There were to be days of rejoicing, as was only fitting; and there was nothing Anne enjoyed more than balls and masques. Inigo Jones had been summoned and given the task of turning Whitehall into a magic setting for all the pageants and spectacles which would be devised by poets such as Daniels and Jonson.

This was the occasion when her elder son would be invested with the title, Prince of Wales.

James looked on with amusement. Such frivolities were scarcely in his line; but it was better for his subjects to spend their time in masking than in plotting. The Queen was happy, and he liked to see her so. As for his children, he was proud of them—every one of them; and now that little Charles was walking like a normal boy and had almost overcome the impediment in his speech, he reckoned he could forget the four they had lost, in the three they had. Such a handsome trio too. Where did they get their good looks? From their paternal grandmother, he supposed. That was it. The beauty of Mary Queen of Scots had missed her son and passed on to her grandchildren.

James called on the Queen, knowing that it would be a pleasant call at such a time. He found her in the center of a bustle, ordering her women to do this and that; almost hysterical, he thought, in her excitement.

“Well, my dear,” said James, “one would think this was all in honor of you.”

She turned to him, her eyes shining and for a moment he felt old sentiments stirring; she looked like the young girl whom he had crossed the seas to woo. It occurred to him that he had grown old and Anne had stayed young. He did not envy her. Poor creature, he thought, she has the mind of a child.

“It is to honor me,” she cried. “When I see my beautiful one given these honors, they will be mine too.”

“You love the boy,” said James with a smile, “and so do I, for all that he sets himself against me.”

Anne looked petulant. “Henry would never set himself against Your Majesty if—”

“If I acted in a manner which would win his approval? He is but sixteen, wife. I’m a little more than that. Much as I should like to please you—and him—I must still make my own decisions. But enough of that. Tell me of this masque. Is Jonson giving us some fine poetry, eh? I like that man’s work. And Daniel’s too. And what of Inigo?”

“You will see all in good time,” Anne told him. “And I have a surprise for you. He is very excited about it. I do hope he won’t be too excited. After all it is but a short time since—”

“Charles?”

She pouted. “There, you have guessed and ’twill be no surprise.”

“Dinna fret. I’ll store the little matter at the back of my mind and be astonished when I see him. It gives me pleasure every time I set eyes on that boy.”

Anne’s petulance disappeared and her face was almost beautiful in her maternal love. “It is a miracle,” she said. “I cannot thank Lady Carey enough. She has given so much to him.”

“We’ll not forget her for it.”

“She has been rewarded, but her greatest reward is to look at him. I could not have done more myself. She gave him the confidence, the tenderness, the love. Oh James, I love that woman, although she usurped my place. I should have been the one.”

James patted her hand. “But ye’re too much of a mother to be jealous of her. What matters it? The task was done. And I’m to see young Charles dance at his brother’s ceremony, eh?”

“But it was to be a secret, James!”

“Oh, aye, I mind that. There’ll be no one more astounded to see Charlie dance than the King of England.”

Prince Henry, who had his own private establishment at Richmond, came by state barge to Westminster.