Read Online The Queen's Secret by Victoria Lamb - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Victoria Lamb
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this before you sleep tonight. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
Fleeing the room before anything sharper than a Bible was thrown at her, Lettice ran from the bedchamber with her head down and her heart pounding.
She stood a moment in the broad torchlit doorway to the Privy Chamber, allowing her breathing to slow and settle. Her abrupt exit had excited a few curious stares from guardsmen and servants still moving Elizabeth’s own furniture into her apartments. She straightened her gown, which was soiled and crumpled from travelling, and smoothed the line of her French hood. They might not be in London, but while travelling with the Queen’s entourage she was still ‘at court’ and must behave accordingly.
Calmer now, she made for the stairs. Her legs were trembling though and she had tears in her eyes, like a recalcitrant child scolded by its mother. Except these were tears of rage.
Where were you as a girl? With your skirts round your ears in some filthy shrubbery
?
Such an ugly accusation to have made. Her Latin schooling had been fair, but she had only engaged with it a few years before being removed from such unnecessary lessons and taught instead to speak French prettily, to dance in the latest courtly fashion, to embroider and make her curtsey. She had not been raised in such royal privilege as Elizabeth, who had needed to know the language of international diplomacy before the lessons of sampler and song. Like Lady Mary Sidney, like most daughters of noblemen, Lettice had been taught to read and write, to know a little history and geography, and had applied herself well to her lessons. But she had been bred to be a courtier’s wife, not a great scholar like Elizabeth with a book constantly in her hand – and indeed a wife and mother were all she had ever been.
Elizabeth must know of her renewed affair with Leicester. What else could this violent, unjust temper mean?
Lettice thought of Walter, her husband, the Earl of Essex, of his cold and proudly handsome face. She closed her eyes, sick to her stomach with fear. He had been so angry last time, so aggressive and hard to pacify. If her renewed affair with Robert were to become an open secret, what might Walter do on his return from Ireland?
‘Hey, whoa there!’
A strong pair of hands grasped and steadied her, and Lettice realized that she had been running too fast down the staircase, almost tripping in her haste.
‘In a hurry, my lady Essex?’
She looked up into Robert’s handsome face and knew what she must do, the terrible risk she must take. He alone would know how best to soothe Elizabeth’s anger, he who had survived longest at her court.
They were alone on the narrow, dim-lit staircase.
‘She knows,’ she hissed.
Frowning, Robert laid a warning hand against her mouth. For a terrifying instant she thought he meant to stifle her. Hurriedly, she kissed his hand instead, savouring the salt tang of his skin, the hint of leather and horses.
He shook his head in silent warning, then removed his hand from her mouth and drew her down a few more steps into the shadows of an unlit landing.
‘Not here.’
‘Where, then?’ she demanded in a whisper.
‘In the aviary at the far end of the Queen’s Privy Garden. Tomorrow, an hour after we return from church.’
‘That will be too late. I tell you, she knows.’
Robert glanced up and down the narrow staircase, then leaned forward to press a swift kiss on her mouth. Unable to help herself, she rubbed her body eagerly against his and felt his instant response, the stiffening at his groin and the possessive curve of his arm about her waist.
Let her spies catch us
, Lettice thought.
She cannot prevent this. Even the greatest of queens can have no jurisdiction over a man’s desire
.
He groaned under his breath. ‘Lettice, we must not—’
‘Why not? There is no one here to see us.’
Hesitant at first, his hand stroked her throat, then slid down to the deep, pale curve
‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
Fleeing the room before anything sharper than a Bible was thrown at her, Lettice ran from the bedchamber with her head down and her heart pounding.
She stood a moment in the broad torchlit doorway to the Privy Chamber, allowing her breathing to slow and settle. Her abrupt exit had excited a few curious stares from guardsmen and servants still moving Elizabeth’s own furniture into her apartments. She straightened her gown, which was soiled and crumpled from travelling, and smoothed the line of her French hood. They might not be in London, but while travelling with the Queen’s entourage she was still ‘at court’ and must behave accordingly.
Calmer now, she made for the stairs. Her legs were trembling though and she had tears in her eyes, like a recalcitrant child scolded by its mother. Except these were tears of rage.
Where were you as a girl? With your skirts round your ears in some filthy shrubbery
?
Such an ugly accusation to have made. Her Latin schooling had been fair, but she had only engaged with it a few years before being removed from such unnecessary lessons and taught instead to speak French prettily, to dance in the latest courtly fashion, to embroider and make her curtsey. She had not been raised in such royal privilege as Elizabeth, who had needed to know the language of international diplomacy before the lessons of sampler and song. Like Lady Mary Sidney, like most daughters of noblemen, Lettice had been taught to read and write, to know a little history and geography, and had applied herself well to her lessons. But she had been bred to be a courtier’s wife, not a great scholar like Elizabeth with a book constantly in her hand – and indeed a wife and mother were all she had ever been.
Elizabeth must know of her renewed affair with Leicester. What else could this violent, unjust temper mean?
Lettice thought of Walter, her husband, the Earl of Essex, of his cold and proudly handsome face. She closed her eyes, sick to her stomach with fear. He had been so angry last time, so aggressive and hard to pacify. If her renewed affair with Robert were to become an open secret, what might Walter do on his return from Ireland?
‘Hey, whoa there!’
A strong pair of hands grasped and steadied her, and Lettice realized that she had been running too fast down the staircase, almost tripping in her haste.
‘In a hurry, my lady Essex?’
She looked up into Robert’s handsome face and knew what she must do, the terrible risk she must take. He alone would know how best to soothe Elizabeth’s anger, he who had survived longest at her court.
They were alone on the narrow, dim-lit staircase.
‘She knows,’ she hissed.
Frowning, Robert laid a warning hand against her mouth. For a terrifying instant she thought he meant to stifle her. Hurriedly, she kissed his hand instead, savouring the salt tang of his skin, the hint of leather and horses.
He shook his head in silent warning, then removed his hand from her mouth and drew her down a few more steps into the shadows of an unlit landing.
‘Not here.’
‘Where, then?’ she demanded in a whisper.
‘In the aviary at the far end of the Queen’s Privy Garden. Tomorrow, an hour after we return from church.’
‘That will be too late. I tell you, she knows.’
Robert glanced up and down the narrow staircase, then leaned forward to press a swift kiss on her mouth. Unable to help herself, she rubbed her body eagerly against his and felt his instant response, the stiffening at his groin and the possessive curve of his arm about her waist.
Let her spies catch us
, Lettice thought.
She cannot prevent this. Even the greatest of queens can have no jurisdiction over a man’s desire
.
He groaned under his breath. ‘Lettice, we must not—’
‘Why not? There is no one here to see us.’
Hesitant at first, his hand stroked her throat, then slid down to the deep, pale curve
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