A crimson flush crept up behind Dudley’s ears. “But, but I had hoped ...” He stuttered, nervously adjusting the elaborate white ruff at his neck. He cleared his throat.
“You hoped for what, Lord Robert? You hoped to be my consort? I have told you and my councillors already that I am not of a mind to take a consort at this time, but I assure you that I will apprise you all of my intention when I am ready.” She swatted the air as if the very idea of her marriage was an annoying bug.
Dudley’s eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched when he realised the futility of his argument.
“I am yours to command as you wish, Your Majesty.”
He dipped a very low bow as he retreated towards the door. At the last second he turned and marched out in a huff, his black cape swishing behind him. Elizabeth’s pink lips curled into a satisfied smile. For a fleeting moment, I was certain she winked in my direction. I shook my head, certain I imagined it. I thought back to that wretched night in her chambers after the death of Amy Dudley and the advice I gave her. Perhaps she had been taking it to heart all this time. Why she would ever listen to mere knight’s wife when she was God’s anointed was beyond my comprehension, but I must admit I felt flattered that she deemed my thoughts worthy.
In a great show of generosity, Elizabeth elevated Robert Dudley to the Earldom of Leicester and Barony of Denbigh. Officially it was done to raise him high enough that the Scottish queen would not be wholly offended that such a lowly bridegroom was offered. Dudley was still Elizabeth’s Master of the Horse after all. Mary Stuart would believe some outrageous joke had been played on her. Unofficially, Elizabeth was placating Dudley’s damaged ego. If, in fact, Mary Stuart called her bluff and married him, Dudley would still be at Court and it would not serve Elizabeth well to have him sulking around.
Ever the tease, while Dudley was on his knees before Elizabeth during his investiture, she tickled the back of his neck as she fastened his mantle right in front of the French and Scottish ambassadors. I bit my lip to keep from exploding into peals of laughter. It was no wonder the council was in an uproar. As soon as they were certain that Elizabeth had made up her mind, she destroyed their security with one subtle gesture. A twitch of the finger and her intentions were exposed. The Scottish ambassador scurried off the instant the ceremony was over, a sneer of disgust on his face.
Ultimately, the elevation of Dudley did nothing to endear him to Elizabeth’s royal cousin and marriage negotiations ground to a halt. If Elizabeth hoped Dudley’s new title would increase her council’s respect for him, she was sorely mistaken. It only served to inflame their animosity. Dudley’s inclusion in the nobility particularly enraged my brother.
The title of Earl of Wiltshire had reverted back to the crown upon the death of my grandfather. After the execution of Anne Boleyn and the exile of my mother to Calais, Thomas Boleyn had lived out the rest of his life as a disgraced man. The reversion of his title upon death was expected, but since Uncle George was dead and our mother was the first born, Henry felt the title should be his by right since we had been restored to favour. Instead, King Edward had bestowed the title upon William Paulet, and he had held the title for the last fifteen years.
Henry seemed to accept the slight, but I knew that he felt that he deserved promotion, not only as a cousin to the queen, but for his loyal service. Even when Mary was on the throne, Henry had never abandoned Elizabeth. Now that she saw fit to bequeath an earldom on the son of a convicted traitor, the old wound was once again inflamed.
PART VI - A Woman Most Beloved of the Queen
London, Durham House on the
Strand and Whitehall Palace:
July 1565
“Lettice! Look at that gorgeous pregnant belly! Why did you not write of your condition?”
I stood clear amazed to see my eldest daughter full with child striding confidently into our rooms at Durham House.
“Mother, did you announce every one of our conceptions with such fanfare? I would think that would get ever so tiring after a while. Particularly since you and Father certainly did not know when to stop,” she said, brushing my hand away from her protruding womb.
Hurt by her callous remark, I gazed at this cold woman my daughter had become. She had always been high-spirited and quick with a cutting remark, but her utter condescension was foreign to me.
“Such disdain you have for your parents, Lettice. Whatever could we have done to deserve such treatment?”
