Henriette: a Sketch of a Childhood.

 In c.1649, the French artist, Claude Mellan, drew a sketch a young child. His subject was Henriette d’Angleterre, the daughter of Charles I. At the time the drawing was made, Henriette was only five or so years old. She wears a simple dress, and her hair is tied back from her face, but is otherwise unadorned. Her only jewellery is a plain one-strand pearl necklace. Her right arm is resting on a table, which is covered with a cloth, but which appears to be otherwise empty. Henriette’s expression is very serious, considering her extreme youth, and her solemnity is mixed with more than a hint of sadness. Mellan appears to have caught Henriette in one of her unguarded moments, hastily drawing a rough sketch perhaps with a view to using it as the basis for a more formal portrait. If so, he never got round to doing this, and the sketch stands as a testament to the troubled childhood of the future duchesse d’Orléans.

 

 Henriette’s story began in June 1644 in Exeter, a city in the south-west of England. One of the last royalist strongholds, it was a small oasis of safety amid the turmoil of the Civil War. Here, at Bedford House, Henriette, the last child of Charles I and his queen, Henriette-Marie, was born. The little girl was only two weeks old when her mother fled to her native France. It was a desperate measure, one the queen would surely not have taken had it not been the only way to prevent herself from falling into the hands of her husband’s enemies. The child was left behind in the care of Lady Dalkeith.  Ten days later, Charles I, defying all the odds, pushed back the rebel forces and marched into Exeter.

   The king now saw his new daughter for the first time. Determined that she be brought up a Protestant, he arranged to have her christened according to the rites of the Church of England, and gave her the name Henriette, after her mother, his beloved queen. With his orders given, Charles managed to escape just as Parliamentary forces approached the city. He would never see his little princess again. Henriette remained in the care of Lady Dalkeith and was only one year old when the city surrendered. Lady Dalkeith and the princess were escorted to Salisbury and then on to Oatlands in Surrey, where her small household was forced to live for three months at Lady Dalkeith’s expense.

   At this point, Lady Dalkeith received an order to take Henriette to London so that she could join her brothers and sisters under the care of Lady Northumberland. Lady Dalkeith, who was determined to return the child to her parents, defied the order and organised a clandestine journey to France, taking Henriette with her. Disguised as a peasant, with a French servant posing as her husband and Henriette dressed in the tattered garb of a peasant boy named Pierre. this small, ragged group set out for France. It was a desperately dangerous time but, in the end, the only danger they faced came not from Parliamentary forces, cut purses or spies, but from Henriette herself: the proud toddler told everyone who would listen to her that she was not Pierre but a princess of England and that the rags she was wearing were not her real clothes. Luckily, passers-by and fellow travellers alike merely smiled at the shabby little ‘boy’ and continued on their way.

   Life in England had been difficult and uncertain, but to live as a refugee in France would prove to be little better. As an exile, Queen Henriette-Marie was forced to live, in the words of her daughter’s first biographer, Madame de La Fayette, ‘as a private person,’ and so, consequently, was the young English princess. As a result, Henriette ‘acquired all the insight, all the civility and kindliness of humbler conditions, whilst maintaining in her heart and in her person the nobility of her royal birth.’  At first, however, Henriette benefitted from the generous grants received by her mother upon her return to France. These included rooms in the Louvre and the use of Saint-Germain as a country residence. The queen of England was also awarded a pension of 30,000 livres per month, allowing mother and daughter to live in a manner befitting their royal status. This situation, however, was not last. Henriette’s childhood was destined to be difficult and unhappy, marked as it would be by the tragedy of her father’s execution, the exile of her brother and the indignity of living on the charity of others as a refugee in a foreign country. As the situation in England worsened, Henriette-Marie was obliged to sell her jewels and plate to fund her husband’s cause and to provide for the cavaliers who sought shelter in France and who were facing severe hardship. Unable to pay her own servants, the queen of England was forced to dismiss them, while trying to pay the wages of those serving her son, the prince of Wales. 

The French royal family were unable to offer any further assistance to Henriette-Marie because all their resources were spent on fighting the Fronde, as the series of civil wars that had erupted in 1648 were called. In January 1649, the child king, Louis XIV, was forced to flee Paris for the safety of Saint-Germain, leaving Henriette and her mother alone in the Louvre. Life there had become more difficult still. The Louvre, at that time an old, dark and gloomy palace that was badly in need of refurbishment, was the only refuge of Henriette and her mother as horrific violence raged in the surrounding streets. As frondeurs threatened to breach its walls, Henriette, not yet five years old, faced the second siege of her life. When Anne of Austria, mother to Louis XIV, heard of the hardship they were facing, she could only sigh and say that ‘neither she nor the king had a single sou, and that she knew not where to obtain either a dinner or a gown.’  There would be no help from that quarter.

   Just how reduced Henriette’s living conditions had become is graphically illustrated by the Cardinal de Retz, who describes a visit he made to the queen and princess in their rooms: ‘Five or six days before the king removed from Paris, I went to visit the Queen of England, whom I found in her daughter’s chamber… At my coming in, she said: “You see, I am come to keep Henrietta company. The poor child could not rise today for want of a fire.”’ Retz continued: ‘The truth is, that the cardinal [Mazarin] for six months together had not ordered her any money towards her pension; that no tradespeople would trust her for anything; and that there was not at her lodgings in the Louvre one single faggot.’  Retz was anxious to point out that he saw to it that the princess would not be obliged to keep to her bed the next day, having provided mother and daughter with a supply of firewood.

 A month later, Queen Henriette-Marie, who had kept alive hopes that she and King Charles would eventually be reunited, learned the dreadful news of his fate. In her profound grief, her only comfort was her little daughter, whose chatter and childish laughter provided the only ray of light in the darkness of their new reality. When her now widowed mother went to stay at a convent, Henriette was once again placed into the care of her former nurse, now known as Lady Morton following her marriage. At the request of Anne of Austria, Queen Henriette-Marie and Princess Henriette joined the French royal family at Saint-Germain, but there was more sad news to come. Henriette’s sister, Elizabeth, had died. Elizabeth had been held at Carisbrooke Castle on the Isle of Wight, where their father had also been imprisoned. Two months after that, Henriette’s uncle by marriage, William II of Orange, also died.

   Despite such grief, there were moments of happiness and celebration. Upon the fall of the Fronde, Louis XIV rode back into Paris in triumph. Henriette and her mother returned to the Louvre amid great rejoicing. More importantly, perhaps, there was a renewed sense of stability and security, much of which was owed to the kindness of Anne of Austria. She increased the queen of England’s pension and insisted that mother and daughter should leave the Louvre and take up residence in the more comfortable and welcoming Palais Royal instead. Here, they would be better able to enjoy the company of the king and the rest of the royal family and play a more central role at court.

