Page 25 of Love, Will

“The Queen will not be happy,” he sighed. “Nor Lord Burleigh.”

I remained silent, looking at the same point on the horizon as he was.

“But I will be happy, William. I will be,” he uttered while turning his head to the left, towards me. He expelled the words more for his benefit than mine, as if we wanted to say it out loud so he can hear their truth himself.

We stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment, not saying anything but at the same time, both displaying more than intended. Henry’s gaze felt soft, accepting and scared all at once, while my eyes spoke with concern and happiness. He was making a sacrifice, he would be resented at court and his very title might be in danger, but through it all, we were happy. I knew how wrong my feelings had become, but I felt glad to have Henry all to myself for a bit longer, to be able to enjoy him and be a part of his bachelor life.

That evening, while Henry remained with the Countess who also announced her marriage, I excused myself and returned to my chamber to lay my thoughts on paper. I remember breaking three quills from the nerves pulsing through my veins, spilling a bottle of ink over all my written pages, and cutting myself with the sharpening knife.

Still, by the morning, I came up with the first pages ofThe Rape of Lucrece. I laid bare all the feelings I possessed but was not allowed to have and tried to banish that growing desire from my heart and body. Henry would not be my Lucrece.

I spent the next few days pouring my heart into every line of this new poem, filling it with all the dark thoughts that clouded my mind and spending all the hours I was not called by the Earl tied to my desk.

One evening, I returned into my chamber to work on it some more and discovered the pages gone. I looked everywhere, at every desk, in the study, under the bed and the pillows, even inside the embroidered white cotton shirts I was recently gifted, with no success. All my thoughts, all my troubles and this dark desire I had transposed on those pages could be in anyone’s hand.

How had I been so stupid to just leave such creation on the study where any maid or footman could reach them? I called Keith to ask if he knew anything about them, hoping that a maid looked at the wrinkled pages and threw them away, thinking they were junk.

“Yes, Master Shakespeare, the Earl requested the pages early this afternoon.”

“The Earl?” I mumbled, panicked.

“Yes, Master, he is reading as we speak in his room by the fireplace. He just ordered some more tea. He hasn’t stopped reading for three hours. I believe your work is good, Master,” Keith smiled reassuringly, as if he thought my anxiety crumbled over whether Henry liked my work.

Little did he know what I put in those pages. I knew I must see the Earl and give him a reason, try to find an excuse as to why I wrote such scandalous lines. I thanked Keith and headed towards Henry’s room on the first floor. On my way there I met the maid, carrying the tea and honeyed pastries he requested earlier so I took the tray as the perfect excuse to go into his room, an action I had never done before nor was I allowed to, with the plan to retrieve my filthy work.

I knocked and heard Henry’s murmur, inviting me in, so I slowly opened the door and found him sitting on the side of the chair, his feet resting on another small seat, as if he was lying on the bed, reading. He did not raise his eyes from my pages when hearing the clinking of the tea set and waved a hand towards the table, asking me to put the tray there.

“Of course,” I drawled.

Henry jumped and almost fell from his seat. “Will, what are you doing here?” Then he looked at the tray in my hands. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, confused.

“I happened to meet the maid on my way here, so I brought you the tea myself,” I whispered, feeling the need to bring back the calmness that surrounded him before my arrival. I was embarrassed, so the only thing I thought to do was bite my lip, which made Henry smile.

“How can I assist, dear Will?” he sat back on the chair, crossing his legs and looking at me with a pleased smirk on his face.

“I was told my pages are here,” I murmured again. I could not find my voice around him, not while he looked like that. The way he pierced me with his gaze, so pleased with himself, with what he had caused me to do, to write.

“Indeed, they are,” he snarled. “I did not know your thoughts were so… passionate,” he said while taking a sip of the tea I had just served him.

I turned crimson and prayed for the ground to open an immense hole and bury me forever.

“The work is not finished, I merely…”

“Will, you do not have to justify yourself,” he gasped out. “It is brilliant work. I cannot stop reading it.” He smiled, which made me feel more comfortable.

I relaxed slightly and tried to return the smile, but managed a barely visible curl of my upper lip.

“Will, can you please do me a favour?” he asked shyly while staring at my pages.

“Before finishing this.” He stopped himself from saying anything further.

“Before I finish this...” I repeated and waited for his reply.

“No, please forget about it, it is wrong of me to ask.”

I remained still and silent, not planning to move until he told me. Henry sighed, finally blurting out, “Before you finish this, would it be possible to write a small play for mother’s wedding?”

All my muscles relaxed and I could breathe again. I smiled. “Of course,” I replied excitedly.

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