Sir William Cecil slipped in without announcement. The queen’s secretary looked more careworn than usual this morn, the lines carved into his well-made face deeper, the pinched crease on the bridge of his nose tighter. At his side strode Sir Amyas.
Anne’s heart plummeted. Against Sir William’s sober green and black attire, her grandsire’s clothing seemed almost festive. His doublet was a greenish-gray beneath his short gray coat, his gold chain massive. His breeches were made of black and gray strips of fabric, while his finest ruby pin trimmed his black velvet cap. Amyas was smiling as Sir William carefully steered him through the crowd toward her. That his grin was broad enough to reveal the gaps where he was missing teeth could but mean Anne’s doom.
She and Mary bobbed as one as the two came to a halt before them. “Sir Amyas, Sir William,” they said in unison.
“Mistress Mary.” Amyas gave the maid a bare nod of his head. The only greeting Anne got was, “You should have more care. You’ve creased the fabric of that skirt.”
“Mistress Anne, pray tell your grandsire just how it has been these last days.” Although Sir William’s voice was fraught with frustration, he kept his words low enough so as not to draw his royal mistress’s attention. “Pray tell him, since he’ll not heed me, that there has been a frantic note in Her Grace’s voice. That she hastens to and from this task and the other without ever settling fully upon anything she does.”
Startled that the secretary should want her confirmation on what all the court knew, Anne looked at her grandsire. “Grandfather, it’s true. Of late, she has been very nervous and quick to lose her temper. She worries over the Scots queen, now that the earl of Murray has now made it clear the only way his half-sister will return to Scotland will be in chains. That fate our gracious majesty cannot abide, any more than she likes keeping the Scots queen in our kingdom.”
“Amyas,” Sir William went on, lowering his voice as he spoke, “I beg you, heed me in this. Go home and wait another month.”
Her grandsire’s jaw set to its most stubborn angle. “You would have me leave my granddaughter for another month near that papist?”
“Master Hollier is no papist,” Sir William said, but his protest lacked any force, as if he’d long ago given up convincing his friend of this fact.
“So you tell me, thinking to soothe me into accepting the unacceptable,” Amyas said, his eyes narrowed in refusal. “I’ll not do it, William, not when it was wrong of Her Grace to force him on me in the first place. Nay, this is my granddaughter. I’ll have her in my custody as is my right,” he stressed these words.
Sir William pressed his fingers to his temple as if to stop an ache. “You’re not hearing me, Amyas. It isn’t a matter of right. Her Majesty hasn’t seen the contracts, she is irritable, and in the past your words have grated on her so many times that she may refuse you for refusal’s sake.”
Hope soared in Anne at this. As wrong as it might be she willed her grandfather to ignore his friend. If there was one thing of which she was certain, Amyas Blanchemain was capable of annoying his queen.
Outrage flashed in her grandfather’s dark eyes. “I’m as careful as the next man with what I say. Nor am I at fault here. It’s her. All the world knows a woman is incapable of dealing honestly with a man. This regiment of women is an abomination in God’s eyes.”
Both Anne and Mary gasped at such bold speech. Sir William’s eyes widened in dismay. “Do you know no better than to quote Knox within Her Grace’s hearing?” the secretary whispered harshly. “What’s happened to you, Amyas? There was a time when you owned subtlety and perception, when you were sensitive to the currents around you. Do you wish to bring your house crashing down around your ears? I tell you, exile changed you and not for the better.”
Amyas’s face could have been carved from stone. But, beneath that hard exterior Anne caught a glimpse of the same pain that had driven him to attack her mother. “Are you quite finished?” His words dripped ice.
Insult begot insult. Sir William stiffened, the friendship of the previous moment departing from his gaze. “As God and these two maids witness, Amyas, I tried to stop you. If you’ll not heed me in this, then badger me no more for favors. I’ve already wasted enough of my precious time trying to drive sense into your hard noggin.”
Regret dashed through Amyas’s eyes, and his face softened. “You mean well, William, but what I want is nothing more than is my right, to control my heiress.”
