He was adored by his own family, and it was a fact that, as soon as my children knew him as their stepfather, they accepted him wholeheartedly. They were at greater ease with him than they had ever been with Walter.

It amazed me that he, who was so ambitious and full of determination to take up every advantage, should have so much time for the affairs of his family.

At this period Penelope was most unhappy. She often visited us at Leicester House and would pour out her wretchedness on the failure of her marriage. Lord Rich was coarse and sensual; she could never love him; she was most unhappy and longed to come home.

 She was able to talk to Robert, who was so kind and understanding. He told her that whenever she felt so inclined she must regard his home as hers; and he forthwith suggested that she have one of the rooms decorated to her taste. It was to be known throughout the house as Lady Rich's Chamber and whenever she felt the need for refuge it was waiting for her.

She recovered a little of her spirits when she was with Robert and chose patterns for the hangings in her room and took an interest in the making of them. I was grateful to Robert for being a father to my unhappy daughter.

Dorothy loved him too. She had watched what had happened in Penelope's case and told Robert that she would never let it happen to her. She was going to choose her own husband.

He said: "I'll help you in it and we'll make a grand marriage for you—but only if you approve it."

She believed him, and both the girls looked forward to the times when he was with us.

Walter was fond of him, and it was Robert who made plans for my son to go to Oxford when he was older, which would be in a few years' time.

There was one member of the family whom I greatly missed. This was my favorite among all my children—my son Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex. How I wished that he could be with us, and how I deplored the custom of taking sons from their homes, particularly those who, through the death of their father, had inherited great titles. It was hard to think of my darling as the Earl of Essex—he would always be little Rob to me. I was certain that the other Robert, my husband, would have had a special interest in Essex, but alas, the boy was at Cambridge now, where he was to take his Master's degree. I had good reports of him from . time to time.

As for yet another Robert—our baby son—Leicester doted on him and was already making plans for his future. I said jocularly that it would be difficult to find a place for him at Court because his father thought nothing was good enough for him. "Nothing but a royal princess will be suitable to be his bride," I commented.

"We must find one for him," said Robert, and I did not realize then how serious he was.

Leicester was as popular with my family as he was with his own brothers and sisters; it was comforting, particularly in view of the Queen's obsessional hatred towards me, to feel myself in the midst of an affectionate family.

Because I was out of Court—though Robert was fast creeping back to his old position—the family rallied round me even more than usual, and Robert's nephew, Philip Sidney, became a very frequent visitor.

He walked in the gardens of Leicester House in the company of Penelope, and it occurred to me that there had been a change in their friendship. He had, after all, at one time been betrothed to her, but he had never seemed eager for marriage, and I had often thought it had been a mistake to mention it when he was twenty-two and Penelope but a child of fourteen. Now she appeared before him as a woman—and a tragic one at that—which made her seem attractive to a man of his nature. Her dislike of her husband was growing into hatred, and she was ready to turn to the handsome, elegant, brilliant young man whom she might so easily have married.

It could seem as though a dangerous situation was brewing, but when I mentioned it to Robert, he said that Philip was not a man to indulge in lusty passion, but to dream of romantic love. He would doubtless write verses to her and that would be where his devotion would lead him, so we need have no fear of Penelope's breaking her marriage vows. Lord Rich would be incensed if she did, and Philip would know this. He was certainly not a violent man; he consorted with people like the poet Spenser, for whom he had a great regard; he loved the play and took a special interest in the company of players, known as Leicester's Players, who, in the days before Robert's decline, performed regularly for the pleasure of the Queen.

The fact was that, having lost Penelope to Lord Rich, Philip did conceive a great passion for her and began to write poems to her in which he referred to himself as Astrophel and Penelope as Stella; but everyone knew of whom he wrote.

It was a situation which could be dangerous but I saw what it meant to Penelope. She blossomed again, and life became tolerable to her. She resembled me and I think that no matter what befell us, if we could find ourselves at the center of dramatic events, the excitement would carry us along.

So while she shared her husband's bed—and she told me that he was a demanding husband in the bedchamber—she indulged in this romantic attachment with Philip Sidney, and she grew more beautiful every day. I could not help but be proud of my daughter, who was known as one of the most beautiful women at Court.

The Queen regarded her as Lady Rich rather than Penelope Devereux, that "She-Wolf's Cub," and she was causing a stir wherever she went. She was able to report to me what was happening at Court and how her stepfather was doing everything he could to further her advancement.

I must confess that I grew irked as time passed. It was a sadness for me to be outside the magic circle; but I was still told that whenever my name was mentioned, the Queen would fly into a rage, so it seemed unlikely that I could get back just yet. Even Robert had to tread very cautiously, and many a warning look was flashed at him from the tawny eyes. It was a time to take care.

