All the Sweet Tomorrows

drove through the open iron gates past the bowing and smiling gatekeeper, and his brightly curtseying wife, she remembered how shabby the house had been on her first visit seven years ago. Now the manicured lawns edged with their private woods stretched out invitingly toward the house. A thought crossed her mind: It's good to be home. She smiled to herself. Greenwood had always been a happy place for her.

'Welcome home, m'lady,' the majordomo said as they entered the house. 'I have a message from Lord Burghley for you. Where shall I have it brought?'

'The library,' she said quickly. 'Willow, my love, go along with Daisy and Dame Cecily.' Skye hurried to the library, drawing off her pale-blue, scented kid gloves and flinging them on a table as she entered. She unfastened her hooded cloak, pushing back its ermine-edged, dark-blue velvet hood to shrug the garment off. The attending footman quickly caught the cape and hurried out with it as the majordomo hurried in with her message upon a silver salver. Skye took it up, and said, 'I wish to be alone.' As the door closed shut she quickly opened Cecil's letter.

Greeting, madam, and welcome to London. The Queen will receive you at eight o'clock this evening at Whitehall. You are not to wear mourning, as the Duc de Beaumont’s nephew will be present, but rather dress to suit your rank and your wealth.

A sarcastic smile touched her lips. She would have to mourn Niall in her heart, for she was not to be allowed a decent period of grief by the Crown. Oh no! She was to be paraded this very evening before the duc's representative, and had been ordered to dress in her finest feathers. Cecil had never even considered the possibility that she might not show up in London, that she might run for Ireland and barricade herself in Burke Castle! With his customary efficiency he had known that she would arrive today, and had sent his message. She laughed, seeing the dark humor in the situation, and left the library to climb the stairs to her apartments, where she instructed Daisy which dress she would wear that evening.

At a few minutes before eight o'clock Skye's town coach arrived at Whitehall Palace. As her footman helped her down, some half a dozen gallants stopped and stared openmouthed at her. She wore a magnificent gown of deep purple velvet with a very low square neckline. Her breasts, pushed up by a boned undergarment, swelled dangerously over the top of the gown. Its sleeves, full to just below the elbow, were slashed to show their lavender silk inserts, and the turned back cuffs of the sleeves were embroidered, as was the lavender silk underskirt, with gold thread, tiny seed pearls, gold and little glass beads. Beneath her gown Skye's legs were sheathed in purple silk stockings embroidered in twining gold vines. Her slender feet were encased in narrow, pointed high-heeled purple silk shoes.

Her hair, parted in the middle, was arranged in the French fashion that she preferred, a soft chignon at the nape of her neck. There were silk Parma violets and white silk lilies of the valley sewn to a long comb, placed at the top of the chignon. The silk flowers were a delicious extravagance from France.

About her neck Skye wore an incredibly opulent necklace of diamonds and amethysts set in gold, and in her ears were her famous pear-shaped diamonds that fell from baroque pearls. She wore but one ring this night, a heart-shaped pink sapphire on the third finger of her left hand.

She had faintly highlighted her eyes in blue kohl, and reddened her lips, but her cheeks were pink with a combination of excitement, anger, and nerves. Wrapped in a gentle cloud of her damask rose perfume, she moved forward into the palace.

One of the young gallants foolishly stepped into her path, doffing his feathered cap, and bowing low. 'Just a word, oh exquisite one, and I shall die happy!' he lisped.

'Stand aside, you silly puppy!' Skye snapped irritably. The reality of why she was here was beginning to sink into her soul.

The gallant almost fell back at the sharp tone in her voice, and she swept on by him, finding her way with quick familiarity as old memories began to assail her. Turning a corner, she bumped into a courtier and, stepping back to apologize, gasped as the courtier caught at her hands, imprisoning them in his own. 'Dudley!” she hissed at the smugly grinning Earl of Leicester.

'Sweet Skye,' he murmured. 'I could scarcely believe my good fortune when Bess said you would be retiirning to us, widowed once more.' The implication was plain, and it was all she could do not to shudder with disgust. Robert Dudley slipped an arm about her waist and pulled her close. His mustache tickled her ear as he kissed it, and then he whispered, 'You do run through husbands, sweet Skye. Marry me, and I’ll never let you wear me out!'

Angrily she pulled away from him, looking at him with distaste. Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester, was as handsome and elegant as ever, but she still found his manner offensive and overbearing. 'Unhand me this instant, Dudley! I am here because the Queen has special plans for me, and if you should attempt to attack me again I shall make the most outrageous scene this court has ever seen! Lord Burghley will protect me this time, you swine!' She tore his arm from about her waist. 'You will crush my gown!'

'And what special plans has Bess for you, sweet Skye?' He was completely unperturbed by her anger.

'I am sure that you shall know that shortly, my lord. Now you will excuse me. I am expected in the Queen's chambers.'

'I will escort you,' he said, taking her arm. She did not deny him that courtesy for she knew that once her betrothal became public knowledge, Dudley would be forced to leave her be. Silently they made their way to Elizabeth Tudor's privy chamber, where the doors were flung wide at their approach by the Queen's own guardsmen. As they entered, Skye recognized only two faces among the women in the Queen's rooms, Lettice Knollys, and Lady Elizabeth Clinton, born a FitzGerald. Lady Clinton was the Countess of Lincoln in whose household Skye's second son, Murrough, was a page.

Suddenly a small blond boy dressed in pale blue velvet and silver lace stepped forward. 'Good evening, mother,' he said.

'Good evening, Robin,' Skye answered, her eyes devouring her son. She wanted to hug him, but knew she could not do so publicly.

'Skye!' Lettice Knollys came forward smiling. 'How good to see you again.' Her eyes nicked to Dudley.

So that’s how it is now, Skye thought amused. 'Lettice dear, it is good to see you also.' She turned slightly. 'Beth, how are you?'

Lady Clinton nodded. 'I am well, and your Murrough is a delight, Skye. Never have I had such a gracious, well-mannered page in my household. I hope you will let me keep him for a while longer.'

'He writes me that he is happy,' Skye replied. 'I see no reason to remove him from your care, Beth. He is a lucky little boy to be in such a fine house. I hope, however, I may see him while I am here at court. My visit is not to be a long one.'

'Send word whenever you want him,' Elizabeth Clinton replied graciously.

'Dearest Skye!” Every head in the room turned at the sound of Elizabeth Tudor's voice, and Skye swept the Queen a low and graceful curtsey. 'We welcome you back to court, dearest Skye,' the Queen said.

'I am grateful that you have let me come, Majesty,' returned Skye, rising as she spoke, and thinking Bess Tudor had aged little. She was still a handsome and elegant young woman.

'Come into my privy chamber, Skye,' Elizabeth said. 'The rest of you are to wait here at my pleasure.'

The two women entered into the Queen's small private library, and Elizabeth Tudor sat down, motioning Skye into a chair opposite her.

'You know why I am here, Majesty,' Skye began.

'Aye, I know. You wish me to confirm little Lord Padraic Burke's rights so that the English in Dublin Pale will not seize Burke lands now that there is no adult male Burke to defend them.'

Skye nodded.

'You are willing to aid me in return?' the Queen demanded.

'I have ever been Your Majesty's most loyal servant,' was the reply.

'Even when pirating my treasure ships,' Elizabeth said drily.