She told the ambassadors that she could not forget the unpopularity of her sister’s marriage. The English, she believed, would wish to see their Queen married to an English husband.

Such statements set wild hopes soaring in the minds of certain noblemen. There was the Earl of Arundel, who had offered his hand to Elizabeth before she was Queen. Elizabeth pretended to consider him—not only because she was delighted with any man who declared his wish to marry her, but mainly because she wished for the support of all men of influence at this stage of her reign.

Another was Sir William Pickering; he was forty-three, but handsome, and it was said that he had lived merrily. The Queen showed special favor to such as Pickering, and as, it was remembered, from the days of his youth he had been very successful with women, a match between himself and the Queen, although unlikely, was not impossible.

There were many quarrels between Pickering and Arundel; and the Court amused itself by laying bets on their chances.

Cecil regarded all this frivolity without a great deal of tolerance. He was against the matches with Spain, Austria, and Sweden, favoring alliance with the Earl of Arran who had been chosen for Elizabeth in her childhood. Such an alliance, Cecil declared, would unite England and Scotland and much trouble between those two countries might thereby be avoided.

Elizabeth listened to her ministers, went on discussing matrimony, studied the pictures of her suitors—and looked with longing eyes at her Master of Horse.

Cecil would remonstrate with her. He was not a man to mince his words, and often aroused her anger; but she was clever enough to appreciate him, and was always prepared to give him her ready smile after a difference between them; and what was even more important, she invariably took his advice.

She gave as much attention to matters of feminine vanity as to state affairs, yet the latter did not suffer for that.

While she was considering an answer to Philip of Spain, her silk woman, Mistress Montague, brought her a New Year’s present—a pair of knit silk stockings; and these stockings seemed to delight her far more than a brilliant marriage with His Most Catholic Majesty could have done.

She would lift her skirts to show them to her women. Mistress Montague proudly declared that, seeing Her Majesty looked so well in the stockings, she would without delay set about making more.

“Indeed, I like them!” cried the Queen. “There shall be no more cloth stockings for me. I shall wear only silk.”

Thus, when Cecil came to talk of state affairs, was she occupied with her silk woman. And while she amused herself with her suitors, her fine clothes, and her great position, she kept one man beside her. Her delight in him did not diminish; in fact, it grew so great that it became apparent to all.

The Queen, so quick in other matters, was slow to realize this. Cecil, that blunt and fearless man, brought it home to her on the occasion of the misalliance of the Duchess of Suffolk with an equerry in her service.

The Queen laughed aloud when she heard the story. “So she has married her horsekeeper, that proud Madam!”

Cecil answered: “Yes, Madam; it is true that she has married her horsekeeper, but she might retort that Your Majesty wishes you could do the same!”

The Queen stared at her minister.

Now she knew. She had betrayed her passion for Robert.

There was little opportunity for seeing him alone, and while this did not disturb her greatly—for it seemed enough to her that she often had him in her presence and could give him soft looks and receive passionate and daring ones from him—he was by no means satisfied. He would show his dissatisfaction by being coldly deferential, by being attentive to others; he would absent himself from her apartments now and then; and while he continued to perform his duties with care, she could not reprove him for this. She loved him for his independence—she could not tolerate meekness in men—yet in his case it distressed her.

She told Kat when they were alone together that he must be brought to her with as little ceremony as possible.

“You would have me bring him here alone … to your apartment!”

“Why not? Why not?”

“Dearest Majesty, it could not be kept secret.”

“You mean you could not keep it a secret.”

“Nay! I would rather die than divulge it.”

“If it is divulged, I shall blame you, Kat.”

“Sweetest Majesty, have a care. He is a bold man.”

“I know it,” said Elizabeth smiling. “But do not forget that if I am a Queen, I am also a woman who knows how to take care of herself.”

“He’s no ordinary man.”

“Am I an ordinary woman?”

“Nay! That is why I fear. You both tower above all others.”

“Go and bring him to me, Kat.”

“Dearest, is it wise … ?”

“Go, I say, and do not meddle, woman.”

So Kat brought him to her and left them together. Kat was right when she had said he was bold. The Queen held out her hand for him to kiss, but he would have none of that. He would have her know that he only tolerated ceremony for the sake of others. He would not kiss her hand but her mouth.

“Robert,” she protested breathlessly, “you forget …”

“I have remembered too long.”

“I did not send for you to do this.”

But her assumed reluctance was unavailing. He was too experienced, altogether too fascinating. He was, in fact, irresistible, and he knew it.

He lifted her in his arms and strode with her to the chair of state—that chair in which she alone should sit. There he sat, still holding her. Have done with queenship, he implied. You are a woman now. There has been too much teasing. It is finished.

She was excited. This was lèse-majesté; yet that was how she would have it, for she loved his boldness. She herself was weak with love. She wondered how she could stand out against him, as she must. This was a battle between them; never must she forget that. He wished to seduce the Queen that he might be the master; she wished to keep him desiring to seduce, that she might remain the mistress. It was a battle she knew well how to fight; she had fought it with Seymour and had come through victorious, and she had been but a girl then. But she knew that this battle would be the fiercest she had ever fought.

She laughed as she lay in his arms. “Have you forgotten, sir, that it is the Queen you hold? Have you no respect for the crown?”

“I have nothing … nothing but my love for Elizabeth. I care not if she be Queen or drab. She is mine, and I’ll wait no longer.”