The Duc d'Anjou came back to England to renew his courtship. Robert was worried because when Elizabeth was walking in the gallery at Greenwich with the Duc, before the French Ambassador, she said that they should marry.

"It was very disturbing," Robert told me, "and if it had been anyone but Elizabeth it would seem that she had in truth accepted him. Of course she had been fussing over him and caressing him in public. It is as though some spell has been cast upon her and she cannot see what others do. The little man is uglier than ever, for it is hardly to be expected that time would add to his beauty. He is more like an odious little frog than ever, yet she pretends to see great beauty in him. It is repulsive to see them together. She towers above him."

"She wants people to compare them and see how much more beautiful she is in spite of her age and his youth."

"It is a ludicrous sight—like a farcical play. The Country Wedding is not half as comic as the Queen and her French suitor together. But there in the gallery she actually kissed him and put a ring on his finger and told the French Ambassador that she would marry him!"

"Then surely she is committed."

"You don't know her. I had a meeting with her, and I demanded to know whether she was his mistress already. She replied that she was the mistress of us all, and I asked bluntly if she was still a virgin. She laughed at me and gave me a push—but a friendly one—and said: 'I am still a virgin, Robert, in spite of many attempts by men to induce me to change that happy state.' And she pressed my arm in a strange way and said: 'My Eyes should have no fear.' And I took it that she meant that she would not marry him after all. I believe she will now begin to extricate herself from this dilemma into which she has placed herself."

Of course that was what she did; and while she was confiding to her ministers that it had been necessary to gain time and keep the French and the Spaniards guessing, she would, with their help, evade the issue; but in the meantime, for the sake of appearance, they might start drawing up the marriage contracts.

I was so piqued because I could not watch her close at hand. I should have loved to have seen her frolicking with her Frog, declaring the happiest moment of her life would be on their wedding day, when all the time her sly, quick mind was seeking the most effective exit. She wanted the people to believe that Anjou was madly in love with her—not for what she could bring him but because of her enchanting person. It was strange that while so occupied with the political side of the issue, she could have such thoughts; but those who believed this impossible did not know Elizabeth.

Robert was delighted. He genuinely deplored the French match, but at the same time he could not have borne it if she had married someone else after refusing him. It amused me to see how the personal element was always present in these two, who were, I supposed, the most important people in my life. I watched myself with the same dissecting calm, I hoped, and I usually found more than one motive behind my own actions.

Robert reported that the Queen had sent a message to Anjou to the effect that she was afraid of marriage because she believed that if she entered into that state she would not have long to live, and she was sure that her death was the last thing he wanted.

"The little man was confounded," said Robert. "I think he is at last realizing that it will be no different with him than with the others who have sought her. He broke into furious lamentations when he heard this and taking off the ring she gave him, threw it away. Then he forced his way into her presence and said that he saw she was determined to deceive him and had never meant to marry him, at which she showed great concern, sighing deeply, declaring that if only these matters could be left to the heart, how much more pleasant life would be. He replied that he would rather they both died if he could not have her, and she then accused him of threatening her, which made him burst into tears like the silly little man he is. He blubbered that he could not endure that the world should know she had jilted him."

"And what did she do then?"

"She merely gave him her handkerchief with which to wipe his eyes. Ah, it is clear, Lettice, that she has no intention of ever marrying him and never had. But she has let us in for a fine bit of trouble, for now we have to placate the French, which will not be an easy task."

How right he was. The ambassadors of the King of France had already arrived in England to congratulate the couple and make the final arrangements for the marriage. When the true state of affairs was realized, the French Ambassador threw the Council into a state of panic by declaring that since the Duc d'Anjou had been insulted by the English, the French would ally themselves with Spain and that would not be a very pleasant prospect for the English.

Robert told me that the ministers had conferred together and the general opinion was that the matter had gone too far for them to draw back now. The Queen received them and demanded to know whether they were telling her that she had no alternative but to marry the Duc.

She had played with fire and if they were not careful a few fingers were going to be severely burned. She said there must be a way out of the situation, and she would find it. The marriage terms were discussed and the French showed themselves eager to comply with her demands, and in desperation she suddenly made the announcement that there was one clause which was vital to her agreement, and that was that Calais should be returned to the English crown.

This was—and she knew it—outrageous. Calais—which her sister Mary had lost—had been the last stronghold possessed by the English, and in no circumstances would the French allow the English to get a foothold in France again. They must have realized at last that she was playing with them; and the situation then became fraught with danger.

She knew it better than anyone and she found an answer. The Spaniards were a menace. The little Duc was in one of his Protestant phases at the time and there would eventually have to be a confrontation with the Spaniards. The Queen firmly believed that such an encounter could more happily take place outside her realm; and as the Netherlands had sent out repeated calls for help, it might be a way out of a difficult situation to kill two birds with one stone by giving the Duc d'Anjou a sum of money to go to the Netherlands and conduct a campaign against the Spaniards there.