“No,” Robin replied. “If you tell her, she will feel trapped once more and flee you. You only met tonight. Give her time to know you.”
“But she seemed to like me, Robin, and she is a most charming flirt.”
“She is a young girl trying out her skill at seduction for the first time, Alex. I know you are enchanted with her, for I can see it in your eyes, but be patient, my old friend. She is so damned innocent and idealistic that she will feel terribly betrayed if you tell her now. Let her know you better first.”
Alexander Gordon sighed, but nodded his agreement. It would not be easy to practice patience now, having met Velvet. Why, several times tonight, he had come perilously near to sweeping her into his arms and kissing her enticing mouth. He wondered what she would have done had he given in to his desires. Would she have melted into his embrace, or would she have grown angry at his apparent boldness? After all, she was his by virtue of their betrothal.She was his, and no other man could have her! Hot and irritable with sudden jealousy, he slept restlessly that night.
The following morning it seemed as if Lynmouth House was erupting. The footmen hurried purposefully about seeing that all the silver, gold, and crystal was polished and gleaming. Every candle from simple sticks to those that lit the great chandeliers were replaced with fresh beeswax tapers. Tables were carried out into the gardens where supper would be served to the court. There were maids running to and fro setting the tables, and others who were set to washing, sweeping, and polishing. The guests would start to arrive in the late afternoon, and all must be in readiness.
Robin wanted this great fête to be especially enjoyable for Elizabeth Tudor. She had been a great friend of his father’s, and for Robin’s whole life, despite the constant battles of will she waged with his mother, England’s queen had been his friend and his patroness also.
These last months had been filled with personal tragedy and trauma for the queen. She had finally had to admit to herself that her cousin Mary Stewart meant her serious harm. She had been forced to end that threat by ending Mary’s life. It had not been an easy decision, and it was one that still haunted her.
Now her brother-in-law, Philip of Spain, had amassed a monstrous naval armada and was preparing to send it against England. From all reports, Spain’s position was impregnable and they stood a good chance of conquering England. Still, the queen was determined that no foreign power would prevail over her kingdom. Recently she had avoided several assassination plots thanks to Sir Francis Walsingham’s excellent secret service, but the strain was beginning to show. Tonight at least, thought the young Earl of Lynmouth, the queen can feel she is safe among friends, and enjoy herself.
Robin smiled as he gazed over his exquisite riverside gardens hung with lanterns that by evening would be twinkling like golden fireflies. The trees were filled with silver cages containing songbirds of various species. The tables were covered in snow white damask cloths with bright green silk runners, the Tudor colors. There were silver bowls filled with pink damask roses up and down the board. A musicians’ gallery painted silver had been built in the center of the gardens so that everyone could easily hear the music, and Robin had hired a company of players to act in scenes depicting the great moments in the queen’s reign to date. Master Marlowe, London’s current favorite playwright, had written the sketches and would also perform in them. Robin had arranged with an Italian fireworks maker for a magnificent display of fireworks to delight the queen and her court at midnight. It would be a perfect evening.
“Oh, Robin, how beautiful you are!”
The earl turned and smiled warmly at his young sister. “Then you approve of my garb, poppet?” He was dressed in cream-colored velvets and silks embroidered with gold threads, small diamonds, pearls, and pale blue zircons. His golden blond hair was like his late father’s in its silken texture and its natural wave. He wore it neatly cropped, but one recalcitrant lock fell over his forehead.
“May I return the compliment, Mistress de Marisco? Your gown is exquisite!” Robin’s lime-green eyes sparkled with approval.
Velvet pirouetted proudly for him. “The gown was made atQueen’s Malvernafter I left and then sent on to London. I chose this fabric from the storage room.”
Robin smiled. “You chose well, my dear,” he said, and Velvet preened beneath his approving gaze.
It was indeed the most grown-up dress she had ever worn, and she was no longer uncomfortable with the very low neckline that fashion seemed to dictate these days. The gown was entirely made of topaz gold silk, the underskirt embroidered with copper threads, small freshwater pearls, and tiny topazes in a pattern of flowers and butterflies. The full sleeves were trimmed with gold lace at the wrists, and small, gold cloth bows were scattered up and down their fullness. There were matching bows strewn over her bell-shaped skirt. Her beautiful auburn hair had been dressed in an elegant chignon, and there were tiny gold bows decorating it.
“You have no jewelry,” Robin noted.
“Only the pearl earbobs Mama and Papa sent me for my birthday,” Velvet answered.
Robin signaled to one of his footmen. “Find Master Browne,” he said, “and tell him I wish a single rope of black pearls for Mistress de Marisco.”
“Oh, Robin! How can I thank you for the loan of such pearls? They will make me perfect, and so I should be, standing by your side, my lord Earl of Lynmouth.”
“They are not a loan, Velvet. They are a gift. I did not send you a gift this year, or last year either for that matter, and never before have I forgotten your birthday.”
Velvet kissed her brother’s cheek. “You were mourning Alison, Robin, and there was no room in your heart for anything else. I knew that. We all did.” Then she threw her arms about him and hugged him hard. “Thank you, dearest brother! The pearls will be a most wonderful present!”
“There, Will, have I not told you? Offer a wench a pretty bauble and she’ll reward you with a kiss, or perhaps even more,” came a mocking drawl.
The earl and Velvet stepped back from each other and turned to see who it was that spoke. Robin’s face crinkled with pleasure at the sight of one of the two men who stood there.
“Damn me, Kit Marlowe, you haven’t changed, have you? Still totally disrespectful of your betters, aren’t you?”
“Aye, Robin Southwood, for I don’t hold any of the gentry to be my betters. Who’s the lass?”
“My youngest sister, Velvet de Marisco. Velvet, this scoundrel is Master Christopher Marlowe. Do not believe a word he utters, for he is a playwright, and worse, he is an actor.”
The gentleman before them flashed them a blinding smile, a smile that was ivory white against his rather swarthy face. His eyes were like black cherries and sparkled with irreverence. “This is the second sister of yours I’ve met, and both have been beauties.” He made Velvet an elegant leg, sweeping off his small, soft black cap with its rather jaunty feather. “Your slave for life, Mistress de Marisco. Ask what you will, and I will obey.”
Velvet giggled. “I think you are rather mad, Master Marlowe,” she replied, and he grinned again.
“Totally,” he agreed, “but ’tis where my genius comes from.”
“Introduce us to your friend, Kit,” the earl commanded gently, noting that Marlowe’s companion was hanging back, looking somewhat uncomfortable.
