Castlemaine herself to saucy Nell Gwynn, and to dower her with large
revenues and splendid titles if she would but consent to be his
_maitresse en titre_; but to all his seductions and bribes the
inflexible maid-of-honour turned a blind eye. No future, however
dazzling, could compensate her for the loss of her dearest possession.
"I hope," said the King at last, "I may live to see you old and
willing," as he walked away in high dudgeon. To the proposed match with
the Duke he point-blank refused his consent, and vowed that if his
sovereign will were defied, the punishment would be in proportion to the
offence.

But the fair Stuart had finally made up her mind. It had long been her
ambition--from childhood, it is said--to be a Duchess, and she was not
going to let the opportunity slip for all the kings in the world. What
might come after was another matter. A Duchess's coronet and a
wedding-ring were her immediate goal. Thus it came to pass that one dark
night she stole away from the Palace of Whitehall, and was rowed to
London Bridge, where the Duke awaited her in his coach. Through the
night the runaway pair were driven to Cobham Hall, in Kent, where, long
before morning dawned, an obliging parson had made them man and wife.
Frances Stuart was a Duchess at last; and Charles's long intrigue had
ended (or so it seemed) in final discomfiture.

On hearing the news the King was beside himself with anger. He forbade
the runaways ever to show their faces near his Court--he even dismissed
his Chancellor Clarendon, whom he suspected of having a hand in the
plot.

But all his wrath fell impotently on the new Duchess, who returned his
presents and settled smilingly down to enjoy her new dignities and her