“How long have you served the Queen at court?” James asked as they walked.
“I only came to court a scant few months ago. My cousin Henry introduced me here.”
“Henry?”
“Wriothesley. Do you know him?”
“Only in passing. He is the Earl of Southampton, is he not? I have heard he is a close friend of Lord Oxford’s.”
“Mmm, maybe once. Henry was raised in Cecil House but not until after Lord Oxford was already grown and married to Anne Cecil. Henry and I hardly knew each other as children so I do not know what his relationship was with Lord Oxford. I do not think they are close any longer, however. Oxford is so rarely in London anymore.”
“So I have heard.”
“It was a surprise to see him the night before last.”
James nodded. It didn’t appear she had any information about Oxford that would help.
“Here we are,” she announced brightly as a guard opened the door for them into the Privy Chamber. Elizabeth was sitting at a chess table with the Earl of Essex. Various ladies hovered around them.
“Ah, Master Gwynne!” the Queen cackled.
“At your service, Your Highness.” He extended his right foot, swept his hand across his body in the proper gesture of obeisance, and bowed low.
“All of you, go!” she ordered the rest of the crowd, never taking her eyes from James.
He glanced at Susannah. Please don’t leave! Her presence comforted him inexplicably.
Susannah smiled apologetically and backed out the door. The other ladies filed out with her.
“And I Your Majesty?” Essex said, still seated. “Do you not care to finish our game?”
“Master Gwynne can take over your side.”
“I am sure I am no substitute for the estimable Earl of Essex,” James said.
“He is losing. He does not challenge me sufficiently.” She threw Essex a haughty look.
“Your Majesty,” Essex said, “we have not had a chance to discuss what I came here to talk to you about.”
“I am sick of your hounding me. When I make a decision, I shall let you know.”
Essex pressed his lips together in an angry grimace. “Time is running out, Your Majesty,” he nearly growled.
“No one has to tell me how bad the situation is in Ireland, least of all you. Now leave me. I am sure your dear wife, Lettice, hungers for your company.” She added under her breath, “The slut.”
Essex leapt to his feet. “Your Majesty, how dare you!”
She rose dramatically and turned her full attention to him, meeting his sullen glare. “You forget yourself. How dare you speak to me in such a manner? Do you think you have complete immunity with me? Hah! On the contrary. You are rapidly wearing my patience thin. Do not think you cannot be replaced.” She glanced in James’s direction for a split second.
Essex stared at the other man for a moment, then laughed derisively. “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he finally said with a bow, yet with no less anger in his voice. “I shall take my leave.” He spun on his heel and swept past James and out the door.
“I am sorry you had to see that, Master Gwynne.” She took a deep breath and eased back into her chair. “Do come and take over the board from that dimwit. I hope you are adept. I need a fine mind to challenge me at my prodigious level.”
“I consider myself a decent player, but I doubt whether my skills are adequate enough for Her Majesty.”
“Well then we shall put it aside. I hunger more for conversation than games. Please sit.”
The same elderly lady who had attended Elizabeth the first night of James’s stay at the palace slunk out of the shadows and removed the chess board.
“Wine,” Elizabeth barked. She then reached her hand across the table and grabbed James’s. “I thank you for humoring an old soul. I know I do not present as pleasing an aspect as my beautiful young ladies-in-waiting…” She batted her heavily made up eyelids.
“There is no vision lovelier than Her Grace.”
“You only say that because you must.” Elizabeth pouted like a schoolgirl.
James summoned his powers of persuasion. “I am not a courtier, Your Majesty, I am but the son of a humble merchant. I do not know how to flatter with lies and false compliments. I say what I mean. I would not dare to insult the great monarch of our realm with counterfeit words of sweetness. You are beauteous because you are also magnificent of mind and spirit.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes slightly.
Had he said the wrong thing?
