This Heart of Mine (13 page)

Velvet kissed her brother’s cheek. “You were mourning Alison, Robin, and there was no room in your heart for anything else. I knew that. We all did.” Then she threw her arms about him and hugged him hard. “Thank you, dearest brother! The pearls will be a most wonderful present!”

“There, Will, have I not told you? Offer a wench a pretty
bauble and she’ll reward you with a kiss, or perhaps even more,” came a mocking drawl.

The earl and Velvet stepped back from each other and turned to see who it was that spoke. Robin’s face crinkled with pleasure at the sight of one of the two men who stood there.

“Damn me, Kit Marlowe, you haven’t changed, have you? Still totally disrespectful of your betters, aren’t you?”

“Aye, Robin Southwood, for I don’t hold any of the gentry to be my betters. Who’s the lass?”

“My youngest sister, Velvet de Marisco. Velvet, this scoundrel is Master Christopher Marlowe. Do not believe a word he utters, for he is a playwright, and worse, he is an actor.”

The gentleman before them flashed them a blinding smile, a smile that was ivory white against his rather swarthy face. His eyes were like black cherries and sparkled with irreverence. “This is the second sister of yours I’ve met, and both have been beauties.” He made Velvet an elegant leg, sweeping off his small, soft black cap with its rather jaunty feather. “Your slave for life, Mistress de Marisco. Ask what you will, and I will obey.”

Velvet giggled. “I think you are rather mad, Master Marlowe,” she replied, and he grinned again.

“Totally,” he agreed, “but ’tis where my genius comes from.”

“Introduce us to your friend, Kit,” the earl commanded gently, noting that Marlowe’s companion was hanging back, looking somewhat uncomfortable.

Without even looking, Marlowe reached casually back and drew forward his hesitant friend, a tall, slender man with a serious and sensitive face. “These country bumpkins,” he lamented. “When they first come to London, they are so shy and meek, but within a year he’ll be as irascible as I am, I guarantee. This is Will Shakespeare, newly come from Stratford-upon-Avon. Like me, he has pretensions of being a writer, but, for the moment, he’s but a simple actor.”

“I hope you will find London everything you dreamed it would be Master Shakespeare,” said Robin graciously.

Will Shakespeare bowed politely, replying, “Thank you, my lord.”

“This is my first time in London, too, Master Shakespeare,” said Velvet, following her brother’s lead in attempting to set the actor at his ease. “I am one of the queen’s Maids of Honor.”

“Until your parents return from a voyage and help you to
celebrate your forthcoming marriage,” Robin reminded his sister.

“Oh, bother my unknown betrothed, Robin Southwood!” Velvet said irritably. “I will not marry without love!”

“My lord, you sent for these pearls?” Master Browne was at their side, a small red morocco case in his hands.

“We’ll see you later, Rob,” Kit Marlowe said. “I hope that you’ll enjoy the scenes I’ve written for the queen. Mistress de Marisco, keep your sweet and honest ideals. Come, Will!” Then he strode off with his companion by his side.

Robin reached out and took the proferred jewel case. “Thank you, Master Browne.” He opened the case and lifted out the rope of smoky dark pearls, then handed the box back to the waiting man. “Give the box to my sister’s tiring woman. I am gifting Mistress de Marisco with these pearls.”

“Very good, my lord,” said Master Browne. He bowed and backed away.

Robin held out the pearls. “For you, poppet, with many happy returns.”

Velvet’s flash of temper had quickly cooled, and she took the jewels her brother proferred, her beautiful green eyes round with delight. She looped the rope about her neck once and let the rest of it fall. It reached two thirds of the way down her stomacher. “How do they look?” she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

“Perfect,” said her brother.

“But not half as lovely as you are, Mistress de Marisco,” said Alexander Gordon as he joined them. Dressed in black velvet, there was an almost severe elegance about him.

Velvet’s eyes swung between her brother and his friend. “You look like an archangel and Lucifer standing here together,” she said softly.

“A comparison that has been made many times before, Mistress de Marisco,” said Alex as he took her hand up and pressed a warm kiss upon it. His eyes glowed with a warmth that was both flattering and frightening.

Velvet took her hand back with what she hoped was not unseemly haste. “I think you might call me by my name, if my brother thinks it not too forward.”

“I think it would be permissible,” Robin said quietly.

“My lord, the guests are beginning to arrive,” the majordomo announced.