After brushing me aside, Lettice went to the window to stare out at the sunlit Thames and the spires of Westminster in the distance beyond. At my prodding, she whirled around and glared at me.
“What have you done?” she scoffed. “You allowed me to be banished to that horrid manor at Chartley. I was abandoned in the country with nothing to do but lie on my back while that bore of a man turned me into a brood mare. How could you let her send me away? And all because she knows the truth, the truth that when her crown and her power are stripped away, her precious Robin prefers me.”
I stared at Lettice in horror. Her lip was curled in a sneer, her fists clenched at her side. She may as well have hit me with them for all the pain that her words wrought.
I swallowed hard, took a deep breath and willed my voice to be level, “Lettice Devereux, you brought your exile upon yourself. I warned you that Robert Dudley would bring you trouble. You are a married woman and it is your duty to bear your husband’s children. You should consider yourself lucky that your father took such great care to match you to a man who loves you as much as Hereford does. Though to be honest, I am beginning to wonder why when you subject him to such horrible treatment.”
Her eyes widened, enraged at my rebuke.
“You will never again call me Lettice Devereux,” she spat. “I am Lady Hereford.”
She took a moment to allow her to words sink in and then ran from the room without a second look back. I collapsed on my bed in tears. I had woken up that morning thrilled to have my family reunited for Harry’s wedding celebrations and had never anticipated Lettice’s outburst. She ran out of the room before I had the chance to tell her that Elizabeth had invited her back to Court.
My maid, Matilda, wandered in a few seconds later with my gown for the festivities and found me in a sorry state “My lady, what is wrong? Are you ill?” She threw my dress on a chair and ran over to the bed.
I sat up quickly. “I am fine Matilda, truly. Only a bit overwhelmed.” I rubbed my eyes and dragged my fingers through my hair, trying desperately to straighten myself. “Can you please bring me a washcloth and a basin so I may wash my face?”
Matilda nodded and scurried off to her task.
I gazed at my red-rimmed puffy eyes and swollen lips in the mirror.
“You will not ruin your son’s wedding.” I told the tired and drawn-looking woman staring back at me. “Lettice does not dictate your happiness.”
Harry looked upon the young and elegant Margaret Cave with much the same admiration his father had looked upon me on the day of our own wedding. The pale blush hue of her wedding gown enhanced the golden cascade of her hair. With her pale skin and almond eyes that matched the deep blue of the sea, it was little wonder that Harry, despite his severe nature, had fallen for her charms.
I had had my reservations when Sir Ambrose had approached Francis regarding marriage negotiations, but Margaret had shown herself to be as sweet-natured as she was described and I was pleased to welcome her into our family. I hoped that her bonny disposition would bolster Harry’s humour.
While I watched my son and his new wife glide effortlessly across the dance-floor, I longed for the days of my own youth. Francis sensed my melancholy. I felt his arm snake around my waist and his warm breath tickled my ear.
“There’s my lovely wife. Can I tempt you with a dance?” he whispered and tenderly nuzzled my neck.
I turned around and felt so overcome by my love for him that my knees quaked. “Of course, Sir Francis, I would never deny you.”
Elizabeth and her court returned to Whitehall after the happy celebration of Harry’s nuptials in time to find a very ill Kat Ashley. Two days later, she was dead.
Elizabeth was inconsolable. She had been virtually raised by Kat and her death threw Elizabeth into a spiral of despair. I was immediately promoted to her place as chief lady of the bedchamber and spent the next weeks comforting her in her grief.
My new position required constant companionship to Elizabeth and seeing her distress over Kat’s death ignited my maternal instincts. I was starting to see her as one of my own children. She was the ruler of England and head of the church, but she still had a heart that felt love and pain. It broke just as easily as mine. Just as I still loved Lettice when she hurled such hurtful words, I would still love Elizabeth when showed me the same.