   While Queen Henriette-Marie complied with this request, what she really wanted was solitude, and she began to look for a suitable place to which she might retire in comfortable surroundings. The convent of Port-Royal was an obvious choice, but she turned down the invitation extended to her by the nuns there. She had decided to establish a community of her own, and, with the assistance once again of Anne of Austria, she acquired a house at Chaillot. Several nuns from the convent of the Filles de Marie joined her in what was to become her favourite refuge.

   Among the regular visitors to Chaillot was Princess Henriette, often referred to by her mother as her enfant de bénédiction.  It was her intention that the child, despite having been christened into the Church of England, should be raised a Catholic, and Père Cyprien de Gamaches was appointed to instruct her in its doctrines. In spite of her youth, Henriette eagerly embraced her new faith, and she took it upon herself to convert her beloved Lady Morton. When, on one occasion, her mother suggested that she do just that, Henriette replied, ‘Madame, I do my best. I embrace her, I clasp my arms round her neck, I say to her, “Do be converted, Lady Morton. Father Cyprien says you must be a Catholic to be saved. You have heard him as well as I have. Do be a Catholic, ma bonne dame, and I will love you still more dearly.”’ Despite the entreaties of the little princess, Lady Morton could not bring herself to oblige. She returned to England shortly after this charming exchange and would die in 1654. Henriette never saw her again.

   Notwithstanding Henriette’s enthusiasm for Catholicism, her conversion was not universally well received. The English refugees in France were uncomfortable with it, as was Henriette’s brother, Charles, who remonstrated with his mother for daring to defy his late father’s wishes. In answer, Henriette-Marie appealed to a clause in her marriage contract, which stated that all her children should be raised by her until they reached the age of thirteen. Circumstances had made this impossible, except in Henriette’s case. Charles I had insisted that his queen should observe this clause and bring up their youngest child as she saw fit. Henriette-Marie was, therefore, acting in accordance with her marriage contract and her late husband’s wishes. Clarendon, whom Charles II had instructed to change his mother’s mind on the subject, found he could not argue with her reasoning. To be a Catholic was a distinct advantage to Henriette, whose future lay in France, but Queen Henriette-Marie had a still more compelling reason for insisting upon Henriette’s conversion. She attributed her daughter’s miraculous escape from England to a pact she had made with God: if he would restore the child to her, she would bring her up as a Catholic. She was, therefore, fulfilling her part of this pact with the Divine.

   Henriette-Marie was also careful to give her daughter an excellent education, which far exceeded that ordinarily provided for girls of her status. As a consequence, Henriette’s natural curiosity and intellect were allowed free reign, and her quick wit and sharp intelligence would single her out at court. For now, though, Henriette would wait on ladies, such as Madame de Sévigné and Madame de La Fayette, who had come to Chaillot to call on her mother for important religious festivals. They, as well as the nuns, were enchanted by the young princess and, in time, she and Madame de La Fayette would become close friends, with La Fayette even going on to write Henriette’s biography at the direction of the princess.

   The most important visitor to Chaillot, however, was Anne of Austria. It did not escape her notice that Henriette, despite the attention she was receiving from the nuns and the great ladies who visited the convent, was lonely. The reason was obvious: ensconced within the confines of the convent or hidden behind the walls of the Palais Royal, Henriette only occasionally had people of her own age to keep her company. Anne decided to remedy the situation by taking Henriette to the Louvre, to which the French court had recently relocated, from time to time. The dark and old-fashioned Louvre had taken on a new character since the young king had once again taken up residence there, and it was now a much happier place than the palace of recent memory. Free of the threats posed by the Fronde, the court was now devoted to music, masques and dance, card games and the hunt. Louis liked to host fêtes and balls and to put on plays. All was light and merriment, and Henriette was invited to take part in some of these amusements.

   Henriette’s first recorded court appearance took place on 28 February 1654, when she attended celebrations for the marriage of Anne Martinozzi, one of Cardinal Mazarin’s nieces, to the prince de Conti. The now nine-year-old princess is described by Loret as a ‘gracious aurore’, a new dawn about to cast her light upon the world.

   Two months later, Henriette made her ballet début in Benserade’s Les Noces de Pelée et de Thétis, in which Louis danced the part of Apollo for the first time. Henriette appeared as Evato, the goddess of love poetry, wearing a crown of myrtle and roses and carrying a lyre. Also appearing were her brothers, the dukes of York and Gloucester, while her future husband, Philippe, was partnered by his then favourite, the comte de Guiche. Louis was so pleased with the production that he ordered it to be performed several times that winter.

   Queen Henriette-Marie, still in morning for her husband, rarely ventured to court; but, on one occasion in 1655, she succumbed to the gentle persuasion of Anne of Austria, who invited her to a private soirée. The main purpose of the evening was to amuse Henriette, who, according to Madame de Motteville, was just ‘beginning to come out of childhood and to show that she was likely to be charming.’  Anne of Austria, she noted, took great pains to make sure that the company ‘should be beautiful and worthy of the royal persons who were present with it.’ Among these worthy persons were the attractive and amusing nieces of Cardinal Mazarin, with Louis paying much attention to them. As the music started, he took the hand of Madame de Mercœur and stepped out to begin the branle with her. At this, his mother, thinking he had made a mistake, promptly rose from her chair, pulled Mme de Mercœur aside and told the king in a low voice that he must dance with Princess Henriette. Queen Henriette-Marie, wishing to defuse what might become an awkward situation, protested that her daughter had injured her foot and was unable to dance. To this, Anne of Austria replied that, if the princess could not dance, neither would the king. Henriette-Marie relented and allowed the child to dance, but she was very displeased by the behaviour of the king, as was Anne of Austria. Later, in the privacy of his apartment, Louis was scolded by his mother, but all he could say in his defence was that he ‘did not like little girls.’

   The incident of the dance was not, however, an isolated occasion. Three years later, in 1658, Henriette had the pleasure of receiving her sister, the widowed Mary, the Princess Royal, who met the delicate teenager for the first time. A reception held for the distinguished guest seemed to go off very well, but a few days afterwards, a rumour began to circulate that Queen Henriette-Marie had complained about what she took to be a breach of protocol on the part of Mademoiselle, the king’s cousin, who was accused of having attempted to take precedence over Princess Henriette. In the story, as told by Mademoiselle in her Mémoires,   she had seen the princess playing with Mesmoiselles de Nemours and so had followed the queen as far as the end of the gallery, at which point, she called to her, and the two women entered the room hand in hand as was their custom. Speaking of Henriette, Cardinal Mazarin said that ‘it was remarked the other day at the Queen’s that you wished to pass before her.’ At this, Monsieur said, ‘and supposing she had done so, would she not have been right? We shall have enough to do with people dependent upon us for bread if we permit them to go before us. What will they not want besides?’ When the story reached Henriette-Marie, she became very upset and ‘wept very much at hearing it.’ She approached Monsieur and told him: ‘Considering who you are, and those of whom you speak, you ought not to be the first to talk in this manner.’ Mademoiselle blamed him for his attitude and explained to the cardinal that she was willing to ‘render to the queen of England, considering her position, and her relationship, all the respect possible; were it otherwise, I might have some disposition to dispute le pas with her daughter: as it was, I had no such idea.’ Mazarin pointed out that ‘the kings of Scotland gave place formerly to the fils de France; so that you are entitled to precede the Princess of England.’

