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household? It is one thing to seduce one of your queen’s existing ladies—these things are
common enough at court—but to ask your wife to accept your present mistress as one of her ladies? Unheard of. Such things are not
comme il faut,
dearest. These breaks in decorum threaten the delicate balance of conduct in which we live. It is said here that she is grieved beyond measure, and to speak frankly, I think it is with reason.
    I am not preaching fidelity (I well know that such things are not within bounds for kings), but I am urging prudence and discretion. Do not be ruled by Lady Castlemaine’s petty spite. You cannot believe that her vengeful nature will be satisfied with only this. You set a dangerous precedent, my love!
    À bientôt,
    Keep well,
    Minette
    Note—
Louis has nearly completed the Orangerie—orange, oleander, pomegranate, and palm trees. He has also begun the Menagerie—the pelican is named Pocket.
    Une autre note—
Portuguese cuisine is said to be simple and fresh and good for digestion.

January 30 (hungry!)
    No oysters to sell. Today the whole country kept a solemn fast in remembrance of the late king’s murder. Funny that now that the king is restored, it is called murder: three years ago the punishment for mourning the late king’s execution was imprisonment. Grandfather, a true Cavalier, fasted despite his frail health. Twice I tried to filch some cheese from the sideboard, and twice Grandfather caught me. Unusually stern, he was
not
amused.
    S OMERSET H OUSE , L ONDON
T O O UR DAUGHTER , P RINCESSE H ENRIETTE -A NNE , D UCHESSE D’ O RLÉANS, THE M ADAME OF F RANCE
F ROM H ER M AJESTY Q UEEN H ENRIETTA M ARIA
J ANUARY 30, 1663
    Ma fille,
    Just a brief note, my darling, to tell you that I think of you and all my fatherless children today above all days. I know I need not remind you to keep the fast and have masses said for your dear father’s soul. James has joined me here for a private mass—it must be private, as Charles insists we conceal our religion. I know you pray as I do that God will also turn Charles’s soul to the Catholic religion and stop all this Anglican nonsense. I know your father died in that faith, but there is no reason to follow him—he was in error.
    I pray for your father, who died so bravely here in London fourteen years ago today. I think of how he said good-bye to your brother Henry and your sister Mary (so young!), bidding them to look upon Charles as their sovereign. I think of how he must have felt waking in our bed in St. James’s Palace, our own home, on that cold morning and then climbing out the window of his beautiful Banqueting Hall (he loved that room) to that high platform to face that ghoulish crowd, waiting in the street. How he lay down his noble head upon that common block, forgiving the executioner, who never had the courage to reveal himself. Charles, to this day, cannot discover his identity—coward. Know that your father loved you sincerely, although you do not remember him. Know that he thought of you on that terrible morning: of the loveable baby you were and the gracious, principled woman you would become. We must keep our promise and abide by his last word to Bishop Juxon and “Remember.”
    With fondest love,
chérie,
    Maman,
Her Majesty Queen Henrietta Maria

Monday, February 2, 1663—Candlemas (warm and cloudy and my thirteenth birthday)
    Meg, who sells oranges in Covent Garden, Orange Moll, as she is known, stopped to speak to me today. I was wearing a white smocked chemise under my new yellow pointed bodice that laces in the
back,
a present from Rose. Grandfather said I looked like a field of daisies.
    “Turn, turn, so I can see!” encouraged Meg. I obliged, twirling in mynew clothes. “Ah, fresh and sweet and always a favourite with the customers. How do you like selling oysters?”
    “They are smelly and the walk to the market is tedious and Mr. Morton is overly … forward.” I answered candidly. Will I ever learn to be