on me and I was sure there was a purpose in this for in view of the betrothal I should have thought she would have wanted to keep out of the way.

“You have come to congratulate me,” I said slyly, knowing it was the last thing she would come to do.

“You must be very pleased that your plans have at last borne fruit,” she said.

“Plans!” I said opening my eyes very wide. “I had no plans. I can tell you, niece, I was amazed when the Queen told me that Philippe had declared his love for Henriette and had stated that he would have no other for his wife.”

“It must have been a surprise,” she said. “One would not have thought Philippe had time to consider such matters, he being so preoccupied with his dear friend de Guiche.”

“Oh, he has had his eyes on Henriette for a long time. The dear child is overjoyed. I wish I could let you know how delightful it is to be loved by such a man.”

There was a slightly strained look on her face. “I hear you are planning to visit London.”

“That is our intention. Then we shall return and the wedding will take place.”

“How fares the King of England?”

“Well…well indeed.”

“I daresay he remembers his days here in Paris…and some of his old friends. It is a pity to let old friends disappear. I should like to see the King again.”

I smiled to myself. So that is it, is it? No Louis. No Philippe. Let’s try Charles.

Oh no, my dear Mademoiselle. It is too late now. Then he was an exiled Prince. You declined him. Now he is the King of England—and the most desirable bachelor in Europe. Poor Mademoiselle, you have failed again. Too late. You should have taken a chance.

She looked so forlorn and so clearly aging that I felt almost sorry for her. But she was not for Charles now—in spite of all her money.

A visit to London in the present circumstances should have been pure delight; but life never worked out quite like that for me.

As we were on the point of departure news came from England which completely stunned me. I read the dispatch through and could not believe it. I read it again and again. There was no mistake. This terrible thing had happened.

Henriette came in and found me almost dazed by the shock.

She sat beside me and took my hand. I snatched it away. My fury was so great that it would be restrained no longer.

“I cannot believe it,” I cried. “I simply cannot believe it.”

“Charles…” she murmured turning pale.

“Charles!” I spat out. “He has given his consent to this folly. Are they all mad?”

She begged me to tell her what had happened and I cried out: “It is your brother James. He has married that scheming harlot, Anne Hyde. That rogue, her father, has planned this, you can be sure. Without my consent…without the King’s consent…he married her in secret.”

“He must love her dearly,” said Henriette a little wistfully.

I could have struck her—yes, even my best-loved child.

“Love!” I cried. “She has trapped him. I saw it from the first. Mary should never have taken her into her Court. She should never have brought her to Paris in the first place. This is disaster. My son James…married to that woman…and just in time it seems that her bastard may be born in wedlock.”

“James would want his own child to be born in wedlock, Mam.”

“She wanted it. A child. It has gone as far as that. If only I had been there. Charles should have stopped it.”

“But they did it in secret.”

“And your brother Charles is actually receiving the woman at his Court.”

“It is because she is James’s wife, Mam.”

“James’s harlot! Thank God we shall soon be in England. I may be able to put a stop to all this. We might get the marriage annulled. And Charles…allowing it all, shrugging his shoulders and telling them to go their merry ways…. He will lose his crown if he is not careful.”

Henriette was fierce as always when anything derogatory was said about Charles. “I think his kindness and good humor will help him to keep it, Mam.”

I could have shaken her. Was she suggesting that her father lost his crown because he was not like her brother? I turned away from her and she said pleadingly: “Mam, we must be kind to James’s wife.”

I retorted stonily: “James has no wife as far as I am concerned.”

She was silent for some time and then she said, perhaps thinking to turn me away from my rage, “And there is Henry.”

I stared at her in anger, which she had succeeded in increasing.

“He will be there, Mam, and you remember you parted bad friends.”

“I remember what a disobedient boy he was. He defied me and I vowed I would not look on his face again.”

“He will be at Court. Charles loves him dearly and has told me that he has done good service for him. Mam, could you not forget all that? Could you not be friends? It would so please Charles, and Henry is your son.”