The lady-in-waiting brought the wine then disappeared again. Elizabeth downed her drink in one swig while James took only a sip. The Queen then slipped from her chair to a bench alongside the table. “Sit by me.”
He moved into place by the Queen. She took his hand again. She was now pressed up very close to him, arm to arm.
“Say what you will about my eternal youthfulness, but I am getting too old to deal with Essex and his endless badgering.”
“He wants to lead the fight in Ireland, am I right?”
She looked at him sharply. “How do you know this? One so newly arrived at court.”
“The others have been talking. Your court is abuzz with the ambitions of the Earl of Essex, and Southampton of course too.”
“No, Henry Wriothsley is simply being dragged into the mess because of his devotion to his friend. He has none of the ambitions Essex has to go down in history as a great military leader. Yet, in Ireland, Chieftain O’Neil holds his ground firmly and I have very little faith that Essex is the man to uproot him.”
“I wish I could offer Her Majesty advice, but I know so little of these matters.”
“It does not signify. Let us speak of it no longer as it agitates my stomach. Instead, these days I find myself wanting to do nothing more than ruminate about past joys: conquests I made both military and romantic,” she chortled.
“You are a slayer of men in many ways, Your Majesty.”
She laughed loudly. “More flattery―you do it well, Master Gwynne.” She drank more of the wine the lady-in-waiting had silently added to her cup. “And yet the memories do not always bring such triumphant recollections. This morning I was going through some old letters and documents of mine, things that reminded me sadly of times past. If only I had done things differently, I might have found more happiness in love, and perhaps, would not have ended up the Virgin Queen.”
James stared silently at his wine.
“As a result, I have decided to destroy the papers. I do not want people pawing over them after I am dead, speculating on why I did this or that, whom I loved, or whom I grieved for.”
“Your Majesty, do not entertain such melancholy thoughts.”
She sighed. “You are right, Master Gwynne. I still have years ahead of me to love, and to be loved. Why wallow in the lost desires of yesteryear?”
What could he say to this? She had five years left of life, and she would not spend them dallying in love affairs. The war with Ireland would consume her, as would the strife between her and Essex, who would ultimately lose his head for the rebellion he would foment against her.
She raised her face to his. He lowered his gaze so to not have to look at her up close. She leaned in closer.
Oh God, is she going to kiss me?
A knock sounded loudly on the door of the chamber. “God’s breath! MaryAnn, go see to that.” The spell was broken. The Queen moved slightly away from James and slumped unhappily.
The grey-haired maid returned with Robert Cecil. James stood in his presence.
“What is it, Robin? Why do you interrupt me?” Elizabeth demanded.
“Her Majesty is needed on a matter of pressing business,” he said to his queen, though looking pointedly at James.
Perhaps this was his cue to leave. “Shall I go, Your Highness?”
“No! When I return, we shall carry on from where we were.” She leered at him with her partly toothless grin. “I shall not tarry long.”
> “I am at your service, Majesty,” James assented.
“I shall follow forthwith, Your Grace,” said Cecil, bowing as she strode past him out the door with the retinue of guards who had been waiting just outside.
“A message for you.” Cecil handed it to James, turned, and left as well.
James opened it. It was from Cecil himself. It related that Duchess Von Schell had been in a boating accident. Panic and adrenaline coursed through James’s veins as he read on. The note said Cassandra had been persuaded to take the river trip alone by a summons from an unknown personage. She was fine, Cecil, wrote, and though she didn’t want James to know, he had felt an obligation to tell him. That was all.
Now what? He was virtually Elizabeth’s prisoner. Yet some mysterious person luring his mother into danger? He had to get out of there.
The lady MaryAnn came bustling through with a stack of papers in her hands. She was so slight the bundle rose nearly to her chin. “Forgive me, sir, but I must carry on with my duties while Her Majesty is otherwise engaged. If she finds I have not yet fulfilled her wishes in dispatching these documents to the fire, she will be most angry.” She brushed by him to the large fireplace.
