The Spymaster's Daughter (8 page)

She stared past him, but she doubted he was fooled. His obvious self-regard would not allow it.

Frances heard little of the shire petitions, or the ambassadors from foreign lands with gifts and appeals from their rulers for aid against the Spanish, or more favorable trading terms for their country's wares…a reduction of port taxes was desired by all. The crowded chamber grew hot and the air heavy with perfume. She was relieved when the queen stood suddenly and waved her ladies into line, motioning for the young earl to escort her to the royal apartments.

“My lord Essex, you have busy eyes this morn. We can put them to better use.”

“To my joy, Majesty,” he replied, his face as innocent as a babe's.

Elizabeth looked somewhat appeased and was soon laughing at his murmured jests spoken near her ear.

As they reached the royal apartments, Frances could not wait to be dismissed and was happy to hear the queen say that she would
play on her virginals for the earl before her private audiences. Essex looked delighted.

Frances curtsied and left the chamber, only to have the Earl of Essex call to her.

“Lady Frances,” he said, coming up quickly behind her. “I am sorry not to have welcomed you to court sooner.”

“Are you not called to attend the queen, my lord?”

“Ah, I am in great need of a serious woman to remind me of my duty, yet the queen often has a sudden change of mind, and has just had another on receipt of a letter from the Scots king, James. And, as I said—”

Frances curtsied. As she rose he yet towered over her, even though she, like the queen, was above middle height for a woman. “It would have been difficult to welcome me sooner, my lord Essex, since I arrived only late yesterday, and you surely do not meet every incoming lady's carriage, though you might wish it.” She meant for him to see that she was not a fool, and to know her lack of interest in a handsome courtier from the beginning.

He laughed. “Her Majesty remarked that her new lady had wit. Now I see the queen's finding was not idle, though she did not say the wit had a sharp, cutting edge.”

Frances tried to keep any pleasure at his civil recognition from her face; nonetheless, she was pleased not to be thought another empty head. “That is lavish praise, my lord, for so small a humor, and I do assure you, it was my best.”

“Ah, modesty, too, and I suspect a superior intelligence behind those intimidating gray eyes.”

Although Essex's blue eyes were wide and his face guileless, Frances could not rid herself of the thought that he was cleverly waiting to pounce, like a ravenous dog at a bear baiting. Yet Lady Stanley could have been a gossip with evil intent, and the young earl not as she described him. Besides, he was dangerously good to look at, and Frances was not unmindful of male beauty.

Courtiers with curious eyes were brushing past them. Essex held out his arm to her, and she was forced to take it or seem lacking decent manners, or worse, frightened, which would be catnip to such a man. He led her to a windowed alcove overlooking a walled garden and bowed her into a seat.

“Her Majesty tells me that you are interested in your father's work. Does Mr. Secretary know what a rare daughter he has? Tell me more, my lady. I am beyond fascinated.”

Frances's gaze went quickly to his face, but she detected nothing of ridicule, only interest. Yet she was wary. Robert Pauley had seemed astonished and delighted with her curiosity, but it came naturally out of their conversation. Essex might be taking advantage of any gossip he could use to gain her friendship. For what end? “I wouldn't know where to begin, my lord.”

He sat and leaned closer, arm bent on his knee, chin cupped in his hand, altogether attractive…and knowing. “Begin anywhere, Lady Frances, anywhere at all.”

She heard herself telling him of her study of cipher and her ability to lift and reseal a letter so that it remained undetectable.

Essex laughed aloud with delight and took her hand from her lap before Frances could snatch it away. Once it rested in his, she would have seemed unfriendly to withdraw it abruptly.

“Such a great skill for so small a hand.”

He turned her hand over and pressed his fingers into the palm as if he intended to leave his mark. “Ah, how clever you are, Lady Frances! I do adore intelligence, especially when it is attached to such beauty. By the great Harry, a woman who wants to know secrets is not unique, but a woman who breaks a cipher…now, that is beyond unusual. You must show me this talent you have with wax seals, and show me soon. Perhaps I could come to your rooms to watch you work.”

Frances could not tell whether he spoke true. A young and too handsome face was harder to read than a cipher. “Perhaps, my lord.
As yet I do not know what hours the queen will need me.” She gently removed her hand from his grasp. “I must go now.”

“Soon, lady, but I beg you, let us talk on for yet a time. I greatly admire your husband. I write some poor poetry of my own; of course, nothing to qualify me as his equal, though I will say the queen does me the honor of reading it.” He tried to look humbled by the tribute, but he succeeded only in trying.

Here was a man who was clever, Frances thought, and believed everyone must love him. But she, being demure, kept her body straight and drew away from him as much as the cushioned alcove seat would allow. He was probably right about the feminine interest he aroused, except in this instance. She had not come to court to play romantic chess games with handsome young lords, though she doubted that any such argument would sway this earl.

She stood. “I must take my leave, my lord. My servants are unsupervised, and I would see to the further unpacking of my chests and caskets.”

