Life was the Court where people jostled for power and wealth; but she was no longer of it; nor could she break through to it; she must live out the dreary years in a limbo, poised between vital life and a living death.

They were still in exile when Raleigh returned from his ill-fated journey and when, soon after, he laid his head on the block in Old Palace Yard. And when Frances heard that her father and mother had been summoned to the Star Chamber and there sentenced to a term in the Tower for embezzlement, she was not deeply moved. That life now seemed so far away.

When Queen Anne died of dropsy, no one was surprised. She was in her forty-sixth year and had been ailing for some time; a certain Dr. Harvey discovered the circulation of the blood and confirmed this by his experiments; a comet appeared in the sky to cause great consternation and speculation but even this could not interest Frances.

Sometimes Robert thought wistfully of the old days; he wondered whether there would be a Spanish marriage for Charles after all, or whether that sly Gondomar would have worked in vain. It would have been good to be there in the thick of intrigue.

He pictured himself with the King, proudly bringing forward a girl who was growing to be as beautiful as her mother, yet with a different kind of beauty.

“My daughter, Your Majesty.”

He could almost see James’s emotional smile, almost hear his tender voice: “So ye’ve a lass now, eh, Robbie. And a bonny one!”

He would have asked for favors for her. He wished he could have given her great wealth and titles. But what did she want with them? She had her horses to ride—and she was already a good horsewoman; she had her father to be her companion. She did not ask for more, so why should he?

It was not often that they spoke to each other; they avoided each other’s eyes. They both wanted to forget and they were a constant reminder to each other.