Esmé Stewart, Duke of Lennox and favourite of the young King James, was an impressive figure from the moment of his arrival at Hampton Court. Forty years old, born and raised in France, Stewart was at the height of his power and attraction. From the first moment, he cast even the royal Anjou into the shade. He was built along elegant lines, slender and fine-boned, but there was no mistaking his masculine appeal. His dark eyes gleamed with appreciation as he bent over Anabel’s hand in greeting. “Your Highness,” he said in a honeyed tone that once would have had Anabel exchanging eye rolls with Kit, “I fear my king will never forgive me for laying eyes on you before he could. But be assured that I am here wholly to speak for James himself.” “Wholly?” Anabel teased. She had learned the trick of it these last weeks. “I could not swear that one or two compliments of my own might not slip through. Don’t tell my wife,” he added with a conspiratorial wink. With a laugh, Anabel passed Stewart over to her mother’s councilors, who were less likely to be impressed by his manners.