He stood, again towering above her. “Your servants are idle, if that fellow is any indication.”

Frances followed his gaze and saw Robert Pauley standing at the head of the corridor leading to her rooms. He was not staring in her direction, but she suspected he was watching every move. Was he spying on her for her father as a duty, or for himself? And why would she even think the question?

“I will soon put him to his tasks. Excuse me, my lord.”

Essex held out his hand. “Lady Frances, I would escort you to your rooms.”

Her answer was sharper than she meant it to be. “I have a servant for that!”

He knew how to look the hurt boy, and no doubt the talent had served him well in the past, and might have served again had she not been forewarned.

She softened her tone. “How kind, my lord Essex. Another time…perhaps.”

Frances walked away, sensing his gaze burning into her back. What would she do if he followed and insisted on being her escort?

“Remember me to your husband when next you write,” he called softly after her.

R
obert Pauley saw her frown as she approached.

“Where have you been the morning long?” she demanded.

So her ladyship would have him waiting inside her apartment door, jumping to her every waking command…
bring this, take that
…early and late. He was in her service, yes, but for quite another reason. The court could be cruel, and, though she had a ready spirit, she would need a champion. Why he had named himself, he refused to consider, though he knew he would think on it when he took to his pallet for sleep.

“I see you have made a new
friend
, my lady, but have a care.”

“I can ensure my own safety, Master Pauley.”

“Of that I have no doubt, my lady. I was more concerned for the earl.”

His response was so droll and unexpected that she had to smother an urge to laugh. Robert Pauley did not need her encouragement. Besides, she had heard quite enough from clever men for one day. “You have sharp eyes for everything but your duties, Master Pauley.”

He bowed. “My humble thanks to you, my lady. Every now and then I must be reminded of my place by even the most gracious of mistresses.”

She was shamed. He had waited for her when she could have been trapped in the earl's doubtful company. Her tongue was not usually so sharp. Why couldn't she just be grateful?

T
he scrap of vellum slipped under her door had been written with a fine hand, and she had no doubt who had held the quill. What youth, other than Essex, would be so arrogant as to use her own husband's poetry to try to capture her attention?

Yet Frances knew that had she been really annoyed, she would not have laughed at the boyishly clumsy effort to draw her attention. True, she hadn't laughed as she first read the lines, but a sense of Essex's inability to know the ridiculous finally overcame her, and she sat at her writing table, laughing until the tears came. What had happened to the sure-footed courtier? Had he been overcome by eagerness or by a desire to win a wager?

Frances's first month at Whitehall had kept her busy with a daily round of serving the queen, trying to walk into her father's well-guarded offices as if she belonged, and, hardest of all, escaping
the Earl of Essex's attentions. His behavior, though seemingly friendly, was bothersome—nay, worrisome. He was too much the affectionate youth to dismiss cruelly, and she really didn't want to hurt or anger him by rebuffing him too sharply. Though he looked and acted a man grown, suited to an earl's estate, he as often became a hurt, sulking boy even with the queen, who was more charmed by this behavior than Frances was.

For thirty pounds annual and two hot meals a day, a lady of the presence spent mornings in the presence chamber, except when the queen took to her bed and physic with an aching head or ailing belly…usually from too many sweetmeats or the many demands on her treasury.

When Frances bent her efforts to gaining admission to her father's offices, his guards—on strict orders, as they explained most politely—turned her away. Her father would not allow her to broach the subject.

Pauley was no help, being gone from her service more than he was with her, although he seemed to appear whenever the Earl of Essex waylaid her in one of the many dark corridors of the rambling old palace.

Just this day, the earl stood in her way as she turned into the Long Gallery. He was wearing blue satin, vastly embroidered, very much the court gallant.

He stepped closer, and though his manner was easy and friendly toward her, she felt an instant unease, as she almost always did with him.

“My lord, please allow me to pass.”

“If I do, you will disappear again without saying yea.” There was more than annoyance in his voice, although he was trying to hide it behind a smile.

“What would you know from me, my lord?” She must yield one day to his many offers of diversion, or seem discourteous, and he knew it. Still, the thought of being alone with him troubled her.
If she allowed it, his attentions might become almost agreeable. There was no denying the charm he dangled in front of her.

“When will you show me your skill with lifting seals, or come out riding with me one fine morning, or walk in the orchard to pick ripe apples, or go to the French dance master's classes?”

She smiled with as much graciousness as she could bring to her face. “Your offers sound exhausting, my lord Essex.”

He grinned, then looked over her head, the grin vanishing. “There is your lapdog, my lady. Is he always so faithful?”

He obviously tried hard to hide his dislike. To even notice Pauley, let alone be upset by him, was beneath an earl.

“He but follows my father's orders.” Frances curtsied and moved on rapidly down the corridor, grateful to Robert Pauley for dogging her footsteps. This one time. Although she hoped she was capable of taming an unruly young lord, truth be told, she had not had much practice at Barn Elms.

“You have the most astounding gray eyes, my lady. Know you that?”