“Dear mistress, can you summon Lady Susannah for me?”
“What? Oh, certainly. Just a moment, let me finish here.” Several papers spilled from her arms. “God ‘a mercy!” she cried, flustered.
“Here, let me help you.” James bent to help her gather the letters she had dropped. A few had glided across the floor. He turned from her to gather them, his curiosity suddenly piqued. What harm would it do to slip a few into his pocket?
Chapter Eight
Cassandra lay on her bed thinking about the mysterious note. Nothing legible remained of the sodden paper after she’d fished it out of her pocket so it wasn’t possible to examine the handwriting further.
Apparently, Oxford had come by just shortly after she’d left the house that morning, concerned over whether she’d gotten home safely the night before, and throwing Mistress Flint into a panic because she hadn’t known Cassandra had gone out. He’d left, the housekeeper had said, both relieved she’d been delivered safe at home the night before, and agitated that she’d ventured out again by herself today. So, obviously it wasn’t Oxford who’d sent the note.
Sleep began to overtake her. Mistress Flint had insisted on giving her a warm bath, which Cassandra had welcomed. The tub was filled in her room while the housekeeper stripped her out of her clothes and chided her endlessly for going out by herself. Afterwards, she’d dressed Cassandra in her nightgown and robe; then brought hot soup and fresh crusty bread and butter to her room. Both the food and the bath were having a soporific effect, and the golden sunlight pouring through the window onto the bed only added to it. Perhaps a short nap wouldn’t hurt.
Before long she had drifted into a field of scarlet poppies and golden wheat. The light of a Tuscan sunset bathed her in a rosy glow. A man walked toward her. He had long, black hair. Was it Shakespeare? No. The shape of his body became apparent. He was smiling. It could only be one person, Lauro. He approached her quickly and took her in his arms without hesitation. He kissed her hard on the mouth, with desire but also tenderness. His lips were soft, his tongue seeking hers. He drew her blouse off her shoulders and it seemed to dissolve with no effort. He untied her long skirt and it fell to the ground, leaving her naked, but creating a bed for them to lie on. He took his own clothes off and lay on top of her. She soaked in the heat of his skin, running her hands over his muscled back and arms. He slid his own hands up and down her body, grabbing, teasing, caressing. She opened her thighs to him. He entered her, letting his movements accelerate into exquisite urgency. She tried to make the anticipation last but it was no use. Her climax came quickly, her eyes seeking his. But they were his no longer. They were Robert Cecil’s: sweet, longing, sad.
She awoke suddenly, sat up, and took several long breaths. The dream lingered. Robert Cecil was not a man she would normally find attractive―physically challenged, small, thin, the slight hunch in his back. But his kindness made him strangely appealing. Nevertheless, Lauro was the only man she wanted. The only man she could imagine herself being with anymore.
The fact was, there had been four men in her life since her husband Franklin had passed away several years ago. The first had been Ben. She’d met him when she time traveled to England of 1820. He was a violinist, and her own virtuosity on the piano had drawn them together. He was a gentle man, though brilliant and passionate at the same time, and a wonderful lover, a person she could have spent the rest of her life with. But his destiny was in the past, and it had not been possible to give up her future for him.
Then there had been Nick, whom she’d had a relationship with for a year, between that journey to England and the next venture, which had taken her to New York of 1853. However, by the time she’d embarked on that trip, she had been growing tired of him. He was possessive, and had begun to irritate her. If only she had known then the evil he turned out to be capable of.
In New York, free from Nick’s exasperating attentions, she’d fallen for a charismatic abolitionist named Thaddeus Evans. She’d resisted her attraction to him steadfastly, until the dangerous circumstance they’d found themselves in, fleeing slave catchers in the effort to help runaways, had thrust them together in an overpowering way. Though she’d known at the time that it was only to be a brief romance, it had been deeply satisfying. As a matter of fact, it was her feelings for Thaddeus that made her first realize what a peculiar effect the phenomenon of time travel had on scientists who journeyed to the past. It seemed everyone who ventured back in time found themselves enchanted by the epoch and the people they came into contact with, as if a romantic spell were cast by the immersion into another era.