If this was an attempt to placate it came too late. Sir William whirled on his heel, putting his back to his former friend. “Nay, old man. I’ll hear no more of your complaints and protests. Find another to harass.”
The queen’s secretary glanced at Anne, hurt and confusion mingling in his gaze, despite his harsh words. “I beg pardon for involving you, Mistress Anne. You cannot know this, but when I first came to court, your grandsire was a man most worthy of my admiration and emulation. Would that you had known him then.” The words were meant for Amyas. Sir William strode away without a backward glance.
A bare breath later, the usher called out, “Sir Amyas Blanchemain.”
Amyas’s eyes came to light with approval. “Ah, so the royal bitch did see us enter. Good. Come, I want you close at hand.”
Reaching out, he grabbed Anne by the elbow. Just as he’d done at Anne’s presentation, he drew his granddaughter toward her royal mistress. All conversation again stopped in the room, as the occupants turned their gazes toward throne and queen. Anne knew them better now. She knew they hoped for another battle between the queen and her most irascible subject and didn’t plan to miss a word.
Amyas knelt before his queen, doffing his cap. Anne dropped a deep curtsy then moved aside to a place where she could clearly see both combatants.
“Why Sir Amyas, whatever brings you back into our presence after you’ve kept yourself aloof these past weeks?” Elizabeth asked of this thorn in her side. Although her tone was filled with simple curiosity, Anne knew it for the trap it was. Elizabeth knew full well why her secretary had forbidden Sir Amyas from her presence.
“Majesty, I am an old man,” her grandfather said, his head bent. “Between my years and my labors on your behalf in my own shire, I fear I haven’t the energy to keep up with so youthful a court.”
“Is that so?” No emotion touched the smooth lines of Elizabeth’s face. “Then, it must be some great event which causes you to expend what little strength you have in store to visit us this day.”
Amyas missed the sarcasm as he raised his head to beam upon his queen. “Indeed it is, Majesty. I have contracted for my granddaughter’s marriage.”
So many were the men who groaned at this that the room thundered with sound of their disappointment. Elizabeth sent a questioning look at her newest maid. Anne bowed her head as if she had no opinion at all in the matter. However bold the queen might be, she didn’t care for the same behavior in her maids. Nay, Elizabeth expected the females who served her to offer up the gentle obedience that God’s Word said women owed their fathers.
When the room was again quiet, Amyas added, “Against my age, I come here begging you to release my granddaughter to me. I need her aid in the planning of this event.”
“Why have We not seen your contracts?” Elizabeth’s words were icy.
“I’ve only this very hour delivered them into Sir William’s hands,” Amyas returned, his tone as humble as that of the lowest petitioner.
“Then your request is premature,” the queen snapped. “You cannot plan the wedding until We have reviewed the contracts and approved the union. We will call you to us when our decision has been made.” Her tone was final.
Tension drained from Anne, leaving her senses reeling in earnest this time. Hoping to still the spinning, she lifted her head from her meek pose, only to find Elizabeth watching her. In the queen’s dark eyes lived the promise to keep her newest maid close to her.
Anne caught her breath in understanding. That wager! Elizabeth wasn’t goin
g to let her go, not until after she’d danced at July’s end. Although that date was now only two weeks distant, it still meant two more weeks with Kit than she’d ever dreamed to have.
Before his monarch’s chair, her grandfather reared back on his knees. “You will not release her?” he cried out half in outrage, half in surprise.
The queen’s slender fingers curled about the arms of her chair in what Anne now knew was a certain sign of the coming storm. Once again, her grandfather’s timing was poor. Elizabeth no longer cared about alienating this Protestant, a man whose extreme beliefs and bad behavior rankled. Why, when she’d only moments before replaced Amyas with Kit, a far more valuable Protestant, one who had already served her well and would now sit in the House of Lords?
“Has your age rendered you deaf?” Elizabeth snapped. “We said you may not have her now.”