   Despite this unpleasant incident, the visit of her sister was a moment of delight in Henriette’s otherwise cheerless life. Soon afterwards, the thirteen-year-old returned to her regular routine at the Palais Royal, with occasional stays at Chaillot and Colombes, which her mother had taken as a country residence. Henriette’s delicate health continued to be of concern, as did that of her mother, and the two of them would occasionally travel to Bourbon to take its healing waters. These visits would last several weeks at a time, and mother and daughter would often be accompanied by Henriette’s uncle, Gaston d’Orléans.

   It had long been Henriette-Marie’s wish that her daughter should marry Louis XIV. Anne of Austria agreed that Henriette would make a good queen of France, but she always considered the princess to be no more than a second choice; her favourite was another of her nieces, Maria-Teresa, infanta of Spain. Louis, on the other hand, was could not countenance the thought of taking Henriette as his wife and queen. ‘The King,’ wrote Madame de La Fayette, ‘on the contrary showed an aversion for this marriage, and even for the person of the Princess: he thought her too young to please him, and admitted at length that she displeased him, though he could give no reason. And in truth,’ she continued, ‘it had been hard to find one; for exactly what the English Princess possessed in the highest degree was the gift of pleasing, together with what we call grace. and her charms were distributed throughout her person, revealed alike in her actions and her wit; and never has [a] princess been able to make herself so equally beloved of men and adored of women.’  Madame de Motteville was more guarded in her opinion, stating that Queen Anne’s only regret ‘was that she [Henriette] was not three years older in order to please the king, who appeared to neglect her because she was younger than he, seeming to desire a more mature wife.’  

   In default of the king, Henriette-Marie turned her thoughts to the duc de Savoie, and she opened negotiations through the husband of Madame de Fienne, who corresponded regularly with Henriette’s sister, the Princess Royal. The negotiations did not go as Henriette-Marie had hoped, which circumstance was of great amusement to Louis. He was in the habit of taunting his brother, who was very eager to be married. One day, as they were riding together in a coach, Louis began teasing his brother once more, saying, ‘come now, you will marry the Princess of England, for no one else will have her. Monsieur de Savoie has refused the lady. I have spoken to Monsieur de Florence respecting her, but he, too, does not wish to have anything to do with the affair; for all these reasons, therefore, I conclude that you will be sure to have her.’ 

   As it was, the duke of Savoie and the grand duke of Tuscany were being courted by Mazarin, who wanted them for the two daughters of Gaston d’Orléans. Still, Louis’s unkind words show that Henriette would never be taken seriously as a potential marriage partner, notwithstanding Anne of Austria’s great affection for her. As Mademoiselle noted, ‘the King had no predilection in her favour.’  Madame de Motteville pointed out the real reason for this: ‘the king alone in France did not like her, or, to speak more truly, the minister had no interest which induced him to bend the king in her favour.’  In other words, Louis was following Mazarin’s advice.

  Of course, the marriage of someone of Henriette’s station was a matter of politics, not love or personal choice; and the truth of was that she, as the daughter of a deposed and executed king, and the sister of a king without a kingdom, was simply without worth. However, two significant incidents occurred in the year 1660 that drastically altered the prospects of the young princess. February, saw the death of Louis and Philippe’s uncle, Gaston d’Orléans, and his title pass to Philippe. The new duke would also receive the appanage of his late uncle, but only on the occasion of his marriage. Then, in May, Henriette’s brother, Charles II, was restored to the English throne. No longer was Henriette a penniless refugee living on the charity of the French court. Instead, she became an eminently eligible marriage prospect. Even as Cardinal Mazarin was concluding negotiations for the marriage of Louis XIV with the Infanta of Spain, he was turning his thoughts towards the establishment of the king’s younger brother, Philippe. It was obvious to him, as it was to everyone else, that, realistically, the only suitable wife for the new duc d’Orléans was Henriette.

In the summer of 1660, the court returned to Fontainebleau for a few days, and Philippe took the opportunity to court Henriette. That August, he gave a ball at his château of Saint-Cloud, a gift from the king. Here, he led Henriette onto the floor for the first dance. Later that month, the court was treated to the spectacle of the newly married king and queen making their entrance into Paris, and Henriette and her mother were among the honoured guests.

   Despite her soon-to-be elevated status, Henriette continued to be treated with disdain by Mademoiselle. As the royal family assembled at the hôtel de Beauvais, she again tried to take precedence over the princess. Hearing that the duke of York, Henriette’s brother, had yielded precedence in Flanders, Philippe refused to give the report credence because, as Mademoiselle surmised, he was ‘under a species of infatuation in favour of la Maison d’Angleterre’ and so was reluctant to render homage to any other house.  Mademoiselle then added that, ‘up to this time I had regarded the Princess of England merely in the light of a little girl, without paying the least attention to her manner of conducting herself towards me, or of mine in regard to her.’ Upon hearing the report of the duke of York, however, she felt that ‘it was right to require the same consideration as that which had been granted to my juniors.’ Needless to say, Anne of Austria was displeased with Mademoiselle’s attitude, which threatened to spoil the happy occasion.

   If Henriette was aware of the unpleasantness, she gave no indication of it. Instead, she watched her betrothed as he rose alongside the radiant king. In that moment at least she could hope that her life was about to take a happier turn for, that same month, Anne of Austria had formally asked Henriette’s mother for the hand the princess in marriage.

   Still, Henriette continued to face some difficulty, especially from the king. As explained by Madame de Motteville, Louis ‘had never had much inclination for this marriage. He said himself that he felt the natural antipathy to the English people which is said to have always existed between the two nations.’ He seemed to direct much of his hostility towards Henriette personally. One day, he told Philippe that ‘he need not be in so great hurry to espouse the bones of the Innocents,’ a reference to the Parisian cemetery that was often used for mass burials - a callous comment on Henriette’s obvious thinness.  Mademoiselle agreed that it was true that Henriette was very thin, but, she added, she was ‘extremely amiable. There was a peculiar grace in everything she did, and she was so affable that everyone who approached her was delighted.’ Mademoiselle’s kind words were, however, mixed with a dash of venom: ‘She knew the secret also of managing her figure, which was much admired, although she was crooked – a blemish that even Monsieur did not find until after he had married her.’ 

