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I asked,” he admitted, “but she says the tragedy of what happened is only for Fancy to tell.”

      “Fancy?” the king looked interested.

      “Her Christian name is Frances, but as a child she could not pronounce it. She called herself Fancy, and it seemed to stick,” the duke explained to the king.

      “What is she like?”

      “She resembles both Cynara and Diana. They all favor my mother’s grandmother. There are slight differences,” Charlie said. “Cynara has her mother’s bright blue eyes. Diana has the Leslie green eyes. Fancy’s eyes are the same turquoise shade as my mother’s.”

      “Ahhh,” said the king.

      “And there are other small things. My daughter and Diana have my mother’s fetching little birthmark. Mama calls it the Mughal Mole. Diana’s mimics my mother’s, being placed between her left nostril and her upper lip. Cynara’s is on the right side in an otherwise identical place, but Fancy does not sport the Mughal Mole,” the duke explained. “Other than that it is difficult to tell them apart.”

      “They will be a delightful addition to the court,” the king decided. “I remember last year when you brought the girls to meet the queen and me, they caused quite a stir. I believe that they were even given sobriquets at that time.”

      “Diana is Siren and my daughter they called Sin, although I am not certain I am comfortable with such appellations,” the duke smiled. “I shall make it quite clear to all who show interest in my daughter, or my nieces, that they are not to be trifled with and if you, Cousin, could lend your considerable voice to mine, I believe we may keep them safe from lechers and fortune hunters.”

      The king nodded his head in agreement. “How old are they now, Charlie?” he inquired.

      “Cynara and Diana are fifteen, and Fancy is sixteen, although she will turn seventeen in the very early spring,” the duke answered.

      “Such wonderful ages!” the king enthused. “Women grow boring much past twenty, although I can tolerate some as old as twenty-five.”

      “How is my lady Castlemaine?” Charlie teased his royal cousin.

      “As temperamental, and as demanding as ever,” the king said gloomily. “Her greatest fault, however, is that age has caused her to develop an interest in politics. She attempts to advise me, and more often than not disagrees with my policies. I do not like it, Charlie. My former passion for the Castlemaine has burned out. I have made her duchess of Cleveland and provided my offspring by her with titles of their own and financial support. Still she attempts to behave as if it were five years ago. I would be finished with her, but she will not go away,” the king admitted. “I am ashamed now that I forced her upon the queen when Catherine and I were first wed.”

      Charlie said nothing to that observation by his cousin, for he had told him frankly at the time that embarrassing the charming Portuguese princess he wed was neither wise nor kind.

      “There is someone else now,” the king said, a twinkle in his eye.

      “I would certainly not expect that Your Majesty had embraced celibacy at this point in his life,” Charlie noted dryly. “Will you tell me who the lady is, or am I to guess?”

      “You have not been with the court, Cousin, and so you could not possibly imagine who my eye has fallen upon. She is an actress, and her name is Nell Gwyn. Never have I known such a darling girl!”

      “Then I congratulate you, Cousin, on this delightful lady,” the duke said.

      “The Castlemaine is furious,” the king chuckled. “As long as I flaunted no new woman publicly, she might continue to pretend she still held my heart in her greedy grasp. Now she cannot, and her influence will, I believe, eventually wane. She calls Nellie a little guttersnipe. Nellie calls her the termagant. When they meet in public it is most amusing. But Nellie is very respectful of the queen. She is really a good lass, Charlie. You will like her.”

      “If the Castlemaine does not like her,” Charlie said frankly, “then I am certain that I will.”

      “She has a wonderful and irreverent sense of humor,” the king said. “She calls Castlemaine the highborn whore, and herself, the lowborn whore.” The king laughed aloud.

      At that moment there was a knock upon the privy chamber door, and it was opened by the page to allow the servants in with the supper. They quickly set it up upon a table between the two men and exited, the page closing the door behind them. Not a word had been spoken. The cousins served themselves from platters, bowls, and dishes containing icy-cold raw oysters; prawns that had been steamed in white wine; lamb chops; a large turkey stuffed with bread, sage, and apples; artichokes dripping with sweet butter; tiny whole white potatoes; and bread and cheese. Charlie refilled their goblets as they ate. A dish of apples baked with sugar and cinnamon, and standing in a shallow bowl of thick golden cream, had been left upon the sideboard for them. Both men ate with good appetites.

      “Tell me more about Fancy Devers,” the king said as they ate. “The gossip as bruited about by Lord and Lady Tolliver is most salacious.”

      “Considering that the Tollivers were not at the wedding, nor are they acquainted with either the Randolphs or the Devers, I would certainly discount whatever they had to say. They were never privy to the situation. Remember, Cousin, my niece was never charged with any crime, nor brought before Your Majesty’s magistrate in the Colonies. Whatever happened was a tragedy that both families chose to keep silent upon.”

      “Is she sad?” the king pressed further for information.

      “Less now than when she first came,” Charlie said. “She is just a young girl like her cousins, but that she has known some calumny. She says she will not wed again, but I think that will change when she finds a gentleman to love who loves her. Her late husband was obviously quite sought after. Fancy has admitted that he was called the most handsome man in the Colonies. I wonder that my brother-in-law allowed her to make such a marriage, but that like all fathers of daughters he loved and spoiled her,” Charlie concluded.

      “I never thought the day should come when you come to court chaperoning three young girls,” the king concluded. “I remember you as a very gallant young man, courting your fair Bess.”

      “That was long ago,” Charlie said, his face growing sad for a brief moment. Then he said, “Barbara and I share a birthday, which is how we first became friends. This September eighteenth saw us both well past fifty,” Charlie admitted to his cousin. “Your Majesty’s memory is a good one that you remember my courting days.”

      The king chuckled. “Pass me that bowl of apples,” he instructed and, receiving the dish in question, helped himself to two of the baked fruits, ladling the heavy cream from the dish onto his plate.

      “Simple things are often best,” Charlie noted, and then he helped himself to the baked apples as well.

      “Are your lasses here at Whitehall?” the king wondered as he spooned his dessert into his mouth.

      “No, at Greenwood House with Mama. Autumn and Gabriel never come to London, but while Greenwood is theirs, everyone in the family who comes to town uses it.”

      “How is Autumn?” the king inquired.

      “Countrified and maternal,” Charlie chuckled. “She has five youngsters by Gabriel now. Her eldest French daughter, Mademoiselle d’Oleron, is on her estate at Chermont. Madeline is her father’s child. She loves France far more than England. As for King Louis’s Margot, she is still with Autumn, but Louis has said the summer she turns twelve he wants her back in France at his court. She, too, is more French than English. She is already spending half of her year at Chermont with her sister. It is hard for Autumn to let them go, but Maddy is fourteen now, and will soon have to choose a husband. There is talk of the young heir from Archambault. If that comes to pass, then the two estates could be joined,” Charlie explained.

      The king nodded. He understood such things. This was

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