The queen smiled and looked fondly about her. “It has been many years since I was entertained here by a Southwood,” she said. “I don’t believe I have been here since your father’s time. Everything is as lovely as I remember.”
Offering the queen his arm, the earl escorted her from the quay up into the gardens where all her courtiers awaited her. The Earl of Leicester climbed from the boat and offered his arm to Velvet. She took it coolly, avoiding his bold gaze.
“Ah,” he murmured softly, “your mama has undoubtedly told you about me, my pet. I regret that I was not at court when you came. I am Dudley.”
“I am aware of your identity, my lord. If I do not look directly at you, it is because your gaze is far too intimate for so short an acquaintance. My mother has never spoken of you in my presence.”
Her tone was somewhat severe, but the earl was not offended. Rather, it amused him, for she was so very young. He was somewhat put out that Skye had never mentioned him to her, but then considering his relationship with Lady de Marisco that was to be expected. “Are your parents still away?” he asked, moving to what he hoped was a safer subject.
“Yes, my lord. They are expected back by the autumn.”
“Pity,” said the Earl of Leicester thoughtfully. “We could use your mother’s ships now against the Spanish.”
Velvet’s eyes came up sharply. “O’Malleys,” she said, “do not involve themselves in politics.”
“Are O’Malleys not loyal to the queen?” he demanded softly.
“I, my lord, am not an O’Malley, so how could I possibly know the answer to such a question? I am loyal to my lady godmother, and my parents are certainly loyal to the crown, but other than that I cannot say. After all, my lord, I am just a maiden newly come to court. I do not know the way of the world, having been protected from it all of my life.”
Robert Dudley laughed harshly, then, stopping, took Velvet’s chin in his hand, forcing her head up. “I would say, my pet, that though you’re newly come to court you are learning most quickly. There is, I can see, a great deal of your mother in you.”
She pulled away, her eyes blazing. “Sir, you take liberties!”
Dudley laughed again. “My pet, you haven’t, I can see, the faintest idea of whatlibertiescan involve. Alas, I am too old and sick now to initiate you, but there was a time, Velvet de Marisco, ah, yes, there once was a time.” His voice died away.
“Ah, Steppapa! I should have known you would snatch the fairest lass away this evening, but you cannot have Velvet all to yourself! I am afraid that Wat and I have a previous engagement with the lady.” The Earl of Essex stood before them, and Velvet’s scowl smoothed into a smile.
“Scamp! Where have you been? The queen is already here! You are insufferably rude to be so late,” she scolded him.
“The queen has already forgiven me, Velvet darling, and I should not have been late but that Wat was unhappy with the way his doublet had been made, and nothing would do until it was fixed. He is such a damned popinjay!”
“Since when are you and Ralegh such bosom friends?” demanded the Earl of Leicester.
“The threat of war and a beautiful woman makes strange bedfellows, Steppapa. By the way, where is my mother?”
“Lettice? Humph! Look for your friend, Christopher Blount, and there I will wager you will find your mother, simpering like a girl of seventeen, though she be past fifty,” replied Dudley sourly.
“Mille mercis, Steppapa,” said Essex brightly, and, snatching Velvet’s hand, he pulled her away. “Come on, Velvet! There is dancing to do, and I must pay my respects to your brother.”
“Please enjoy our hospitality, my lord,” Velvet said to Dudley as she moved away.
The Earl of Leicester stood watching her go, a world-weary smile on his face, then moved off himself to join the queen. Elizabeth was surrounded by all her favorites, both old and new. Sir Christopher Hatton was saying something that obviously amused her very much, and even old Lord Burghley had a faint smile upon his severe face. There was Burghley’s second son, Robert Cecil, who was being trained to be his father’s successor if the old gentleman ever died. Walsingham was there, too. Leicester wondered what news his vast network of spies had brought about the Spanish fleet. The Bacon brothers, Anthony and Francis, were in the group along with the foppish and impossible Earl of Oxford. Conspicuously missing at the moment were Dudley’s stepson Essex and Sir Walter Ralegh whom he could see across the gardens speaking with Velvet and young Southwood. Dudley pushed through the group surrounding the queen and moved to her side. Wordlessly the queen reached out and stroked his hand.