“We will greet them here on the terrace leading to the gardens,” replied Robin, and, nodding, the man went about his duties. “Some will come by the river and others by coach,”
Robin explained to his sister. “This is the middle ground between the two. Besides, Her Majesty will be coming from Whitehall on her barge, and I would be prompt in welcoming her.”

It was as if some secret signal that could be heard only by the favored had been sounded. Suddenly the guests were arriving, one party quickly followed by another, coming from both the river and the road in a seemingly never-ending procession of brilliantly colored gowns, doublets, and jewelry, and of fragrances that ranged from the simplest to the overpowering. Velvet thought that her face would crack from the strain of smiling, and her cheeks began finally to ache. Her hand felt both limp and permanently damp from all the kisses it had received. As she stood there receiving her brother’s guests, she realized for the first time in her life the responsibilities that her beautiful mother had carried in the days before her discreet banishment from court. She also knew that as the wife of a great lord these same responsibilities would one day be hers. It was not a position for a child; that realization gave Velvet some pause for thought.

Finally a cry rose from the edge of the gardens as the queen’s barge was sighted coming around the bend in the river heading in toward the Lynmouth House landing. Taking his sister’s hand, Robin made his way through the gardens and past his guests down to the quay. Seeing the brother and sister waiting to greet her, Elizabeth Tudor had an incredible sense of déjà vu. The young earl was without a doubt his late father’s mirror image, and, although she had known Robin his whole life, it was never more apparent to her than now. Dear little Velvet reminded the queen of Skye, although she really didn’t look that much like her mother. Yet there was something there. Perhaps it was that arrogant tilt of her proud, young head. For a moment Elizabeth felt that time had stood still. Seeing them standing there brought back to the queen memories of well over twenty years past, when her dear
Angel Earl
, Geoffrey Southwood, and his beautiful countess, her one-time friend, Skye, had reigned at Lynmouth House.

“Do you see it, Rob?” she demanded of the aging Earl of Leicester who accompanied her.

He knew instantly what she meant. “Aye,” he answered. “There is a likeness.”

“We are growing old, Rob,” said the queen.

He took her hand in his and pressed it to his lips. “Nay, Bess. I am growing old, but you never shall.”

She looked at him with a faintly cynical gaze, but then her
gray-black eyes softened. They had been together a very long time, since they were children. They even shared the same birthday. She patted the hand that still held hers. “Do you know what young Southwood wrote to me this morning? He said that tonight I should be safe among only those who loved me. That I need not fear Spain.” She laughed softly. “He is every bit the courtier that his father was, but he is not quite as tough as my
Angel Earl
yet. Then, Rob, I opened the dispatches that my secretary had brought to me, and, lo, I learned that the Spanish fleet is preparing to sail.” She laughed again, this time more harshly. “Is it not ironic, my lord? This could be the last fête I ever attend as England’s queen if King Philip has his way.”

“Nay!” Robert Dudley answered her fiercely. “The Spanish will not prevail over England, Bess. The only chance they had was in Mary Stewart, but they persisted in encouraging her in her treasons and her deviltry. Now that she is dead, Catholic Englishmen will rally to no one but you. Given a choice between Bess Tudor, who has ruled them so wisely and so well all these years, and Philip of Spain, there is no choice.” He kissed her hand again. “Spain persists in making this a religious crusade, but there is no such thing in this day and age.”

The queen’s barge gently bumped against the landing and was made fast by a Lynmouth footman. Elizabeth Tudor stood up, shaking the folds from her bright crimson gown. Before her on the quay Velvet was curtsying and the earl bowing. As he straightened up, Robin held out his hand and helped the queen from her vessel.

Then he kissed her beautiful hand, saying as he did so, “Welcome to Lynmouth House, Your Majesty!”

The queen smiled and looked fondly about her. “It has been many years since I was entertained here by a Southwood,” she said. “I don’t believe I have been here since your father’s time. Everything is as lovely as I remember.”

Offering the queen his arm, the earl escorted her from the quay up into the gardens where all her courtiers awaited her. The Earl of Leicester climbed from the boat and offered his arm to Velvet. She took it coolly, avoiding his bold gaze.

“Ah,” he murmured softly, “your mama has undoubtedly told you about me, my pet. I regret that I was not at court when you came. I am Dudley.”

“I am aware of your identity, my lord. If I do not look directly at you, it is because your gaze is far too intimate for
so short an acquaintance. My mother has never spoken of you in my presence.”

Her tone was somewhat severe, but the earl was not offended. Rather, it amused him, for she was so very young. He was somewhat put out that Skye had never mentioned him to her, but then considering his relationship with Lady de Marisco that was to be expected. “Are your parents still away?” he asked, moving to what he hoped was a safer subject.

