Without even looking, Marlowe reached casually back and drew forward his hesitant friend, a tall, slender man with a serious and sensitive face. “These country bumpkins,” he lamented. “When they first come to London, they are so shy and meek, but within a year he’ll be as irascible as I am, I guarantee. This is Will Shakespeare, newly come from Stratford-upon-Avon. Like me, he has pretensions of being a writer, but, for the moment, he’s but a simple actor.”
“I hope you will find London everything you dreamed it would be Master Shakespeare,” said Robin graciously.
Will Shakespeare bowed politely, replying, “Thank you, my lord.”
“This is my first time in London, too, Master Shakespeare,” said Velvet, following her brother’s lead in attempting to set the actor at his ease. “I am one of the queen’s Maids of Honor.”
“Until your parents return from a voyage and help you to celebrate your forthcoming marriage,” Robin reminded his sister.
“Oh, bother my unknown betrothed, Robin Southwood!” Velvet said irritably. “I will not marry without love!”
“My lord, you sent for these pearls?” Master Browne was at their side, a small red morocco case in his hands.
“We’ll see you later, Rob,” Kit Marlowe said. “I hope that you’ll enjoy the scenes I’ve written for the queen. Mistress de Marisco, keep your sweet and honest ideals. Come, Will!” Then he strode off with his companion by his side.
Robin reached out and took the proferred jewel case. “Thank you, Master Browne.” He opened the case and lifted out the rope of smoky dark pearls, then handed the box back to the waiting man. “Give the box to my sister’s tiring woman. I am gifting Mistress de Marisco with these pearls.”
“Very good, my lord,” said Master Browne. He bowed and backed away.
Robin held out the pearls. “For you, poppet, with many happy returns.”
Velvet’s flash of temper had quickly cooled, and she took the jewels her brother proferred, her beautiful green eyes round with delight. She looped the rope about her neck once and let the rest of it fall. It reached two thirds of the way down her stomacher. “How do they look?” she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.
“Perfect,” said her brother.
“But not half as lovely as you are, Mistress de Marisco,” said Alexander Gordon as he joined them. Dressed in black velvet, there was an almost severe elegance about him.
Velvet’s eyes swung between her brother and his friend. “You look like an archangel and Lucifer standing here together,” she said softly.
“A comparison that has been made many times before, Mistress de Marisco,” said Alex as he took her hand up and pressed a warm kiss upon it. His eyes glowed with a warmth that was both flattering and frightening.
Velvet took her hand back with what she hoped was not unseemly haste. “I think you might call me by my name, if my brother thinks it not too forward.”
“I think it would be permissible,” Robin said quietly.
“My lord, the guests are beginning to arrive,” the majordomo announced.
“We will greet them here on the terrace leading to the gardens,” replied Robin, and, nodding, the man went about his duties. “Some will come by the river and others by coach,” Robin explained to his sister. “This is the middle ground between the two. Besides, Her Majesty will be coming from Whitehall on her barge, and I would be prompt in welcoming her.”
It was as if some secret signal that could be heard only by the favored had been sounded. Suddenly the guests were arriving, one party quickly followed by another, coming from both the river and the road in a seemingly never-ending procession of brilliantly colored gowns, doublets, and jewelry, and of fragrances that ranged from the simplest to the overpowering. Velvet thought that her face would crack from the strain of smiling, and her cheeks began finally to ache. Her hand felt both limp and permanently damp from all the kisses it had received. As she stood there receiving her brother’s guests, she realized for the first time in her life the responsibilities that her beautiful mother had carried in the days before her discreet banishment from court. She also knew that as the wife of a great lord these same responsibilities would one day be hers. It was not a position for a child; that realization gave Velvet some pause for thought.
Finally a cry rose from the edge of the gardens as the queen’s barge was sighted coming around the bend in the river heading in toward the Lynmouth House landing. Taking his sister’s hand, Robin made his way through the gardens and past his guests down to the quay. Seeing the brother and sister waiting to greet her, Elizabeth Tudor had an incredible sense of déjà vu. The young earl was without a doubt his late father’s mirror image, and, although she had known Robin his whole life, it was never more apparent to her than now. Dear little Velvet reminded the queen of Skye, although she really didn’t look that much like her mother. Yet there was something there. Perhaps it was that arrogant tilt of her proud, young head. For a moment Elizabeth felt that time had stood still. Seeing them standing there brought back to the queen memories of well over twenty years past, when her dearAngel Earl, Geoffrey Southwood, and his beautiful countess, her one-time friend, Skye, had reigned at Lynmouth House.
“Do you see it, Rob?” she demanded of the aging Earl of Leicester who accompanied her.
He knew instantly what she meant. “Aye,” he answered. “There is a likeness.”
“We are growing old, Rob,” said the queen.
He took her hand in his and pressed it to his lips. “Nay, Bess. I am growing old, but you never shall.”
She looked at him with a faintly cynical gaze, but then her gray-black eyes softened. They had been together a very long time, since they were children. They even shared the same birthday. She patted the hand that still held hers. “Do you know what young Southwood wrote to me this morning? He said that tonight I should be safe among only those who loved me. That I need not fear Spain.” She laughed softly. “He is every bit the courtier that his father was, but he is not quite as tough as myAngel Earlyet. Then, Rob, I opened the dispatches that my secretary had brought to me, and, lo, I learned that the Spanish fleet is preparing to sail.” She laughed again, this time more harshly. “Is it not ironic, my lord? This could be the last fête I ever attend as England’s queen if King Philip has his way.”
“Nay!” Robert Dudley answered her fiercely. “The Spanish will not prevail over England, Bess. The only chance they had was in Mary Stewart, but they persisted in encouraging her in her treasons and her deviltry. Now that she is dead, Catholic Englishmen will rally to no one but you. Given a choice between Bess Tudor, who has ruled them so wisely and so well all these years, and Philip of Spain, there is no choice.” He kissed her hand again. “Spain persists in making this a religious crusade, but there is no such thing in this day and age.”
The queen’s barge gently bumped against the landing and was made fast by a Lynmouth footman. Elizabeth Tudor stood up, shaking the folds from her bright crimson gown. Before her on the quay Velvet was curtsying and the earl bowing. As he straightened up, Robin held out his hand and helped the queen from her vessel.
Then he kissed her beautiful hand, saying as he did so, “Welcome to Lynmouth House, Your Majesty!”