The late afternoon slipped into evening, a clear one, and warm for an English July. In the trees, the caged birds sang on, oblivious to the twilight because of the bright lanterns that bobbed gently in the faint breeze. An incredible array of foods was served up for the guests, who did more than justice to the Earl of Lynmouth’s board. There were several sides of beef that had been packed in rock salt to preserve their juices while they turned over open spits. There were one hundred legs of baby lamb dressed with garlic and rosemary; sixty suckling pigs prepared in a sauce of honey, oranges, and black cherries, each holding a green apple in its mouth. The pigs had been roasted to a fine, juicy turn, their skins crackly and crisp. There were ducks and capons in a lemon-ginger sauce; sweet pink hams flavored with rare cloves and sauced in malmsey; salmon and trout on beds of cress decorated with carved lemons; and prawns cooked with white wine and herbs in silver dishes. Three fine deer also cooked over open fires, and there were pasties containing rabbit and small game birds. There were many platters, quickly eaten, of small and succulent crabs with dishes of pounded mustard, garlic, and vinegar in which to dip them, as well as other platters containing quail, partridge, and larks roasted golden and set in nests of green watercress.
Then there were dishes of artichokes from France, delicately braised and served with olive oil and a tarragon-flavored vinegar; large bowls of peas, honey-glazed carrots, lettuces, radishes, and small green leeks. Breads were in plentiful supply, along with tubs of butter and wheels of sharp English cheddar and soft Brie imported from Normandy. There were fresh cherries, peaches, early pears, and apples along with small individual bowls of late strawberries. There was creamy egg custard dusted with grated nutmeg, next to tiny cakes soaked in claret or sherry. There were large tarts of peach, apple, rhubarb, and strawberry accompanied by bowls of clotted cream. Wines, both red and white, as well as claret and beer were available to quench the guests’ thirst.
As the company began to grow bored with the eating, Master Marlowe and his players appeared to entertain them with the scenes he had written depicting the various triumphs of Elizabeth Tudor’s reign. The queen was shown as a kind, benevolent, and wise monarch. She preened visibly beneath the lavish flattery. It was a soothing balm to her troubled mind and spirit. Kit Marlowe and his players were applauded with great approval when they finished.
The night sky was now black satin studded with bright stars as the dancing began. Elizabeth Tudor loved to dance, and so Robin had chosen talented and tireless musicians to play for her as she would wear out many partners before the evening was done. Her host was her first partner, and Robin acquitted himself well. Sir Christopher Hatton, her lord chancellor, was the second chosen. It was said by those less than charitable that Sir Christopher owed his position to his dancing feet. It was not true. He might originally have brought himself to the queen’s attention by cutting a better caper than most, but he was competent and able in his position as England’s lord chancellor.
Velvet did not lack for partners. She enjoyed dancing as much as her godmother, the queen, did. She was naturally skilled, quick, and light on her feet. Finally, however, she was able to slip off to catch her breath, and, seemingly unobserved, she walked slowly down to the riverbank where the graceful, green willows grew, teasing the water with their delicate branches. It was the most exciting party she could ever remember attending, and being her brother’s hostess made her the second most important woman here tonight. It was a heady experience for a young girl newly entered into society. Leaning back against a tree, she listened to the music coming, faintly from the garden and watched the moonlight that was now playing on the Thames.
“Come live with me, and be my love, and we will all the pleasures prove.” came the sudden murmur of a deep, masculine voice by her ear.
Velvet jumped and, turning, saw Kit Marlowe. “God’s foot, Master Playwright, how you startled me.”
Marlowe reached out to steady the girl whose foot, he noted, was perilously close to slipping off the mossy bank. Gently he drew her into the circle of his arms, smiling winningly down at her. “Careful, my love, you are near to falling.” His arms tightened slightly. There was an almost untamed gypsy look to him, she thought.
