Dusk cloaked the garden. An unearthly calm spread beneath the trees, scented with violet and peony. Leaves whispered above Henrietta and her dogs as they walked in the growing darkness. It was a blessing to be out in the fresh air again. Marquise trotted under the hedges with her nose to the dirt. Fop kept a steady pace behind. Now and then he gazed back over his shoulder to check Henrietta was still there.
She did not feel completely safe outside, but a year of hiding in the shadows was enough. She needed to stop cowering from Charles and start to live. She had taken so much time away from her duties at court that she feared her position would be usurped. Her power was fading. George was looking elsewhere for his pleasure. Since her departure, Caroline had given birth to another daughter, Mary, and showed signs of breeding yet again. There was nothing for it. She would have to muster all her courage and return, whatever the risk. If she lost her place at court, she would be back where she started: poor, dependant on charity. And there was only so long her welcome at Petersham would last.
‘Mrs Howard.’ A male voice made her shriek. She whirled round and saw a man dressed all in black except for his shirt and stock, which glowed in the dull light. He had a satchel tucked under one arm and held a scroll of paper. Fop growled from the depths of his throat.
‘Sir?’
‘Do not be alarmed, madam. I hoped to find you alone. I am sent by the prince.’
‘Oh.’
He reached into his pocket and gave her a parcel wrapped in linen. ‘These are jewels. You will find gilt plate in your apartments when you return to court.’
She took the package in her hands, bewildered. It felt heavy. ‘For me? To what do I owe – ’
The man interrupted her. ‘Please, madam. You must read these.’ Opening his satchel, he thrust documents into her hands. She squinted, but could barely make out a word in the twilight. ‘Eleven thousand, five hundred pounds in the stocks,’ he explained, seeing her difficulty. ‘And a shipload of mahogany.’
Henrietta stared at him. ‘I’m sorry, I have a little difficulty with my hearing. I thought you said eleven thousand – ’
‘– and five hundred pounds. That is correct, madam.’
The figure bounced about her mind, too enormous for comprehension. ‘Why, that’s enough to build a house! And mahogany? Does the prince intend . . .’ Her thoughts solidified. He was doing it. Her short-tempered, unromantic prince had not forgotten her; he was opening her cage. She remembered his expression as he spoke of his mother and understood. ‘God, if my husband ever finds – ’
He cleared his throat. ‘You will also see, when you have time to inspect the documents madam, certain clauses.’ He recited, ‘These are gifts with which Charles Howard shall not have anything to do. They are for Henrietta Howard to use or dispose of as she pleases as if she was sole and unmarried. Any premises to be purchased with these gifts will be for the sole and separate use and benefit of Henrietta Howard alone.’
‘He cannot touch them.’ She trembled, overcome. ‘You really mean it?’ Catching her glee, Marquise jumped up and planted her muddy paws on her skirt.
‘I mean it. I shall leave these with you, madam.’ He bowed his head. ‘I bid you goodnight, Mrs Howard.’ With a quiet tread he disappeared back into the shadows and the garden’s fragrant embrace.
Henrietta sank to her knees. She clutched the documents to her heart as the dogs tumbled about her. ‘We are safe,’ she whispered to them. ‘The prince has given us security. We will be free.’ Fop and Marquise regarded her with melting eyes. As the gloom deepened around them, a breeze cooled the trails of happy tears on her cheeks. ‘We will be free,’ she repeated, trying to believe it. A woman with property of her own. It was the rarest breed of creature; some said, against nature. But George had done it. He had broken all convention for her. ‘We will be free.’
Henrietta pushed past Gay and Pope with a tray of macaroons in her hands. She dodged around Dr Arbuthnot and Peter, the wild boy, who was chained to the door handle. The sight of the poor boy and his confused, animal eyes confirmed her resolution. If she did not take this step with the money George had given her, she would be forever like Peter: bound.
Chesterfield and Lady Betty stood before the table; she set down her offering in front of them. ‘Come, everyone, gather round and eat. I have some exciting news.’ They all regarded her. She felt a little breathless. When she spoke her plan out loud, it would sound recklessly bold. ‘My good Lord Ilay has just purchased eleven and a half acres of land on my behalf. It is at Marble Hill in Twickenham – near to you, Mr Pope.’
Her friends exchanged glances.
‘Whatever will you do with it?’ Chesterfield asked, his large head tilted.
Hope clutched her throat, turning her voice to a whisper. ‘Build.’
‘A house?’
