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England’s mistress: how Nell Gwyn won the heart of Charles II – and became a political powerhouse
Nell Gwyn became famous for her love affair with Charles II, and for her love of drinking, gambling and carousing. Yet, writes Sophie Shorland, this upwardly mobile celebrity was also a canny political operator who wielded substantial power in court
Published: April 13, 2026 at 3:30 PM
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On a first date with the king of England, you might reasonably expect him to pay the bill. Yet Nell Gwyn’s relationship with Charles II started as it went on: unconventionally.
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The celebrated actress met the king for the first time in 1668 at a London playhouse, where Gwyn caught his eye from an adjacent box; according to reports, they flirted throughout the performance. Afterwards, Gwyn and her companion joined Charles and his younger brother, the Duke of York (later King James II & VII), at a hostelry. There, legend has it, once the party had eaten and drunk their fill, the landlord presented them with the tab.
Upon searching his pockets, we’re told, Charles found that he had no money with him, and was forced to lean on one of the royal hangers-on to pay up. Gwyn’s reaction to this unexpected turn of events was typically droll: she joked that she had got into “the poorest company that ever [she] was in!” Across her extraordinary life, that acerbic wit never let her down.
Pepys’ pin-up
Nell Gwyn was, quite literally, the pin-up girl of Restoration England. Above his desk at the Admiralty, the diarist Samuel Pepys kept an engraving of the actress posing as Cupid. In it, with wings her only attire, one perfectly toned arm made an ineffectual attempt to preserve some modesty. Pepys was clearly enchanted by Gwyn – as was King Charles. Despite that inauspicious first liaison in the London tavern, the actress and the monarch embarked upon a scandalous love affair that produced two sons and set tongues wagging across the kingdom.
An engraving of a c1672 painting depicts Nell Gwyn as Cupid. A copy of this image hung above Samuel Pepys’ desk at the Admiralty, demonstrating the renowned (and lascivious) diarist’s appreciation | Credit: Getty Images
That relationship – coupled with Gwyn’s beguiling looks, spellbinding stage performances and razor-sharp wit – helped cement her reputation as one of the most alluring figures of the late 17th century. Her contemporaries were beguiled by her, and historians, novelists and film-makers remain just as intrigued today. But when we look back, are we celebrating the real Nell Gwyn? Is there more to this Restoration-era socialite than meets the eye?
Over the three and a half centuries since she first exploded into the public’s consciousness, Gwyn has been seen mostly as an apolitical character – one more interested in living the high life than in the affairs of state. In fact, at a time when Charles’s other mistresses were widely derided for meddling in the business of government – and spending too freely from the public finances – Gwyn’s apparent lack of interest in politics only served to supercharge her popularity.
One popular verse of the time perfectly captures public sentiment:
“Hard by Pall Mall, lived a wench called Nell;
King Charles the Second, he kept her.
She hath a trick to handle his prick,
But never lays hands on his sceptre.
All affairs of the state, from her soul doth she hate,
And leave to the politic bitches.”
If this poem is to be believed, Gwyn never tried to influence the king in the affairs of state. Yet take a closer look at her life and a different picture emerges.
Nell’s early years are contested: Hereford, London and Oxford all lay claim to be her birthplace. The identity of her father also remains obscure; he may have died in debtor’s prison, or may have been an army captain who lost everything to the Civil War.
- Read more | Making of a monarch: how the young Charles II endured war, defeat and exile before the Restoration
What we do know is that, in her youth, Nell Gwyn worked as an ‘orange wench’, selling fruit and other sweet treats (possibly alongside sexual favours) to theatregoers, before becoming one of the first actresses on the English stage. She quickly became known for her appearance, endowed as she was with luxuriant auburn hair, a fashionably long nose and a slight figure. Gwyn was also blessed with killer comedic timing and a quick wit, cracking out one-liners both on and off the stage. In John Dryden’s tragic drama Tyrannic Love, Gwyn spoke the final lines of the play as herself, struggling from her character’s deathbed to declare:
“As for my epitaph when I am gone,
I’ll trust no poet, but will write my own.
Here Nelly lies, who, though she liv’d a slater’n,
Yet dy’d a princess acting in St Cathar’n.”
