Trapped at the Altar by Jane Feather Page B

although she was far too clever to imagine that Nell would ever fade from the picture. The actor’s hold over the King was far too strong. But Louise knew that she herself had much more power over the King than his Queen Consort, Catherine of Braganza, and she possessed a fortune to match. Her coffers were enriched not only by her lover’s generosity but also by gifts from her own king to whom she owed fealty. Louis XIV bought her loyalty, and she repaid him in kind, her spies and her own ears supplying vital pieces of information to the French court.
    It pleased her to know that her sharp intelligence and skillful manipulations were concealed from prying eyes by her outward appearance, the almost childlike innocence of her doll-like features and guileless blue eyes. Men did not watch their tongues around her; they had eyes only for her fashionably lush beauty.
    Charles stood with his back to the fire in his bedchamber, still gnawing on a mutton chop. “That’s good,” he informed his brother. “Can’t be doing with these mincing little birds Louise likes so much. Nelly loves ’em, too,” he added with a small smile. He enjoyed keeping his rival mistresses on their toes, and truth to tell, he had no idea which one he favored more. He loved Nelly’s ribald wit, her vulgar tongue, her lack of awe when in his presence, but Louise, now, there was a woman whose advice he could rely on. Louise had a brain, a very sharp one. Shealways had an opinion, and while he did not always agree with it, there was always merit in it.
    He licked his fingers, tossed the bone onto a table, and surveyed his brother. “So, what is it?”
    James clasped his hands behind his back. “I understand that you have celebrated mass in private several times, brother.”
    Charles frowned. “And just what little bird whispered that in your ear, James?”
    The Duke shook his head. “I cannot say, but Charles, if you celebrate in private, surely it is time to profess the true faith to your people?”
    â€œDon’t be a fool, James. The country’s up in arms about the issue as it is. They don’t trust you, they won’t stand for a return of Catholicism, and it’s difficult enough for me to insist on naming you, an affirmed Catholic with a Catholic wife, as my heir. That Protestant bastard of mine is a constant thorn in my side, demanding I acknowledge some nonexistent marriage contract with his mother. I would never have married Lucy Waters if my head had been on the block. I acknowledged him as my bastard, made him Duke of Monmouth, favored him in every way, and how does he thank me? By trying to assassinate me. And now there’s talk of his invading and inciting a rebellion in the West Country. If I publicly renounced the Protestant faith, Monmouth would be landing in the west and raising an army before I had time to confess my sins.”
    â€œThen you will die unshriven,” James stated. “Your immortal soul lost to the pits of hell.”
    â€œI’ll take my chance,” the King returned sharply. “I have one duty in this life, and that is to preserve the peace in this country. There’s been enough bloodshed. When the throne is yours, then stir up the devils if you wish, but it’ll not be laid to my hand.”
    The Duke bowed and took his leave without another word.
    Charles turned to stare down into the crackling logs, seeing fires of rebellion in their flames. He would keep those fires from the land for as long as he was able, but he feared that once he was laid to rest and his Catholic brother came to the throne, there would be no holding back the fierce Protestant revolt that would result. Nothing, unless James kept his faith secret and in public practiced Protestant worship. But James was a fanatic. Nevertheless, he was the one true heir to the throne on his brother’s death, and when all was said and done, in essence, it was not for