Coventry and Kenilworth:
August 1565
Despite her mourning, Elizabeth determined that her annual progress go on as planned. Robert Dudley, eager to show off his newly acquired castle at Kenilworth, invited the court for a grand party. Our arrival at Coventry in mid-August was greeted by the mayor, Humphrey Brownell, and the recorder, John Throgmorton. Under the shelter of a thicket of trees shading us from the scorching summer sun, the mayor knelt before Elizabeth’s palfrey with the great mace of the city in his raised hand. As he did, a great plume of dust was raised by his voluminous crimson gown and Elizabeth tried unsuccessfully to stifle a cough. Mr Throgmorton humbly offered the mace to the queen in ‘her most regal power and merciful authority.’ The mayor touched his pale chapped lips to the mace and then placed it in her hands with a purse containing twenty marks.
Elizabeth turned to those of us behind her on horseback and benevolently smiled. “It is a good gift. I have but few such gifts.”
“If it pleases Your Grace, there is a great deal more in it,” piped up the mayor, the lower portion of his gown now covered in a fine dust.
Elizabeth turned back to the city leaders and pulled on the reins to steady her high-spirited horse.
“And what is that?” she queried.
The mayor again bowed low in reverence. I noticed the sheen of sweat across the back of his neck. “It is the hearts of all your loving subjects.”
A wide grin broke out across Elizabeth’s face. “We thank you, Mr. Mayor. That is a great deal more indeed.”
After Elizabeth bestowed upon the mayor a humble nod of appreciation, Mr Throgmorton launched into an extensive speech welcoming Her Majesty to Coventry, flattering her vanity with a list of all her virtues. “She has no comparison,” he praised. We all shifted uncomfortably upon our horses in the thinning shade until his long-winded oration came to an end. Elizabeth, delighted by his remarks, praised him highly and returned the mace to the mayor, who once again knelt beside the recorder.
From my perch on the tawny mare I rode, I saw a wave of relief flood across the mayor’s face as Elizabeth gestured to him to rise and mount his horse. He led us first to Bishop’s Gate where Elizabeth bequeathed a gift of money to the library, then on to White Friars where we lodged for the next two days.
The Monday following, we arrived at Kenilworth. Dudley appeared at the gates in a resplendent costume. A black leather doublet covered a silky satin shirt, white as snow. His lawn ruff was embroidered with silver trim. He wore a bright jewel on each finger and his perfectly white hose emphasised the fine cut of his legs. He topped off each shoe with a brilliant ruby, red as blood.
“Good morrow, my queen!” He exclaimed with an elegant bow. “Welcome to Kenilworth.”
Dudley made certain that Elizabeth’s first visit to Kenilworth, now it was in his keeping, was a memorable one. The night of our arrival she surveyed her small retinue from a dais in the great hall with her favourite seated on her right-hand side as his servants brought in one silver dish after another piled high with the best cuts of meat, a whole pig and a roasted swan redressed with its feathers. An enormous stag, killed in one of the many hunting parks that surrounded the castle, served as a centrepiece to the elaborate feast.
Among all this luxury I found myself relieved that it was necessary for Lettice to stay behind at Whitehall due to her advanced pregnancy. Her home at Chartley could never compare to Dudley’s glorious castle. Such opulence would serve only to inflame her lust for him even more.
After several days of entertaining masques and hunting parties, we began the slow return to Whitehall.
London, Whitehall:
August – December 1565
A grim report awaited Elizabeth upon our arrival at Whitehall. Lord Darnley, the son of Lady Lennox, had managed to complete his intended marriage to the Queen of Scots.
“This is your fault, Cecil!” Elizabeth exclaimed at her exasperated secretary. “I demanded his return and instead, they made him a duke, and now he is a king! He should never have been allowed to go to Scotland in the first place.”
William Cecil nervously stroked his beard. “Your Majesty, I have already heard from the Earl of Bedford that Lord Darnley’s violent and drunken behaviour is driving Mary Stuart’s supporters from her court. He makes enemies as we speak and it is only a matter of time before the matter resolves itself. Be patient, my queen. Darnley will be his own undoing.”
