That was a happy day, for Charles was chatting with her as though there had been nothing to disturb their relationship; and when they arrived at Greenwich, Henrietta Maria, determined to dispense with ceremony, took her daughter-in-law in her arms and assured her in her volatile way that this was one of the happiest moments in the life of one whose many sorrows had made her call herself la reine malheureuse.

She accepted a fauteuil and sat on the right hand of Catherine. Charles sat next to his wife, and on his left hand sat Anne Hyde the Duchess of York, while the Duke stood behind his mother.

It was Henrietta Maria who talked continually, studying the face of her daughter-in-law, trying not to let her eyes betray the fact that she was wondering if she were yet pregnant. Those lively dark eyes missed little, and she could see no signs of a child.

“This is indeed a pleasure, my dearest daughter. And how like you your country, eh? I thank the saints that you have come to it in summer weather. Ah, I remember my first visit to this country. That was in the days of my youth … the happiest time of my life! But even then I had my little worries. I was so small—smaller than you, my dear daughter—and it grieved me lest my husband should wish me taller. How we suffer we princesses sent to strange lands! But I found my husband to be the best man in the world … the kindest and most faithful husband … the best of fathers….”

Charles interrupted: “I beg of you, Mam, say no more. My wife will expect too high a standard of me.”

“And why should she not expect you to be like your father! I trust that you may bring her as much happiness as he brought me … though … through my love of him I suffered much. But is not that the way with love? To love is to suffer….”

Catherine said fervently: “It is true, Your Majesty. To love is to suffer.”

“Well, let us not talk of suffering on such a happy occasion,” said the King. “Tell me, Mam, how is my sister?”

Henrietta Maria frowned. “She has her trials. Her husband is not kind to her.”

“I am sorry for her,” said Catherine.

“Ah … indeed, yes. When I think of the regard the King of France has for her … when I think of what might have been….”

“It is useless to dwell on what might have been,” said the King. “It grieves me that my sister is not happy.”

“You must not be jealous of his love for his sister,” said Henrietta Maria to Catherine. “I declare that my daughter’s husband is jealous of hers for him. They have been devoted all their lives.”

The Duke of York joined in the conversation and Henrietta Maria chattered on in her garrulous way; her manner was faintly cool to the Duchess of York whom Charles had forced her to accept, but James had always been a favorite of hers. She made little attempt to veil her likes and dislikes. She asked how fared that man Hyde—she refused to give him his title of Earl of Clarendon—and she asked if her son was still as strongly under his influence as he always had been.

The King turned aside her awkward remarks with his easy manner, and Catherine felt more deeply in love with him than ever before.

She could not be unhappy while they were together thus, for although it might only have been for the sake of etiquette, the King would turn to her again and again, and it was delightful to enjoy the warmth of his smiles and his tender words once more.

She felt desolate when it was time to return to Hampton Court, but she found that the King’s manner towards her did not change as they rode away from London. He remained friendly and charming; though of course she knew that he would not be her lover.

Even then she did not see how much happier her life might have been had she given way on this one matter; and although she had been able to set aside her misery during the visit to Greenwich, still she determined to nurse it, and the matter of Lady Castlemaine’s admittance to the household was still between them.

Henrietta Maria visited the King and Queen at Hampton Court, and during the month of August Catherine made her first public entry into the capital of her new country.

She rode down the river in the royal barge; and by her side was Charles, delighted to be on water, and returning to his capital. Full of charm and gaiety he was tender and affectionate. The Duke and the Duchess of York were with them in the brilliantly decorated barge, as well as those Princes, cousins of the King, Rupert and Edward, with the Countess of Suffolk; other members of the royal household followed. All along the riverbanks cheering people watched them; and when they were within a short distance of London they left the barge for a large boat with glass windows. The awnings were covered in gold-embroidered crimson velvet.

Now they were ready for the triumphal entry.

“And this,” Charles told his wife, “is all in honor of you.”

The river was crowded with craft of all description, for the Lord Mayor and companies had turned out in force to play their Queen, to the tune of sweet music, into her capital. On the deck of their boat, beneath the canopy which had been made in the form of a cupola with Corinthian pillars decorated with flowers, sat Catherine and Charles.

To Catherine it was inspiring and thrilling. The music enchanted her as did the shouts of the people acclaiming their loyalty to the royal pair; but what delighted Catherine more than anything else was the fact that Charles was beside her, her hand was in his, and his affable smiling face turned again and again from his cheering people to herself.

It was possible to believe that their differences were forgotten, that all was well between them, and that they were lovers again.

And so to Whitehall, of which the King had often talked to her, where the public crowded into the banqueting hall to watch the royal party dine.

Catherine realized now how much a part of this merry boisterous existence Charles himself was, how his ready smiles to the humblest, how his quick retorts, his dispensing with royal dignity, appealed to the people. They were delighted—those who crowded about Whitehall and came into the private apartment to see their royal family—with the easy manner of their King and his friendliness to all; they were enchanted with the extravagance of his Palace and glittering splendor of the gentlemen of his Court and the beauty of the ladies.

