Page 8 of This Heart of Mine (O’Malley Saga #4)
“No,”
Robin replied. “If you tell her, she will feel trapped once more and flee you. You only met tonight. Give her time to know you.”
“But she seemed to like me, Robin, and she is a most charming flirt.”
“She is a young girl trying out her skill at seduction for the first time, Alex. I know you are enchanted with her, for I can see it in your eyes, but be patient, my old friend. She is so damned innocent and idealistic that she will feel terribly betrayed if you tell her now. Let her know you better first.”
Alexander Gordon sighed, but nodded his agreement. It would not be easy to practice patience now, having met Velvet. Why, several times tonight, he had come perilously near to sweeping her into his arms and kissing her enticing mouth. He wondered what she would have done had he given in to his desires. Would she have melted into his embrace, or would she have grown angry at his apparent boldness? After all, she was his by virtue of their betrothal. She was his , and no other man could have her! Hot and irritable with sudden jealousy, he slept restlessly that night.
The following morning it seemed as if Lynmouth House was erupting. The footmen hurried purposefully about seeing that all the silver, gold, and crystal was polished and gleaming. Every candle from simple sticks to those that lit the great chandeliers were replaced with fresh beeswax tapers. Tables were carried out into the gardens where supper would be served to the court. There were maids running to and fro setting the tables, and others who were set to washing, sweeping, and polishing. The guests would start to arrive in the late afternoon, and all must be in readiness.
Robin wanted this great fête to be especially enjoyable for Elizabeth Tudor. She had been a great friend of his father’s, and for Robin’s whole life, despite the constant battles of will she waged with his mother, England’s queen had been his friend and his patroness also.
These last months had been filled with personal tragedy and trauma for the queen. She had finally had to admit to herself that her cousin Mary Stewart meant her serious harm. She had been forced to end that threat by ending Mary’s life. It had not been an easy decision, and it was one that still haunted her.
Now her brother-in-law, Philip of Spain, had amassed a monstrous naval armada and was preparing to send it against England. From all reports, Spain’s position was impregnable and they stood a good chance of conquering England. Still, the queen was determined that no foreign power would prevail over her kingdom. Recently she had avoided several assassination plots thanks to Sir Francis Walsingham’s excellent secret service, but the strain was beginning to show. Tonight at least, thought the young Earl of Lynmouth, the queen can feel she is safe among friends, and enjoy herself.
Robin smiled as he gazed over his exquisite riverside gardens hung with lanterns that by evening would be twinkling like golden fireflies. The trees were filled with silver cages containing songbirds of various species. The tables were covered in snow white damask cloths with bright green silk runners, the Tudor colors. There were silver bowls filled with pink damask roses up and down the board. A musicians’ gallery painted silver had been built in the center of the gardens so that everyone could easily hear the music, and Robin had hired a company of players to act in scenes depicting the great moments in the queen’s reign to date. Master Marlowe, London’s current favorite playwright, had written the sketches and would also perform in them. Robin had arranged with an Italian fireworks maker for a magnificent display of fireworks to delight the queen and her court at midnight. It would be a perfect evening.
“Oh, Robin, how beautiful you are!”
The earl turned and smiled warmly at his young sister. “Then you approve of my garb, poppet?”
He was dressed in cream-colored velvets and silks embroidered with gold threads, small diamonds, pearls, and pale blue zircons. His golden blond hair was like his late father’s in its silken texture and its natural wave. He wore it neatly cropped, but one recalcitrant lock fell over his forehead.
“May I return the compliment, Mistress de Marisco? Your gown is exquisite!”
Robin’s lime-green eyes sparkled with approval.
Velvet pirouetted proudly for him. “The gown was made at Queen’s Malvern after I left and then sent on to London. I chose this fabric from the storage room.”
Robin smiled. “You chose well, my dear,”
he said, and Velvet preened beneath his approving gaze.
