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“Well, Lady St. Loe, I'm very proud of you. The ladder of success is climbed one marriage at a time. How the devil did you catch him?”
Bess knew better than to take offense at anything Frances said. “Marcella insists it was my breasts.”
“Perhaps, darling, but I'd be more inclined to think it was the red hair and your resemblance to the queen. He's probably been in love with Elizabeth for years.”
Bess smiled. “I have all his affection now.”
“And all his money and lands, I should hope. Have you ever met his dissolute brother, Edward, the black sheep of the family?”
“No. It is difficult to imagine a dissolute St. Loe.”
“Edward is a vicious swine. That's why Sir William is a model of respectability, to silence the scandals of his brother. Edward married a rich widow after poisoning her old husband. Within a month she, too, was dead, and poison was again rumored. Then he turned his attention to the bride their father had selected for Sir William and married her himself. The family disowned him; that's why Sir William got all the Somerset and Gloucestershire lands when his father died.”
Bess felt disloyal gossiping about the St. Loes. She would ask Will about it. He would tell her the truth; he had too much honor to lie. Bess changed the subject. “How is Catherine liking it at Elizabeth's Court? I never get to see her, since she is always on duty during the day, and I am on duty at night.”
“Poor Catherine. Whatever will happen to her without a husband when I stick my spoon in the wall? I wrote to Queen Mary before she died, asking her to set aside her edict that Catherine not marry. Now I suppose I shall have to write Elizabeth. Bess, if aught should happen to me, will you ask the queen to find a suitable husband for Catherine?”
Bess felt alarm. “Frances, are you ill?”
Frances shrugged her shoulders. “It's the dropsy, I'm afraid. I never seem to pee much these days, no matter how much I drink.”
“Oh, my dear, I am so sorry. I'll get Marcella to brew you some agrimony; I'm sure it will help. Would you like to go to bed?”
Frances winked. “I've spent enough time in bed since I wed my young equerry. Never mind, Bess, at least I shall die with a smile on my face!”
Before Bess knew it, autumn was approaching and Sir William arrived to escort her back to Court at Windsor. He had paid the tuition for young Harry and William Cavendish to go to Eton College, which could be seen from the towers of Windsor Castle. The rest of the children would remain at Chatsworth with Bess's mother, Jane, and Marcella.
The reunion was like living her wedding night all over again, and Bess decided that, when they were back at Court, she would try to gently instruct Sir William to display less sexual excitement and learn more staying power.
The accommodations at Windsor Castle were extremely hospitable, not only for the queen and her attendants, but for Lord and Lady St. Loe. Their apartment was more spacious and luxurious than at Westminster Palace and even had two bedchambers. They often entertained their friends at Court, and once a week her sons visited from Eton College, which was directly across the river.
As the months went by, every hour that Elizabeth was not closeted with Cecil, she spent with Robin Dudley. Bess was mildly surprised that here at Windsor he had gradually gained complete and open access to Elizabeth's chambers. The secrecy had fallen away. The couple rode together every morning in Windsor Great Park; they hunted, hawked, shot at the archery butts, and strolled hand in hand along the grassy banks of the river.
When Bess questioned Mary Sidney about the progress of the queen's foreign marriage negotiations, Mary let her in on a secret. “My brother's wife, Amy, suffers from a malady of the breast. The doctors say she has less than a year to live. All these marriage negotiations with France, Spain, and Scotland are a sham to buy them time. Robin says Elizabeth will wed him when he is free.”
The following week, when neither Bess nor her husband were on duty and they could spend the night together in their own chambers, Bess brought up the subject of Elizabeth and Robin being lovers.
“Bess, you are quite wrong. The queen is a virgin.”
She looked at him in astonishment. He had been Elizabeth's captain of the guard when Tom Seymour was her lover. How could he delude himself?
“Men find her enchanting and gather about her like bees around a honeypot with their sexual fantasies. But she would never allow an intimacy of any kind.”
Bess studied him for a moment. It came to her in a flash that he was one of those men who had sexual fantasies about Elizabeth. And then a second thought occurred to her. When Sir William married her, he had been a virgin, or next thing to it! His trouble did not stem from shyness; he was completely inexperienced. In a boy it would have been delightful; in a middle-aged man it was not. Bess smiled her secret smile. She would have to take him in hand, as Frances Grey had once indelicately put it.
“Will, darling, would you help me with my gown?”
He was beside her in a moment, his eyes alight with eagerness. “Are you sure you don't want me to call your maid?”
She slid her arms about his neck. “I want you to undress me, darling. I love the feel of your hands upon my body.”
Bess had never been disrobed as quickly in her life. He pulled the silk nightgown over her nakedness. “Slip into bed, Elizabeth,” he said urgently, moving to blow out the candles.
“No, Will, I don't want to get into bed, and please leave the candles burning so I can watch you undress.”
He licked his lips in a fever of excitement and tore off his doublet and linen shirt. He hesitated, then his hands moved on.
When he hesitated, Bess moved toward him and pushed him down on the bed. She removed his boots and her hand moved to his codpiece.
