John thought of the fifteen-year-old girl and her un-English formality, her court which spoke only French, and her brace of confessors who spoke Latin grace over her dinner, and warned her not to eat meat even though her new husband had just carved her a slice, since she must observe a fast day.

‘As happy as a maid can be,’ he said. ‘Laughing and chattering and singing.’

‘And the duke, does he like her?’

Only Elizabeth saw the swift shadow cross her husband’s face. There had been a scandal in France, several scandals. Buckingham had told him the worst of it as they paced the deck of a little fishing boat, sailing from Rotterdam to Tilbury. The Queen of France had encouraged Buckingham further than a married woman, and one so carefully watched, should have done. He had climbed the wall into her private garden to meet her there. What took place Buckingham would not say, but everyone else in Europe was talking about it. The pair had been caught by her personal guard. Swords had been drawn and threats made. Some said that the queen had been assaulted by Buckingham, some said the queen had been seduced, and caught half-naked in his arms. The queen’s ladies said that she had been elegantly flirting or – no such thing – somewhere else all the time. There had been a whirlwind of rumour and innuendo and through it all Buckingham had sailed smiling, the handsomest man at court, the wickedest look, the most roguish smile, the irresistible charm. John had frowned when Buckingham had confessed to losing his heart to the Queen of France and thought that he should have stayed by his master and kept him from secret assignations with the most carefully guarded woman in Europe.

‘What could have prevented it?’ Buckingham sighed, but with a glint in his eye which always meant mischief. ‘It’s love, John. I shall run away with her and take her from her dreary husband to live with her in Virginia.’

John had shaken his head at his master. ‘What does her husband think?’ he asked.

‘Oh, he hates me,’ Buckingham said joyfully.

‘And the Princess Henrietta Maria?’

‘My sworn enemy now.’

‘She’s your queen,’ John reminded him.

‘She is only the wife of my dearest friend,’ Buckingham had replied. ‘And she’d better remember who he loves.’

‘So what does she think of him?’ the questioner repeated. ‘What does the new queen think of our duke?’

‘He is her greatest friend at court,’ John answered carefully. ‘The duke admires and respects her.’

‘Will he come home soon?’ someone asked from the back of the crowd, packed into John’s kitchen.

‘Not for a while,’ John answered. ‘There are parties and masquings and balls at court to greet the new queen, and then there will be the coronation. We’ll not see him here for a few weeks.’