Amyas’s face flattened. His eyes darted from side to side, as if seeking aid from some invisible companion. Despite all the warnings it seemed he found his queen’s refusal so wholly unexpected he could think of no way to combat it. Just when he shouldn’t have done it, Amyas opened his mouth.
“Madame, all I want is my heir in my custody as is my right.”
The hush in the room was complete. Anne could hear the shrill cries of the gulls on the river. The day’s stiff wind battered at the windowpanes. It was sunny outside that glass, but within this chamber a thunderstorm gathered.
Two spots of color came to life on Elizabeth’s cheeks. Her mouth narrowed to a thin line, while her dark eyes tightened to mere slits.
“How dare you, sir!” The words exploded from the royal lips. “First, you belabor our poor secretary and pester my Lord of Leicester to force Master Hollier’s removal as Mistress Anne’s tutor. Now that you’ve failed in this, you speak of your right to remove your granddaughter from our court, talking of contracts We have yet to see. We say you abdicated your rights to her when you offered her to us as our servant, in truth planning to use our court as a marketplace in which to display your heiress. We will accept no contract you would offer us for Mistress Anne’s hand at this time. Leave us.”
Even Amyas wasn’t so blind that he didn’t realize another sound might cost him his life, much less destroy his prospects of ever seeing his granddaughter wed to Lord Deyville. The old man came to his feet and backed carefully from the room. As Amyas went he left behind his shattered pride, his hopes to catch a title for his bloodline and, most likely, his career on the floor before his monarch’s chair.
He was back! After seven days, her Kit finally returned. His note came to Anne by a circuitous route, from Kit to Bertie to Patience to a page to Anne in the Presence Chamber.
Thinking she might well expire in happiness, Anne read again the words from her beloved. Kit meant to join her in the Presence Chamber once he’d washed away the muck of travel. Even as she chafed at this much of a delay, Anne knew she’d see him no sooner. No man entered the presence of England’s queen save at his very best.
Tucking the note into the purse at her belt, Anne turned her attention back to the evening’s entertainment. Her heart whirled apace with dancers across the room. The queen, dressed in blue and gold, her jeweled cap gleaming in the bright glow of so many candles, led the romp. At Elizabeth’s side was her favorite, the earl of Leicester, looking fine indeed in scarlet. They kept the Galliard’s quick pace to perfection, laughing as they went.
As the tune ended Leicester drew Elizabeth close. The queen leaned her head near her earl, letting him pass a word in private to her. Whatever he said was quickly done. When they separated, Elizabeth retreated to her chair, while the earl started across the room toward Anne.
Anne glanced from the nobleman to her monarch, only to find Elizabeth watching her, wicked humor filling the queen’s dark gaze. A lift of the royal brows conveyed that the nobleman again meant to test the fledgling dancer, and reminded Anne to forget all she knew of dancing. Anne bit back a smile. This had become quite a game between them, one Anne could in all honesty say she enjoyed as much as her royal mistress.
As the tall nobleman stopped before her Anne curtsied deeply, waiting until her amusement was well hidden before rising. In the midst of his third decade, Lord Robert yet owned a slim, broad-shouldered form. Framed by closely cropped brown hair, his face was handsome, his nose straight, his jaw strong. A fine mustache clung to his upper lip, outlining a sensitive mouth.
Now that Anne knew the earl better, she understood it wasn’t only his appearance that had caught his queen’s eye and her heart. Etched beneath the surface of Robert Dudley’s skin was a hint of sadness, a reminder that he’d lost father and brothers to the axe, and lived for a time under the threat of death himself. When Elizabeth looked upon him she saw another survivor, a man who understood the need to be cunning and devious, because to be anything else might be fatal.
Candlelight made the jewel in Lord Robert’s earlobe sparkle. His brown eyes filled with appreciation beneath the smooth arch of his brows. “Well now, Mistress Anne, I think we are a pair, this night,” he said, the wave of his hand indicating Anne’s red velvet kirtle with golden brocade underpinnings, the same attire she’d worn for her presentation.
