But Henry’s expression had lost its gaiety. “You were married to Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex. So … you are a wife.”
“A wife and not a wife,” she answered. “After the ceremony my husband went abroad. I have not seen him since. Our parents considered us too young to live as man and wife.”
“But he will return,” said the Prince.
“I know not when. I care not when.”
“I care,” said Henry almost coldly. “I should conduct you to your guardian.”
“Oh … please not—”
“It is better so,” he answered.
Frances could have wept with disappointment. He had noticed her; more than that he was attracted by her; and because she was married he wanted to end their friendship before it had begun.
It was true. The Prince of Wales was prim and prudish. He implied that while he was ready to be the friend of a young girl, he was not eager to cause scandal on account of a married woman.
Who would have thought that she would have found such prudery at Court? And in the Prince of Wales!
Frances was not one to accept defeat. In that moment she knew she wanted a lover; and that lover must be the Prince of Wales.
THE PRINCE OF WALES TAKES A MISTRESS
“You see, Robbie,” he said, “I have enemies. They’re all over the Court; and I know not where to look for them. When I think of how the Ruthvens laid their snare for me … and how I walked into it, I marvel that I came out alive.”
“There is some Providence watching over Your Majesty.”
“Providence is fickle, Robbie. Guarding you one day and turning its back the next. I’d liefer rely on my head than my luck. And Providence is another name for the last.”
“Your Majesty is unduly alarmed. You acted with your usual shrewd sense; Arabella Stuart can no longer be a threat.”
“Can she not, Robbie? Can she not? There’s many a man in this city that would like to see me back across the Border … or under the sod. There’s many looking for a Queen to put on the throne. They like to be ruled by a woman. Have ye never heard them talk of my predecessor? Ye’d think she was God Almighty to hear some of them. These English like to be ruled by a woman; the Scots would have none of my mother, but the English worshipped their Queen. How should I know that they’re not drinking their secret toasts to Queen Arabella?”
“Your Majesty is the true King of Scotland and England, and Prince Henry the true heir.”
“Aye, lad. That’s true. And Henry will have many to support him. Have you noticed how they flock to his Court and desert the King’s? I wonder they don’t shout for King Henry in the streets. That boy will bury me alive if I don’t take care.”
“They acclaim him as the Prince of Wales.”
“And they look to the time when he’ll be King. Dinna seek to draw the mask over my eyes, Robbie. I know.”
“But that is not to want Arabella.”
“The people like to plot. To the young, life is more worthwhile when they’re risking it. Arabella is as good an excuse for a rebellion as any other. And now she has disobeyed me. In spite of my forbidding her, she has married William Seymour—himself not without some claim.”
“And Your Majesty has acted with promptitude, by committing her to the care of Parry, and her husband to the Tower.”
“Yes, yes, boy, but I like it not. The lady has become a martyr. And a romantic one at that. Before this marriage she was a woman not young enough to arouse the chivalric zeal of other young people. The Lady Arabella Stuart at Court was welcome. I like not this marriage. What if there should be issue?”
“Your Majesty has sought to make that impossible by separating the pair.”
“You try to comfort your old gossip. And you do, Robbie. Now let me look at that letter to the Prince which you’ve drafted. I fear he is not going to like my suggestions, but we must find a wife for him soon; and I do not see why we should not, in Spain or in France.”
“It would be an excellent step, Your Majesty, for how much easier it is to make peace between countries when they are joined by royal marriages.”
“That’s true enough, Robbie. The letter, boy.”
James read the letter and a smile of pleasure crossed his face.
“Neatly put, Robbie, neatly put. Why, bless you, boy, if there’s not something of the scribe in you after all. Poet, I’d say. That’s succinct and to the point. I can see you’ve learned your lessons. Ye’re going to be useful to me, Robbie.”
James did not ask the obvious question, because he would have already known the answer; and Robert would have given it because he was not a liar.