It was indeed the most grown-up dress she had ever worn, and she was no longer uncomfortable with the very low neckline that fashion seemed to dictate these days. The gown was entirely made of topaz gold silk, the underskirt embroidered with copper threads, small freshwater pearls, and tiny topazes in a pattern of flowers and butterflies. The full sleeves were trimmed with gold lace at the wrists, and small, gold cloth bows were scattered up and down their fullness. There were matching bows strewn over her bell-shaped skirt. Her beautiful auburn hair had been dressed in an elegant chignon, and there were tiny gold bows decorating it.
“You have no jewelry,”
Robin noted.
“Only the pearl earbobs Mama and Papa sent me for my birthday,”
Velvet answered.
Robin signaled to one of his footmen. “Find Master Browne,”
he said, “and tell him I wish a single rope of black pearls for Mistress de Marisco.”
“Oh, Robin! How can I thank you for the loan of such pearls? They will make me perfect, and so I should be, standing by your side, my lord Earl of Lynmouth.”
“They are not a loan, Velvet. They are a gift. I did not send you a gift this year, or last year either for that matter, and never before have I forgotten your birthday.”
Velvet kissed her brother’s cheek. “You were mourning Alison, Robin, and there was no room in your heart for anything else. I knew that. We all did.”
Then she threw her arms about him and hugged him hard. “Thank you, dearest brother! The pearls will be a most wonderful present!”
“There, Will, have I not told you? Offer a wench a pretty bauble and she’ll reward you with a kiss, or perhaps even more,”
came a mocking drawl.
The earl and Velvet stepped back from each other and turned to see who it was that spoke. Robin’s face crinkled with pleasure at the sight of one of the two men who stood there.
“Damn me, Kit Marlowe, you haven’t changed, have you? Still totally disrespectful of your betters, aren’t you?”
“Aye, Robin Southwood, for I don’t hold any of the gentry to be my betters. Who’s the lass?”
“My youngest sister, Velvet de Marisco. Velvet, this scoundrel is Master Christopher Marlowe. Do not believe a word he utters, for he is a playwright, and worse, he is an actor.”
The gentleman before them flashed them a blinding smile, a smile that was ivory white against his rather swarthy face. His eyes were like black cherries and sparkled with irreverence. “This is the second sister of yours I’ve met, and both have been beauties.”
He made Velvet an elegant leg, sweeping off his small, soft black cap with its rather jaunty feather. “Your slave for life, Mistress de Marisco. Ask what you will, and I will obey.”
Velvet giggled. “I think you are rather mad, Master Marlowe,”
she replied, and he grinned again.
“Totally,”
he agreed, “but ’tis where my genius comes from.”
“Introduce us to your friend, Kit,”
the earl commanded gently, noting that Marlowe’s companion was hanging back, looking somewhat uncomfortable.
Without even looking, Marlowe reached casually back and drew forward his hesitant friend, a tall, slender man with a serious and sensitive face. “These country bumpkins,”
he lamented. “When they first come to London, they are so shy and meek, but within a year he’ll be as irascible as I am, I guarantee. This is Will Shakespeare, newly come from Stratford-upon-Avon. Like me, he has pretensions of being a writer, but, for the moment, he’s but a simple actor.”
“I hope you will find London everything you dreamed it would be Master Shakespeare,”
said Robin graciously.
Will Shakespeare bowed politely, replying, “Thank you, my lord.”
“This is my first time in London, too, Master Shakespeare,”
said Velvet, following her brother’s lead in attempting to set the actor at his ease. “I am one of the queen’s Maids of Honor.”
“Until your parents return from a voyage and help you to celebrate your forthcoming marriage,”
Robin reminded his sister.
“Oh, bother my unknown betrothed, Robin Southwood!”
Velvet said irritably. “I will not marry without love!”
“My lord, you sent for these pearls?”
Master Browne was at their side, a small red morocco case in his hands.
“We’ll see you later, Rob,”
Kit Marlowe said. “I hope that you’ll enjoy the scenes I’ve written for the queen. Mistress de Marisco, keep your sweet and honest ideals. Come, Will!”
Then he strode off with his companion by his side.
Robin reached out and took the proferred jewel case. “Thank you, Master Browne.”