Before forging a successful career on the stage, Nell Gwyn worked as an orange ‘wench’, selling fruit outside theatres | Credit: Topofoto
Gwyn’s magnetic presence onstage made her a star and attracted the attention of the king. Yet it was neither mere coincidence nor simply sexual attraction that triggered her affair with Charles, though her famed physical allure was certainly important.
The two were introduced by George Villiers, 2nd Duke of Buckingham – reputedly the richest man in England after the king. Buckingham was always scheming, and was described as a haphazard scapegrace who “could keep no secret, nor execute any design without spoiling it”. By pushing Gwyn in Charles’s direction, Buckingham’s intention was to curtail the influence at court of Barbara Palmer, Countess of Castlemaine. The voluptuous, violet-eyed Castlemaine had long been Charles’s chief mistress – and made plenty of enemies in the process. Buckingham’s plan was to replace her with Gwyn.
His plan worked a treat – so much so that, in January 1668, Pepys reported that “the king did send several times for Nelly”. After being rowed up the Thames by ferrymen, Gwyn made her way up the back stairs into Charles’s private apartments in Whitehall Palace. By the spring of 1669, she was accompanying the king to the races at Newmarket, and they were seen wandering around together in old clothes, like a married couple. She also reputedly taught him how to fish, though quite where she learned the skill is a mystery. What is certain is that their relationship endured in a way that the king’s other affairs didn’t, and their first son – named Charles to make no mistake over his paternity – was born on 8 May 1670.
Barbara, Countess of Castlemaine was Charles II’s long-standing mistress – but was edged out by Nell Gwyn after courtiers became irked by the countess’s influence over the king | Credit: Getty Images
Life of luxury
A life of comparative privilege had begun for Gwyn. She kept an open table, and enjoyed gambling, drinking and going to the races. She was a dyed-in-the-wool socialite who embraced all of the earthly pleasures that life in the Restoration court had to offer. Hence she has mostly been seen by posterity as a good-time girl with a heart of gold.
- Read more | The sinister secrets of Samuel Pepys
Yet she also had the ear of the king, and she undoubtedly used that hotline to power to shape the course of events in the Restoration era. For example, early in her relationship with Charles, she began playing a diplomatic role, hosting the French ambassador Colbert de Croissy at her comparatively modest house off Kingsway near the City of London. Hosting ambassadors is a soft-power role typically associated with the queen – a way to be involved in diplomatic discussions and advise the king without overtly steering foreign policy.
Persuading the king to commit to affairs of state wasn’t always easy. Though quick-witted and clever, Charles abhorred work, preferring to play cards and eat pigeon pie while he should have been discussing diplomacy. The king routinely brought his meetings with de Croissy to an early end so that he could take a nap. Courtiers despaired of him ever taking his job seriously.
Charles II, probably painted in the 1670s by John Michael Wright. Never fond of work, the king was steered into important meetings by Nell Gwyn, who was his mistress from early 1668 until his death in 1685 | Credit: Getty Images
Not Gwyn. She laid a wager of £100 that she could get the king to attend a meeting. Then she recruited the actor and theatre manager Thomas Killigrew. Dressed for a long pilgrimage. Killigrew burst into Charles’s closet, telling the king that he was off “to hell… to fetch back Oliver Cromwell that he may take care of the affairs of England, for his successor takes none at all”. It was a bold move, but it did move Charles to go to the meeting. Gwyn won her £100.
However, her influence was soon to be curbed – by another woman. Louise de Kérouaille arrived in England in 1670, charged by French king Louis XIV to report back on Charles’s affairs, and to steer the English monarch towards policies that favoured the French. With a continental elegance and a reputation as an excellent hostess, it wasn’t long before de Kérouaille caught the English king’s eye. Yet Gwyn wasn’t about to allow her French rival to wrest away the monarch’s affections without a fight.
At one riotous dinner, Nell’s old friend Buckingham pretended to be Charles while she mocked de Kérouaille’s accent, saying: “Me no bad woman. If me tout me was one bad woman, me would cut mine own trote.” Though she tried to spar with Gwyn, de Kérouaille’s tongue was never quite sharp enough: she always came out second best.
