“We are a grateful family, we Stuarts,” said Charles, smiling warmly. “We stand together, which shows that as well as being a united family we are a wise one. Why look, there is Buckingham. Buckingham! Come and amuse the Prince of Orange.”
George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, came languidly to the seat on which the King and his nephew sat. The King signed to him to be seated and he placed himself on the other side of the Prince of Orange.
Between these two William felt immediately at a disadvantage. Buckingham was decidedly handsome; he was arrogant, and not inclined to hide the fact even from the King who seemed to delight in his company and to show no resentment at being treated as an equal. How could the King make a favorite of a man of such a reputation? William asked himself. The scandals concerning this man had reached Holland and William knew that the Earl of Shrewsbury had challenged him to a duel because of his guilty intrigue with his, Shrewsbury’s, wife. Shrewsbury had been wounded and two months later had died; and afterward Buckingham had lived openly with the Countess. And all this the lazy good-natured King had known and shrugged aside. Men must settle their own affairs, was his verdict.
It was no way to rule.
William’s thin lips were drawn up into an expression of disdain as Buckingham took his seat; and both the Duke and the King were aware of this. William did not see the glances which flashed between them. Buckingham’s said: Watch. We’ll have some sport with the Dutch boy.
“Ah, Your Highness,” he said, “and how is The Hague? I remember The Hague. Never shall I forget it. Surely the neatest trimmest town in the world. And the neatest trimmest people. I always felt a little more wicked in The Hague than I did anywhere else. The comparison, you see, Your Highness.”
“Comparisons are odorous,” murmured the King.
“Not in Holland, Sire. In Holland all is scrubbed free of odor. I believe that to be why there is such an abundance of canals?”
“You are mistaken,” began William.
Charles laid his hand on the young man’s arm. “Buckingham intends to joke. It’s a poor joke, my lord. You should try to do better.”
“I stand reproved in the sight of Your Majesty and Your Highness. And I fear my stupidity may spoil my chances of having a favor granted.”
“Well, let us hear what favor you ask before you lose heart,” suggested Charles.
“It was an invitation from some friends for His Highness. A little supper party—which we would try to make worthy of the Prince.”
“I do not attend supper parties …” began William.
But Charles intervened, by tightening his grasp on his nephew’s arm and smiling benignly. “Oh, come, nephew. You must not decline the hand of friendship. Join the revels. You must get to know us. We are friends, are we not? Then we must understand each other’s customs.”
It seemed to William that there was a promise in that.
He turned to Buckingham. “I thank you. I accept your invitation. And … thank you.”
Buckingham inclined his head and as he lifted it, his eyes met those of the King. Charles’s were sardonic. Some little joke was being planned. It would be a good one, since it was Buckingham’s idea. He looked forward to hearing what happened to William at the Duke’s supper party.
William entered the small chamber which seemed to be full of extravagantly clad men, laughing gaily and drinking. He looked about him anxiously and saw with relief that there were no women present. He did not know what to expect, but knowing the morals of this court greatly feared he might have been invited to an orgy for the sexes. The thought of this had filled him with terror; and yet at the same time had awakened thoughts in him of which he would not have believed himself capable. He had begun to ask himself whether if he had not such a destiny to fulfill he might not have enjoyed a little dalliance with women. And might it not be part of a great soldier’s life to indulge in amatory adventures? Women to admire him, to tell him that he was the most attractive man in the world, that men such as his uncle were tolerated for their rank while he …
But what was happening to him since he had come to the English Court? Did he not despise these men with their effeminate lacy garments, and to whom the whole meaning of life seemed to be the seduction of women?
Buckingham was greeting him with more reverence than he had shown in the garden and in the presence of the King.
“Your Highness, our little gathering is honored indeed.”
Others were crowding round him, and he recognized them as some of the biggest rakes and libertines of his uncle’s court: Rochester, Dorset, Charles Sedley, and Henry Savile. His nose twitched in disdain as he remembered some of the almost incredible stories he had heard of their exploits. Nothing, it seemed, was too wild for them. Theirs was no company in which the Prince of Orange should find himself. He should never have accepted Buckingham’s invitation.
“We are greatly favored,” murmured Rochester.
“My lords,” replied Sedley, “we must have such sport this night as we have not had since those days when His Majesty first returned to his kingdom.”
“I am not much given to sport,” said William dourly.
“We have heard reports of Your Highness’s decorum,” Savile murmured. “A lesson to us all.”
“We shall all be better men from this night onward,” declared Buckingham, “for it is our great desire to learn from you how a gentleman can restrain his fancies.”
“I do not understand,” began William.
“Will Your Highness be seated and allow us to sit with you?”
“Certainly.”
William sat down and Buckingham cried, “Wine … wine for His Highness.”
“Not wine for me. I drink little and then only when thirsty. Perhaps a little ale?”
“Or Hollands Gin?” suggested Buckingham. “A right goodly drink, I’ll swear. Shall we drink to the future prosperity of the House of Orange in Hollands Gin?”
“His Highness must certainly drink to the friendship between our two countries,” said Sedley. “And it is the custom here that if we drink in his country’s drink, he drinks in ours.”
“I have told you that I take little drink.”
“For a custom, Your Highness.”
William felt uneasy; he looked into that circle of faces aware that all eyes were on him. He fancied they were laughing at him, at his lack of worldliness, at his inability to drink as they and most certainly at his meager body—they who apparently worshipped their bodies, decking them out in silks and satins, indulging their appetites.
“For a custom then,” he said rashly.
“Done!” cried Buckingham.
They stood and raised their glasses. “Hurrah for Orange, Stadtholder of Holland!”
“Hurrah for Orange!”
There was a slight flush in William’s face; they were all smiling at him as though they were in truth his friends. They would help him to regain his rights. This was what he had dreamed of. Was it not for this that he had come to England?
The Duke of Buckingham was calling for more wine. Sparkling wine! Now they would drink to the friendship between their two countries.
“It is our custom, Your Highness, to drain the glass. To leave a little in the bottom is an insult.” He rose to his feet. “My friends, we are greatly honored tonight. Come, the toast! Our Sovereign Lord the King and his nephew the Prince of Orange—friends and kinsmen. May they never forget the bond between our two countries.”