Wentworth was determined not to be overawed by Charles; there was little in their tastes or their physical appearance to suggest that they would ever find anything in common. Wentworth was tall and raw-boned, with a strong-featured face and a choleric complexion. He was known to be rude and outspoken and opinionated, lacking in every quality that distinguished the polished courtiers like Goring and Holland. He came into the King’s Presence Chamber at Whitehall and tramped up to him like a soldier, stiff and awkward and rather badly dressed, plainly dressed by comparison with the bright satins and delicate lace worn by the King and his attendants. He went down on his knee and kissed the King’s hand. He saw Henrietta for the first time and thought what an insignificant little dark creature she was, to have caused so much trouble and made herself so disliked by the ordinary English people. “Your Majesty sent for me,” he said. “Rise up, Sir Thomas.” Wentworth’s expression was quite different from that of most people when looking at Charles.
