Elizabeth rose and swept from the room with dignity despite her wine-splotched gown, but I saw her mouth trembling.
I reflected as we raced to her rooms to pack what we’d unpacked only a day ago, that Mary’s words were nearly the same as the ones my stepfather had thrown at me.
Elizabeth retreated to Hatfield and remained there as ordered, but in a fury. She raged at Mary’s high-handedness and vowed to anyone who would listen that she’d never marry, least of all a Hapsburg courtier.
Curiously, Mary said nothing more about the matter, either in letters or messages, at least not that winter.
March of 1557 brought rains, as well as Philip of Spain back to England.
Mary was in transports of joy to see her husband again, but it turned out that Philip had not come for love of Mary. His purpose was twofold—one, to force the Savoy marriage upon Elizabeth, and more importantly, to persuade Mary to give him an army for his war against France.
The Savoy issue foundered, to Philip’s intense frustration. Philip greatly desired the match, but Mary, astonishingly, abruptly switched her stance to take Elizabeth’s side.
I thought I understood why. Philip wanted to marry Elizabeth to his cousin Savoy in order to keep England under his thumb when Elizabeth inherited the throne. No matter what sins Elizabeth and her followers had committed, Philip assumed Elizabeth part of the succession and England’s potential queen.
Mary did not want Elizabeth in the succession at all, and so for the first time, she disobeyed her husband. The two sisters stood against Philip, to his exasperation, and eventually the matter was dropped.
But to Philip’s second request, aid for the war in France, Mary was compliance itself. Despite her privy council’s fervent advice to the contrary, Mary gave Philip his army. Philip departed at the end of 1557 to fight, taking Lord Robert Dudley and many other prominent gentlemen, including the spurned Duke of Savory, with him.
Philip and the English, with, it must be said, the talents of the Duke of Savoy, won a glorious victory at Saint Quentin in northern France.
Soon after that, disaster struck. Calais, the symbol of English glory for nearly two hundred years, fell in the cold of January 1558.
“It is inconceivable that she has done such a thing,” Elizabeth stormed when she heard this news. “A war led by her damned husband—a man who had the gall before he left to gaze at me with desire in his eyes. As though I were a prized hart to snare. Philip knows his wife is a loss, and I have refused his cousin, so why should he not have me?”
“He would have to get special dispensation,” I pointed out as I sewed demurely. “As you are currently his sister.”
Elizabeth ignored my impertinence. “Mary has driven the last nail into her coffin. She hopes herself with child again, but it is a farce. She is very ill and will not acknowledge it. Serves her right for handing Calais back to France on a platter.”
With that unsympathetic remark, Elizabeth continued raging, vowing to restore Calais to England during her own reign.
The fall of Calais filled me with mixed feelings, because when Mary’s army returned, beaten, bedraggled, and ashamed, Robert Dudley brought James Colby with him.
I did not realize this until I beheld a tall gentleman with dark red hair under a rain-soaked hat, a thin beard on his chin, riding through Hatfield’s gates behind Lord Robert. The man’s left arm hung slightly askew, as though it had been broken and hadn’t healed correctly, and a long scar marred one side of his face.
He dismounted and strode toward me as I stood in the courtyard, trying to decide who the stranger was. Lord Robert bathed me in a sudden grin, and then I realized.
Letting out a shrill scream, I abandoned all decorum and ran straight at James. I’d not seen him in nearly two years, and anything could have happened in that time—my death or his, or he finding a lady in France he liked better than me—but I did not care.
Colby swept me up and held me hard, his arms shaking with the effort of it. He kissed me right there in front of everybody, and I heard Dudley laughing.
“Such a display,” Elizabeth said later when the gentlemen were welcomed home with wine and entertainments. “I believe you were pleased to see your wife, Master Colby.”
Colby did not look in the least embarrassed. He’d worn a warm smile since his arrival, and he’d not moved far from my side.
I could not hold onto him for hours as I longed to, because I had to serve the princess. But I pushed aside all others to fill his wine cup, and he turned that wonderful smile to me each time.
“Devotion is touching,” Elizabeth said, and laughed. “Dear Robin, you must show such devotion to me, or I will think you have forgotten all about me.”
Robert gave her a devastating grin and a mock bow. For the rest of the evening, he served Elizabeth with exaggerated courtesy, and she giggled at him like a girl.
I feared Elizabeth would not allow me to leave her tonight, but she dismissed me without much interest early in the evening. I quickly retired to my chamber to wait for James.
He was not long behind me, and we had a reunion in truth. He lay with me far into the night, the pair of us loving each other with increasing frenzy as we rejoiced in each other. In the small hours of the morning, I curled up next to him, not sleeping, but simply enjoying the warmth of my husband’s body at my side.
Colby did not sleep either, contenting himself with touching and kissing me softly. I ran my hand along his twisted left arm, the skin on the inside of it mottled and smooth.
“It broke,” he said. “In the Tower.”
