Lost Love Found (20 page)

Essex, Christopher Blount, Charles Danvers, Sir Gilly Merrick, and Henry Cuffe had paid with their lives for their rebellion. Now, in the late spring of 1601, Elizabeth put an end to the bloodletting. The Earl of Southampton remained in the Tower under threat of execution, but it was understood that, although the queen would not issue him a pardon, neither would she sign his death warrant. The other young nobles involved in the aborted uprising were all fined heavily, putting many in debt for the rest of their lives. To Essex’s neglected widow, however, the queen was kind, aiding her financially until she married again.

The queen moved to Richmond. “We shall go a-Maying in the forest at Lewisham,” she announced without any enthusiasm.

“This is the first May Day I have not been at home in my whole life,” Valentina said to Tom Ashburne. “We have a custom in our family. We always ride to the top of the highest hill near Pearroc Royal to see the sunrise. I will miss that.”

“Come with me,” Tom said. “I will take you to a place where we may see the sun rise on May morn.”

“Where is your home?” Valentina asked, suddenly realizing that she knew nothing of this handsome man beyond that he was persistent.

“My home is in Warwickshire just southwest of the Avon River on the Worcestershire border. It’s a small estate, but a fertile one. My family have lived there since the time of Henry II. The manor house is called Swan Court, for there is a lake before the house that has always been home to a large family of swans, both black and white. It is a happy house, Valentina, and you would grace it magnificently.”

She ignored the extravagant compliment, asking, “Do you have brothers and sisters, my lord?”

He smiled, understanding her better than she realized. She had meant it when she had told him she would not be rushed into a second marriage, and he admired her honesty. Too many women were coy, saying one thing, meaning another. “I have a younger brother, Robert, who is a churchman, and three younger sisters, all married. My father died when I was with Essex at Cádiz. My mother is alive. I was thirty-three years old on April first, and I have all my teeth and other moving parts, madam. Now, what of you—other than your extravagant beauty?”

She laughed. “I became twenty-one on the March twenty-first just past. You know I am widowed. My husband left no heirs beside me. I have three sisters and three brothers, all younger. I was born and bred in Worcestershire. I am afraid, my lord, that I am not an interesting woman at all.”

They were walking in the gardens at Richmond, and he drew her off the main path into a little arbor. “I find you most interesting, madam, indeed fascinating. You tell me everything about yourself, yet you tell me nothing.” He pulled her into his arms and looked down at her. “Does your heart not beat a little faster when you are with me? Mine does when I am with you, Valentina. Do you know how very much I want to make love to you, divinity? To kiss that luscious mouth that tempts me so very much?” He brushed his lips across hers lightly.

Valentina felt her heart leap at the touch of his lips upon hers. She was genuinely curious to see how she would feel should she let him go further, but she knew she was not ready at this time to play such games. She was not even certain she knew how to play such games. She wanted him to kiss her, perhaps to even touch her again as he once had, but she was not certain she would have it go further than that. Better to hide behind her mourning until she knew what she was doing, but who could tell her?

“My lord, enough,” she said coolly. “It is not proper that you behave in this fashion toward me while I am in mourning.”

“Did you love him so very much then, divinity?” he asked.

“Whether I loved him or not is neither here nor there, Tom. Edward Barrows was my husband. He is deserving of my respect, and I will give it to him in full measure.”

“What a woman you are,” he said admiringly. “I understand, and I really do try to behave myself when I am near you, divinity, but it is difficult.”

“I think you attempt to wheedle me, Tom Ashburne, but heaven help me, you have such charm I admit to being unable to resist it.”

“Then you will go a-Maying with me?” he persisted.

“I go a-Maying with the queen, my lord, and you, of course, are welcome to join us,” she told him.

“You are a hard woman,” he grumbled.

Valentina laughed. “And you, sirrah, are far too used to getting your way, I think. Well, you shall not have your way with me, I vow.”

“Not now, perhaps,” he teased, “but we have many tomorrows before us, divinity, and I intend to make the most of all of them!”

Chapter 5

O
n May Day the queen and her ladies went a-Maying in the cool, green forest of Lewisham near Richmond Palace. They cut branches of flowering hawthorn and hazel, gathered daisies, poppies and rock rose from the fields, and long stalks of foxglove from the forest’s edge, to which they added leafy ferns. The spring had been early and was pleasantly warm. The beech trees with their new green leaves allowed the sun to dapple the forest floor. The day was delightful, with only the faintest hint of a breeze.

They ate in a clearing surrounded by pine trees that bordered a swiftly flowing stream. After a light luncheon of meat pastries, hard-boiled eggs, sweet cakes, and early strawberries, the ladies and gentlemen of the court rested on the grass or strolled nearby. With the queen’s permission, the maids of honor were allowed to remove their shoes and stockings and went wading in the icy waters of the little stream. Several young gentlemen, including Valentina’s two brothers, Colin and Payton, who had recently come to court, joined the young maids. There was much shrieking and giggling, but the queen, who ordinarily might have been cranky about the unseemly behavior, seemed not to care.

“They come and they go,” she said. “The years are passing too swiftly for me. Once there was not a face I couldn’t put a name to, Valentina, and oh, how many gallants there were to play at love with me! Now”—she shrugged—“there are few I love, and fewer still who love me in return.”

“I love you, dear madam,” said Valentina honestly and with open feeling.

Elizabeth Tudor looked closely at the young woman, and what she saw brought tears to her eyes. “Why, bless me, my sweet Valentina, I believe you do, and I am right glad for it!” The queen lowered her voice. “I am an old woman now, my girl, though I have never admitted it before. Nor am I apt to again, but you will not tell on me, I know.” Her eyes twinkled then as Valentina had never seen them twinkle before.

