The Marriage Game (7 page)

Cecil gave a sigh of exasperation. “Madam, by your good grace, I am one of your councillors; Lord Robert is not. The advice I give you is for the good of yourself and your realm, as you enjoined me. Robert Dudley’s advice will be for the benefit of Robert Dudley.”

“God’s blood, William, allow me some good judgment of my own!” Elizabeth erupted. “You let your prejudice against Robert color your perceptions. I assure you, he is very warm to my service.”

“And would be in other ways,” Cecil could not resist adding.

“I know not of what you speak,” she retorted. But she did—and the knowledge that others believed that Robert desired her made her heart glow.

Feria’s manner was stiff when Elizabeth next summoned him to her presence. She pretended not to notice.

“There are difficulties with this marriage,” she said briskly. “King Philip was my sister’s husband. That places us within the forbidden degrees of consanguinity.”

“His Majesty anticipates that His Holiness the Pope would be accommodating in that respect,” Feria said smoothly.

Elizabeth had no intention of allowing the Pope to involve himself in English affairs. Even now Parliament was preparing the legislation that would establish the Protestant Church of England, with herself, and not the pontiff, as its Supreme Governor. Her realm would never again bend the knee to Rome. For now, though, she must be diplomatic. Who knew whether the forces of Catholic Europe would rise against her?

“My Lord Count, you are forgetting that in England, such unions are forbidden,” she pointed out. “My father, of blessed memory, put away Katherine of Aragon because she had been his brother’s wife, and the English Church declared their union to be incestuous and unlawful. Thus it is likely that this marriage would be disputed here, and I would never accept a papal decree that contravened the word of God. So you see, I could not marry my sister’s husband without dishonoring my father’s memory.”

Feria clearly did not see, judging by his expression.

“All is not lost,” Elizabeth went on, more kindly. “You have my
promise that I will lay the matter before Parliament. In the meantime, I should like you to assure King Philip that, if I marry at all, I should prefer to take him before all others.” Unbidden, Robert Dudley’s face came to mind. She thrust the image aside.
That
could never be.

As she had expected, her councillors were hot against the Spanish marriage.

“How can Your Majesty even contemplate it?”

“It was your sister’s undoing!”

“Madam, it provoked a rebellion that nearly cost Queen Mary her crown, and yours is by no means secure.” That was Cecil.

Elizabeth did her best to calm them all. “I will do nothing contrary to England’s interests,” she assured them. “My father and mother were mere English, and not of Spain, as my late sister was. Surely you agree that it would not be politic to turn down King Philip when we need his friendship in the face of French hostility? Let us give Feria cause to hope that he may receive a favorable answer.”

When Robert next returned to court after a rare visit to his wife, Elizabeth, in procession from the Chapel Royal to her presence chamber following the Sunday morning service, saw at once that he was downcast.

“What ails you, Robin?” she asked. “You were not paying attention to the sermon, and that is not like you.”

“It is nothing, madam,” he replied.

“Nothing does not wear a gloomy frown and a sad countenance,” she said.

“Believe me, madam, it is nothing,” Robert repeated, a touch irritable.

Elizabeth walked away, chin high, heart sinking. He did not want her anymore. His wife had used her wiles on him, no doubt. She wondered, as she had so often wondered before, how things stood between those two. Robert had been spending so much time at court that she had come to believe Amy meant no more to him than his favorite horse, but maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe ambition overcame all other considerations, and his wife understood that he had to be at
court in order to seek rewards and preferment, and to perform his official duties. Maybe—God forbid—he loved his wife!

She tried to settle with a book. It was her habit, if she could snatch the time, to spend three hours each day reading about history, and it was one of her great pleasures, but today Herodotus’s words merely danced before her eyes, so that she feared she might be coming down with a megrim.

She felt deeply agitated. She had to know what was troubling Robert, she could not leave it. Laying her book down, she summoned a very dubious Kat and bade her accompany her to Lord Robert’s lodging. His face when he opened the door was a joy to behold.

“Bess!” he said unthinkingly, his eyes lighting up. “This is a great honor.”