Her trip to Renaissance Italy had proven the theory true once again, for it was there she’d met, and fallen deeply in love with Lauro: artist, scientist, and inventor. Even still, she remained a willing victim to his charm. Was he really lost to her forever?
“Your ladyship!” Mistress Flint called from outside the door.
Cassandra pulled her robe around her. “Yes?”
“Master Gwynne has arrived. He’s downstairs, wanting to know if he can come up and see you.”
James home! He had done exactly what she’d hoped he would not. “Yes, of course!”
Loud footsteps sounded, running up the stairs, and then there was a knock.
“Come in, James.”
He burst through the door. “Mom, are you okay?”
“Yes, yes. Sir Robert told you everything?”
“Only very briefly, in a note. How could you think I wouldn’t come, knowing you nearly drowned? What happened?”
Cassandra related the entire incident.
“It seems like whoever sent the note is stalking you.”
“‘Stalking’ is an extreme word.”
“Really? You get a note from someone claiming to be Shakespeare, asking to meet you alone and you don’t call that stalking? Especially since you know it wasn’t actually Will?”
“I was surprised to learn he and Robert Cecil are friends. It seems an unlikely liaison.”
“Don’t try to change the subject.”
“All right, I’m sorry. There, sit down.” She pointed to the chair by the dressing table. “I didn’t want you to come home because I didn’t want you to go against the Queen’s wishes and leave the palace. She wants you there, and one doesn’t defy Elizabeth.”
“I don’t care. I’m not going back. My trunk had only just arrived and had not been unloaded so I asked one of the Queen’s ladies, Susannah, to detain the coach, and I returned in it. The poor driver must think we’re all insane. Anyway, I’m not leaving you by yourself anymore. It’s too dangerous.”
“Did Elizabeth know you were leaving?”
“No. She’d been called away on some court business so I slipped away.”
“She’s going to lose it when she find
s out you left without her permission.”
“I had a message delivered to her just before I left. I told her you were ill. Hopefully, she’ll understand.”
“History doesn’t make her out to be an understanding character, exactly.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“What does that mean?”
“Before I tell you, or rather, show you, are you sure you’re okay? Mom, you could have died on that river.”
“I know.” Tears smarted in the corners of her eyes. She took a breath. “It was really scary, I’ll admit. You know me, I’m a good swimmer. But it was freezing in the water and my clothes were like iron weights.” Her voice shook. “For a second, I thought it was all over.”
He gazed at the floor. “I don’t even know what I would have done if that had happened.”
“Well, it didn’t. I’m all right.”
“Okay, well, stay here. Wait ‘til you see this.” He ran out the door and she could hear him clomping through the house. A few minutes later, he was back with a handful of papers.
“What is that?”
He plopped himself down on the bed and spread them out in front of her: six beautifully penned letters. “These are some of Elizabeth’s letters to Robert Dudley, the man she was madly in love with in her youth. The one she supposedly lost her virginity to, and might have married if either of them had really had a choice. He married someone else while they were still young, but that woman died. Some even say he killed her. Then later he really pissed off Elizabeth by marrying her cousin. It’s not like she was ever going to marry him though because she made it very clear that she didn’t want to be beholden to a man. I guess he finally figured that out.”
“Where did you get these?”
“Her private chambers. She and I,” James paused and swallowed, “had been chatting for a bit when Cecil came in to call her away, and gave me your message. One of the ladies dropped a bunch of these and I helped her pick them up.” He produced that mischievous grin of his and shrugged. “I guess a few just found their way into my pocket when she wasn’t looking.”
The Time Duchess (The Time Mistress Book 4) Page 11