Elizabeth jabbed one long bejewelled finger into the centre of his richly embroidered indigo brocade doublet. “You had better hope so.”
Lettice was now into her seventh month of pregnancy, but she did not allow it to stop her from using every skill she had to draw the attentions of Robert Dudley. Their flirtatious behaviour quickly inflamed court gossip. Francis shared few words of comfort during my nightly lamentations on the subject.
“Lettice already resents what little we interfere in her life as it is. Displeased as I am with her behaviour, there is little we can do without alienating her further,” he counselled.
I was relieved when Dudley excused himself from Court to visit his sister, Lady Mary, who had once again taken ill. I still thought of her fondly and felt terrible guilt for the scars she suffered from her care for Elizabeth during her smallpox outbreak. I prayed for her speedy recovery.
With the target of her affections gone and a quickly expanding womb, Lettice departed for Chartley at the end of September to await the birth of her child.
My daughter was not the only one disappointed in Dudley’s exit from Court. Elizabeth was in a vindictive mood after her favourite dared to leave her side and began to transfer her favours onto one Thomas Heneage, a new Gentleman of the Privy Chamber.
Her flirtation with Heneage ended as quickly as it began upon Lord Robert’s swift return, but her hasty remarks to my brother, Henry, were to have lasting repercussions.
The gardens at Whitehall were shedding the last of their full summer blooms and the leaves had begun the metamorphosis into their vibrant autumn colours, prompting my brother’s wife and I to take our exercise out on the garden path rather than in the stuffy long gallery. The faint breeze was cool enough that we did not need our cloaks, yet we were both glad that we had worn velvet gowns against the chill.
Anne was her usual quiet self, but several times it seemed that just as she had a mind to say something, she stopped herself and we continued walking on in silence. After several of these hesitations, I reached out to cup her elbow and stopped her by a bare rose bush.
“Anne, what is it? It appears as though you have something on your mind, but not quite the courage to speak it. You know you can trust my confidences. Is something vexing you?”
Anne’s rich dark eyes sought mine and I read the anxiety in them.
“Oh, I am certain it is nothing, merely a friendly jest by the queen. Henry will come around to her true meaning. He takes her careless remarks far too literally. I am being silly.” She broke eye contact and waved me away, headed back down the path.
I quickened my pace to catch up to her. “What do you mean ‘a friendly jest’? Has Henry angered the queen? She didn’t mention such an incident to me in her bedchamber last
night.”
“Well, of course she wouldn’t,” Anne said stopping abruptly. “She wouldn’t because she didn’t mean what she said. She was only angry with Robert Dudley and spoke rashly, but Henry is already upset that Dudley was raised to earl and now … Well … he has had enough and is plotting with your cousin Norfolk to overthrow his reign as her favourite.”
Henry was plotting against Dudley? Francis had never mentioned such acrimony between them, but he had been distracted with Elizabeth’s affairs and had little time as of late to be involved in petty disagreements.
I continued to push for answers. “Will you at least tell me what the queen said to Henry?”
Anne sighed, obviously irritated with my questions. “She told him that he should be her master of the horse.”
I burst into a fit of laughter. I saw the crimson flush creeping into Anne’s cheeks and my hands flew to my mouth, desperate to muffle the sound.
“Anne ...” I chided. “Tell me that Henry did not really believe that she would appoint him to Dudley’s position.”
“Yes! Yes, he did!” she exclaimed. “And when Dudley returned from visiting his sister and wormed his way back into her affections, Henry was livid. There was nothing I could say to calm him. He’s joined the Lords Norfolk and Sussex in their quarrel and now there is no stopping them.”
Surprised by her own outburst, she whipped her head around, looking from side-to-side to make sure that no one was listening. Then in a conspiratorial whisper she added, “They have even decided that they will all begin wearing yellow to show unity.”
Cor Rotto: A novel of Catherine Carey Page 24