Louise de Kérouaille was encouraged to start a relationship with Charles II in order to further French and Catholic interests | Credit: Bridgeman Images
According to a (probably apocryphal) anecdote, one day in Oxford Nell’s coach was surrounded by a mob who, taking her to be de Kérouaille, angrily harangued her for her influence over the king. Sticking her head out of the coach, Gwyn twinkled: “Pray, good people, be civil: I am the Protestant whore.” (Not, in other words, the Catholic one, de Kérouaille.) The crowd blessed her and allowed her to continue on her way.
Did she genuinely advocate for Protestant interests? Or were her words fired purely by a bitter personal rivalry with de Kérouaille? In November 1678, Gwyn demonstrated her allegiance to a Protestant agenda, hosting a pope-burning party at her house. At such popular pageants, effigies of the pope and other hated (usually Catholic) figures were mocked and paraded through the streets before being set alight, to great whoops of vengeful joy. Guests at Gwyn’s party taunted the likeness of the pope, who “sat in a great chair, with a red nose half a yard long, with some hundreds of boys throwing squibs [small fireworks] at it”.
Gwyn also interceded effectively with the king on behalf of her friends. Among her successes was getting Buckingham released from captivity in the Tower of London after yet another of his madcap schemes backfired – in this instance, trying to force the dissolution of parliament. Controversially, the duke stayed at Gwyn’s house after his release.
She also played a part in the fall from favour of the lord treasurer, the Earl of Danby. She and Buckingham formed a double act, Gwyn’s perfect imitation of Danby’s wife making the king laugh. As Danby’s position became more precarious, one of his supporters wrote to his father: “All this has been brewing since those entertainments at Nelly’s… and the scenes of abuse there passing on Lord Treasurer.” Danby was eventually replaced by one of Gwyn’s close friends, whose career she promoted: Laurence Hyde, a heavy drinker who “swore like a cutler”.
Choppy waters
Gwyn’s political interventions sometimes plunged her into dangerous waters. In 1679, James Scott, 1st Duke of Monmouth, arrived back in England from the Hague. Charles II’s eldest illegitimate son, Monmouth made little secret of his desire to succeed his father to the throne. The king himself was less keen on that prospect, but he had a problem: Monmouth was not just charismatic but also a Protestant – unlike the Duke of York who, without any legitimate heirs born to Charles, was next in line. When Monmouth arrived ‘home’, he was welcomed by throngs of cheering people. And where did the wannabe king choose to stay in London? At the house of his good friend Nell Gwyn.
The 1st Duke of Monmouth, Charles’s eldest illegitimate son, angled to take the throne – and was housed in London by Nell Gwyn | Credit: Bridgeman Images
By then, she had become a popular symbol of anti-French, anti-Catholic sentiment, and was staunch in her advocacy for Monmouth, even as he rebelled with increasing vigour against his father’s rule. Yet her support for him ultimately proved in vain. Charles stripped him of his titles and banished him from court. In response, Monmouth doubled down, conspiring to overthrow the king. Those plans discovered, Monmouth threw himself on his father’s mercy. He would not tilt for the throne again until after Charles’s death.
Any damage to her relationship with Charles didn’t prevent Gwyn from continuing her diplomatic efforts. In 1681, a Moroccan embassy arrived to negotiate control over Tangier and the release of English slaves. The embassy was headed by the dashing Mohammed ben Hadou, whose excellent manners and spirited riding in Hyde Park made him an instant celebrity. Who better to entertain him than Nell Gwyn? They passed a magnificent evening together – though, it has to be said, a rather sedate one by Restoration standards: the Moroccan embassy drank only milk and water, and resolutely resisted staring at the ladies.
Aware that her popularity with the English public was based on her reputation as a royal mistress who did not meddle in politics, Gwyn was careful not to visibly overstep the mark. Yet she was a canny influencer behind the scenes, advising the king and providing a means through which others could access his ear. Not just the 17th century’s good-time girl, Nell Gwyn was a political operator with hidden depths.
Sophie Shorland is a former research fellow at the University of Warwick. Her books include Queen Catherine’s Court: Power and Rebellion in Restoration England (Atlantic, 2024)
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This article was first published in the April 2026 issue of HistoryExtra Magazine
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