The Murder in the Tower: The Story of Frances, Countess of Essex

the Prince’s Court.”

“You are older than he is, my lady.”

“Oh no.”

“I did not mean in years.”

“I understand you.”

“And, being older, should lead the way.”

“He is not like the others, Jennet. He is a very good young man. He is anxious not to do anything of which he could be ashamed.”

Jennet gave a short laugh. “When the good fall into temptation they fall more deeply.”

“Sometimes I feel he will never fall into temptation.”

“There are ways, my lady.”

“What ways?”

“I know how to procure a love potion which is certain to work.”

Frances’s heart began to beat a little faster.

Then she looked at her own radiant image. She was so certain of her charms that she could not believe they would fail.

If they did, she would begin to think seriously of Jennet’s philtres.

There was less ceremony at Oatlands than at St. James’s or Hampton Court, and almost everyone there soon learned that the Prince, who had never before been interested in women, was attracted by the young Countess of Essex; so when she lured him from the dance into the gardens, no one followed them, believing that it was the Prince’s wish that they should be alone.

Frances, who knew instinctively when and how to act in such matters, was certain that if she was to become the Prince’s mistress she must induce him to overcome his scruples before he became fully aware of the potency of her allure. Once he realized how eager she was he would set up such a barrier between them that his seduction would be impossible.

Although they were both virgins, Frances was ready to lead the way; moreover, she was determined to do so.

Walking between the flower beds made mysterious by summer moonlight, she pressed closer to him. He hesitated and would have returned to the palace but she put her arm through his and told him how happy she was to be at Court, and particularly to be a member of the Prince’s Court.

It was only polite to say that he was happy to have her; and when he did so she raised his hand to her lips and kissed it.

He withdrew it sharply.

“I have offended you?” she asked, her lovely eyes wide with horror.

“No … no. But it is best not to….”

“Not to?”

“To … to kiss my hand.”

“Would you prefer me to kiss your cheek, your lips?” she cried passionately.

Henry was startled and astonished by the tremendous excitement which was taking possession of him. He tried to analyze his feelings. “If you were not married …”

“But I have never known my husband.”

“You must keep yourself a virgin for him.”

“Is that Your Highness’s wish?”

Henry was silent. Then she threw herself against him and cried triumphantly. “It is not so. It is not so.” Then she took his hand and began to run with him; and as they ran such an excitement gripped him that he seemed like a different person from the sober young Prince who deplored the loose morals of his father’s Court.

She withdrew her hand and went on running; now he was pursuing her. She allowed him to catch her in a summer house; and she waited expectantly while he embraced her, listening to the sounds of music which came from the palace.

He was uncertain; but she was not.

Frances Howard had always known what she wanted, and she had wanted the Prince of Wales from the moment she had seen him on the day she had married Robert Devereux.

Jennet knew as soon as she was in the privacy of her own chamber.

Frances stood, her eyes brilliant, while Jennet relieved her of her gown and jewels.

“So, my lady,” said Jennet slyly, “we shall not have to ask my good friend Mrs. Turner to provide us with a love philtre?”

And soon certain knowledgeable members of the Court were telling themselves that the Prince was behaving