“I vowed to the saints that I would never see Henry until he became a Catholic. He never has done so and until he does I shall not see him for I would not break my vow.”

For once Henriette became quite fierce. “You would spurn your own child, you would hurt your son, the King, for the sake of a vow.”

“A vow made to God, child.”

She turned away and did not speak. I could not bear that she, my beloved one, should be on bad terms with me and I said her name softly. She turned back to me and threw herself into my arms.

There were tears on her cheeks.

“There, my little one,” I said, “we must not storm against each other. I must be able to rely on my little Henriette.”

“Mam, then you will see Henry?”

“No, child, I do not break my vows.”

So this much-looked-forward-to visit was to be marred by James’s wicked act and Henry’s stubbornness. It was not the Roundheads who were making me unhappy now; it was my own family.

There was another blow waiting for me.

We had set out for Calais when we received dispatches from London. An epidemic of small pox had invaded the capital and had claimed a number of victims. One of these was my son Henry.

I felt completely numb when I read that. We had been talking of him so recently and I was preparing myself to refuse to see him. Now I never could. Never again. I remembered when he had been born, what pleasure his coming had given Charles and me; and then our bitter quarrel and how he had defied me and how I had turned him away…stripped him of his food and lodging, even ordered that the sheets should be taken from his bed to show him that there was no home for him with me.

Poor Henriette, she was stricken with grief. It was a long time since she had seen Henry, but she had a strong family feeling and she was particularly upset on my account because she felt that I would reproach myself.

It was some time before she could bring herself to talk of it. Then she said: “Dear Mam, you must not blame yourself.”

“Blame myself?” I cried. “Why should I?”

“Because he died while there was this quarrel between you…because you parted in anger.”

“My dear child, everything I did was for his good. If he had embraced our Faith we should have been as happy together as you and I have been. I am not sorry that I kept to my vow. Haven’t the nuns taught you that vows are sacred when made to God?”

“Perhaps God would have forgiven you for breaking this one if you had had the chance.”

“I have nothing with which to reproach myself,” I said firmly. “Everything I did was for his good.”

But when I was alone I wept for him, wept inconsolably, for I could only remember my little baby whom I had once loved so dearly, and thinking of him—brave boy that he was—I realized that he believed he had been right too. It was religion which had divided us, and religion had played a major part in all that had happened to me.

The fact remained I had lost a son; I had lost my daughter Elizabeth; and both of them had died heretics.

I prayed for them that they might be forgiven.

“It was not their fault,” I said. “They were brought up to be heretics.”

That was what upset me, I tried to tell myself. But it was not entirely true.

James came to Calais to meet us with a squadron of ships. James was now becoming renowned for his seamanship.

He embraced me warmly. He looked jaunty and handsome and said nothing about Anne Hyde. Nor did I. But I had made up my mind that as soon as I could I would have a private word with Charles. I would put a stop to that little adventure. My son was not going to marry a nobody; nor was he going to give her child his name if I could help it.

But at the moment my handsome son James had come to escort me across the Channel and I gave myself up to the pleasure of returning to England in the manner which I had always dreamed of doing.

The sea was unusually calm. How different from the face it usually showed me! So there was no sickness for which I was extremely grateful, but the crossing took two whole days because we were becalmed. However, in due course those white cliffs came into sight and I was filled with emotion thinking of the last time I had seen them and that brought back poignant memories of my beloved Charles.

Waiting for us, surrounded by a glittering assembly, was that other Charles. I was proud of him. He seemed to have grown taller but that was probably because I had not seen him for some time. He was very gracious and charming to me and his eyes shone with affection when they rested on Henriette.

Crowds had gathered on the seashore to see the meeting. I thought the cheers were not quite so spontaneous for me as they were for the King and James, but it was clear that Henriette delighted them and the people were pleased to see Charles’s affection for her.

Inside the castle a banquet had been prepared for us and I sat on one side of Charles, Henriette on the other. Charles told us that Mary was on her way to England and it would make him very happy to have the entire family together.

