Vixens. Bertrice SmallЧитать онлайн книгу.
do not tell me you haven’t heard the stories,” Cynara rejoined. “We all have.” She turned her gaze to Fancy. “Is it truth, or is it fiction, Cousin?”
“He seems a big man, but then he is big all over,” Fancy said to her two cousins. “He is certainly larger than my husband was, but then I have little else to compare him with, Cynara.”
“He’s bigger than your average gentleman,” said another voice, and Nell Gwyn sauntered into their midst. “In fact, he’s right huge, and I’ve seen enough manly cocks in my day to make such an observation.”
“Bess, get Mistress Gwyn a cup of chocolate,” Fancy instructed her servant. “Will you have a cake, Nellie? My cousins have left us a few upon the plate.”
“Thank ye, and I will,” the young actress said with an impudent grin. She sat down before the fire with them. Her hazel eyes were bright with curiosity. “That was quick of you this afternoon,” she noted. “I don’t think anyone, not even the king hisself, has ever put the termagant in her place as you so neatly did. It did my heart good, and that’s a truth.” Reaching out she took one of the little cakes and popped it in her mouth, chewing it up, and swallowing it down.
“I am better born than she,” Fancy noted, “and even if I weren’t, I much dislike being spoken down to by a woman like that. She is an appalling opportunist.”
“Are we much better?” Nellie asked.
“Aye,” Fancy said. “At least we are honest in our desires. We do not pretend to be anything other than what we are, do we?”
Nell Gwyn nodded slowly. “Aye, and that’s a truth,” she agreed. “I was born in a tavern that was as much a brothel as a drinking house. Me mum told me if I was going to be a whore I should be a rich man’s whore for the pay was better.” She laughed. “I became an orange girl at the theater when I was ten, and I saw the fancy ladies and their gentlemen. I realized me mum was right so I became an actress.”
“They say you sing and dance better than any,” Diana murmured.
“You are the one they call Siren, aren’t you? I have heard it said that even your rivals have no bad word to say about you. Have you yet decided which of those poor young gentlemen you will favor with your hand, my lady?”
Diana laughed. “I am not yet ready to choose a husband, Mistress Nell,” she told the actress. “My cousins and I have just come to court, and I am having far too much fun.”
Nellie nodded. “Enjoy it while you can, my lady.” Her eye then turned itself upon Cynara. “You had best beware the game you think to play with Harry Summers. He devours little girls like you.”
Cynara actually blushed, but then she said spiritedly, “I can take care of myself, Mistress Nell.”
Nellie shook her head. “He’s a right bad ’un, my lady. They do not call him Wickedness for naught.” She sipped her chocolate. “Did the king give you these apartments, Fancy?”
“He did,” Fancy admitted.
“I want a house,” Nellie replied, “and I’ll not settle for any less. Your family has a house here so it don’t matter to you, I expect. And then, too, one day you will marry again and have another house. But poor lasses like me must struggle for our own. I expect that when I give the king a child, he’ll give me my house.”
“Do you think you’ll have a child?” Cynara asked, fascinated.
“Of course! The king is as prolific as a rabbit when it comes to spawning bastards. All his women seem to be as fecund and fertile as a well-ploughed field except for our poor queen.” Nell lowered her voice. “You know they say that the duke of York’s father-in-law pushed for the Portuguese marriage knowing the bride was barren. His daughter is wed with the duke, and he wants his grandchildren to rule after our good king and his brother. They say when the king’s mother learned that Prince James had married Anne Hyde she wept for days. Not that she could have done anything about it, and the bride ripening with a babe even before the marriage lines were spoken.”
Fancy was absolutely fascinated with these tidbits of gossip Nell Gwyn was so content to share. Her two cousins had probably heard it all before, but new to England, Fancy had not. She had never met anyone like Nell Gwyn in all of her life, but she had immediately liked the young actress who was her own age. Nell might be a bit rough about the edges, but she was sensible and a great deal of fun. I’ve made a friend, Fancy thought and she was pleased with the knowledge.
Christmas came and went, and then Twelfth Night passed. The next event the court would celebrate with enthusiasm was the feast of Saint Valentine, patron of lovers.
“He ought to be patron of this court the way everyone carries on,” Nellie Gwyn said publicly, causing the king to laugh aloud with the memory of it as he and Fancy lay abed.
“She has a wicked wit, our Nell,” Charles Stuart, the king, remarked.
“I am not certain I find it flattering that you discuss other women while lying in my bed, caressing my breasts,” Fancy murmured.
“Are you jealous?” he tensed her, kissing her round shoulder.
Fancy considered a moment, and then she said, “Aye, I believe I am, Your Majesty.”
“Do you love me?” he asked her.
“Aye,” she said slowly, “but not in the way you would think a woman loves a man,” Fancy told him.
“How then?” he queried, curious.
“I love you in the same way you love me. I enjoy our passion. I treasure our friendship. I can never be more to you, Your Majesty, than friend. While many women I realize could not accept such a state of affairs, if I may be allowed the pun, I can.”
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