In the end, Alexander declared his love to be immortal and everlasting but came forward to set the young woman, his own true heart, free, so she may live with the artist with whom she had fallen in love. At this, young Bess Throckmorton turned to look at handsome Walter Raleigh, who shot a wicked smirk back in her direction.

Ah, Bess, it has not been long enough since your cousin badly handled the queen for you to be thinking of Raleigh, I thought.

As soon as the main player came near to the front of the stage, I could see who it was. Thomas! How had I not recognized him behind the paint and mask? I sighed with relief, reassured. ’Twas not that he was avoiding me; he had taken up a place as an actor. When he took his mask off along with the other players, everyone stood and applauded and he glowed in the triumph of having fooled them, for the moment, with his performance. Several glanced at me to see if I had been surprised, as indeed I had been!

Applauding loudly, too, but looking at Essex, was Sofia. She would not meet my eye, but instead made her way to the charming, handsome earl, who was not only the queen’s darling but, owing to the tragic situation of his mother, which brought sympathy from all but the queen, the rest of the courtiers. He spoke with her kindly, but it was clear she was more interested in him than he in her. The queen caught my eye with a sharp, warning look. I would have to speak with Sofia again.

The second night, we had arranged for one of the Queen’s Men to please her with a comedy, which she loved nearly as much as romance. Richard Tarleton, a witty jester, was one of Thomas’s greatest discoveries. Tarleton mimicked and mocked and strolled and charmed. When someone from the audience threw a phrase out at him, he was able to twist it to both tease the shouter and please the queen with his banter. From the second he poked his head round the curtain, the audience began to laugh.

Midway through the performance, the queen’s little dog escaped her grasp and ran upon the stage. Tarleton shrieked as the tiny spaniel came toward him, bewildered. “Majesty, Majesty!” Tarleton called out. “Please call off your mastiff or I am undone!”

Elizabeth laughed until she had tears, and at the end of his performance she said, “Take away this knave, lest he continue to force us to laugh in such an unregal manner!”

That night, after the guests had retired, I rubbed ointment into my husband’s back and told him he had done a fine job. “I should not but wonder that she does knight you for plays and jesting,” I said. “And that is not a bad service to offer to someone who is so often weighed down.”

“Perhaps not,” he said. “I know it is the way of things, but to see young Essex swaggering in his earldom does not sit well with me.”

I was weary of his complaints and I did not hide that. He was weary of entertaining the court, and he did not hide that, either. We kissed perfunctorily and separated for sleep.

•   •   •

Shortly after our entertainments at Sheen, our good friend Thomas Radcliffe, the Earl of Sussex, died.

I made my way to Mary Radcliffe’s chambers before I took my leave to prepare for my lying-in. I greeted her, both of us wearing black, with a long embrace.

“I am sorry for the loss of your brother, my friend. The queen has so few good councilors, those who loved her long, and well, and put her interests above their own,” I said. “I shall send a heartfelt letter to Lady Sussex before I leave court and keep you in my prayers.”

Mary embraced me in return; though we were the same age, she looked older than I. Perhaps it was the loss of her brother, or the fact that she had no husband to comfort her in her sorrows. “She has spoken to me of his constancy,” she said. “As, one by one, her trusted friends and councilors grow old, and infirm, she will rely yet more upon those of us who remain.”

I took my box of herbal preparations with me and placed the queen’s jewelry into the close care of the Countess of Nottingham.

“They’ll be fine, Helena, don’t fuss so,” she said.

I thought upon who would carry the queen’s train in my absence; who would have to decide who could enter the queen’s Privy and Presence Chambers. In a very real way, I controlled access to the sovereign. Although I looked forward to going home, it would be untrue to say that I would not miss court, or my high place there, for the few weeks I was gone. I’d grown accustomed to, and enjoyed, being the second highest lady in the land, and the closeness to the queen.

The day before I left court came word that Prince William of Orange, in the Netherlands, had been betrayed by one of his servants on behalf of the Spanish and had been foully murdered. The Netherlands were engaged in their own struggle to free their Protestant nation from the grip of the Spaniards, and Philip of Spain had put a large bounty on William’s head. The fact that access had been gained by someone close to the prince filled me with foreboding for my own sovereign.