Later we talked privately and I asked about Henry. Charles had been present at his death, which was rather foolish of him, I pointed out. Henry had died of small pox which was highly contagious. What if Charles had caught it and succumbed? Had he thought what would happen to England without a king?

“James would be waiting to step into my shoes, Mam.”

“The people would never accept him with that woman as his wife. How could you allow that, Charles?”

“Who am I to stand in the way of true love?” He could be very flippant but there were warning lights in his eyes. Charles had always been very fond of his sisters and brothers and hated family quarrels. But I was not going to be told what I must and must not do by my own son.

I repeated that he should not have risked his life by being with Henry but as he was there I should like to know if Henry had mentioned me on his death bed.

“Yes,” said Charles coolly, “he did. He was grieved always because of the disagreement between you and how it had been when you were last together.”

I nodded. “I thought he would be sorry in time.”

“I told him he should not grieve. I pointed out to him that if he had done what you wanted him to he would have broken his word to his father and gone against his own conscience. I assured him that in God’s eyes he had done the right thing.”

“The right thing! He died a heretic. If he had listened to me….”

“Somehow, Mam, I do not think the good Lord will be as hard on him as you have been.”

I protested but there was something about Charles which warned me that it would be unwise to continue. He could be very much the King at times.

He looked at me sadly for a moment and then he said: “The years of exile have taught you nothing, Mam. Life is short. Let us enjoy it. Let there be no trouble in the heart of the family.”

Then he rose and left me. I could never really understand this son of mine. Of all my children he was the most difficult to know and had been ever since he was the serious little boy who had refused to give up the wooden toy he took to bed with him.

Henriette seemed happier than I had ever known her to be. She was so content to be at her brother’s Court and when Charles suggested that she arrange one of the ballets which were so popular at the Court of Louis XIV, she threw herself wholeheartedly into making the arrangements.

The Duke of Buckingham, that dissolute son of a father whom I had always believed to be evil, fell headlong in love with her. My dear child was a little bewildered at first and then appeared to enjoy the attentions of the young man. It was only a light flirtation, Buckingham having a wife and she being betrothed, and in any case she was a princess and he was only a duke so I did not attempt to reprove her. When I thought of the way she had been treated at the Court of France at one time, I thought it would do her no harm to realize that she was growing into a very attractive young woman.

Mary arrived and it was good to see her and we were for once in complete agreement for she was incensed when she heard about James’s marriage to Anne Hyde. I could not resist reminding her that she was the one who had allowed this folly to begin by making the upstart young woman a member of her household.

“How much better it would have been if you had taken my advice then,” I said.

She did not exactly agree, but she refused to receive Anne Hyde and the woman would have been very miserable indeed if Charles had not gone out of his way to be gracious to her.

The weeks began to fly past—very pleasant weeks. If only I could forget Henry’s death and Charles’s thinly veiled criticism of my treatment of him, and the fact that James had made this monstrous marriage, I could have been happy.

Anne Hyde’s child was a boy but a weakling and it did not look as though the child’s chances of survival would be great.

“James should have waited awhile,” I said. “Then the child might not have been a reason for the marriage.”

I was delighted when Sir Charles Berkeley declared that he had been Anne’s lover and that he knew of several other gentlemen who had shared her favors and that it was therefore by no means certain that the father of the child was James.

I wanted to confront James with that evidence, but he had already heard it and was so upset that he became quite ill and went down with a fever. We were all afraid that he might be another victim of small pox.

Anne Hyde was completely ostracized now. Her father was upset and even he railed against her, and she had no friends at Court at all. I wanted Charles to dismiss her father—who was now the Earl of Clarendon—but he would not do so. Clarendon was an excellent Chancellor, he said, and was not to be blamed for his daughter’s affairs.

Christmas was almost upon us. Charles had insisted that we stay for the festivities and I was nothing loath. I was delighted to be on better terms with Mary and it was wonderful to see Henriette blossoming, leading the dancing and amusing herself with the Duke of Buckingham.

