life. Even Thomas Seymour had never excited her as Robert did; she doubted whether, had Thomas lived, he could have held her affection as did this man. For all Robert’s weaknesses she loved him now as once she had loved him for his strength. In those glorious days of youth when he had been the hero of the tiltyard, she had loved him as the most perfect and virtuous man she knew. Now she knew him to be neither perfect nor virtuous, yet she loved him still. She was the very contented guest at Kenilworth.
Lettice’s thoughts were all of him. She wanted Robert for her lover, but she was no Douglass to be taken up and cast aside. If Robert Dudley became her lover she must become the Countess of Leicester. She brooded and smiled, for she was a woman who, when she wanted something badly, had found that it invariably fell into her hands.
The days were hot and sultry. The Queen kept within the castle until five in the evening, when she would ride forth with a great company of ladies and gentlemen to hunt in the surrounding country. There was always a pageant to greet her on her return to Kenilworth Park, and each day’s pageant strove to be more grand, more splendid than the last.
But the first day’s pleasure was clouded as the days passed. Perhaps she was tired of listening to speeches concerning her own virtues. Robert was preoccupied, and she had an uneasy feeling that this was not only due to the vast pains he was taking to entertain her. He was looking worn and strained.
She brought her horse close to his and asked: “Are you not sleeping well, my lord?”
He started, and such a look of guilt came into his face that her fears were increased. She suspected an entanglement with a woman. She knew Robert’s nature. It was to his eternal credit that he had remained outwardly faithful to her; but surely at such a time he would not dare to think of another woman.
“You start!” she said harshly. “Is it a crime then, not to sleep?”
“It should be a crime to be laid at my door, Your Majesty, if you did not sleep whilst under my roof.”
“We were not discussing my rest, but yours.”
“I feared that Your Majesty had been put in mind of the matter because of your own ill rest. I beg of you to tell me if your chamber be not to your liking. We will have it changed. We will have an apartment refurnished for you.”
She tapped him sharply on the arm. “A plain question demands a plain answer, my lord; and it should be given its reward … unless it is feared that the giving might not please.”
“My dearest lady, I would not wish to trouble you with my ailments.”
“So you are sick again?”
“It is naught but an internal humor.”
She laughed aloud in her relief. “You eat too much, my lord.”
“I could not expect Your Majesty to do full justice to my table unless I did so also. You might think I disdained that which had been prepared for your royal palate.”
“Then ’tis just a sickness of the body. I feared it might be an indisposition of the mind that kept you awake at night.”
Sensing her suspicion, he said: “Your Majesty shall know the truth. It is a woman.”
He saw her quick intake of breath and he turned to her with all the passionate fervor of which he was capable. “Knowing that she whom I love lies beneath my roof,” he said, “how could I sleep at night unless she lay with me.”
The Queen whipped her horse and galloped ahead; but he had seen the pleased smile on her face.
“My lord,” she said over her shoulder, “you are offensive. Pray do not ride beside me. I do not wish to scold my host, yet so great is my anger that I fear I shall do so.”
Nevertheless he kept beside her. “Your Majesty … nay … Elizabeth, sweetest Elizabeth as you were to me in the Tower … you have forgotten, but I shall remember till I die. You put too great a strain upon me.”
She spurred on her horse; and she did not speak to him again, but all her good humor was restored; and when the hart was caught alive in a pool, she cried: “Do not kill him. I am in a merciful mood. I will grant him his life, on condition that he loses