“Yes, my lord. They are expected back by the autumn.”

“Pity,” said the Earl of Leicester thoughtfully. “We could use your mother’s ships now against the Spanish.”

Velvet’s eyes came up sharply. “O’Malleys,” she said, “do not involve themselves in politics.”

“Are O’Malleys not loyal to the queen?” he demanded softly.

“I, my lord, am not an O’Malley, so how could I possibly know the answer to such a question? I am loyal to my lady godmother, and my parents are certainly loyal to the crown, but other than that I cannot say. After all, my lord, I am just a maiden newly come to court. I do not know the way of the world, having been protected from it all of my life.”

Robert Dudley laughed harshly, then, stopping, took Velvet’s chin in his hand, forcing her head up. “I would say, my pet, that though you’re newly come to court you are learning most quickly. There is, I can see, a great deal of your mother in you.”

She pulled away, her eyes blazing. “Sir, you take liberties!”

Dudley laughed again. “My pet, you haven’t, I can see, the faintest idea of what
liberties
can involve. Alas, I am too old and sick now to initiate you, but there was a time, Velvet de Marisco, ah, yes, there once was a time.” His voice died away.

“Ah, Steppapa! I should have known you would snatch the fairest lass away this evening, but you cannot have Velvet all to yourself! I am afraid that Wat and I have a previous engagement with the lady.” The Earl of Essex stood before them, and Velvet’s scowl smoothed into a smile.

“Scamp! Where have you been? The queen is already here! You are insufferably rude to be so late,” she scolded him.

“The queen has already forgiven me, Velvet darling, and I should not have been late but that Wat was unhappy with the way his doublet had been made, and nothing would do until it was fixed. He is such a damned popinjay!”

“Since when are you and Ralegh such bosom friends?” demanded the Earl of Leicester.

“The threat of war and a beautiful woman makes strange bedfellows, Steppapa. By the way, where is my mother?”

“Lettice? Humph! Look for your friend, Christopher Blount, and there I will wager you will find your mother, simpering like a girl of seventeen, though she be past fifty,” replied Dudley sourly.

“Mille mercis
, Steppapa,” said Essex brightly, and, snatching Velvet’s hand, he pulled her away. “Come on, Velvet! There is dancing to do, and I must pay my respects to your brother.”

“Please enjoy our hospitality, my lord,” Velvet said to Dudley as she moved away.

The Earl of Leicester stood watching her go, a world-weary smile on his face, then moved off himself to join the queen. Elizabeth was surrounded by all her favorites, both old and new. Sir Christopher Hatton was saying something that obviously amused her very much, and even old Lord Burghley had a faint smile upon his severe face. There was Burghley’s second son, Robert Cecil, who was being trained to be his father’s successor if the old gentleman ever died. Walsingham was there, too. Leicester wondered what news his vast network of spies had brought about the Spanish fleet. The Bacon brothers, Anthony and Francis, were in the group along with the foppish and impossible Earl of Oxford. Conspicuously missing at the moment were Dudley’s stepson Essex and Sir Walter Ralegh whom he could see across the gardens speaking with Velvet and young Southwood. Dudley pushed through the group surrounding the queen and moved to her side. Wordlessly the queen reached out and stroked his hand.

The late afternoon slipped into evening, a clear one, and warm for an English July. In the trees, the caged birds sang on, oblivious to the twilight because of the bright lanterns that bobbed gently in the faint breeze. An incredible array of foods was served up for the guests, who did more than justice to the Earl of Lynmouth’s board. There were several sides of beef that had been packed in rock salt to preserve their juices while they turned over open spits. There were one hundred legs of baby lamb dressed with garlic and rosemary; sixty suckling pigs prepared in a sauce of honey, oranges, and black cherries, each holding a green apple in its mouth. The pigs had been roasted to a fine, juicy turn, their skins crackly and crisp. There were ducks and capons in a lemon-ginger sauce; sweet pink hams flavored with rare cloves and sauced in malmsey; salmon and trout on beds of cress decorated with carved lemons; and prawns cooked with white wine and herbs
in silver dishes. Three fine deer also cooked over open fires, and there were pasties containing rabbit and small game birds. There were many platters, quickly eaten, of small and succulent crabs with dishes of pounded mustard, garlic, and vinegar in which to dip them, as well as other platters containing quail, partridge, and larks roasted golden and set in nests of green watercress.