Then about five days before Christmas Mary became ill. She had been feeling unwell for some days and thought this was due to some minor cause. My distress was great when the doctors reported that she was suffering from small pox.

Charles said I was to leave Whitehall at once with Henriette. “Take her to St. James’s,” he said, “and stay there with her.”

“Henriette shall go to St. James’s,” I declared, “but I shall stay and nurse Mary.”

“You must not go to the sick room,” Charles retorted firmly.

“My dear Charles,” I replied, “King you may be, but you are my son and this is my daughter. If she is sick I must be with her.”

“Do you realize that you could catch the disease?”

“Of course I know what small pox is. I want to be with my daughter. She will need me.”

“Mam,” he said slowly, “this is no time for deathbed conversions. Mary is ill. She is too sick to be troubled with your views on what will happen to her soul.”

“I want to nurse her.”

“How could you do that? Go back to Henriette. You would never forgive yourself if you caught the disease and passed it on to her.”

That really did frighten me. The thought of anything happening to my precious child made me waver. On the other hand Mary was my daughter too. Henry had just died, a heretic. Mary might die one too, if nothing was done.

Charles said quietly: “It would be dangerous. Besides, I forbid it.”

So I went to St. James’s and told Henriette that her sister was gravely ill, and we prayed for her recovery adding that if she were destined to die let her come to an understanding of the truth that she might not, like her brother Henry, die a heretic.

Alas our prayers were not answered and on Christmas Eve Mary passed away. She was only twenty-nine years old.

Charles was with her at the end. He was very shaken. He was very fond of his family, particularly his sisters.

I was in tears. “It seems as though God has determined to punish me,” I cried. “Is there a blight on my family? Elizabeth…then Henry…now Mary. Why? Why?”

“Who can say?” answered Charles. “But there is something I wish to tell you. When she was dying Mary was very concerned about one matter.”

I turned to him, my eyes shining.

“No…no…” he went on a little impatiently, “it is nothing to do with religion. It was Anne Hyde. Mary had a good deal on her conscience.”

“I know,” I said. “If she had not taken that woman into her household…. I told her she was wrong at the time.”

“No, Mam,” said Charles. “She did not mean that. She was upset because she had maligned Anne. She said she had helped to spread the gossip about her when in her heart she did not believe that it was true. She believed that James loved Anne and Anne truly loved James and that James had given her a promise of marriage before she became his mistress.”

“She was delirious.”

“She was quite clear in her head. She thought that there were people who had fabricated those stories about Anne because they knew it was an unpopular marriage. Mary blamed herself most bitterly. She wanted Anne to come to her that she might beg her forgiveness. I could not allow Anne, with a new baby, to come to the sick bed.”

“I should think not….”

“The infectious nature of the disease prevented that,” he went on firmly. “But I shall go to Anne and tell her that the Princess Mary craved her pardon and that I give it on her behalf.”

“I never heard such nonsense.”

He just smiled at me and said no more.

Our next concern was James. He was becoming very ill.

“That woman is a witch,” I said to Henriette. “First she lured him into marriage and now because he disowns her she is willing him to die.”

Henriette did not answer. I could not understand Henriette. The quiet girl who had been so thin—Louis had referred to her as the Bones of the Holy Innocents—now in clothes which were worthy of her had blossomed into a beauty. Her fragility had become fashionable and ladies of the Court were trying to suppress those protuberances which at one time they had been at great pains to display. Henriette was at the center of all the entertainments, with Buckingham in attendance. In fact there was some scandalous gossip about them. I had to make sure that nothing dangerous could come of that. Charles doted on her and was making as much of her as he did of his favorite mistress Barbara Castlemaine, and knowing his insatiable sexuality, some even dared hint at the most objectionable slander about his relationship with Henriette.