   Before the marriage could go ahead, certain formalities had to be observed. These would be accomplished during a visit to England by Henriette and her mother. However, not long before they were due to set out, terrible news arrived of the death of one of Henriette’s brothers, the duke of Gloucester. He had fallen ill on 12 September 1660 and died five days later. Henriette was inconsolable and could not find the words to write to Charles; it would not be until 10 October that she felt able to express her feelings in a letter. She tells him that the sorrow their loss had caused Charles ‘is so just that one can but take one’s part in it, and I have the honour to share it equally with you.’ She told him of her eagerness to see him again, which she hoped would be soon, ending with ‘and then I shall be able to show you how much I am your very humble servant, which all kinds of people may tell you, but assuredly there are few who are so as truly as I.’  Meanwhile, Henriette’s sister, the Princess Royal, had arrived in England, and Charles now awaited only his mother and beloved youngest sister to join them for their long-awaited family reunion.

   As Henriette and her mother prepared for the journey, gazetteers and poets had already begun to sing the praises of the princess, who had so recently been the object of pity and derision. Monsieur de la Serre dedicated a pen portrait of her to Philippe, in which he praised her beauty of soul, which could be compared only with that of her face. ‘She speaks so agreeably,’ he wrote,

that it is as pleasant to hear as well as see her. In singing, who can equal her? In other accomplishments she is unrivalled. Who can express her goodness, grace, and sweetness and wisdom? She possesses a thousand other qualities; the least among them all is that of being born a princess. 

Such adoration piqued the interest of other would-be suitors. Suddenly, Henriette was much in demand so that, while the comte de Soissons was on his way to England to make the formal request of the princess’s hand on behalf of Philippe, duc d’Orléans, others were making their suit. Philippe received news that the emperor Leopold II had sent Prince Rupert to England to ask for Henriette’s hand. The king of Portugal and the duc de Savoie were also showing their eagerness to marry the English princess, whose stock had risen considerably since the restoration of her brother.

   As it was, realistically, there was only one suitor for Henriette, and that was Philippe, duc d’Orléans. Charles appears never to have taken any of the other offers seriously. As Soissons writes, ‘the King of England knows, from his own judgment, that it is both the best for his own interests, and for the happiness of the Princes, that she should marry Monsieur.’ 

   Henriette and her mother duly departed from Paris on 29 October, much to Philippe’s sorrow, to begin the long journey to England. Arriving at Calais several days later, they were greeted by the duke of York, Henriette’s brother. The English Channel, however, true to its contrary nature, was dead calm and the little flotilla of ships took two days to make the crossing. Charles, who travelled with the Princess Royal and Prince Rupert to Dover, hurried to the docks to meet his sister and mother. It was a happy family gathering, celebrated by a banquet that was held in the Grand Hall of Dover Castle.

   The family travelled in stages to London, arriving on 2 November (Old Style) to be greeted with bonfires, bells and cheers from the crowds who had come out onto the streets to welcome them. For Henriette-Marie, however, this was a bitter-sweet occasion: returning to England where she had been queen, the memories of the war that had overturned her life, and the horror and deep sorrow of her husband’s fate was, at times, too much to bear.

   For Henriette, it was a different matter. The bright sixteen-year-old barely remembered her native country, and its tragic associations and recent griefs were quickly swept aside by the overwhelming pageantry of the occasion. One person who met Henriette at this time was Samuel Pepys, who was less than impressed by her. He wrote in his diary:

The Princess Henriette is very pretty, but much below my expectations; and her dressing of herself with her hair frized [sic] short up to her ears did make her seem so much less to me. But my wife standing near her with two of three black patches on, and well dressed, did seem to me much handsomer than she.  

   Pepys’ assessment was not universal. Monsieur Bartet, secretary to the comte de Soissons, kept Cardinal Mazarin up to date with events. One evening, Henriette was too tired to attend a reception being given for her mother and stayed in her apartments. Soissons went to pay her a visit and Bartet accompanied him, which afforded him a glimpse of Henriette en déshabillé. ‘You can tell Monsieur,’ he noted

that he never saw her more beautiful in dress, than she appeared to me at that moment. Even on the day when I saw him leading her through your gallery and told her that she was as lovely as his little guardian angel, she was scarcely as fair as she looked, sitting there in her mobcap and coloured print gown at Whitehall. 

   Bartet was not the only man to appreciate Henriette’s charms. Her beauty stirred the pulse of a very ardent would-be suitor. He was George Villiers, 2nd duke of Buckingham, the son of the gallant who had outrageously wooed Anne of Austria so many years earlier. He showed himself to be as passionate – and as exasperating – as his father.

   So long had Henriette been away from her native England that she had forgotten how to write in English. When she received a purse of money granted to her by the House of Commons, she wrote her letter of thanks in French, begging the Speaker to excuse her for not being able to write in the English tongue, but assuring him that she retained her English heart.  For Philippe, however, it was Henriette’s extended, as he saw it, absence from France that was of concern. Summoned to Whitehall, M. Bartet was told that the duc d’Orléans was melancholy and unable to sleep and had ‘grown quite thin in her absence.’ Bartet replied that ‘the only remedy for these ills was in [Henriette’s] hands.’ 

   Later that November, the formal request for Henriette’s hand was made once more. A treaty was agreed, and settlements and gifts of were arranged for the princess. These included the Château de Montargis, which was to be Henriette’s personal residence.

   Henriette and her mother spent Christmas at Charles’ court, where the festivities were all the merrier after the years of austere Puritan rule. During this time tragedy struck the royal family once again when the Princess Royal became ill. Smallpox showed itself soon after, and Henriette was moved into St James’ Palace for safety. Charles remained with the Princess Royal, but he was concerned enough about Henriette to send her a little note to let her know that he was thinking of her. For a brief time, the health of the Princess Royal seemed to improve, but it was a false hope. Having been bled by her physicians, she rapidly weakened and died on Christmas Eve.

   In France, Philippe was given the news of the princess’s death. In his anxiety, he sent his maître d’hôtel to England to beg Henriette-Marie to bring his betrothed back to France immediately. It was a summons that could not be ignored, and Henriette and her mother accordingly set off on their long journey home. Their first stopover was at Hampton Court, where they were joined by Charles, who escorted them to Portsmouth. After saying their sad farewells, they set sail on the London, a man-o-war under the command of the earl of Sandwich, on 9 January 1661. However, on the second day at sea, the ship was caught in a severe storm. The pilot was unable to maintain control of the vessel and it ran onto Horse Sand. Luckily, it was undamaged, but it was forced to turn back to the safety of Portsmouth.