The murderer was meted out a terrible penalty: burned with a hot iron, flesh torn from his bones, quartered and disemboweled while still alive, and finally beheaded, proving that neither side heeded the Lord Jesus’ words: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”

I returned to my home to rest, attend to my family, and bear my child.

The second day at Sheen, I slept late before rising to spend time with my children and prepare for the birth of my child. The midwife was already in attendance, so I hoped to have some time to consider candidates for governess. I had already dismissed my children’s current governess, who was not as well educated as I would have liked and tended to bend to my daughter Elizabeth’s will, which would not do.

I sat in the front room, by the fire, writing a list of potential governesses and making note to ask the current nurse if she might recommend another, as we would need several new servants in the children’s household with the addition of a new babe. I glanced up and saw, riding across the lawn and toward the stable, Thomas, with Sofia riding pillion behind him on the same horse, his bow tied behind them.

I had never seen anyone ride pillion with Thomas save myself.

I had not been able to hunt or ride with Thomas for some months due to my pregnancy, and though we’d enjoyed bow hunting in the past, we’d not had much time for that due to our court duties. I’d been surprised, actually, that he’d returned from the north so early in the week, but he said he’d wanted to be here for the babe’s birth.

The two of them walked toward our house, and when they arrived, Sofia glanced at me, quickly, through her lashes and then retired to her room to ready herself for her instructor, who would arrive presently.

Thomas came and kissed me on both cheeks then placed his hands on my stomach, and our child. “Are you well?” he asked.

I nodded. “The babe will be here soon.” I let a moment slip by. “I saw that you were hunting with Sofia this morning.”

“Yes,” he said. “She’d indicated she’d like to learn how, and I offered a first lesson as I was home this day. Is that all right?”

What could I answer? It was innocent enough, and she was given to my care. “You rode pillion?” I asked.

“Once we arrived at the park, she said her horse was not tame enough for her,” he said. “I left him tied up and sent a servant for him afterward.”

“Be that as it may,” I said, “I shouldn’t like to see that again.”

He shrugged, and I went to speak with my cousin. “I see you went hunting with Thomas this morning,” I said.

“Yes, it was very kind of him to take me,” she responded, never averting her gaze.

“It’s not appropriate for an unmarried woman to accompany a married man without escort,” I said.

“Oh, surely I am safe with your husband!” She neatly turned responsibility from herself to Thomas, though I supposed there was blame to divide. Her eyes were wide and her smile well drawn, and I felt like a foolish matron striking out in unearned jealousy, though my heart told me otherwise.

Three nights hence my pangs grew closer and I knew our child was about to be born. I was a practiced mother by this time, and until the very end I was able to think upon other matters. Near the babe’s birth, I made a decision to set about, with purpose, finding a husband for Sofia. Once I’d decided upon that, I felt peace and calm until I was engulfed in the pain of pushing my child into the world.

She arrived in silence, and for a moment, I thought that perhaps she did not live. But she did. The midwife brought her to me and she looked at me with adoring eyes, and a silent smile. I named her Bridget after the truest friend I’d ever had, and Thomas agreed.

A month or so after Bridget was born, I engaged new nurses and a governess and then returned to court. Thomas was sent to Ireland on behalf of the crown; by now, preparing him to journey was a well-trod path. When he returned in November, I told him that we had been invited to Wilton, in Salisbury, the home of the Earl of Pembroke, just after the new year. The Wiltshire Nobility and gentry was holding a charity horse race; the home Thomas had purchased so long ago, Langford House, was just south of the city of Salisbury, eight miles from Wilton House. We were both fond of the Pembrokes; Henry Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, was the son of Anne Parr, William’s sister. His wife, Mary Sidney Herbert, countess of Pembroke, was a niece of Robert Dudley. She was also the sister of Philip Sidney, the poet Sofia had quoted to me.

“I shall look forward to that!” he said, and took my hand. Pembroke’s father-in-law, Sir Henry Sidney, was Lord President of Wales and an especially trustworthy friend to the queen. I thought perhaps Sofia would like to meet the poet himself, and the Pembrokes’ Welsh friends and relatives were certain to be visiting Wilton for the event.