at Gotley the week before. It soon became apparent from whom he inherited his character. Mary Villiers is every bit as ambitious and ruthless as her son, but clever, too. She dissembled so skilfully that, by the time we took our leave, the King declared her a perfect model of motherhood.’
‘He has little enough to compare her with,’ Frances observed drily. ‘He hardly knew his own mother and did not trouble to observe his queen’s efforts in that regard.’
Thomas smiled weakly. ‘That may be true. But it seems that, in His Majesty’s eyes, everyone associated with Villiers is as faultless as the wretch himself. He has even managed to advance his brothers, though they are strangers at court.’
‘The King’s obsessions burn brightly but are soon extinguished,’ Frances reminded him. ‘Many believed that Somerset was unassailable, yet he now clings to favour with his fingertips.’
Her husband fetched a deep sigh and rubbed his forehead. He looked utterly exhausted. Frances rose to her feet and held out her hand. ‘Come to bed, my love,’ she said gently. ‘The King can spare you for one evening – he has company enough to divert him.’
Thomas seemed uncertain, but then his shoulders sagged with relief. ‘You are right. And I must be up early tomorrow for the hunt.’ He stood and drew her to him, kissing her deeply. ‘But do not think to sleep just yet.’
CHAPTER 7
6 September
‘Well played, Your Grace!’
The Earl of Pembroke’s voice rang out across the bowling green. William Herbert was a small, stocky man with a high forehead and a dark, pointed beard. His small, beady eyes flitted from the King to his favourite, who was standing close by. Behind them, Somerset was a brooding presence.
Thomas stepped forward to take his turn. He looked more rested than he had when his wife had first arrived at court and had slept much better with her at his side. Although he still insisted that she must return to Tyringham at the earliest opportunity, he could not disguise how much comfort he drew from her presence. Frances watched as he drew the ball back with a steady arm, then released it so that it rolled, straight and true, down the centre of the green. There was a soft tap as it clipped the edge of the jack, followed by polite applause.
‘Your husband is greatly skilled, Lady Frances,’ observed her companion.
‘I wonder that yours does not play, madam.’
The Countess of Somerset formed her pretty mouth into a smile and rested her hands lightly upon her swollen belly. ‘He enjoys observing how the game will play out.’
Frances knew she was no longer talking of bowls. She decided it was safer to change the subject, given their proximity to Villiers and his friends. ‘I must congratulate you. When do you expect your confinement to begin?’
The countess flinched at ‘confinement’, but she soon recovered herself. It was her first child – perhaps she was anxious. ‘Next month, if my physician has it right,’ she replied. ‘My husband has ordered Sherborne to be made ready.’
Raleigh’s beloved castle, Frances remembered. James had bestowed it upon his new favourite a few years earlier. She wondered if he would allow Somerset to retain it once he had been ousted from court, as seemed more likely with every day that passed. They lapsed into silence and Frances pretended to focus on the game. Villiers was taking his turn now. She saw James’s eyes roving over his lithe body as he bent to pick up the ball. Without warning, he sent a blistering shot down the green. There was a loud crack as the balls were scattered in all directions.
‘Bravo, Steenie!’ the King cried, then strode forward to embrace the young man.
Frances had soon heard about the affectionate name James had bestowed upon Villiers. It was derived from St Stephen, who had the face of an angel. She and her companion watched as the King kissed his favourite on both cheeks, then whispered something in his ear. Sir George assumed a shocked expression, his long fingers pressed to his mouth, before they both collapsed with laughter.
‘Our game is at an end,’ the King declared. ‘We will retire to our chambers for a time.’
The assembled company made their obeisance as he took Villiers’s arm and began to walk slowly from the green. Frances waited, head bowed, for them to pass.
‘Ah, Lady Frances, I heard ye had returned.’
Her scalp prickled at the King’s voice. ‘Yes, Your Grace – for a time at least.’