Lord Fox's Pleasure. Helen Dickson

London had begun to wake as if from a deep sleep. Effigies of Charles Stuart adorned with flowers were carried through the streets, where people paraded in Cavalier garb trimmed with frills and bows, and places of entertainment, closed during the Commonwealth years, were re-opening daily.

      As soon as the King’s ship, the Royal Charles, along with the rest of the fleet, had arrived at Dover, where the King had been received with obeisance and honour by General Monck—commander-in-chief of all the forces in England and Scotland, the man who had played the most crucial part in his restoration—the thunder of guns and cannon had spread all the way from Dover to London.

      The procession had passed through Kent, the acclamation of the people along the way extremely moving for the returning Royalists. Church bells were rung, bonfires lit the length and breadth of the Kingdom, and the ways strewn with flowers. Greeted at Blackheath by the army drawn up by General Monck—that very army that had rebelled against him in the past—the King proceeded on his way to his capital.

      Prudence moved towards the house to do her sister’s bidding. She had been nine years old when she had last seen her brother, and now he was just a dim shadow of her past. But she was excited and looking forward to his homecoming. In his last letter he had told them the joyous news that he had taken a wife, a young woman by the name of Verity Ludlow. Having lost both their parents, Verity and her sister Lucy were taken to The Hague by their uncle after the Battle of Worcester. Unfortunately Verity would not be returning to England with Thomas. Her uncle had been taken ill and was unable to travel, so Verity and Lucy had remained at The Hague to care for him.

      There was also another face Prudence dearly wanted to see in the King’s procession—that of Adam Lingard, a young man with the fairest hair and the bluest eyes this side of heaven. Adam was five years older than her own eighteen years. Even in childhood days she had been drawn to him and had adored him ever since in secret, but he had never seemed so attractive as when he had ridden off from their village of Marlden Green in Surrey like some romantic, dashing hero to join his father in exile across the water in France three years ago.

      ‘Arabella, do I have to stay on the balcony? Can’t I go down to the street and watch with Molly?’

      ‘No,’ Arabella replied firmly. ‘How many times do I have to tell you that you must watch the procession from the balcony along with everyone else?’

      ‘But it’s too far away,’ Prudence complained.

      ‘Goodness me! Don’t argue. You will do as I say. Despite your reprehensible behaviour you are supposed to be a lady, and it would be most unbecoming for you to be seen mingling with the crowd. Already people are filling the street in readiness for the procession. By the time it arrives, the Strand will be so crowded you will be in danger of being trampled underfoot,’ Arabella snapped. Then, as if ashamed of her irritation, with a tired smile she said more gently, ‘Forgive me, Prudence, but I’m in such a state with our brother coming home after so long—and with so much to do. And to make matters worse, cousin Mary and her husband, accompanied by their tiresome offspring, have just arrived.’

      With her usual sensitivity, Prudence noticed the sudden darkening of her sister’s mood and strove to lighten it, knowing how much she had been dreading Mary’s arrival for days. ‘Take heart, Arabella. Now Thomas is home, things can only get better and you won’t have to endure Mary’s unpleasant temper for much longer.’

      ‘Alleluia to that,’ Arabella sighed. As they entered the house, she turned her head and studied her sister. With thick curly hair the colour of ripe chestnuts, her small chin and pert nose, Prudence was lovely to look at. Her face was golden from spending much of her time outdoors, and her flashing, amethyst-coloured eyes were a truly remarkable feature. Small and slender, loving and warm, vanity was beyond her visual sphere of things, but already she was openly admired by all who saw her, and Arabella felt a rush of concern for her sister’s future. It was time Thomas came home, she thought. Perhaps he would be able to take her in hand.

      And maybe then Arabella would have more time to spend with her betrothed, Robert Armstrong, who was as eager as she was for their wedding to take place now the King had returned. On finishing his law studies at Lincoln’s Inn and unable to live any longer under the harsh regime of the Protectorate, Robert had gone to join his brothers in exile three years ago. Eager to be reunited with Arabella, he had returned to England a month ahead of the royal party, and had travelled to Dover to bear witness when the King stepped on to English soil.

      ‘I can’t help feeling sad for Aunt Julia, Arabella. She must be feeling quite wretched, knowing Uncle James will not be coming home from France with our brother. When Thomas wrote telling her of how he’d fallen ill with the smallpox and did not recover, it affected her deeply. She’s going to so much trouble to welcome Thomas home.’

      Sadness clouded Arabella’s blue eyes. ‘It’s no trouble for Aunt Julia. After all, he is the head of the family now—now that both Father and Uncle James are dead. You know how devoted she’s always been to Thomas—more so, perhaps, since her own two sons were stillborn. Not even cousin Mary could compensate for their loss.’

      Hearing children’s voices and Mary’s strident tones coming from within the house, Arabella glanced down at her sister. ‘You’d best go to your chamber and change your clothes before Mary sees you, Prudence. You know how she disapproves of you reading your gardening books and tending plants, when in her opinion your time could be best employed learning the skills that will enable you to find a husband.’

      Prudence wrinkled her nose, the mere thought of having to endure the company and criticisms of cousin Mary indefinitely filling her with distaste. ‘Mary resents us both, Arabella, and sometimes I think she would disapprove of whatever I do. Still, I don’t suppose either of us can complain. After all, it was good of Aunt Julia to take us in when Father died. Being her brother, it was a difficult time for her, as well—and her sadness doubled when it was followed so soon by the death of Uncle James. I’m glad we were here to console her in her grief. But I only hope that, now Thomas has returned to England, we can all go home.’

      ‘So do I, Prudence. So do I—although I shudder to think what state the house will be in after all this time.’

      Their house in Marlden Green had withstood the might of Cromwell’s forces throughout the long years of the Civil War, but, refusing to declare for Parliament and being unable to avoid the fines and sequestrations imposed on him by the Protectorate, their father had been unable to stave off poverty. When he had died a year ago, unable to support themselves, Aunt Julia had insisted that Arabella and Prudence close the house and come to live with her in London, until the time when Thomas returned from political exile in France.

      ‘When we left it was in a sorry state of disrepair,’ Arabella went on. ‘The roof leaked and the garden will be so overgrown by now that I won’t be at all surprised to find a tribe of savages living in it.’

      Prudence’s eyes brightened. ‘Where the house is concerned I won’t be of much use, but the garden is another matter entirely. Mr Rowan has given me lots of advice, and I’ve spent time sketching a reconstruction and planning what to plant and where.’

      Prudence’s enthusiasm brought a smile to Arabella’s lips. ‘I’m sure you have, but don’t forget it will take money, Prudence, and as you know we are as impoverished now as we were after the Civil War. Thomas may not be able to afford a gardener until the house has been made habitable once more.’

      ‘I’ve thought of that, which is why I’ve been collecting seedlings and taking cuttings from the gardens of Aunt Julia’s friends and neighbours.’

      ‘With their permission, I hope.’

      ‘But of course. I’ve collected enough to plant a whole park.’

      Prudence followed Arabella into the huge kitchen, where Aunt Julia and Goodwife Gilbey had been preparing that evening’s gargantuan feast to celebrate the return of King Charles for the past week. At one time ladies of Lady Julia Maitland’s station would not have involved themselves in this kind of menial work, but ladies did all manner of things they had not done before the Civil War. With the