   No sooner had they reached safe harbour than Henriette fell ill with a violent fever. Bravely she tried to ignore it, stating that the journey should resume as soon as the weather allowed, but this was not to be. Her condition worsened and smallpox was feared. In the end, it turned out to be measles, so that ‘they could not quit the land, nor could they think of disembarking, for fear of endangering her life by such movement.’  

Charles was told of his sister’s illness and sent his personal physician to attend her. Typically this would entail bleeding her, but Henriette refused this treatment, and, in time, her condition improved. Philippe, too, had been informed of Henriette’s condition, and his mother sent one of her gentlemen to enquire after her. By 25 January, however, Henriette had recovered sufficiently to allow her to continue her journey. Buckingham, who had begged Charles’ permission to accompany the royal party, became jealous of the attention paid to the princess by the English admiral. He made such a nuisance of himself that he was sent ahead to Paris to announce her safe arrival in France.

   Henriette travelled in stages towards the French capital. Stopping at Pontoise, she was met by Louis and his young queen, who welcomed her warmly back to France. The warmest welcome, however, came from Philippe, who ‘continued, up to the time of his marriage, to render her services which were lacking in naught be love,’ wrote Madame de La Fayette. 

   Herein lies the truth of Henriette’s marriage to Philippe – it was not a love match, but a political expedient. As Mademoiselle pointed out, following the death of Cardinal Mazarin, in March 1661, ‘the Queen-mother had now less repugnance to it. The Cardinal had not considered it advantageous for Monsieur – nor politic in the King, to press this marriage.’  Yet, now things had changed. Louis, writing in his memoirs to his son, explains how:

[The marriage] of my brother to the sister of the king of England had just taken place in the month of March, to my great pleasure, even for reasons of state, for my alliance with this nation under Cromwell had virtually struck the last blow in the war against Spain by reducing the enemy to not being able to defend the Low Countries any longer and consequently to grant me, if I had wanted, better terms that they did by the Treaty of the Pyrenees. The situation had subsequently changed in England. Cromwell was dead and the king restored. The Spanish, taking stock for the future of Flanders in case of a break with me and hoping for nothing then from Holland, wanted above all to place this prince [Charles] in their interests. The marriage of my brother was intended to keep him in mine. 

Louis was, of course, wrote this from a viewpoint afforded by hindsight. At the time the marriage took place, he was still able to look at it through a slightly less political lens, and he wrote a note to Charles that, at times, bordered on the personal:

Monsieur mon frère – since I have always considered the marriage of my brother with your sister, the Princess of England, as a new tie which would draw still closer the bonds of our friendship, I feel more joy than I can express, that it was yesterday happily accomplished; and as I doubt not that this news will inspire you with the same sentiments as I feel myself, I would not delay one moment to share my joy with you, nor would I lose the opportunity of this mutual congratulation, to tell you that I am, my brother, very truly your good brother, Louis. 

The marriage of Henriette and Philippe had taken place on 30 March 1661 in the chapel of the Palais Royal. Henriette, the new duchesse d’Orléans, had left behind her childhood, marked as it had been with tragedy, loss, loneliness, hardship and uncertainly, the bleakness of her young days brightened by the occasional glimpse of the brilliant court to which she was, to a large extent, an unwanted outsider. Henceforward, her life would be filled with light, music and dancing within a court whose brightest ornament she would be. As she took her first steps into adult life, only time would tell whether or not she had left behind the sadness she that had so darkened her past.

Image credits

All images are from the author’s own collection unless otherwise stated.

1 Henriette by Claude Mellan ( National Museum, Stockholm Nationalmuseum - Henriette-Anne av England)

2 The Louvre as it looked in 1670.

3 Anne of Austria by Rubens

4 Henriette-Marie by Anthony van Dyck.

5 Louis XIV as a young man, attributed to Jean Nocret

6 La Grande Mademoiselle by Louis Ferdinand Elle the elder

7 Philippe duc d’Orléans by Antoine Mathieu 

8 Charles II by John Michael Wright

9 Henriette by Jan de Baen

10 Dover Castle (Karl Quinney.co.uk)

11 George Villiers, 2nd duke of Buckingham by Sir Peter Lely (Wikipedia)

12 Louis XIV by Charles Le Brun

13 Henriette and Philippe by Henri Gascard (Familles Royales d'Europe - Philippe de France, Monsieur, duc d'Orléans (altesses.eu))

The Marriages of Katherine Howard

 

Katherine Howard was executed for presumptive treason on 13 February 1542. It was thought that she would cheat on her husband, King Henry VIII, if given the chance - but was she ever legally married to the king?

Unknown woman formerly known as Catherine Howard

Katherine was the daughter of Sir Edmund Howard, younger brother of the powerful Thomas Howard, third duke of Norfolk. Her mother, Jocasta, belonged to the large Culpeper family, branches of which could be found in various locations across the southeast of England. Jocasta died when Katherine was still very young and, although Sir Edmund married again, he was widowed for the second time shortly afterwards. Impoverished and unable to care for his children, he took up the post of comptroller at Calais, at which point Katherine was sent to live with her step-grandmother, Agnes, dowager duchess of Norfolk, at Chesworth Park, near Horsham in Suffolk.

Katherine received an education in exchange for certain duties in Agnes’s household. She was merely one of several young gentlewomen to do so. Many of them, like Katherine, were related to the dowager duchess in some way.

Life at Chesworth was pleasant, and Katherine’s duties were light. When her studies and chores were done, she and her companions would stay in the maidens’ chamber. This comprised a sitting room and a dormitory, with the young ladies sleeping two to a bed. Male and female servants were kept strictly apart.

On occasion, Agnes would visit London to attend court. Eventually, she moved to her town house, Norfolk House in Lambeth, across the Thames from Whitehall. Katherine and other members of the household went with Agnes, and life carried on much as it had done at Chesworth.

At Lambeth, as at Chesworth, the living arrangements ensured that male and female servants occupied separate quarters. However, it was perhaps inevitable that some gentlemen would find a means of entering the maidens’ chamber after hours. One of those who came to entertain the young ladies was Francis Dereham.

Dereham, who could trace his ancestry at least as far back as the thirteenth century, was a retainer of the duke of Norfolk. In 1538, he had accompanied his master on a visit to Lambeth but, when Norfolk returned to his estates, Dereham remained behind, taking up the post of gentleman usher in Agnes’s household. This was not necessarily unexpected, since Dereham was related to Agnes, being her first cousin once removed. He was also related to Katherine, although more distantly. Dereham was aged between 29 and 32 when Katherine first met him. She was about thirteen years old.

The post of gentleman usher placed Dereham in a position of authority over the other servants in Agnes’s household, including Katherine. It was part of his job to summon servants as and when Agnes wished to see them. This could be to accompany her to the chapel, eat with her, or simply to be present if she had guests.