They loved their King not only because of his good nature—and when he had returned to England he had brought with him a colorful way of life—but also for his weaknesses, for providing them with many a titbit of scandal; they loved him for his love affairs, which could always be relied upon to raise a laugh in any quarter, and were such a contrast to the dull, drab and respectable existence of men such as Cromwell and Fairfax.

Now he joked with the Queen and his mother at the royal table, and the crowd looked on and enjoyed his wit.

Catherine was shocked when, before them all, he discussed the possibility of her bringing an heir to England.

“I believe he will soon put in an appearance,” said Charles.

“This is wonderful news!” cried Henrietta Maria.

Catherine looked from one to the other, trying to follow the conversation which was taking place in English.

The King turned to her and explained what had been said. Catherine blushed hotly, and the people laughed. She stammered in English: “You lie.”

At which the whole assembly burst into loud laughter on hearing the King so addressed; and none laughed more heartily than the King.

He said: “And what will my people think of the way in which I am treated by my wife? These are the first words in English she has uttered in public.” His face wore a look of mock seriousness. “And she says I lie!”

He then turned to her and said that she must talk more in English, for that was what his people would like to hear; and he made her say after him such phrases as set the people rocking with hilarious laughter in which all the noble company joined.

But Catherine’s joy was short-lived, for it was not long before Barbara appeared at Whitehall. No more was said as to her becoming a lady of the bedchamber; she was just there, always present, brilliantly beautiful; so that whenever Catherine compared herself with Charles’ notorious mistress she felt plain—even ugly—quite dull and completely lacking in charm.

She grew sullen; she sat alone; she would not join any group if Barbara were there, and, as the King always seemed to be where Barbara was, all the brilliant and amusing courtiers were there also.

Almost everyone deserted the Queen; the Earl of Sandwich, who had been so charming when he had come to Portugal, no longer seemed to have any time to spare for her; young Mr. James Crofts, a very handsome boy of about fifteen, scarcely noticed her at all, and moreover she felt that the fact that he was received at Court was an affront to herself, for she knew who he was—the son of a woman as infamous as Lady Castlemaine. And the boy’s features, together with a somewhat arrogant manner would have proclaimed him to be Charles’ son—even if the King did not make it openly obvious that this was so.

James Crofts was often with the King; they could be seen sauntering in the Park, arm in arm.

Catherine heard what was said of the King and this boy. “Greatly His Majesty regrets that he was not married to the mother of such a boy, for it is clear that handsome Mr. James Crofts is beloved by his father.”

James gave himself airs. He was at every state occasion magnificently dressed, and already ogling the ladies. He was a fervent admirer of Lady Castlemaine and sought every opportunity of being in her company; and there was nothing this lady liked better than to be seen with the King and his son, when they laughed and chatted together.

There were some who said that young James’ feeling for his father’s mistress was becoming too pronounced, and that the lady was not displeased by this, but that when the King realized that this boy of his was fast becoming a man he would be less fond of Master James. The King however was human and, like all parents, took far longer than others to become aware that his son was growing up.

Although the King was outwardly affectionate to his wife, all knew of his neglect of her. It was said that he was pondering whether he might not proclaim Mr. Crofts legitimate, give him a grand title, and make him his heir. If he did this it would mean that he had decided no longer to hope for an heir from the Queen; and all understood what that implied.

So Catherine grew more and more wretched during those summer months. It seemed to her that she had only two friends at Court. Most of her attendants were returning to Portugal and all her most intimate friends were to leave her, with the exception of Maria the Countess de Penalva for, it was said, the King thought Maria too old and infirm to influence Catherine and support her in her stubbornness.

That other friend was a younger brother of the Earl of Sandwich—Lord Edward Montague—who held the post of Master of Horse in her household.

Edward Montague had by his demeanor shown his sympathy with her and had told her that he considered she was shamefully treated.

She found some pleasure therefore in listening to his words of sympathy, for it was comforting to think that in the royal household there was at least one who understood her.

When she said goodbye to her servants she continued to believe that Charles had deprived her of their company in order to spite her. She would not accept the fact that custom and the wishes of English members of the household demanded their departure.

She withdrew herself more than ever; she began to see that in refusing to accept Lady Castlemaine she had brought nothing but sorrow to herself. She had lost the King’s affection, which had been given to a meek and gentle woman; and at the same time Lady Castlemaine had become a member of her household in spite of her dissent. Now James Crofts was made Duke of Monmouth, and was taking precedence over every other Duke in the kingdom with one exception—that of the King’s brother James.

She herself was of no account; she had brought no good to her husband; her dowry was unpaid; her country was begging for England’s military help; valuable English ships were kept in the Mediterranean to assist Portugal should Spain attack.

She was the most wretched of Queens for, in spite of all she had suffered, she continued to love her husband.

She paced up and down her apartment.