It was a situation to be watched closely and I told myself that as soon as we reached France Henriette must be married to Philippe, who was now the Duc d’Orléans on the death of my brother Gaston. His death did not affect me greatly because, although we had been close as children in the nursery, his involvement in the Fronde had turned me against him.

James’s health began to give us cause for alarm. He was not, fortunately, suffering from the small pox, but I really believed he was so upset because he was regretting his marriage to that woman and was now realizing in what an unsavory involvement he had become entangled.

The doctors thought his malady had been brought about through emotional stress and Sir Charles Berkeley created quite a furor when he burst into James’s bedchamber, threw himself on his knees, and declared that the accusations he had made against Anne Hyde were false. She was a pure woman and had never had any lover other than James. Berkeley had prevailed upon other men to join with him in accusing her and they had done this because they thought the Duke of York would be happier if the marriage were dissolved and he could make another more suitable to his position.

The news spread round the Court. Anne Hyde was vindicated. James quickly recovered, which proved it was the slander about Anne Hyde which had so upset him that he became ill.

Charles was pleased about this and said that Anne must come back to Court and there must be a christening for her son.

He then came to tell me what had happened.

“So,” I said, “you are bringing her to Court. Is that what you are telling me?”

“That is so,” he answered, “and I am very happy at this outcome. Anne is a woman of great wit and excellent parts. She will take advice from her father and be a good influence on James—who is in need of it.”

“When you have finished singing her praises let me tell you that if this woman enters Whitehall by one door, I shall go out by another.”

Charles was angry. “I have long known that you cannot exist in peace,” he said coldly. “If it is forced on you, you will immediately set out raising storms.”

He left me then.

I sighed. What difficult children I had! They either died or defied me.

Charles was very cool and made no attempt to prevent the preparations I was making to return to France. Moreover he insisted on bringing Anne Hyde to Court, which meant of course that I must leave. Henriette was heartbroken. No one would have thought she was going back to a brilliant marriage. She said she would be loath to tear herself away from England and her brother and she went about with a woebegone face. But I considered I had been insulted. My son had given preference to a woman of no standing who had brought a child into the world which had come near to being a bastard—and in any case she was not of the rank to mate with royalty. And for this woman he was turning his own mother out of Court!

Henriette explained with exasperating patience that he was not turning me out. I was going of my own free will.

I said: “He leaves me no alternative. He forgets that though he is a king I am a queen…and his mother.”

“He does not forget, Mam. He is grieved that you are going like this.”

“A strange way of showing grief! All he has to do is not receive that woman and I will postpone my departure.”

“He can’t do that. She is James’s wife.”

“Wife! To how many men has she been what you call a wife?”

“But they have all confessed to lying about her. I think they are despicable…every one of them.”

I turned away. Even Henriette was against me.

A few days before I was to leave a messenger came from France. News of what had happened had reached the Court there, for scandalous news always traveled faster than any other. The letter was from Mazarin and was very discreetly worded, but I read the meaning between the lines and there could be no mistaking their intent. He clearly implied that if I quarreled with my son I should not be very welcome in France. The fact was that Charles had given both me and Henriette handsome pensions and had promised a sizable dowry for Henriette, and Mazarin doubted Charles would pay this if there was a rift between us. And would Philippe want to marry Henriette without a dowry? It was the return of Charles to the throne which had made Henriette so desirable.

I was in a dilemma. What could I do? Hold up my pride and return to France…a beggar almost, for it might well be that our money from England would not be paid. No dowry for Henriette! Charles might be pleased for his favorite sister to stay in England and I knew she would like that very much. No, I could not exist again as I had all those years depending on the charity of others, and in my heart I felt I might be in danger of doing so if I did not remain on good terms with my son; and I certainly should not be if I left England as I was proposing to do.

The only alternative was to accept Anne Hyde. So I agreed to receive the woman.

I shall never forget the scene of my humiliation. Charles must have decided not to spare me. It could have been done more quietly but Charles pointed out that it must be seen to be done.