“Oh, poof,” she retorted. “I came to have the truth from you. Something is wrong. Kat, wait here while I talk with Lord Robert.” And she shut the door in Kat’s disapproving—and now outraged—face.

Courtier lodgings were always cramped, and although Robert’s was one of the best, it was packed with his furniture and gear, leaving little room to move; but there was a fine oak chair and Elizabeth appropriated it, removing the Protestant tract that lay open there and leaving her host to perch on a stool.

“Calvin, I see,” she said.
“Institutes of the Christian Religion.”

“It is about attaining salvation, and a vindication of those who have died for their faith,” Robert told her.

“I know. I have read it. I do not agree with all his points.”

“No, but they are worthy of debate.”

There was a pause.

“Now,” she said, “the truth.”

“I fear my wife is very ill,” Robert said, after some hesitation. “I did not like to trouble you with my personal affairs, seeing that you carry so many burdens of your own.”

“You are my good friend, Robert. Whatever affects you affects me. What ails your wife?”

“A malady in her breast,” he replied. “There is a lump. It has been getting larger for some time, but now it looks very nasty and is causing
her much pain. She has lost weight, and she is terrified lest her sickness is mortal. She cries constantly. I do not know what to say to her.”

Elizabeth had known two women who’d suffered from such an illness, and both of them had died. Could Amy Dudley be dying? God forgive me, she thought, shocked at her inward—and uncharitable—response to Robert’s words. I must not exult in my rival’s illness. Her rival? She pulled herself up mentally. Had it come to that?

“Has she seen a physician?” she asked.

“She refuses, although I have begged her.”

“Then I will send Dr. Huick to her.”

“Bess, she will not see him. She is too terrified of what any doctor might say. And if this is what she and I both fear it is, then there is no remedy.” He buried his face in his hands.

“I am sorry for you both,” Elizabeth said, and laid her hand gently on his shoulder. The effect was astonishing. Robert looked up; his eyes met hers; and then she was in his arms and he was kissing her hungrily, as if he would devour her. No man had kissed her like that these ten years and more. It felt sublime—as if she had been born for this moment. She wanted it to go on forever … And then her body responded, quite naturally, and, in fright, she drew back.

“Forgive me, Bess,” Robert breathed, startled. “I presumed too much, but you were so kind—and I was so fraught that I forgot myself …”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Elizabeth said, dismayed at the conflict within herself.

Robert’s eyes held hers, even as his arms still encircled her. “I have loved you for so long,” he breathed. “Ever since that day I saw you in the Tower, when we were both prisoners. But I know I have no right. You are the Queen, and far above me now; and I am married.”

“The one is surmountable, if I will it so; the other is not.” She was horrified to feel a treacherous sense of relief at that.

“I am not in love with Amy,” Robert said. “I was when we married—she was different then, young and fair and merry—but that was a long time ago. She has not been a proper wife to me for many months. Even so, I care for her, and would never do her any hurt.”

“And yet you just kissed me,” Elizabeth said, her heart exulting even as her body had shied away from the prospect of a greater intimacy.

“I love you,” Robert declared. “I would be more to you than a friend, but I cannot say that because I am not free.”

“Not free to offer me marriage, is that what you mean? Have you not been listening? I do not wish to marry, Robin, so comfort yourself.”

“I hear you, Bess—but do you wish to love?”

Elizabeth recoiled slightly. “That would depend on what you mean by love.”

Robert grinned at her. “You are the Queen. I cannot pay court to you as my mistress, for people would talk. You have your reputation to protect.”

Perversely she now wanted him to pursue her. “A thousand eyes see all I do,” she protested. “I am rarely unattended. Scandal could not fasten on me forever.”

“You are here unattended now. Heaven knows what Mistress Astley is thinking behind that door. Did it not occur to you that it was irregular to come to my chamber like this?”

“I came to console you, as a friend. Had you attempted to ravish me, Kat was within earshot.”

Robert smiled. “Well I did attempt it, but I did not notice you calling for help.”

“That was because I enjoyed it,” Elizabeth said lightly, suppressing the warring tumult inside her. “Robin, if I choose to favor you, none can gainsay me.”

