The Lady Series (27 page)

“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 going 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 herself.

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.

Gasping at what he dared, Anne fair leapt back out of his arms and glared at him. The earl only grinned, gloating that he’d stolen a bit of pleasure from her. It was so like what Deyville meant to do to her, and had done to her at the Maying, that Anne’s anger woke. By God, but she’d had enough of men who thought to use her without any care for what might happen to her as they did so.

“If you’re steady, again, mistress,” her noble partner said, lust and laughter living in his brown gaze, “hurry your steps a bit, or we’ll be too late to turn at the head of the room. Remember, the men circle first, the women after.”

In her anger Anne forgot to hide her skill. Up the room’s length she went without a single misstep, standing aside with her fellow female dancers as the men circled then clutching hands with the other ladies as they turned. Only when she once more caught her arm into Lord Robert’s and saw the startled surprise in his eyes did Anne realize what she’d done. It was almost too late to correct the error, for even now they were making their final turn. Her mouth narrowed. There was no help for it; Lord Robert’s foot would pay the price.

With a mummer’s gasp of confusion, she turned the wrong way and pretended to stumble. Lord Robert reached out to steady her. Just as Anne expected, the earl again tried to pull her too close to him.

Anne set her foot directly atop his shoe and stepped with all her might. Lord Robert loosed a bellow of pain and hopped out of line. The dance ground to a halt as participants and musicians alike burst into laughter, the room echoing with the sound of amusement.

Anne clapped her hands to her cheeks in horror. “And, I was doing so well until this moment,” she cried out to the room.

Lady Lettice flew to take the earl’s left arm, supporting him whilst he tried to set his foot upon the ground. Anne came to take his other.

“My lord, a thousand pardons.” Her words rang with a distress she didn’t feel. “So hard was I concentrating upon my steps that I forgot which way to turn.”

Lord Robert managed a smile. In his gaze lived the acknowledgment of the message she’d sent; there’d be no more grabbing on his part. “Give it no more thought, Mistress Anne.” His words slipped past teeth clenched in pain.

“Bring him to us,” the queen called from her chair.

Anne drew a breath in fear. What would her impulsive need to punish cost her? Turning, she and Lady Lettice aided the hobbling man to his royal mistress’s side. It wasn’t until the queen offered a swift, sidelong glance that Anne relaxed; there was no anger in the royal face.

“My poor Eyes,” Elizabeth said to her earl, her lips curving into a smile. “Has my backward maid broken your foot?”

He smiled. No matter what Mary said of him, or what Anne knew about him, Lord Robert carried true affection in his heart for the woman who was his queen. Anne saw it in the curve of his mouth and the softening in his face as he looked upon Elizabeth.

“It matters naught as long as my wounding gave you a moment’s entertainment,” he told Elizabeth.

“We take no joy from your pain,” his Gloriana replied. “Since you’re done with dancing for the evening, so are We. Come, you’ll take our arm. We’ve work to tend to, and you have bruises that need treatment.”

As the queen rose from her chair the Privy Chamber usher beat his staff against the floor to call the room’s attention to their monarch’s departure. All across the room men pulled their hats from their heads and bowed. The ladies and maids, Anne included, dropped into curtsies, not to rise until the queen had passed them for the chamber door.

“We bid you all a good evening,” England’s monarch called out to those like Anne whose lower rank didn’t allow her to enter the queen’s private chambers.

From the corners of the room came the ladies of the Privy Chamber, including Mary. Mary offered Anne a pleased smile, more than liking the injury done to the man she so despised. The last to follow were those noblemen yet seeking to press a final word of flattery on their monarch.

Of those who stayed behind the duke of Norfolk was one, when he, above all other lords, had the right to go. Instead, he stared hungrily after Leicester. Again, it struck Anne that no matter how many men the duke gathered around him, he ever wore a solitary air, as if his exalted rank didn’t raise him above others as much as it isolated him.

“How now, Mistress Anne? Pining after a widower placed more highly than me?” Lord Deyville breathed his angry words over Anne’s shoulder, startling her.

She whirled, only to gasp as the nobleman grabbed her arm. The rage she’d seen in his face while he watched her dance yet colored his features. “You were toying with Leicester,” he snarled.

“I was not,” Anne cried out in surprise. What followed was the urge to add that if she had been toying with the earl it would have been none of Deyville’s concern, since the queen had refused his contract. She swallowed the retort as pure foolhardiness.

“Nay?” Jealousy burned bright in the lord’s cheeks, bringing vicious lights to his gray eyes. “I saw the way you let him fondle you as you danced.”

Anne yanked on her arm to no avail. “Fondle! Hardly so. He but steadied me after I stumbled,” she lied in self-preservation. If she spoke the truth about Leicester’s interest today, tomorrow it would fly to the queen’s ear.

“Liar!” Deyville’s fingers tightened until Anne flinched. “I know what I saw. He grabbed you, holding you until you thrust away from him.”

Anne wanted to scream in frustration. “If that’s what you saw then you know I don’t encourage him. How can you accuse me of interest in him?” she snapped and again yanked on her arm. “Free me this instant,” she commanded her thwarted suitor.

“I think not.” Deyville’s smile was twisted. He lifted his hand and brushed his fingers down the curve of Anne’s cheek. “Instead, I’ve come to guard what’s mine. And best you heed me when I say you are yet mine,” he continued in warning. “Our contract will stand. What your idiot grandsire has put wrong I can rectify.”

Her breath hissing from her in a heated stream, Anne stepped back to the limit of her arm. “Only when my royal mistress approves that contract will I be yours. And I warn you that I pray that day never comes.”

“Is that a threat?” Deyville’s mouth lifted in an unholy smile. “I’ll do you one better. I’ll take you, spoiling you for any other man, thus forcing our queen’s hand in the matter of the contract. Once you’re maid no longer she’ll have no choice but to wed us, wishing to save what’s left of your repute.”

Anne glared at him. Perhaps Kit was right. It was better to die with him than enter into marriage with Deyville.