I was obliged to ask my son James, most formally, to bring his wife to my bedchamber that I might receive her. Naturally, because so many knew what had gone before, my bedchamber was crowded with busy-bodies who had come to witness the reconciliation.

I was furious and all the time had to keep reminding myself of the old days of humiliation and that on no account must they recur. It was blackmail. Still I had worked hard for my husband; I could do the same for my daughter.

When the woman came with James it was less difficult than I had anticipated, for she showed no triumph or aggression and was in fact most humble. I had sent Henriette away as I did not want her to see me act as I should have to. My excuse was that with the small pox epidemic raging I feared there might be danger for her among so many people.

Anne Hyde knelt to me most deferentially when James presented her and I bent over and kissed her. She was a pleasant-looking young woman with, I had to admit, an open honest face. If she had been of nobler birth I could easily have accepted her.

I did feel a twinge of gratitude to her for making my task slightly easier than it could have been. I led her into the anteroom and with her on one side and James on the other we made our way through the press of courtiers and sat down and talked a little.

I asked about the baby whom they were going to call Charles, and James asked if I would be a godmother. I said I would.

Then I had done all that was required of me, I thought. But it appeared not quite, for Charles wanted me to receive the Earl of Clarendon, which I did, although I had always disliked the man and more so since the trouble with his daughter had arisen.

He was very respectful to me and I told him that I was happy to be a mother to his daughter. Then I hinted that in return for my capitulation he should do all he could for me. He knew what I meant, for he was a most astute man and as Chancellor had a great influence in the country. What I was implying was that there should be no holding back of Henriette’s dowry and our pensions.

I felt exhausted after the interview, but I was aware that Clarendon was very pleased at the outcome and I trusted him to do what he had promised for me.

The day after the public reconciliation we prepared to leave for France and then I had my greatest fright, for I greatly feared that in spite of my efforts to protect Henriette she too might have caught the small pox which had carried off her brother and sister. No sooner had we left Portsmouth and were indeed still in sight of the harbor than Henriette became violently ill. I was terrified because this was not due to the sea. I consulted with the Captain and persuaded him to take the ship back into port. My daughter was in need of the best possible medical attention.

He did this and I was faintly relieved to be back on shore. I sent a message to the King. He was most distressed and declared that nothing must be left undone to save Henriette.

To our great joy we discovered that she was suffering from measles and not small pox as we had feared and after fourteen anxious days we were ready to sail for France once more.

This time we made a good journey and landed safely at Le Havre.

What a welcome was given us! Our journey to Paris was slow as I did not want to go through Rouen, where I heard that small pox was rife. I had preserved my darling so far and had no intention of letting her take more risks.

It was a great joy to see Queen Anne again and to receive her warm welcome. Philippe seemed very much in love with Henriette and very jealous of the Duke of Buckingham, who had insisted on accompanying us because he could not tear himself away from Henriette. However we managed to subdue Philippe’s jealousy. Louis was very gracious to us and made it clear that he loved Henriette very much. There were rumors of his interest in various young women at Court, but I had been right in realizing that after spurning Henriette when they were children he had come to see that special beauty of hers which made her different from the other ladies at Court.

Mazarin died suddenly to the great sorrow of the Queen and Louis. I guessed that would mean a period of Court mourning which would postpone the wedding. However, the dispensation from the Pope—which had been required because of the close relationship of Philippe and Henriette—arrived on the day the Cardinal died and Louis declared that perhaps preparations for the wedding should go on, although quietly.

It was at the end of March when the wedding took place. The ceremony was performed in a private chapel of the Palais Royal and my own dear Henry Jermyn—I had prevailed on Charles to create him Earl of St. Albans—stood as proxy for Charles.

My dear little Henriette, at seventeen years old, had become the Duchesse d’Orléans. I was very happy. Not the first prize…but the second…and I could always hope….

My fortunes must be changing. Charles was on the throne of England and seemed firmly seated there; and my little girl, the best loved of them all, had come through her delicate childhood, her severe illnesses, and was the second lady in France.