Jennet was with her; she had selected this girl for her most intimate maid. She might have found others more servile, but Jennet’s insolence—which was always veiled, and only rarely shown even then—appealed to Frances. That girl had a knowledge of matters which Frances felt might be useful to her some time. There was a bond between them. To Jennet she talked more freely than to anyone else. She was certain that Jennet would keep her secrets. Frances often had a feeling that if Jennet had been born in her stratum of society she would have been very like her, and had she been born in Jennet’s she would have been another such as she.

The maid knew for instance of Frances’s hopes concerning the Prince of Wales. She was not in the least shocked that a young girl, married to one man who had never been her husband, should seek to become the mistress of another. Jennet gave the impression that she was there to administer to her mistress’s pleasure and that whatever Frances desired was reasonable and natural.

While the maid helped her dress for the ball, Frances glanced critically at her own reflection in the mirror. Jennet, her eyes lowered, assured her mistress that never had she looked so well.

“How old do I look, Jennet?”

“All of eighteen, my lady.”

Jennet would not have said so had it not been true. Frances had matured early.

“And my gown?”

“Most becoming. There’ll not be another lady to compare with you.”

“How I wish that they had never married me to Essex.”

“You would not have been a Countess then, my lady.”

“No, but that would not have mattered. I should still be my father’s daughter and of a rank to be welcomed at 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.