He opened the case and lifted out the rope of smoky dark pearls, then handed the box back to the waiting man. “Give the box to my sister’s tiring woman. I am gifting Mistress de Marisco with these pearls.”
“Very good, my lord,”
said Master Browne. He bowed and backed away.
Robin held out the pearls. “For you, poppet, with many happy returns.”
Velvet’s flash of temper had quickly cooled, and she took the jewels her brother proferred, her beautiful green eyes round with delight. She looped the rope about her neck once and let the rest of it fall. It reached two thirds of the way down her stomacher. “How do they look?”
she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.
“Perfect,”
said her brother.
“But not half as lovely as you are, Mistress de Marisco,”
said Alexander Gordon as he joined them. Dressed in black velvet, there was an almost severe elegance about him.
Velvet’s eyes swung between her brother and his friend. “You look like an archangel and Lucifer standing here together,”
she said softly.
“A comparison that has been made many times before, Mistress de Marisco,”
said Alex as he took her hand up and pressed a warm kiss upon it. His eyes glowed with a warmth that was both flattering and frightening.
Velvet took her hand back with what she hoped was not unseemly haste. “I think you might call me by my name, if my brother thinks it not too forward.”
“I think it would be permissible,”
Robin said quietly.
“My lord, the guests are beginning to arrive,”
the majordomo announced.
“We will greet them here on the terrace leading to the gardens,”
replied Robin, and, nodding, the man went about his duties. “Some will come by the river and others by coach,”
Robin explained to his sister. “This is the middle ground between the two. Besides, Her Majesty will be coming from Whitehall on her barge, and I would be prompt in welcoming her.”
It was as if some secret signal that could be heard only by the favored had been sounded. Suddenly the guests were arriving, one party quickly followed by another, coming from both the river and the road in a seemingly never-ending procession of brilliantly colored gowns, doublets, and jewelry, and of fragrances that ranged from the simplest to the overpowering. Velvet thought that her face would crack from the strain of smiling, and her cheeks began finally to ache. Her hand felt both limp and permanently damp from all the kisses it had received. As she stood there receiving her brother’s guests, she realized for the first time in her life the responsibilities that her beautiful mother had carried in the days before her discreet banishment from court. She also knew that as the wife of a great lord these same responsibilities would one day be hers. It was not a position for a child; that realization gave Velvet some pause for thought.
Finally a cry rose from the edge of the gardens as the queen’s barge was sighted coming around the bend in the river heading in toward the Lynmouth House landing. Taking his sister’s hand, Robin made his way through the gardens and past his guests down to the quay. Seeing the brother and sister waiting to greet her, Elizabeth Tudor had an incredible sense of déjà vu. The young earl was without a doubt his late father’s mirror image, and, although she had known Robin his whole life, it was never more apparent to her than now. Dear little Velvet reminded the queen of Skye, although she really didn’t look that much like her mother. Yet there was something there. Perhaps it was that arrogant tilt of her proud, young head. For a moment Elizabeth felt that time had stood still. Seeing them standing there brought back to the queen memories of well over twenty years past, when her dear Angel Earl , Geoffrey Southwood, and his beautiful countess, her one-time friend, Skye, had reigned at Lynmouth House.
“Do you see it, Rob?”
she demanded of the aging Earl of Leicester who accompanied her.
He knew instantly what she meant. “Aye,”
he answered. “There is a likeness.”
“We are growing old, Rob,”
said the queen.
He took her hand in his and pressed it to his lips. “Nay, Bess. I am growing old, but you never shall.”
She looked at him with a faintly cynical gaze, but then her gray-black eyes softened. They had been together a very long time, since they were children. They even shared the same birthday. She patted the hand that still held hers. “Do you know what young Southwood wrote to me this morning? He said that tonight I should be safe among only those who loved me. That I need not fear Spain.”
She laughed softly. “He is every bit the courtier that his father was, but he is not quite as tough as my Angel Earl yet. Then, Rob, I opened the dispatches that my secretary had brought to me, and, lo, I learned that the Spanish fleet is preparing to sail.”