Another of Dereham’s tasks was to sort the mealtime leftovers. Food that could be served again, such as bread and meats, was placed into cold storage; that which could not was disposed of. This was usually given to the servants to share among themselves. When Dereham went to the maidens’ chamber after hours, he would often bring with him wine, strawberries and apples to make ‘good cheer.’ Among those who shared in this good cheer was Katherine Howard.

Initially, Dereham courted another lady, Joan Bulmer, who was separated from her husband and had come to live in Agnes’s housegold. However, Dereham soon gave up Joan and turned his attention instead to Katherine. For her part, Katherine had no interest in the much older Dereham, but her protests were ignored, and he made her his mistress in every sense of the word.

Dereham would pester Katherine for sex at any time of the day of night. As Katherine would later state, Dereham, ‘by many persuasions’ procured her to his ‘vicious purpose,’ using her ‘in such sort as a man doth his wife many and sundry times.’

Dereham was indiscreet, and Katherine’s companions were often forced to bear witness as he took Katherine in various beds and even in the privy. There would be no risk of an unwanted child, however, for Dereham boasted that he knew ways to prevent this from happening. Similarly, Katherine was reported to have said that ‘a woman might meddle with a man and yet conceive no child unless she would for herself.’ Whether Katherine was referring to contraception or the widely held belief that it was necessary for a woman to enjoy sex in order to conceive may be debated.

While many within the household were aware of what was going on, few took it seriously. Even Agnes paid lip service, telling the young people of her household to behave and dealing the occasional cuffing. Other than that, the aged dowager duchess simply left it to them to regulate their own actions.

Katherine often needed, or wanted, things she could not afford to buy. In such cases, Dereham would purchase the items for her. He considered them gifts, while Katherine always insisted that she would pay back the money when she had some of her own. This was significant because gift-giving was a recognised part of courtship, and it appeared that Katherine wanted to avoid Dereham, or anyone else, thinking that their relationship was anything other than friendship.

In a new development, however, Katherine and Dereham began to call each other husband and wife. Dereham had asked her if they could address each other in this way because some of the servants gossiped that he and Katherine would marry. Dereham attributed this gossip to jealousy among his enemies, and Katherine, by giving her consent, would show that their malice was misplaced.

Notwithstanding the traditional and legal particulars of aristocratic matches, Katherine, for whatever reason, agreed to Dereham’s demands. Although she almost certainly did not understand the implications of her decision, she agreed that she and Dereham could call each other husband and wife.

The consequences of Katherine’s decision were profound. It was not her place to choose a husband; that privilege belonged to her father, and his choice required the king’s approval. Failing his involvement, the matter would almost certainly be placed into the hands of Katherine’s uncle, the duke of Norfolk.

Shortly after this, Dereham made arrangements to go to Ireland to make his fortune. Before his departure, he left an indenture and obligation of £100 with Katherine. Dereham told her that, if he failed to return from Ireland, she was to keep the money. This was a significant sum, the equivalent of almost £43,000 in today’s values; clearly Dereham thought of Katherine as more than just another sexual conquest. His actions indicate that he considered her to be his wife, or at least his betrothed.

Marital status was established by contracts. These were variously worded according to whether the couple concerned was betrothed or legally bound in marriage. Betrothal was covered by a contract per verba de futuro, which is best described as a promise to marry at some point in the future. A de futuro contract could be dissolved if both partners wished to do so or by ruling of canon law if they could not agree. On the other hand, a couple could be contracted per verba de praesenti, meaning that their marriage existed in the present rather than being a future event. A de praesenti contract was legally binding, meaning it was indissoluble and could not be dispensed should either party wish to leave the relationship and take a new partner.

That Katherine and Dereham had begun to address each other as husband and wife, and that they did so in front of others, meant that they had entered into a contract together, but which sort? According to Katherine’s later testimony, others in the household

 

‘trowed [trusted] that he would never have kissed me enough.’ Whereto he answered, ‘who should let [prevent] him to kiss his own wife?’ Then said one of them, ‘I trowe the matter will come to pass as the common saying is.’ ‘What is that’, quoth he. ‘Marry’, said the other, ‘that Mr Dereham shall have Mrs [Mistress] Katherine Howard.’ ‘By St John,’ said Dereham, ‘you may guess twice and guess worse.’  

 

Assuming Katherine quoted Dereham accurately, the nature of their relationship was ambiguous. At first, Dereham seemed to have referred to Katherine as his ‘own wife.’ One of the servants, however, suggested that no marriage had yet taken place, although it is anticipated. Dereham did not deny this, accepting instead that the servant had correctly guessed that he and Katherine would go on to marry. Indeed, as Katherine would later explain, Dereham had raised the question of matrimony.

This implies that the pair had entered into a contract per verba de futuro because, although marriage was spoken of, it was still a future event. Had the couple left matters there, their relationship could have been dissolved if either of them decided to move on or, especially in Katherine’s case, her family decided to marry her into a family of their choosing. However, Katherine and Dereham had engaged in sex; that is, they had consummated their relationship. This automatically converted the de futuro contract into a de praesenti one. According to the law as it then stood, this fact changed the nature of their relationship from a betrothal into a legally binding, indissoluble marriage.

The relationship between Katherine Howard and Francis Dereham was, therefore, a contract per verba de praesenti. It also bound Katherine into a precontract. This term simply meant a previous marriage, but it presented an impediment to any subsequent marriage.

Events overtook the couple when King Henry VIII began to show an interest in Katherine not long after she had joined the court as a lady in waiting to Anne of Cleves. Having just returned from Ireland, Dereham heard rumours that Katherine had become close to her distant cousin, Thomas Culpeper. Dereham confronted Katherine, but he was forced to retreat when he learned that he had another rival – Henry.

In the summer of 1540, Henry began drawing up legislation designed to clear the way for him to marry Katherine. An Act passed in the House of Commons on 5 July stated that all marriages contracted and consummated after 1 July would be considered valid even if a previous contract had been made, provided that the contract had not been consummated. The purpose of the Act was to render invalid any contract Katherine might have entered into in the past.

Unfortunately for both Henry and Katherine, her contract with Francis Dereham had been consummated. She and Dereham were legally married in an indissoluble union, meaning that she was not free to marry Henry. Nothing was said of it, however, and Katherine married Henry bigamously in July 1540. She was presented to the court as Henry’s new queen on 8 August.

Later, when the details of her past were revealed, coupled with what was interpreted as evidence of her continued indiscretions, Katherine, would continue to deny her contract with Dereham because she had never consented to her relationship with him. This, unfortunately, did not invalidate their contract. Katherine was possibly too young, or not sufficiently knowledgeable of the law, to understand that a contract de futuro automatically became de praesenti upon consummation.

