Courting Her Highness_ The Story of Queen Anne - Jean Plaidy [200]
Anne was suddenly frightened, remembering that terrifying day when Mary had come to her, bewildered, like a sleep walker. “Anne, they are forcing me to marry our cousin Orange.”
Matters of state! A Princess’s duty! Those words which meant that the free and easy life was over. An indulgent father and a kind uncle were yet Duke of York and King of England; and matters of state must take precedence over family feeling.
Anne refused to consider failure. It was a trait in her character which had often exasperated Mary. Anne believed what she wanted to believe, so now she believed she would be allowed to marry Mulgrave.
Reaching her apartment she went at once to the window and, as she had expected, she saw him in the courtyard below, where he had been walking backwards and forwards hoping for a glimpse of her.
They smiled at each other. He was not only the most handsome man in her uncle’s Court, thought Anne, but in the world.
“Wait!” Her lips formed the words; he could not hear, of course, but with the extra sense of a lover, he understood.
She turned from the window, picked up a cloak, wrapped it round her and pulled the hood over her head. It would help to conceal her identity. Unhurriedly she went down to the courtyard.
He ran to her and took both her hands.
“We must not stay here,” she said.
“But we must talk.”
She nodded and drew him to an alcove in the stone wall; here they could remain hidden from anyone crossing the courtyard.
“My poem …” he began.
“It was beautiful.”
“Did you understand what the lines meant?”
“I think I understand,” she said.
He quoted:
“And therefore They who could not bear
To be outdone by mortals here,
Among themselves have placed her now.
And left me wretched here below.”
“It sounds as though she’s dead,” said Anne.
“It is symbolic. I daren’t tell the truth. You are so far above me … a Princess. What hope have I …”
“You should always hope.”
“You cannot mean …”
“I think they want me to be happy.”
“And you would be happy?”
Anne never troubled to hide her feelings; she was always frankly herself.
“I want to marry you,” she said.
Mulgrave caught his breath with joy, and surprise.
Marriage with the Princess Anne! That thought had entered his head, of course, but he scarcely dared hope. Why, if Charles had no legitimate child—and it seemed unlikely that he would—and James had no son, which also seemed a possibility, and Mary remained childless, well then it would be the Princess Anne’s turn. The prospect was dazzling. Married to the Queen of England! She was not an arrogant woman; one only had to look into that fresh-coloured face, those eyes which, owing to some opthalmic trouble which had been with her since childhood, gave her a helpless look, at that body which was already showing signs of indulgence at the table, to realize that her air of placidity was an absolute expression of her true nature. She would be easy going, lazy—a comfortable wife even though she were a Queen.
No wonder he was in love with Anne.
He shook his head. “They would never allow it.”
She smiled at him fondly. “If I begged and pleaded …”
“You would do that?”
“For you,” she told him.
He drew her towards him and kissed her almost wonderingly. She was delightful—gentle, yielding, frankly adoring and a Princess! He, of course, was a very ambitious man, but this seemed too much good fortune. He must not let her delude him into the belief that it would be easy to marry her.
It was a pleasant state of affairs when ambition and pleasure were so admirably linked. Ever since he had become Gentleman of the Bedchamber to Anne’s father he had observed the royal family at close quarters and consequently knew a great deal about their weaknesses. No one in the country could help being aware of James’s position at this time for already his brother the King had thought it wise to send him into exile on more than one occasion and the Bill, the object of which was