The Merry Monarch's Wife by Jean Plaidy Page B

might be some time before we could leave.
    I settled into my cabin, which was truly magnificent. I marvelled at the amount of care which had gone into making it so; it was not only comfortable but luxurious. The walls had been lined with velvet; there were curtains of damask and taffeta; and there were rugs on the floor. I imagined Charles giving orders that all should be of the best for his Queen.
    How miraculous it was that all our plans had worked out. I should be rejoicing, but I could not help thinking of my mother. I should never forget her face as it had been at that last moment when we embraced. There were no tears. How could she weep with so many watching her? But her grief had been none the less because of that.
    â€œI shall never see her again,” I kept saying to myself; and then waves of misery would sweep over me.
    And yet our purpose—the dream that had been with us for years—was realized. It could not have been any other way. That was like life, I supposed. Nothing could be entirely perfect.
    I had to stop thinking of my mother. I had to remember that I was going to my husband—the man of whom I had dreamed for so many years…ever since that day when I was seven and I had learned that there was a possibility of his being my husband.
    The hours were passing and we still remained in the bay.
    In the evening my brothers brought a group of noblemen from the court to serenade me. They sailed in their little boats round the
Royal Charles,
playing music and singing to me. It was very moving.
    And when I awoke next morning, the sun was shining brilliantly. The wind was still strong but the Admiral decided that we would wait no longer. We would defy the weather and set sail. So, with Donna Maria and Donna Elvira, six maids of honor and their servants, with Don Francisco de Mello, who was to supervise my safe delivery into England, with Richard Russell, my almoner, who was an excellent interpreter, and others who were necessary to me, plus boxes of sugar and spices, I left my country for a new life in England.
    It was a most hazardous journey. Some of my ladies were so ill that they wished for death; I myself suffered slightly less. We really believed that our last moments had come and we should never see England; and when some of the vessels were damaged by the storm, we were certain of this.
    The wind roared and buffeted us and we were at one stage forced to take refuge in Mount Bay, off the coast of Cornwall.
    We were heartened to receive a welcome from the people on shore. They knew that I was on board one of the ships and they were clearly determined to show their pleasure in my arrival. Bonfires were lighted along the coast and we could hear people singing; salutes were fired and there was a wonderful display of fireworks.
    After that brief halt we were able to pursue our journey, and came to the Isle of Wight, where the Duke of York, the King’s brother, was waiting with a squadron of frigates to greet us.
    A message was sent to me. The Duke wanted permission to come aboard the
Royal Charles
that he might “kiss my hand.”
    There was excitement in the cabin. Donna Maria and Donna Elvira were shocked when I said I must greet the Duke of York in English dress. Clothes had been thoughtfully provided for such an occasion, and I ordered my women to dress me in a gown of white silk trimmed with lace.
    Donna Maria covered her face with her hands when she saw me in it, and Donna Elvira held up her hands in horror.
    â€œIt is most unsuitable!” wailed Donna Maria.
    â€œQuite immodest,” agreed Donna Elvira.
    â€œIt is the English fashion,” I told them.
    â€œThen,” retorted Donna Maria, “we had better turn back and go home.”
    â€œWhat!” I cried, mocking her. “Face the sea again? I heard you say that nothing on earth would make you sail again.”
    But Donna Maria was truly distressed since, having just emerged from one ordeal, she was