The knowledge that Katherine had not been pure when he married her destroyed his love for her. The belief that she had gone on to betray him made him want to kill her. However, as a result of Katherine’s denials, Henry was unable to prove that she had committed adultery. Instead, he rested his case on presumption, resulting from the fact that Katherine had taken Dereham into her service after her marriage to Henry. However, further evidence came not from Dereham, but from Culpeper, who claimed that he ‘intended and meant to do ill with the queen and that in like wise, the queen so minded to do with him.’

Culpeper’s damning testimony was enough to give the king what he wanted, and Katherine – despite never having been legally married to Henry - was executed for presumptive treason on 13 February 1542.

Read more about Katherine in my Book: Katherine Howard. The Tragic Story of Henry VIII's Fifth Queen

Marrying Lucy Percy

On a cold day in February 1617, two young ladies walked through the gates of the Tower of London. They were Lucy Percy and her older sister, Dorothy, and they had come to visit their father, the earl of Northumberland.

Lucy Hay, née Percy by Anthony van Dyck 

The two young women, both still in their teens, made their way through the Tower complex to the Martin Tower and went inside. Their father greeted them warmly and exchanged pleasantries. After a while, though, his demeanour changed. Suddenly, he ordered Dorothy to go back home to her husband. As she was leaving, he gave her another order: to send Lucy’s maids to the Tower so they could attend her. Lucy was to become a prisoner in the Tower. Her gaoler was not the state, but her own father.

Lucy Percy was the second and youngest daughter of Henry Percy, ninth earl of Northumberland. Born at Michaelmas in 1599, she was only six years old when her father was detained in the Tower after being implicated in the Gunpowder Plot. Her mother was Dorothy Devereux, sister of the fallen favourite of Elizabeth I, Robert Devereux, earl of Essex. Her court connections, however, did not end there. Through the Devereux line, Lucy could trace her descent back to Mary Boleyn, sister of Anne Boleyn. Possibly, as a result of Mary’s affair with Henry VIII, Lucy could count the king as one of her ancestors.

Lucy’s mother had ambitions for her, and in 1614, when Lucy was in her fourteenth year, she introduced her daughter at court. The young lady’s beauty - it was agreed that she was ‘the most lovely damsel in all England’ – her accomplishments and her sparkling personality were such that her success in court circles was guaranteed.

For her part, Lucy embraced life at court. She loved the ceremony, the masques, the feasting and the society. Not unnaturally, she soon attracted a string of admirers. Young, handsome men paid court to her and, in theory at least, she could have had her pick of them. However, while she enjoyed the attention, her heart would be captured by a much older man: Sir James Hay.

James Hay, artist unknown

Born c.1580 in Pitcorthie in Fife, Sir James Hay had spent considerable time in France in his youth gaining an education and acquiring good taste and refinement. It is believed by some that he had later served in the Gardes Écossaises of Henri IV of France and that he was introduced to King James by one of Henri’s ambassadors.

Hay was graceful, with strong, handsome features. Nevertheless, the overall shape of his face would later inspire the Electress Elizabeth to call him ‘Camel-face’ and address him as such in her letters to him. It is an indication of his character that he took this in good humour.

Hay had come to England in late 1603. He had served King James prior to his accession to the English throne, and now Hay hoped that his career would escalate still further. His presence at court and his status as someone who enjoyed royal favour would not be overlooked. ‘Notice was taken of a rising favourite,’ writes the courtier and politician, Anthony Weldon, ‘the first meteor of that nature appearing in our climate.’

King James recognised Hay’s abilities and showered him with various marks of his favour. Hay was created Lord Hay, although without a seat in the House of Lords. Later, he was appointed Gentleman of the Robes and, from 1613-1618, would hold the post of Master of the Wardrobe. During this time, he was elevated to the peerage as Lord Hay of Sawley in Yorkshire.

As Master of the Wardrobe, Hay was given a house on Upper Thames Street in Blackfriars. Here, he would host the lavish entertainments for which he would become famous. Highly fashionable, it was said of him that he always had to be ‘set out after the last edition.’

Lord Hay was politically ambitious and desired to be a significant figure at the English court. He had observed that James favoured English courtiers over the Scots, and Hay became a naturalised Englishman in 1604. This was a natural progression, for he was fond of all things English and he made it his study to become the quintessential English gentleman. Hay, therefore, formed close links with the English rather than the Scottish members of James’s court, a move that very much pleased the king.

Another means by which Hay could become more ‘English’ was to take an English wife, and this was also in accordance with the king’s own preferences. In 1607, Hay married Honora Denny, daughter of Lord Edward Denny, a match made ‘by royal mediation.’ Honora give birth to two children, James and Anne, no doubt named after the king and queen. She died tragically after suffering a miscarriage in 1614, the same year Lucy made her debut at court.

Exactly when Hay began courting Lucy is not known, but they were recognised as a couple by early 1617. In an age when marriage within the nobility was seen as a matter of state, with families and fortunes, estates and titles marrying, rather than individuals, the marriage of Lucy Percy and Sir James Hay would, nevertheless, be a love match.

It is easy to see why Hay fell for Lucy, and why she was the perfect bride him. She had youth and beauty, with a clear ivory complexion, large and expressive brown eyes, and an oval face framed by luxurious brown curls. She was also accomplished. As an excellent horsewoman and dancer, she possessed two of the most important qualities a courtier could possess. Lucy was also intelligent despite her rudimentary education, which had covered only those subjects deemed appropriate for a young lady of her status. She was alert and, even at this early age, was wise to the ways of the world around her. Observant, she learned everything she needed to know by carefully watching others at court. In addition to these qualities, her most valuable asset, as far as Hay was concerned, was that she was English.

Lucy Russell, née Harington, countess of Bedford
by William Larkin

For his part, Sir James Hay also had his attractions. Although a widower several years older than Lucy, he was a successful courtier, who could facilitate Lucy’s own court career. He was well-connected, with a wide network of friends and associates. Hay was attractive, and he possessed a quality that most women find irresistible: charm. He was good humoured, affable and sophisticated. 

As it was, the lovers had a powerful ally in the form of Lucy Russell, countess of Bedford. Lady Bedford, who was related to the Bruces, understood the merits of accepting the Scots into English court circles. She served in the household of Queen Anna as Lady of the Bedchamber. This was an important post, one that brought her into intimate contact with the queen. Moreover, she was a friend of both Sir James Hay and Lady Northumberland. Indeed, Lucy’s mother had probably named her daughter after her. Now Lady Bedford was running Hay’s campaign to marry Lucy. With such a powerful person on his side, Hay had no trouble winning over Lady Northumberland so that she was as eager for the match as Lucy.