She laughed again, this time more harshly. “Is it not ironic, my lord? This could be the last fête I ever attend as England’s queen if King Philip has his way.”
“Nay!”
Robert Dudley answered her fiercely. “The Spanish will not prevail over England, Bess. The only chance they had was in Mary Stewart, but they persisted in encouraging her in her treasons and her deviltry. Now that she is dead, Catholic Englishmen will rally to no one but you. Given a choice between Bess Tudor, who has ruled them so wisely and so well all these years, and Philip of Spain, there is no choice.”
He kissed her hand again. “Spain persists in making this a religious crusade, but there is no such thing in this day and age.”
The queen’s barge gently bumped against the landing and was made fast by a Lynmouth footman. Elizabeth Tudor stood up, shaking the folds from her bright crimson gown. Before her on the quay Velvet was curtsying and the earl bowing. As he straightened up, Robin held out his hand and helped the queen from her vessel.
Then he kissed her beautiful hand, saying as he did so, “Welcome to Lynmouth House, Your Majesty!”
The queen smiled and looked fondly about her. “It has been many years since I was entertained here by a Southwood,”
she said. “I don’t believe I have been here since your father’s time. Everything is as lovely as I remember.”
Offering the queen his arm, the earl escorted her from the quay up into the gardens where all her courtiers awaited her. The Earl of Leicester climbed from the boat and offered his arm to Velvet. She took it coolly, avoiding his bold gaze.
“Ah,”
he murmured softly, “your mama has undoubtedly told you about me, my pet. I regret that I was not at court when you came. I am Dudley.”
“I am aware of your identity, my lord. If I do not look directly at you, it is because your gaze is far too intimate for so short an acquaintance. My mother has never spoken of you in my presence.”
Her tone was somewhat severe, but the earl was not offended. Rather, it amused him, for she was so very young. He was somewhat put out that Skye had never mentioned him to her, but then considering his relationship with Lady de Marisco that was to be expected. “Are your parents still away?”
he asked, moving to what he hoped was a safer subject.
“Yes, my lord. They are expected back by the autumn.”
“Pity,”
said the Earl of Leicester thoughtfully. “We could use your mother’s ships now against the Spanish.”
Velvet’s eyes came up sharply. “O’Malleys,”
she said, “do not involve themselves in politics.”
“Are O’Malleys not loyal to the queen?”
he demanded softly.
“I, my lord, am not an O’Malley, so how could I possibly know the answer to such a question? I am loyal to my lady godmother, and my parents are certainly loyal to the crown, but other than that I cannot say. After all, my lord, I am just a maiden newly come to court. I do not know the way of the world, having been protected from it all of my life.”
Robert Dudley laughed harshly, then, stopping, took Velvet’s chin in his hand, forcing her head up. “I would say, my pet, that though you’re newly come to court you are learning most quickly. There is, I can see, a great deal of your mother in you.”
She pulled away, her eyes blazing. “Sir, you take liberties!”
Dudley laughed again. “My pet, you haven’t, I can see, the faintest idea of what liberties can involve. Alas, I am too old and sick now to initiate you, but there was a time, Velvet de Marisco, ah, yes, there once was a time.”
His voice died away.
“Ah, Steppapa! I should have known you would snatch the fairest lass away this evening, but you cannot have Velvet all to yourself! I am afraid that Wat and I have a previous engagement with the lady.”
The Earl of Essex stood before them, and Velvet’s scowl smoothed into a smile.
“Scamp! Where have you been? The queen is already here! You are insufferably rude to be so late,”
she scolded him.
“The queen has already forgiven me, Velvet darling, and I should not have been late but that Wat was unhappy with the way his doublet had been made, and nothing would do until it was fixed. He is such a damned popinjay!”
“Since when are you and Ralegh such bosom friends?”
demanded the Earl of Leicester.
“The threat of war and a beautiful woman makes strange bedfellows, Steppapa. By the way, where is my mother?”
“Lettice? Humph! Look for your friend, Christopher Blount, and there I will wager you will find your mother, simpering like a girl of seventeen, though she be past fifty,”
replied Dudley sourly.