There was another matter worthy of Louis's attention: England. But not Charles II. That pitiable cousin was still in Flanders, living miserably as a king without a country or subjects. It was not that he did not wish to return to France, but France's present circumstances would not allow it to give him any greater support. Thus he felt that so long as his mother, Queen Dowager Mary, and his sister, Princess Henrietta, could remain peacefully and safely in Paris, it could not be called a bad thing.
Mazarin knew that Charles II still clung to a thread of hope. Perhaps that hope would endure until the king's marriage was truly settled. Yet Henrietta had always been placed last by him and Queen Dowager Anne, even after the Duchess of Montpensier. There was no other reason for it, only that... first, her father had not only lost his crown, but also his head. Her brother appeared clever, but was in truth foolish. Louis had given him a precious gift and made him a king, yet he had still been driven from his own country by rebels and mobs. Perhaps one day—as Louis firmly believed—Charles II would return to England and take up the orb and scepter. But no one knew when that day might come.
The king's marriage, however, could not be delayed.
Come to think of it, there was something rather amusing as well. Mazarin's quill paused slightly over the parchment. There were actually ministers—he meant those fools who had perhaps accepted bribes—who proposed that the king should form a marriage alliance with the Lord Protector of the English Republic. Perhaps some people still did not know what the "English Republic" was. Put simply, it was a stinking thing concocted by a pack of madmen who disregarded royal authority