The urge to tease welled in Anne, growing beyond her ability to thwart it. “If that be true, my lord then I’m your poorer twin.” She looked askance at the golden beads trimming the slashes in his scarlet doublet and the diamond buttons holding them closed. Her gaze shifted to his brocade sleeves, the fabric’s pattern outlined in pearls. “I have no idea how you bend your arms in those sleeves.”
“There’s no power in the world to prevent their bending,” he retorted with a laugh, “not when there’s a beautiful woman within their reach.”
With that, he took a step nearer to her until he stood a breath too close. His eyes warmed with something more than appreciation, and his smile took a wholly different bend, a potent reminder that the nobleman found her attractive and didn’t mind pleasing himself with sly touches under the pretense of testing her dancing skills.
To prove the point, the earl reached out as if to straighten the brooch that held Anne’s kirtle closed at the waist. As if by accident the backs of his fingers brushed the line of her bodice near her breasts. “In all truth mistress, there’s not a woman in the chamber who can match you in those colors.”
It wasn’t what Leicester said, but how he said it. In that instant Anne felt as if she were the only woman in the room. Aye, and each time Lord Robert did this to her, she understood why Lady Sheffield had given way to him to the detriment of her marriage and her repute. Anne had no desire to court her own destruction, at least not with this man.
“My thanks for your compliment, my lord,” she said, working to set things on a different path. “To what do I owe the honor of your attention this night?”
The heat died from his gaze. He wanted a woman who lost herself to passion, not one capable of restraint. Control was the one thing he suffered in abundance with his royal lover. Lord Robert winked at her. “I’ve told Her Grace that the time for you to again display what you’ve learned of footwork is at hand.”
“Oh nay, my lord. I pray you have mercy,” Anne cried in pretty protest. “I’ll die of embarrassment if I fall as I did in our last dance. Only fate saved your toes that time.” Although the queen had given her leave to tread upon her favorite’s foot Anne had yet to breach that boundary. What Elizabeth offered and what she accepted were not always the same thing.
Earl Robert smiled at her feminine distress then extended a hand in invitation. “Come now, what are a few toes between friends?”
“Just remember my warning when you’re hobbling on the morrow,” Anne said, setting her hand into his.
He laughed and bravely led his dancing partner to the head of the newly formed procession. When they were in place the musicians started a slow tune, chosen for Anne’s benefit. As always in these tests Anne began on the wrong foot, then laughed and did a quick shuffle to correct he
rself.
Up the room’s length they went at a slow, stately pace. Anne concentrated on the steps, but not because she didn’t know them. Nay, the more skillful she became at dancing, the harder it was to make missteps. When the music’s beat indicated the moment for the couples to separate, each side turned away from the middle to walk back down the length of the procession. Anne turned the wrong direction.
Mary waved at her from near the queen’s chair. “Nan, the other way,” she called out with a laugh.
Freeing her very best shocked yelp, Anne whirled. As she hurried to regain her place, she nearly collided with the Viscountess of Hereford. The queen’s fiery-haired cousin gave Anne a laughing shove. “To the front, mistress,” Lady Lettice directed in encouragement.
“Fly, Mistress Anne,” the queen cried from her chair, getting double the pleasure from this particular piece of entertainment, “else my lord of Leicester will grow aged and infirm as he awaits you.”
By the time Anne found herself again facing Lord Robert she was breathless with her attempt to befuddle. “I’m so embarrassed,” she said softly as she took his hand again.
“Don’t be,” he replied. If his voice was kind, the certainty that he’d win his wager lived in his eyes. “I think me you do better. After all, I still have my toes,” he teased.
Anne linked her arm in his as they began the series of steps that would take them back up the room’s length then shot a look over his shoulder at the chamber’s door, hoping for Kit. Instead, she found Lord Deyville. Dressed all in black as befitted mourning, the nobleman watched her, his pale eyes afire with rage.
Yet staring at Deyville, Anne forgot to make her turn. As Lord Robert pulled her around with him she gave a surprised cry, and fell hard against the earl’s chest. The queen’s favorite caught his arm around her as if to steady her then pleased himself by pressing her hips tightly against his own.
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