The Three Crowns: The Story of William a - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,98

encounter for she was eager to become his mistress. He had read that in those amazing eyes; and he was eager too … in his mild way. He liked her eagerness; she was clever; she hid her feelings from others while she showed them to him. He was convinced that she was no ordinary woman.

When he saw her he paused and said it had been a pleasant day.

She curtsied charmingly, he thought, and there was a faint flush in her cheeks. He suddenly wanted to touch those cheeks and he put out a thin white finger and did so.

She caught his hand and kissed it. He had never felt so excited by a woman.

She had thrown herself against him and lifted her eyes to his face.

“Let me not wait longer, my lord.”

The choice of words exhilarated him. She was in deep need of him, and she was merely putting in words what she had told him in looks and gestures before.

His heart was beating a little faster. This was how he felt when he achieved a victory on the battlefield—a great man, a man whom the world looked up to and forgot his lack of inches.

He put out a hand and touched her. She put her lips on his and he was caught for a moment in her passion.

“I beg of you … tonight … my lord.”

He said in a cool voice. “I will see that I am alone at … midnight.”

She gave a little sigh which in itself made him feel like a conqueror.

That night Elizabeth Villiers became the mistress of the Prince of Orange. He was astonished and greatly bewildered. He knew that he had missed something in his life before, without being aware of it. He wondered how he was going to do without Elizabeth Villiers.

Elizabeth did not wonder, for she was determined that he never should.

Mary was pregnant. At first she told no one because she wanted to be absolutely sure; she imagined William’s pleasure which would be restrained but nonetheless deep for all that; she could also imagine his contempt if she had made a mistake.

How wonderful to have a child of her own! It was difficult, keeping the secret; she wished her sister Anne were here so that they could whisper together about this enchanting prospect. Anne would immediately want to have a child. Had she not always wanted to imitate her sister?

If Frances were here, how she would enjoy confiding in her! But Frances was her “dear husband” and how incongruous it was to have to tell one’s husband that one was about to have another man’s child!

Frances, of course, must be the first one to know. It was long since she had written to her dearest one, but before she had believed herself to be pregnant she had suffered from the ague which had attacked her since her stay in Holland. Anne Trelawny said that the climate did not suit her; and Anne was very grave when she said this, meaning more by the climate than the weather.

Dear Anne, she loved Mary so much that she was ready to be angry with anyone who did not share her tender devotion. It was useless to explain to her that William was a man whose mind was occupied with noble ideals so that the follies of his wife seemed trivial and at times he showed his contempt for them. There! She was doing what she did so often. Making excuses for William’s neglect and even cruelty to her.

It is because I am beginning to understand him, she told herself.

All the same, what fun it would have been if Frances were in truth her husband and they were to have this child. How different indeed! Gentle, loving Frances instead of harsh, stern William. Was it because women were able to give more to love; men such as her husband had their careers to occupy the greater part of their minds; their loves were diversions. Even her Uncle Charles—reckoned to be one of the greatest lovers of his day—was never entirely involved with a woman.

The cottage in the wood; the little piece of land to be cultivated; the dogs they might have had. The world would have passed them by and she would have cared for the comforts of her dear husband who would have been capable of giving her all the love and protection she needed in another little house in the wood.

But that was not the way of the world. The love of two