Impetuously, Valentina kissed the queen’s cheek. “Age, dear madam, is but the passing of years, and the years cannot change what is in one’s heart and soul.”

“But they can, alas, change one’s face.” The queen chuckled. “We will not think of it again, however. Now, my good mistress of the maids, I need your advice. Eleanora Clifford’s parents have written to me that they would have her home as soon as possible to prepare for her wedding in August. I face the tiresome task of choosing another silly chit for my service. Would you advise me in this matter?”

“I would choose a little girl, madam,” said Valentina.

“Why?” demanded Elizabeth.

“A younger girl is easier to control. It is likely to be her first experience away from home, and she will be in awe of the court and of Your Majesty. A younger girl is less apt to become prey to those randy young lordlings who consider it their duty to attempt the seduction of Your Majesty’s maids as a rite of manhood.”

“Hmm,” the queen considered. “You are a practical young woman, Valentina, and I believe you are correct. The question remains: Who shall I pick? There are none whom I would care to honor at this time who have young daughters.” She thought for a moment, then asked, “Do you not have a younger sister, Valentina?”

“I do, dear madam. Her name is Margaret. We call her Maggie. She was just thirteen this past winter. My other two sisters are married and have already served Your Majesty. I have several young cousins who might suit as well as my little sister. Johanna Edwardes is eleven, as is my cousin Velvet’s stepdaughter, Sybilla.”

“Too young,” said the queen. “They are apt to miss their mothers when they are too young. I shall write to your parents to send Mistress Maggie and to Lord Clifford telling him he may have his daughter back as soon as Mistress St. Michael arrives. There! That is settled, and I feel the better for it. Tonight I shall dance as I have not danced in some time. I only wish your handsome father were here, for next to Hatton no one partnered me as well as Conn O’Malley.”

“What’s this, Your Majesty?” asked Sir Walter Ralegh as he approached them. “Do I not partner you with grace and verve?”

“With enthusiasm, perhaps, my Wat-er, but you’ve two left feet, and we both know it.” The queen chuckled.

“I am wounded!” Sir Walter cried.

“The truth is always apt to wound one, Wat-er. ’Tis something I learned early in life,” the queen replied sadly. With Valentina’s help she struggled to her feet. “This grass is damp,” she complained. “Let us begin our walk back to the palace.”

That night Elizabeth Tudor held a great ball at Richmond for the visiting Duc de Nevers. Together they opened the ball, dancing a graceful galliard, and the queen moved with all the lilting grace of a girl of seventeen. She wore a magnificent gown of scarlet silk lavishly trimmed with lace. The sleeves were embroidered with rubies, pearls, and jet beads in the pattern of a writhing dragon. It was rare that the queen forsook her favorite white. A huge starched, sheer linen ruff edged with elegant lace fanned out behind Elizabeth’s head. Her jewelry was ropes of great pearls, a ruby necklace, and bracelets and earbobs of more pearls. On her hands she wore but a single large ruby. She had not looked so well in years.

Valentina wore a beautiful gown of dark green silk with an underskirt of iridescent green-blue. The bodice was sewn with pearls and silver threads, as were the sleeves. Both her neckline and cuffs were lavish with lace. About her neck she wore her fine pearls, and in her hair there were cloth-of-silver roses. Though there were a number of women more magnificently garbed, there was no woman as lovely as Valentina St. Michael.

The French duke danced twice with Valentina. Lord Burke and the Earl of Kempe could not, of course, keep the Duc de Nevers from his choice of a dance partner, but they could dissuade other gentlemen of the court from pursuing Lady Barrows, which they did with vehemence. The queen was much amused. Valentina was not.

“They presume far too much,” she said irritably.

“Will they come to blows over you, I wonder?” the queen asked.

“God’s foot, madam, I hope not!” Valentina looked genuinely shocked.

The queen laughed, and for the first time since Essex’s execution, her laughter held real mirth. “You will give them both a fine time of it, I can see, before you finally decide which one you will wed,” she told Valentina.

“I am not at all certain that I will wed again, dear madam,” Valentina replied.

“My dear,” the queen told her, “you must wed again. It is your duty to do so. England will always need strong sons and daughters, and the way in which you care for the maids and fuss over me tells me that your instinct for mothering is strong. A woman needs a husband. I am certain that your own mother has told you that, and even that impossible creature, your aunt, Skye O’Malley, knows it to be true.”

“I would be my own mistress. Like you, dear madam,” Valentina said.

“My dear child.” And here the queen lowered her voice so that no one else could hear her. “I have lived an unnatural life, and that is the truth. Had my brother Edward lived, married, and had children, had ray poor sister Mary really been capable of giving England an heir, I should have remained simply die Princess Elizabeth. I would have been matched with the proper prince or king or reigning duke and been a wife and mother. But God did not ordain that I survive my youth to be a woman like other women. It was God’s plan for me that I be England’s queen, a reigning queen in her own right. As such, I could not take a husband. What lord would bow a knee to his wife? Such a thing is intolerable. I did not survive my youth to turn the destiny of this land over to someone not born to rule it as I was born to rule it. I sacrificed my womanhood to be England’s queen, but no such sacrifice is demanded of you, my dear. Your future is with a husband and the children you will have together. Oh, happy future, my dear Valentina!”

Deeply touched, Valentina said, “Do you really think it so, dear madam?”

“I do,” said the queen, “and how fortunate you are to have two such fine young men courting you.”

“Perhaps I am,” Valentina replied thoughtfully, “but for now, dear madam, let me stay with you. I would rather be with you than with a husband.”

“I am not unhappy with that decision,” the queen told her. “We will both know when the time is right for you to make your choice and leave me. For now, my dear, enjoy the spirited competition between Lord Burke and the earl. In my lifetime I have had many contending for my favors. ’Tis most flattering to have the gentlemen vying for you.”