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The third of my favorite ladies was Lettice Knollys. She was quite different from the other two. There was nothing gentle about Lettice. She was a fiery creature. Her father, Sir Francis Knollys, had married the daughter of Mary Boleyn who was my aunt, so there was a family co
She danced well and dancing was one of my special accomplishments. I never tired of it. I loved to glide across the floor and I knew that I looked my best when dancing because of my tallish willowy figure. I often chose to dance with Robert, who also performed well. Very often when we took the floor others would fall away as though to suggest it would be sacrilege to dance while Robert and I cavorted together. The applause would always ring out when the music stopped, and I would smile at the appreciation on the faces of the courtiers knowing that part of their eulogies were directed to the crown; but nevertheless I was an expert performer.
And this girl Lettice Knollys danced as well as I did. None would say she did, of course, but they knew it; and she often called attention to herself when I was dancing and it irritated me faintly; but whatever her charms and accomplishments she had no crown to augment them.
She was inclined to be a little familiar too—presuming on the fact that we were some sort of cousins. I often found the need to rebuke her and sometimes gave her a sharp rap across the knuckles for her clumsiness when she helped to dress me, and I knew that when she hung her head and assumed a humble attitude, she was quite aware that the rebuke had been incurred not for clumsiness but for her own attractions.
Sometimes I wondered why I did not dismiss her. But she was so pretty in a very striking way. I think she had my mother's eyes for they were dark and heavily lashed but whereas my mother had been dark-haired, Lettice's hair was honey-colored. It was abundant and curly. She must have been very like her grandmother, Mary Boleyn, my mother's sister who had been my father's mistress before he married my mother A
We were in June. Robert's wife had died last September, but the rumors persisted. I tried to show my indifference to them and had long since ordered the freedom of Mother Dowe who had set the rumors about that I had borne a child or was about to have one. I wanted to show that such foolish gossip was not worth punishing anyone for and that I cared little for my detractors—much as my grandfather Henry VII had done with such good effect in the case of Perkin Warbeck. I was often glad that I had made such a close study of history. It was full of lessons for the living.
Robert was still hoping for marriage and I was still prevaricating. I would not give him a direct no. Nor would I accept any other suitor.
“Time is passing. We are growing older,” pleaded Robert.
“We are still young and because of what happened, there must be a gap of time between then and any steps we take.”
Robert grew sullen, hectoring, which made me laugh. I was constantly reminding him that I was the Queen and that he should not forget it. Poor Robert, how his fingers itched to grasp the crown!
There are men like that. They yearn for power. I could have told him that great tribulations come with a crown as so many of my ancestors had discovered to their cost. It would make no difference. Men like Robert stretched out their eager hands for it. They would do anything for it. They would fight for it, kill…
Mary Sidney was a strong advocate for her brother. “The burdens of state are too much for a woman to carry alone,” she said.
“It depends on the woman,” I told her, my eyes flashing so that she knew better than to pursue the subject.
She changed it. “Robert is pla
“I have heard nothing of it,” I replied sharply.
“He wanted it to be a surprise for you.”
“He is always pla
“Your Majesty, he has told me that he thinks of naught but your pleasure.”
“There is no one like him,” I said.
Mary beamed with pleasure. “I loved all my brothers,” she went on, “but we all agreed there was no one like Robert. He shone among the rest of us from the time he was two.”
“How I should have loved to see him when he was two!”
“He was very sure of himself even then, so they tell me,” said Mary. “They always said he should have been the eldest. He looked after the family. The death of my father and brother…”
“I forbid you to speak of such things. I know Robert looks out for those he loves.”
“And he loves none as he loves Your Majesty.”
“I believe that to be true. I call him My Eyes, because he is always looking out for what is good for me.”
“It is so comforting for a woman to have a man to care for her … even if she is a queen.”
I gave her a slap across the hand—playful but there was a touch of irritation in it. “There are some women, Mary Sidney,” I said, “who are capable of managing their own affairs, even if it be ruling a kingdom.”
“I know that full well. Your Majesty is an example of such.”
“Well, tell me about the Midsummer party.”
It turned out to be an interesting occasion. It was a glorious day as was fitting for Midsummer and the sun shone on the pageant Robert had devised. He was an expert with such arrangements. He had several boats, all decorated with roses and other summer flowers, and it seemed as though the whole Court had turned out to witness the pageant.
There was stirring music coming from one of the barges and children's voices singing the sweetest songs, all in praise of me.
I was sumptuously gowned in white damask with a greenish pattern on it. Green was becoming to my coloring and brought out the red in my hair. My puffed slashed sleeves fell back to show my hands which were adorned with jewels. My hair was carefully dressed with a few false pieces to give it body and I always looked well with it piled high because of my high forehead. I tried to look as much like my father as possible. People still talked of him affectionately; moreover it reminded them that I was his undoubted daughter and the true inheritor of the throne.
Robert was magnificent as always in blue satin. The sleeves of his jerkin were slit from wrist to shoulder to show the doublet beneath which was decorated with pearls and embroidery. His breeches—a fashion borrowed from the French—were full at the top and narrowed at the knee, slashed and puffed looking like latticed windows with bars across which sparkled with jewels. He had the most perfectly shaped legs I have ever seen and had no need for garters. His stockings, with gold and silver thread woven into them, fitted perfectly. In his hat was a curling blue feather.
I listened for the cheers of the people. They were not quite so wholehearted as they had been before the scandal but they were affectionate enough for me. Less so perhaps when Robert appeared with me, and I knew that I must still act with the utmost caution.