‘Yes.’ Passing to the sideboard, she opened a drawer and gathered the plans together. ‘Look, here are the designs. Lord Argyll engaged a man to draw them for me.’ She spread them across the table, covering the macaroons. Here it was all just paper and pencil lines, but she could imagine her villa rising up from the ground in blazing white stucco. Somewhere to call her own. She had never been mistress of a real household – just a hole in Beak Street. She remembered her mother, shining like a beacon as the elegant hostess of Blickling Hall. Her chest clenched with longing.
‘Palladian style,’ Gay observed. ‘Very modern.’
‘Very fine indeed,’ said Pope. ‘And not far from me, you say?’
Henrietta smiled. ‘We will be neighbours. Only two hours by barge from court.’
‘I can help you plan the gardens.’
‘I hate to say it, but someone has to.’ Lord Chesterfield pursed his lips. Reaching under the plan, he picked up a sweetmeat and tossed it to Peter. ‘You cannot live there. Not without palace guards posted outside. Your husband will come and seize you instantly.’
Henrietta watched Peter fall on the food and devour it with snorts. ‘I know,’ she said tightly. ‘Not now. But I’m planning for the future. You can all enjoy it while I’m still at court and one day . . . ’ She shrugged. ‘I am five and thirty. Charles is fourteen years my senior and he lives a lifestyle that would knock up a Titan. He will not survive forever.’
Lady Betty wrinkled her nose. ‘You have good reason to hate him, my love, but sitting and waiting for his death . . . That’s a bit ghoulish, don’t you think?’
‘Perhaps, but it’s practical. Do you believe, Dr Arbuthnot, that I am likely to outlive Mr Howard?’
Dr Arbuthnot leant both hands on his cane and blew out his breath. ‘Who can say? I should hope so, dear madam. But these pains in your head. . . I don’t like them at all.’
She recoiled. ‘You do not understand. This house has to be built. It does not even matter if I never live there; it’s what the house represents.’
Lord Chesterfield tapped the plans. They showed a fine square villa, completely symmetrical, fronted by three columns. The grey slate roof came to a point with a weathercock on top, buttressed by a chimney either side. On one front there was a great fresco decorated with urns, while on the north side a perron staircase formed the focal point, sweeping up from both directions to gain entrance to the first floor. ‘I do not mean to discourage you. I am only afraid your husband will claim whatever you construct.’
‘Charles cannot touch it. The prince specified in the legal terms that Charles has no right to the money, or what I spend it on.’
Pope viewed her critically. His grave eyes and mouth loomed out from his slender face. ‘I do not suppose the princess knows her husband gave you these funds. Best she does not find out.’
Henrietta nodded. Cold fingers of fear ran across her neck. ‘No. Best she does not. Especially in her present condition.’
St James’s Palace
Caroline seethed as she sat at the card table, turning her mother-of-pearl game counters over in her fingers. Outside, the sun set in ribbons of gold and salmon. It was the last night before she went into confinement – a time for games, celebration and dances – but she felt only anger.
How convenient, that Henrietta should conquer her fears just in time to fill the place left vacant by the retiring princess. How strange, that it coincided with George authorising a huge amount of unspecified expenses. They thought her a fool, but she knew exactly what had happened.
George drummed his knuckles on the green baize, waiting for her to place a card. It was impossible. Rage glowed hot, making the suits and colours swim before her eyes. She saw only one card: the Queen of Hearts. Who ruled George’s heart now? Was it still her? Was she still mistress of her own court?
‘Are you ever going to play?’ he demanded.
She put her cards down and sighed. ‘Forgive me, my dear. I am tired. The baby . . . ’
He nodded. ‘Never mind. I have already won a hundred pounds.’
She tried to smile back, but merely bared her teeth. He would need to win more than one hundred pounds to keep up with his mistress’s demands. ‘Indeed! How fortunate.’
As the light outside faded, the bobbing flames of the candles picked out gold thread in ladies’ mantuas and diamonds laced around slender necks. She glanced over the glistening female courtiers, wondering why George did not simply pick another woman to amuse himself while she was lying-in. What was it that bound him to Henrietta?
‘I received a letter from Mrs Howard,’ she said, as carelessly as she could, ‘advising me she would return to her position. I half expected her tonight. Has no one seen her?’
He waved one hand as he picked up some cards with the other. ‘Oh, she arrived a few hours ago. Her head troubles her. She remains below stairs.’
At least she had the decency to stay out of Caroline’s sight.
Sweat ran down her back. Perhaps it was the baby – perhaps she was not being reasonable. But she could not see why Henrietta troubled to return to court at all. If George had given her money, surely she could pay that damned Howard off? Or at least find other friends to protect her? There was no need to come back here like a loathsome scavenger and take Caroline’s husband while she was locked in child-bed, unable to stop it.
She massaged her tired eyes. She would bide her time for now, but she knew what she must do. There was only one thing to do with a leech that would not let go: you had to burn it off.