THE
GREAT ROXHYTHE
CHAPTER I
The King and His Favourite
A large gentleman was strolling from group to group in one of the great galleries of Whitehall. He was very exquisite, this gentleman, adorned with all the coloured silks, velvets and furbelows which that Year of Grace, 1668, demanded. A great peruke was on his head, with flowing, dark curls that reached over his breast and below his shoulders. He carried his plumed hat in his hand, and at times he made great play with it, as if to point some witty remark. At other times he opened his jewelled comfit-box with a delicate flick of his wrist, and selected, with some care, a tinted sweetmeat. Once or twice he swept a low bow to some lady of his acquaintance, but for the most part he was occupied with the courtiers who were present, always lazily smiling, and with his brown eyes bored and expressionless. His height, and the breadth of his shoulders made him easily distinguishable in the gay throng, so that those who wished to speak to him soon found where he was standing, and made their way towards him. He was the Most Noble the Marquis of Roxhythe, the King's favourite and the ladies' darling, and his name was on many lips.
No longer in his first youth, my lord had nothing to learn in the way of polish. He was the perfect courtier, combining grace and insolence even more successfully than his Grace of Buckingham. His brow was incomparable; his air French; his wit spicy; his tailoring beyond words, remarkable. Even in those days of splendour and unlimited extravagance he was said to be fabulously wealthy.
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