“How dare you!” she cried; and in her voice was the trill of excitement, since his words pleased her more than any profession of loyalty could have done.

“How dare you torment me so?” was his answer.

“I?”

But there were kisses now—given and returned—and words were impossible.

At length he said: “I wonder I did not do this before them all.”

“Arundel would have run his sword through you. I should not have wished that to happen.”

“Arundel! Pickering! You demean yourself!”

“Yes, I demean myself … because you only are worthy to mate with me. At least that is what you think.”

“And you?”

“How could I think that, when you have a wife, and could have none but dishonorable intentions regarding me?”

“There is one thing I must know,” he said earnestly.

“You must know? You are very bold, Lord Robert.”

“And intend to be bolder.”

She shrieked with assumed dismay.

His lips were on her throat, and he said between kisses: “Would you marry me … if I were free to marry you?”

“Would I marry you?” she gasped. “You … you … the son of a traitor! You … a Dudley! Do you think the Queen could marry with such!”

“Yes, I do. Am I a fool? Am I blind? Elizabeth … nay, I’ll not call you Your Majesty. To me you are Elizabeth, the only woman in the world who will do for me … who maketh all others of no account so that they tire me and make me run from them to dream, alas, but to dream—of her who torments me and denies with words the love that shines from her eyes. You would marry me, would you not … would you not?”

She answered hesitatingly: “I … I do not know.”

“Is it because you do not know, that you will give no answers to these suitors of yours?”

“It might be.”

“Because you are in love with a man who cannot marry you since he has a wife already? I will have the truth. I demand the truth.”

She looked into his brilliant eyes and said: “I shall never forgive you for this. I have never been so treated …”

“You have never been loved as I love you.”

“Am I so unattractive that you think no one has the least regard for me?”

“No one has ever loved you as I love you. You would marry me, would you not, if I were free?”

Looking into his face, marveling at his beauty, she told the truth: “I believe I should be greatly tempted to do so.”

She saw his triumph, and that sobered her a little; but she was still under the spell of his enchantment. She put her arms about his neck and stroked the soft curling hair, as she had longed to do so many times.

He said: “Mayhap one day we shall marry. Oh, happy day! And while we wait …”

She raised her eyebrows daring him to go on. She did not yet know how daring he could be.

“We could be lovers,” he said, “as surely we were meant to be.”

Now she sensed danger, and the Queen immediately took command. Her voice was suddenly colder. “You are a fool, Lord Robert.”

He was startled. He had become the subject once more.

She went on quickly: “If there were any hope of our marrying …”

He interrupted: “There is hope.”

Her sudden happiness could not be hidden; it shone from her eyes and she was the woman again.

“How so?”

“My wife is a sick woman. She cannot live long.”

“You … speak truth, Robert?”

“She suffers from a growth in the breast. It will prove fatal.”

“Robert … how long?”

“A year perhaps. You will wait, my love, my dearest Queen? A year … and you and I … together for the rest of our lives.”

“Why did you not tell me this before?” she demanded sharply.

“I dared not hope.”

“You … dared not! You would dare anything.”

He kissed her. “Only since I knew how you loved me.”

She would not allow the embrace to continue. He was too insistent, too clever, too practiced. He knew exactly how to play upon her feelings. The Queen must command the woman not to act like any village drab—or perhaps any normal woman in the hands of Lord Robert.

“It is true?” she asked.

“I swear she will not live long.”

“The people …”

“The people would be delighted if you married an Englishman.”

“Yes … but one of noble family.”

“You forget. My father was Lord Protector of England when you were called a bastard.”

“He went to Tower Hill as a traitor. I was born a Princess, and a Princess I remained.”

“Let us not bother with such matters. They are unimportant, for you have said you would marry me if I were free.”

“I said I believed I might.”

“My darling, I am no foreign ambassador pleading for his master. I am flesh and blood … warm and loving … here … your lover.”

“Not that … yet.”

“But soon to be!”

She freed herself and walked up and down the room. She said after a pause: “It is not often that we may meet thus, and you waste time, my lord. If, as you say, there may come a time when I might marry you, there should be no scandal concerning us beforehand. The people would not like that. Continue to be my Master of Horse, my loyal subject, until such a time as I may find it possible—and in my heart—to elevate you to a higher rank. But leave me, Robert. Leave me now. If you stay longer it will be known. The gossips will be busy with us.”

She gave him her hand and he took it, but his lips did not stay on her fingers. He clasped her in his arms again.

“Robin,” she said, “my sweet Robin, how I have longed for this!”

But Kat was already at the door with the news that William Cecil was on his way to see the Queen.

But how could she keep this overwhelming love a secret? It obsessed her. She could think of little else. If he were absent, nothing pleased her; but the Master of the Horse only had to put in an appearance and she was all gaiety.

She wanted to show her love and her power at the same time. She gave him the Dairy House at Kew, and that was a lovely old mansion; nor was that all. He must, she decided, be rich beyond all her courtiers; she liked to see him clad in fine clothes and jewels, for who else could show them off as he did? There were some monastery lands which must go to my Lord Dudley; and as many merchants in England had grown rich through the export of wool, he should have a license to export that commodity, and lands and riches with which to develop the industry. As if this was not enough, she must invest him with the Order of the Garter. There was no gainsaying her. Let any man come to her and say that my Lord Dudley was unworthy of such honors and she would make him feel the full force of her displeasure.