“Indeed,” Elizabeth answered. She imitated Mary’s cheerfulness, not objecting when Mary threaded her hand through the crook of Elizabeth’s arm.
“What a lovely gown,” Mary said. She looked over my gold and white creation as she arranged Elizabeth on a stool at her feet. The jewels bedecking Mary’s garment and fingers flashed in the candlelight, and a heavy sapphire crucifix hung from her neck. Elizabeth had regulated herself to subdued pearls on her pale gown and a few unadorned silver rings.
“My seamstress is quite clever.” Elizabeth nodded to me.
“Ah, yes, I remember her. The niece of your gentlewoman, Katherine Ashley, is she not?”
“Indeed.”
Mary glanced at me without much interest, although she must be remembering how Aunt Kat had been hoarding malicious pamphlets against her. Because I had been at Somerset House shortly before the pamphlets were discovered there, I was guilty by association.
Mary had arrested and tortured my husband and consigned me to several months in Fleet Prison, but other than giving me a slight frown of disapproval, she ignored me.
The queen and Elizabeth shared a meal, and both Elizabeth’s gentlewomen and Mary’s waited on them. Jane Dormer greeted me pleasantly enough, even though she’d heard of my scandalous secret marriage, to a heretic no less. Jane did not have as much sourness in her as my own parents, though, and she seemed to forgive me.
Elizabeth and Mary supped as we carried dishes to and fro, poured wine, and performed various other chores to make the royal ladies comfortable. Elizabeth was as graceful as a swan, her white gown showing her red-gold hair and gray eyes to advantage.
Mary had covered her plump body with purple velvet, sleeves turned back to reveal bright gold silk, and a stomacher too tight for her broad waist. Vast quantities of sapphires studded her headdress, echoing those on her crucifix.
“His majesty the king sends you his fondest regards,” Mary said as she munched a sweetmeat. Elizabeth had finished her meal and sat quietly.
I half-expected Elizabeth to retort, “He does, does he?” but she only inclined her head and murmured her thanks.
Mary continued. “You well have cause to thank my husband, for he has kept your welfare and your future in mind above all things.”
“Indeed?” Elizabeth asked, a touch of acid in her voice.
Mary missed her sarcasm. “His last letter to me outlines a fine idea. His Grace has entered into discussions with the Duke of Savoy, and he wishes to offer the duke as a husband to you.”
Chapter 25
Mary’s words dropped into silence. Elizabeth’s colorless lids slid over her eyes once, twice, while we all waited for her response.
“Savoy?” Elizabeth inquired in a voice like frost. “The dispossessed Prince of Piedmont, ruler of nothing?”
The temperature of Mary’s reply dipped as well. “Emmanuel Philibert is courteous and a man of chivalry. He is neither a boy nor an old man but ripe for marriage. I would think any young woman would be grateful for his offer.”
“Not too old, not too young. This is a recommendation?” Elizabeth scoffed. “The king your husband has him on a tight lead. Savoy is dependent on Philip for everything.”
“Philip thinks much of you,” Mary said in annoyance. She lifted her goblet, found it empty and snapped her fingers at Jane, who hurried forward with fervent apologies to refill it. “Marrying Savoy will strengthen your chances of remaining in the succession,” she told Elizabeth. “After the fruit of my body with my husband, of course.”
“It seems I would owe much to Spain and the Empire then,” Elizabeth responded tartly.
Mary slammed down her cup, wine slopping over. “A woman needs a husband. You are young enough to find the married state pleasing, young enough to bear children.” Her voice broke over the last word.
“The unmarried state is the one that pleases me,” Elizabeth declared.
Mary drew a breath, as though forcing herself to cool her temper. “You have no idea what you mean. God has seen fit to bless you with this gift, as he blessed me with the king.”
“And I see what such a blessing has done,” Elizabeth returned. “You brought in a foreign prince to ruin the nation of England, and you wish me to follow in your footsteps? A fine example you have set—the people mock you and throw things at you in the streets, because your husband is a Hapsburg.”
Mary shrieked. She half-rose and backhanded Elizabeth across the face, knocking over her own goblet at the same time. Elizabeth’s head snapped back, and wine arced over her white dress to stain it like blood.
“How dare you,” Mary shouted at her. “You impudent, ungrateful daughter of a … Jezebel. Blood will tell. Get out of my sight and out of London. Ride back to your house and do not put one foot out of it until I give you leave. Go!”
Eyes blazing, jewels flashing, Mary flung out one arm, an imperious finger pointing at the door. She was breathing hard, her flushed face streaked with perspiration.
Mary’s ladies rushed to the queen at the same time Elizabeth’s ladies hurried to open the doors, all of us regarding one another with frightened eyes.
