Reunited At The King's Court. Helen Dickson
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she admitted awkwardly, withdrawing her hand, annoyed with her attack of nervousness. ‘Although when I came here I found it all so confusing at first.’
‘And you became settled with your sister and her husband.’
‘Yes, but I missed my father and my home terribly.’
‘And have they prospered under the yoke of Cromwell?’
‘There were times when things were difficult. When war broke out Richard turned a healthy profit in the wool trade—all those woollen uniforms—but after Worcester everything changed, for everyone, not just Richard. In the beginning I found it strange living in such a strict household—although now I don’t hold a candle for either party as long as there is some form of normality and no more wars. Whatever Richard’s true feelings his business and his home have survived intact and unmolested, although money is in short supply at present.’ Her lips twisted with irony. ‘My brother-in-law has double standards. He trims his cloth to the wind. After the death of Cromwell and thinking the King might be restored, he has become more tolerant in his dealings. Parliament man he may be, but he will not be averse to selling silks and velvets to Royalists in the name of business.’
‘A wise man knows where his allegiances lie in times like these.’
‘That may be so, but Richard is still of the opinion that all pleasures such as music and dancing are the work of the devil.’
‘Let us hope that now the King has come home we will see better times.’
His voice was gentle. It was smooth and deep and wrapped itself winningly around his words and his powerful charm and manner radiated a rapier-sharp intelligence. Arlette was mesmerised. Lithe, tall and extremely handsome, she had no doubt there were plenty of ladies who would find him attractive. There was a vigorous purposefulness about him that bespoke impatience and an active life. With his lively eyes and quick smile, his face demanded attention and respect. The young William Latham she had once known with the boyish good looks had become a man. He presented a dazzling figure, yet there were harsh lines on his face and a tension in his manner that suggested some kind of struggle unrelieved by his return to England. His gaze scanned her face and swept down her body. Self-consciously she ran her hands down her skirts and tried to restore her wayward golden hair to some order. Confused and strangely vulnerable, she averted her eyes.
‘I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a disadvantage. I’m not normally so dishevelled.’
He glanced down at his own clothes, travel-stained and creased from being so long on the road. ‘And neither am I. Having been on the road since early morning, I am somewhat discomposed myself.’
‘Is this the first time you have been back to England since you went to France?’
‘It is. Nine long years—it seems like a lifetime. I wasn’t alone. It wasn’t what any of us would have chosen—we had no choice.’
‘And what did you do for nine years, William? Did you spend all your time in Paris, enjoying all the gaieties that city has to offer?’
He laughed. ‘No, far from it. When I arrived there it didn’t take long before boredom set in. Along with many others who were not prepared to see out their exile in idleness, I went to the Low Countries with the King, who founded a regiment of guards under the command of his brother, the Duke of York. We went into service under the Spanish flag.’
‘So your fighting did not cease when you left England,’ she said, curious to know more about those missing years in William’s life and wondering what he had got up to when he left for France. She had the feeling that the adventure he had embarked upon was not all he hoped it would be.
‘No. The regiment saw much service and too many deaths. Too many. It’s not always easy to be a soldier and a survivor. I may still be alive, but I have lost all that is important to me. My mother passed away and my sister married a Frenchman.’
‘I’m so sorry, William. That must have been difficult for you.’
He nodded, his expression sombre. ‘It’s a hollow victory over death—but I am grateful to be alive. I’m home now—one of the lucky ones.’
He fell silent, seeming to lose himself in his thoughts.
‘William?’ She touched his arm. It was the merest touch, but she might as well have branded him with a hot iron.
He forced himself back to the present and turned his gaze on her. ‘Like every other Royalist who has been plotting towards this end, there are many things that need to be done. I’m tired of wandering. My years of fighting and adventure are over, but I never had any doubt in my mind about the justice of the King’s cause. It is time to stop dwelling in the past and concentrate on the present and the future. From this day I intend to live out the rest of my life in England and never again pick up my sword in anger.’
‘You will find much has changed.’
‘I don’t doubt it—although things could not have turned out better. It is fortunate that the King has come back to where he belongs. Are you enjoying the celebrations?’
‘Yes. We are staying with Richard’s sister overnight.’
‘And Hester? She is well?’
‘Yes, she is. Speaking of Hester, I should be getting back. She will miss me and scold me most severely because I left the house.’
‘Of course. Come, I’ll escort you.’
Curling his right arm around her shoulders, he casually guided her towards the house. Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips.
‘I shall be in London for a while, Arlette. I’ll call on you later and I would like to pay my respects to Hester and her husband. I did not meet Richard when I brought you, which is probably as well. As a malignant he might very well have had me arrested.’
‘I’d like to think not. You did my father a great service and I know Hester was most grateful.’ She smiled up at him. ‘Goodbye, William. If you are able, you would be welcome at the celebrations later.’
Standing in the doorway for one last glimpse of him, she noted that he moved with a casual grace and an air of authority that she had not encountered in anyone before. Deliriously happy, she almost skipped into the house.
Taking his leave of her and mounted once more, William forced his way back into the parade. He was troubled. Thinking of Arlette, the young girl he had kept in his heart for so many years, he could not help but wonder why it was that she so easily aroused his desire, for when he had looked at her he had been instantly drawn to her.
In one quick glance he had seen the change nine years had made. She had a fine bone structure and a few freckles sprinkled her nose. He had seen classic beauty rather than sex appeal and there was a slight dimple in her chin below the curve of her rose-tinted lips. Her eyes were the colour of a tropical sea, he thought—blue-green speckled with amber. Had she been any other wench who had thrown him a rose and then come after him, he would have been tempted to draw her into his arms and kiss the full, soft mouth. But she wasn’t any other wench. She was Arlette, no longer the girl he remembered, but a full-grown, beautiful woman.
It was dark when William was able to get away from Whitehall and find his way to the Willoughby house. Revellers were everywhere, spilling out of the taverns into the street, some of them collapsing in a happy, abandoned heap.
From his vantage point on the raised terrace in the courtyard at the back of Willoughby House, William idly watched the celebrations without consciously admitting to himself that he was watching specifically for Arlette to appear—and then, as if he was seeing a dream, there she was. Attired in the same yellow