“Not yet, Angel. If Alex thinks he has bested me in this, then he will always try to keep the upper hand, and our married life will be one battle after another. No. Let him win me, and he shall then appreciate me much more than if he simply married me because I was his betrothed wife. Remember that for ten years he has ignored me in his arrogance! Let him fight a little to regain my affections. It will be a great lesson for him since I shall never allow any man, even my husband, to take my love for granted.”
There was a great deal of wisdom in what Velvet said, and Angel was greatly reassured that her sister-in-law would do nothing foolish.
To be wise is one thing, however, but to be jealous is another. Knowing that Alex meant to enrage her by his attentions to Lady de Boult, Velvet did not expect to find herself plagued by what the ladies surrounding the queen referred to as “the green-eyed monster.” She could not, however, avoid the gossip that was gleefully reported by the other maids of honor, and Lady de Boult did nothing to discourage the talk surrounding her affair. Indeed she added to it by openly discussing her liaison with her cousin, Audrey, who was one of the queen’s ladies.
On the afternoon of the queen’s fifty-fifth birthday, Velvet had been listening for over an hour to increasingly idle talk until she thought she would shriek with annoyance. She could not leave because the embroidery threads in the queen’s basket were in an incredible tangle. It had taken her most of the afternoon to separate the reds, pinks, roses, and light blues. The greens, darker blues, yellows, and purples were still hopelessly enmeshed, and the queen liked to do busy work in the early evening. Head lowered, she worked to separate the bright colors and ignore the silly chatter, but Audrey Carrington’s irritating voice suddenly cried out, “Oh, Mary, how lovely you look! Where did you get those marvelous earbobs? They’re new, aren’t they?”
Lady de Boult glided into the Maiden’s Chamber, a small, feline smile upon her pretty face. She was a tiny, full-figured woman with a delicate, brunette beauty about her. She had milky white skin and large dark eyes that seemed to take up most of her face. She wore a garnet red silk gown, and her hair was contained in an exquisite gold net, a new extravagance from France that allowed her new earbobs to show to their greatest advantage.
Tossing her head, Lady de Boult asked, “Do you like them, Audrey? Lord Gordon gave them to me.”
“Are they rubies?” Audrey was quite impressed.
“Aye. Beautiful, aren’t they? He said their color reminded him of my lips.”
“Oh, how romantic!”
“Aye, he’s the most romantic man I’ve ever met,” purred Lady de Boult, looking smugly about her.
“He’s a crude Highlander,” murmured Velvet, “and more than likely the stones in your ears are either glass or garnets of poor quality.”
“How would you know?” Mary de Boult sneered, tossing her head so that the red stones glittered.
“He’s my brother’s friend and is staying at Lynmouth House,” replied Velvet sweetly. “I suspect he’s a fortune hunter, m’lady, for earlier this summer he tried to sweep me off my feet, and I’m a betrothed lass. Robin says he has very little but an old stone castle in the mountains west of Aberdeen. More than likely he’s come south for a rich wife to rebuild his tumbling-down manse.”
“Well! I should certainly not qualify to be his wife,” said Lady de Boult huffily, “after all, I have a husband.”
“Then why do you accept gifts from another man? I doubt very much the queen would approve such conduct,” Velvet retorted primly.
“You know very little about the world, Mistress de Marisco,” Lady de Boult replied scathingly.
“True, madame, but is yours an example I should follow? I may be young, but I am not so young that I misunderstand either your shameless behavior or Lord Gordon’s base motives.”
“How dare you!”Mary de Boult’s fair complexion became mottled with outrage, and she raised her hand to slap Velvet, but at that moment the door to the Maiden’s Chamber flew open violently.
“Where is the queen?” Robert Devereux entered, an urgent and distressed look about him.
“I’ll tell her you’re here,” said Bess Throckmorton, and, catching Velvet by the hand, she drew her away from Lady de Boult. Together the two young women entered the queen’s bedchamber where Elizabeth lay sleeping, for she had had the ague recently. “Majesty, please awaken,” Bess said gently, touching the queen lightly.
Instantly Elizabeth woke. “Yes, Bess, what is it?”
“The Earl of Essex with an urgent message, madame.”
The queen sat up. “Velvet, hand me my wig and help me with it. Bess, give me but a moment and then tell the earl I shall be with him.”
Quickly Velvet aided the queen in setting the beautiful red wig upon her head. The queen’s hair had grown thin and gray with age, and she did not feel it suited her at all. The wig was a vanity she readily admitted to, but she cared not who knew as long as no one she considered important saw her own naturally steely locks. Once the hairpiece was affixed atop her head, she stood up, and Velvet helped her sovereign into a beautiful white velvet chamber robe embroidered with gold threads and pearls.
“Thank you, child,” murmured Elizabeth kindly to Velvet. “I am so very glad to have you with me.”
Bess held the door open as the queen passed through into the Maiden’s Chamber. Robert Devereux knelt and, taking the queen’s hand, kissed it.
“Madame,” he said, his voice low and choked. “Madame, I do not know how to tell you this without hurting you, and hurting you is the one thing I would not do.”
Elizabeth Tudor stiffened. “Say on, my lord, for your procrastinating will make it no easier.”
“I have come to you from my mother at Cornbury. She wishes you to know that her husband, my stepfather, Lord Dudley, departed this life on September fourth. She said I was to tell you it was a peaceful death, and that Lord Dudley’s last thoughts were of Your Majesty.” Essex caught at the hem of the queen’s gown and kissed it fervently. “God forgive me for having to be the one to bring you this news, for I shall never forgive myself.”
For a long moment Elizabeth Tudor stood very still and remained very quiet. She was whiter than her gown, and Velvet was almost afraid that the queen would die right where she stood, seemingly rooted to the floor.