“Are you saying I may take you for my chosen lady?” His eyes were full of hope.

“Oh, Robin, you must not say such things to me,” Elizabeth breathed, then belied her words by falling again into his arms, knowing herself safe from any commitment beyond that which she was prepared to give.

A second marriage proposal had come, on behalf of the Archduke Ferdinand, younger son of the Holy Roman Emperor.

“It would be a prestigious match, madam,” Cecil said hopefully. “The Emperor might be a Catholic, but he is the most powerful ruler in Europe, and with his backing England would be much more secure, especially against threats from France.”

“France and the Empire are enemies on principle, and ever will be.” Bacon smiled.

“It is an offer worth considering,” Sussex put in. “It was the Emperor who ruled Germany, Austria, Hungary, Bohemia, and God knew how many other states. He was uncle and ally to King Philip.”

“Do you think my people will approve of my marrying a Catholic?” Elizabeth asked. “When Parliament sits, England will turn Protestant. It is never easy to reconcile religious differences. I suppose there is no question of the Archduke changing his faith?”

“The Emperor would never permit it!” Bacon observed.

“His ambassador seems to think that Your Majesty will end up being guided by Ferdinand in matters of religion,” Cecil said drily.

“His ambassador may think again!” she retorted.

“A compromise on religion might be reached with the Archduke,” he said, “but never with King Philip. You do realize, madam, that the new religious settlement will be a bar to your marrying King Philip and prevent you from maintaining the pretense that you are considering his offer? He will never consent to it when he hears that you have broken with Rome. He is the greatest champion of the old faith in Europe.”

“But we need Philip’s goodwill and friendship.” Elizabeth sighed. “Before I consider this new proposal, I will see Feria.”

Feria arrived with hope in his eyes, delighted that this infuriatingly contrary queen had at last come to her senses.

“Alas, my Lord Count,” she said, dashing that hope, “I have to tell you that I cannot marry His Majesty because in his eyes I am a heretic.”

“Madam, madam, do not distress yourself,” Feria hastened to reassure her. “I promise you, neither His Majesty nor myself regard you thus. We do not believe you will sanction these bills that are now before Parliament.”

Elizabeth’s eyes gleamed. “Count de Feria, I am a committed Protestant, and I will never change my views.”

Feria’s face changed; his tone was lofty. “Then, I fear, Your Majesty is right to see the difficulties. My master will not change his religion for all the kingdoms in the world.”

“Then much less would he do it for a woman!” Elizabeth answered, tart, and ended the interview.

Elizabeth was now in Robert’s company every day; often he attended her in his capacity as her Master of Horse, accompanying her when she went riding. At other times he attended her because she wanted him to. She was now openly quoting his opinions on political and religious matters, which left Cecil spluttering with rage. He was appalled to realize that Dudley, who still held no political office (and never would if he, Cecil, had anything to do with it), might grow influential in matters of state, just because he had the Queen’s ear. But it pleased Elizabeth to have Robert at her side constantly, and late at night, when she, wakeful as usual, was working and wont to summon her advisers from their beds to give her their opinions, he was called often to her privy chamber. With her women and footmen dismissed, and she in the unadorned and strangely becoming black gown she liked to wear when she was not on display, they could be alone. Inevitably, matters of state led to matters of the heart, and to kissing and fondling—and Elizabeth drawing a halt. She wanted Robert, but she feared having him more. And she dared not—
just dared not
—risk becoming pregnant. She could not go through that again.

Headily involved with him as she now was, for he filled her thoughts and her senses, her wits had not entirely forsaken her. She knew that she was insecure on her throne, and that any scandal could topple her; her enemies were legion, and already, in spite of the phalanx of yeomen of the guard and gentlemen pensioners whose duty it was to protect her, she lived in fear of the assassin’s dagger or the poisoned cup. A queen must be above reproach; she knew that, none better. So she and Robin kissed and clung and became entwined, but that was all she would permit. It left them both breathless, and him aching for more.

“Madam,” Kat fretted, “it is said you are visiting Lord Robert’s chamber by day and by night. There is talk.”