The Three Crowns: The Story of William a - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,99
women was frowned on, because it was unproductive. Poor Lady Frances Villiers had deplored the writing of those passionate letters. Yet it seemed to Mary that there could be a closer bond between two of the same sex. Herself and Frances, William and Bentinck. In Frances’s company she was happier and more relaxed than she could ever be in any man’s; and William, she was sure, had more respect for Bentinck than any other person.
But the first one to know that she believed she was to have a child must be her beloved Frances, so she went to her closet and taking up her quill began to write. She wanted Frances to know that she was the first to hear the news and that she had not even told her stepmother who had begged her “dear Lemon” to give her such news as soon as she believed it possible.
“I would hardly give myself leave to think on it and nobody leave to speak of it so much as to myself. I have not yet given the Duchess word though she has always charged me to do it. But seeing it is to my husband I may, though have reason to fear because the sea parts us and you may believe it is a bastard …”
She paused and smiled thinking of Frances reading that.
“… If you have any care for your wife’s reputation you ought to keep this secret since if it should be known you might get a pair of horns …”
Those ever ready tears came into her eyes. It was a game of make-believe. William would call it the utmost folly. Was it?
Was she growing older? Was she beginning to stretch out for reality and was there a desire to escape from fantasy? How could she and Frances ever share a cottage in a wood? How could they live in comfort and peace? What child’s letters were these she was writing, what silly pretense! She would have been happiest living with Frances; but she was William’s wife; she was pregnant by him. That was the reality of life and she should accept it. One must stop craving for that old relationship; she must accept the reality and banish the shadow. But how could she when he was so cool, so disdainful and for her there must always be the ideal.
Perhaps when she held his child in her arms it would be different. Perhaps she would grow up then. As yet she wanted the comfort Frances could give her. She could not release her hold on one dream until she could take hold of another.
She took up her pen and wrote:
“Dearest Aurelia, you may be very well assured though I have played the whore a little, I love you of all things in the world. And though I have spoken to you in jest, for God’s sake don’t tell it because I would not have it known yet since it cannot be above six or seven weeks at most, and when you hear of it by other people never say that I said anything of it to you.”
She laid down her pen.
She pictured Frances reading the letter. It would make her smile; perhaps it would make her long for the companionship of her little “wife.”
It may be, thought Mary, that I shall never see her again.
When William heard of the pregnancy he was more pleased with Mary than he had been since the wedding; his smile was restrained but nevertheless it betrayed his pleasure.
“I trust,” he said, “that you will take every precaution for the sake of the child. I insist that you do. There must be no more dancing …” His lip curled distastefully. “No more games of hide-and-seek in the woods. It may well be that now you are to become a mother—and a mother of my heir—you will agree that it is beneath your dignity as Princess of Orange to indulge in such pastimes.”
Mary replied: “I wish you could have seen my father—who was a great Admiral—sitting on the floor playing ‘I love my love with an A’.”
“I consider myself fortunate to have been spared such a sight.”
Mary flushed and wished she had not spoken. He looked at her coldly and she was terrified that the tears would come to her eyes. The fact was that because she so fiercely tried to suppress them they came even more readily.
With others she could be the dignified Princess; with him she was the foolish child who wept when scolded