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Robin took the queen's bejeweled fingers to his lips. “Nay, madam, virtue is its own punishment.”
The pair was engaged in open flirtation, and Bess knew that by tomorrow the Court would be abuzz with tales of Dudley's dalliance with the queen. Had Elizabeth chosen him because he was safely married, or was there an intense sexual attraction between them? Bess remembered what that felt like and was thankful it was something she herself would never experience again. A grand passion was all-consuming and far too emotional. She was a thirty-year-old widow and mother of six children, with a crushing financial burden hanging over her. She had no room in her life for such nonsense.
As Bess moved to the side of the dance floor, carefully observing everyone, she saw that dalliance seemed to preoccupy every man and woman present tonight. She was glad that that part of her life was over. Bess turned as she sensed eyes upon her. She was relieved to see that it was the Earl of Huntingdon from Derbyshire. Bess greeted him warmly, then wished she had not when his glance became speculative.
“I have been frankly worried for your well-being, my dear. A lady with no outlet for her natural needs becomes thin and irritable.” He bent closer to her ear. “Coitus keeps a woman plump and content.”
Bess glanced coldly at his wine cup. “Then I suggest you hurry north to your countess before she fades away —or puts horns on you.” Bess moved away quickly, wishing she could retire, but protocol prevented her from leaving before the queen. She moved down the room toward the doors and found herself beside Sir William St. Loe.
“Lady Cavendish, I am deeply sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, my lord.” He was the only man in the room decent enough to offer her sympathy. Cavendish had once told her St. Loe was a gentleman who would never besmirch a lady's reputation, and Bess was grateful for the respect he showed her. In fact, he was the only man in the room with whom she felt safe.
“Allow me to find you a chair, Lady Cavendish; Her Majesty will be dancing for hours.”
Bess was grateful for his thoughtfulness as they sat down and began an easy conversation.
“Happily, the queen's circumstances have changed dramatically since last we met, Lady Cavendish. You restored her will to live and gave her the courage she needed.” They were both intimates of Elizabeth, who had seen her at her worst.
“You, too, suffered the Tower.”
“I considered it not only my duty, but my privilege.”
Bess wondered if St. Loe was in love with Elizabeth. He had been in her household for many years and remained unmarried. But of course he had been chosen for the post because he was a polished gentleman with impeccable manners. He would never presume, unlike others. Bess's glance traveled down the room to Robin Dudley.
She smiled at St. Loe, curious about his age. He must be in his forties, yet he looked much the same as he always had. His closely clipped beard and mustache were graying, but other than that, he was still whipcord-slim with a proud military bearing.
“I am sorry your own circumstances are not as happy as the queen's tonight, Lady Cavendish. I sincerely hope fortune smiles upon you in the New Year.”
Fortune? Is he alluding to my financial woes?
“Sir William, I almost dread the New Year coming.”
“Ask the queen to help you, my lady. She can be most generous to those she trusts.”
“I could not. There will be too many grasping hands, too many parasites at Court.”
“You are special, my lady. I have no doubt that when the celebrations and the coronation are behind her, the queen will remember your plight.”
Amen to that! Bess prayed fervently.
It was difficult for her to sleep in the strange bed, and Bess lay for hours thinking of the number of men who had made advances to her that night. Not once had her pulse raced, not one of them had made her heart beat faster. She was completely indifferent to the male sex. She doubted she would ever be attracted to a man again. The part inside a woman that responded to the male of the species was dead in her.
The New Year's masquerade was to be a lavish affair with five times as many guests as the previous night. The Great Hall, the Guard Chamber, and the Presence Chamber would be needed to accommodate the crowds.
Bess mentally reviewed the goddesses of mythology and pulled a face. She thought of Isis, goddess of the moon, but Lettice Knollys told her that was going to be her costume. Finally, Bess decided she would be Undine, the water nymph. Over an aqua-colored underdress, she stitched floating green veils and wore a headdress with trailing iridescent strands of silver and green beads. They looked nothing like real seaweed, but surely goddesses were expected to be fantastical rather than realistic.
The chambers were so crowded with revelers that Bess soon became separated from Mary and Lettice. She declined so many dances, she lost count. Many of the costumes were so good, their owners must have planned them for weeks. Some were extremely clever, like Janus, the god of two faces, but others had absolutely nothing to do with mythology.
Bess was highly diverted, trying to guess who was behind the masks, which was difficult tonight because the chambers were filled with scores of French, Spanish, and Swedish envoys, all come to woo Queen Elizabeth into alliances of one kind or another.
A tall figure in a crimson silk devil's costume bowed before her and took her hand to lead her into the dance. Bess pulled back and refused, but the man in the satanic mask did not seem to understand the meaning of the word no. Bess saw his jet-black hair and assumed he was a Spaniard. It seemed easier to capitulate and dance with him rather than make a scene. Then slowly it dawned on her that a Catholic Spaniard would never dress as the devil.
“Who are you?” Bess puzzled.
“Can you not guess, my little nun?”
Bess remembered her nun's costume from years before and was gripped by a terrible suspicion. She reached up to pull down his mask and found Lord Talbot's glittering blue eyes laughing at her. Refusing to be goaded, she quickly snuffed out the spark she felt before it ignited her anger. “You need no mask to impersonate the devil. Your own face is exactly like Lucifer's,” she said lightly.
