shall stand between me and my desires.”
It was bold and it was what was expected of him.
He kissed her as they stepped into the house, and he kissed her as though he cared not who might see.
Amy told her maid Pinto what had happened. Amy could not keep anything from Pinto.
“Pinto,” she cried, “I am swooning. Bring a fan and fan me. I know not what is to become of me.”
Amy lay on her bed, half laughing, half crying, while Pinto tried to soothe her frivolous young mistress.
“Now, now, sweeting, now, now! What is it? You must not be so excited. It’s that young man, I’ll wager.”
“Clever Pinto!” said Amy with a smothered laugh.
“Oh, Mistress Amy, what has happened? What have you done? He is not for you.”
“You must not let him hear you say that, Pinto. He would be angry with you. He is for me, Pinto. He says it, and he will be very angry with any who gainsay it.”
Pinto felt sick with the horror of this. The family might think it great good fortune to have that young man as their guest. Pinto was a wise woman. She watched him often, and always with a fearful absorption. “What have you done?” she demanded. “Tell me … everything.”
“I was in the meadow with him … making a daisy chain.”
Pinto sighed and shook her head. “How many times has it begun thus?” she cried. “Making a daisy chain! There is some evil in daisy chains. So simple! So innocent! Thus was Eve when the serpent came along.”
“He says he will marry me, Pinto.”
“Never!”
“He is determined to do so.”
“They are always determined at first. It is only afterward that their determination wavers.”
“You misjudge him … and me.”
“Then you are still my little virgin?”
Amy nodded. “He swears he will marry me. Not even his father will stop him.”
“A man who could deal so swiftly with the Norfolk rising not stop his son making the wrong marriage!”
“But this is the right marriage, Pinto.”
“Nay, dearest.”
“He says so and he is always right.”
“I like this not, Mistress Amy.”
“I shall never allow you to leave me, Pinto, wherever I go.”
“I should think not!” said Pinto.
Pinto looked at the sixteen-year-old girl who had never been far from her country home. What did she know of the way of the world? And the young man had the air of knowing much.
Perhaps he would go away. He could not mean this talk of marriage. Pinto would know how to comfort Mistress Amy when he went. There was no fear that Robert Dudley would marry Amy Robsart. Fear of it? Yes, fear. For if innocent little Amy married Robert Dudley, how would it end?
Surprisingly the Earl of Warwick gave his consent to the marriage of his son with the daughter of John Robsart. Robert’s powers of persuasion were great, and his father recognized that determination which he knew so well because he himself possessed it. Robert was his fifth son, so his marriage was not the important matter of that of a first-born; the Robsarts were rich. Moreover at this time the Earl had great matters to which he must attend. Every day seemed to bring the fall of Somerset nearer and he, Warwick, was preparing himself to become Lord Protector. The matter of a fifth’s son’s marriage therefore seemed less important than it might have seemed at another time.
Jane Dudley, who could not accustom herself to her grand title, contemplated Robert’s marriage with happiness.
“It is a true love match,” she said, “and that is what I would have chosen for Robin. Amy is a pretty girl, a little simple because she has been bred in the country, but I like that. Robert will spend much time in the country, and the country life—away from the plotting and planning of the Court—is a good life.”
Jane pictured herself visiting them, resting in the lovely manor house, playing with their children, showing dear Amy how to make certain special preserves which could not be left to the serving maids, and how to grow herbs which could be used for flavoring and medicines. She saw that happy life for Amy and Robert which she had hoped might be hers and John’s.
She scarcely saw John these days. But how unreasonable it was to expect him to give his time to her. She had served her purpose. She had borne thirteen children to enrich the Dudley fortunes and, although six of them had not survived, seven was a goodly number, particularly when they were