Queen Elizabeth's Daughter Read Online Free Page B

have seen much over the years, Mistress Blanche. On our picnics, when they thought I was sleeping, sometimes I would open my eyes just a crack and I watched them kiss and whisper together, fondling one another. I have never done such with Tom—so how is it she can tell me to keep my honor when she besmirches her own?” said Mary, still sobbing into Mistress Blanche’s shoulders.
    “No matter what you have seen Her Majesty do, she is the bearer of her own consequences. She is a grown woman and she is queen. You, however, are still a girl and you remain her ward. Granted, you are old enough for marriage, but only if the queen allows it. She wants great things for you, Mary. She has trained you as she, herself, was trained: you know the classics, you can read Latin and Greek, even French; you do mathematics and can write a splendid hand; you dance and sing and play the lute and the virginals. Why do you think the queen has taken such pains with you? Why would she bother even keeping a royal ward in her presence for all these years, rather than sell the wardship to enhance her own coffers?” said Mistress Blanche.
    “I suppose no one would have me,” said Mary, allowing herself to be led by the hand to sit at the window across from Mistress Blanche.
    “Oh, Shelton Hall is a fine palace and your brother would have had you back within its walls years ago. He wanted your marriage rights but the queen refused him. Elizabeth wanted you here, child. She loves you. Surely you must know that,” said Mistress Blanche.
    “Then why would she send Tom away from me? Does she not wish my happiness?” said Mary.
    “She has a grand plan for you! She intends to make you a fine match—not marriage to the son of a minor lord but perhaps to a prince! She has seen to your education and has dressed you in fine clothes and jewels. Have you not noticed that among all her ladies, you are the only one allowed to wear colorful gowns of blue and yellow? She wants your beauty to shine forth for all the court to see. And you, selfish girl, have almost ruined it,” said Mistress Blanche.
    Mary remembered all the nights she and the queen had spent together when Mary was a little girl. So many times, Mary had been afraid and sad, waiting for the queen to join her in the royal bed. Elizabeth would sing to Mary, funny ditties about lambs and wool and ring-around-the-rosy. Mary could still recall taking Elizabeth’s long, delicate hand in her own and rubbing each nail, feeling the sleekness of the fingers and the heaviness of the rings that adorned them.
    “I am sorry,” said Mary. Such an admission was difficult to make, but it was true. Mary was sorry.
    “Give your apologies to the queen. You have naught to fear—she will not send you to the Tower. Tonight, when she comes into the bedchamber after dancing, go to her and make amends. I have found Her Majesty quick to anger but even quicker to forgive,” said Mistress Blanche. “Now, crawl into your trundle bed and I shall bring you some bread and ale. You need to sleep a little, methinks.”
    *   *   *
    The night air was cool, as though June were some imposter and April the true month. After an evening of dancing, the queen found herself inhaling great gulps of the cold air as she caught her wind. She would not admit to being tired out from such leaping and stepping—her courtiers would never see her out of breath. At thirty-six, she was fast approaching her middle years, but no one must know the queen, Elizabeth Regina, was mortal, and time dealt with her in the same way he dealt with all—the slow decline of the flesh, even as the spirit remained ever young.
    How she had needed this evening! How the weight of government fell heavily onto her thin shoulders! A night of frivolity with Robin! That always soothed her. And her Sweet Robin had never failed her—he was the best dancer at court, the handsomest man, the best on a horse. Oh, if only he’d an ounce of royal blood, she might