There was one major problem, however. Despite his imprisonment, the earl of Northumberland insisted upon exercising his fatherly duty of selecting suitable husbands for his daughters. Dorothy and Lucy had other ideas. Dorothy had recently married a man of her own choice, Lord Sidney, the future earl of Leicester. Knowing her father’s antipathy towards the Sidneys, the wedding had taken place in secret the previous year. They announced their union only when Dorothy’s pregnancy could no longer be concealed. Northumberland angrily expressed his disapproval, but he could do nothing about it. The marriage had taken place and that was the end of the matter. Now it was Lucy’s turn. When Northumberland found out who Lucy wished to marry, his fury knew no bounds.

Northumberland hated the Scottish courtiers who had come to England with King James. He regarded them as upstarts and resented their taking the places, as he saw it, of the established English aristocracy. Thinking he wanted Lucy for her inheritance, he wrote to Hay, telling him that Lucy would get none of his money if she married against his will. This protest, however, was of no avail. Hay’s love for Lucy was disinterested. He loved her for herself, not for her money.

Henry Percy, 9th earl of Northumberland
by  Anthony van Dyck

Nevertheless, Northumberland forbade Lucy to marry Hay, declaring that he ‘could not endure that his daughter should dance any Scottish jigs.’ He thought he could break Lucy’s will if he applied the right tactic. He tried persuasion in the form of an astonishingly large dowry of £20,000 – almost £3 million in today’s money - if she would allow him to choose her husband for her. He then used intimidation: he threatened to keep her in the Tower if she would not give in to his demands.

Lucy, however, was headstrong. She knew her own mind and she wanted Hay. When she refused to relent, Northumberland resolved to carry out his threat. When Lucy and Dorothy came to visit him on that February day in 1617, he received them well enough but ‘after some caresses he dismissed his daughter Sidney [Dorothy] to go home to her husband, and to send her sister’s maids to attend her.’ Imprisoning his intractable daughter in the Tower, he thought, would be the only way to break her. He ‘meant not to part with her but that she should keep him company.’

As it happened, Hay was hosting one of his famous events that evening. He had laid on an extravagant supper and masque for visiting French ambassadors. However, ‘the chief and most desired guest’ was missing. Lucy was to have been the real guest of honour, and her absence was noted.

 The young lady was now housed in the Brick Tower. This was adjoined to the Martin Tower in which her father lived by a section of the battlements that acquired the name Northumberland’s Walk because the earl was fond of taking walks there.

That April, King James went on progress to Scotland. Hay, who was expected to accompany him, lingered in London, ‘his vain hope of obtaining my L[ord] of Northumberland’s daughter, being the chief cause of his stay.’

This was not to be, at least not yet. Northumberland continued his attempts to bend Lucy to his will, but he had seriously underestimated her resolve. At some point it occurred to him that gentler persuasion might be of more use.

Lodged nearby in the Bloody Tower for the murder of Thomas Overbury, the earl and countess of Somerset were nevertheless allowed to receive guests. The earl of Northumberland was among those whose company Lady Somerset very much enjoyed. Indeed, his attentions to this lady so much affronted Lady Northumberland that she eventually refused to visit him and sent their daughters instead.

That May, Northumberland allowed Lucy the freedom to make daily visits to the Somersets. This concession was partly in the hope that they would persuade Lucy to see reason, and partly so that he had an excuse to see Lady Somerset.

What Northumberland had not taken into account was that Lady Somerset would understand exactly Lucy’s predicament and be sympathetic. She, too, had risked much to marry the man she wanted, and her chosen husband was also a Scot. In the event, Lady Somerset encouraged Lucy to marry whom she pleased, much to Northumberland’s chagrin. She even enabled secret trysts between Lucy and James Hay. The ‘matter was so plotted, that where he [Northumberland] thought he her safest, there he lost her.’

At this point, Northumberland gave up. He severed all relations with Lady Somerset, calling her a bawd. Then, seeing that ‘he could prevail no more’ with Lucy, he sent her away. However, if Lucy thought she could go home to her mother, she was mistaken. Although Lady Northumberland was usually more than a match for her husband, this time she was alarmed by his anger with Lucy and Lady Somerset. She was afraid to take in her daughter. Instead, Lucy took up residence at the home of her beloved sister, who was staying at Baynard’s Castle at the time.

This was only a temporary measure, however. Shortly after Lucy’s release, Hay travelled to Scotland to join the king. Before he left, he settled Lucy into his house at the Wardrobe, with £2,000 for her maintenance until his return.

In July, Lady Northumberland moved to Syon House, her home on the banks of the Thames that she had inherited through her first marriage. By this time she had overcome her fear of her husband’s anger and she took Lucy with her. Here, the two women could escape the worst of the summer heat, but they would not be alone for long.

The king’s progress had drawn to a close and the courtiers were beginning to make their way back to England. Among the first of them was Sir James Hay. He lost no time in attempting to win over the earl of Northumberland and, if possible, to have the £20,000 Lucy had been promised. In the end, he was unsuccessful in securing the money. This, however, was of little consequence to him, for he insisted that his ‘affection was above money,’ and he set ‘only a valuation upon his much-admired bride.’

At this point, the wedding was a certainty. It would take place without the blessing of the bride’s father, who continued to fume and seethe in his Tower apartment. The bride, of course, required someone to give her away, and King James was more than happy to oblige. Since he was still in Scotland, the happy couple had no option but to wait as patiently as possible for his return. As Chamberlain wrote, the impatient Lord Hay ‘thinks it long till the king’s coming that he may consummate his marriage.’

As it was, Hay sought to mitigate some of the frustration by taking a house in nearby Richmond Park. He would visit Lucy and her mother on a regular basis. Lady Northumberland, however, took her duties as chaperone very seriously and refused to allow Hay to dine with them. As such, he would be ‘commonly in her house from morning till dinner, from dinner till supper, and after supper till late in the night.’ Soon, his barge became a regular feature on the Thames. Still, 1617 was a good summer for venison and salmon, so it can be imagined that the fare was very good at both Richmond and at Syon House.

Lucy on the far left, looking over the
 shoulder of Henrietta Maria by Honthorst

Finally the long-awaited day dawned. The wedding took place on 6 November 1617 at the Wardrobe. That night, the wedding supper was attended by Prince Charles and the king’s new favourite, George Villiers, the future duke of Buckingham. The king, who had fulfilled his promise to give away the bride, was also ‘exceeding merry all supper time.’ Lucy ‘knelt while the king drank her health, and she drank his.’  

Throughout their long and eventful journey to the altar, Lucy and Sir James had never given up on their love or lost sight of their goal to marry. Although a love match, both partners also gained materially from their union. For Sir James, it was another important step on his journey to find his place as an Englishman at a court where two very distinct nationalities strived to co-exist. As for Lucy, the new Lady Hay, who was still only eighteen years old, her marriage to Sir James allowed her to make further progress towards a glittering and intriguing court career.

 

All quotations taken from The Letters of John Chamberlain, volume 2.