Page 35 of Eloise and the Queen
Elizabeth’s friends, on the other hand, began to enter the married state with alacrity. In the spring of 1550 Elizabeth learned that Robert Dudley was to wed a young lady of Norfolk, one Amy Robsart. Elizabeth would attend the ceremony, as would Edward, her brother.
She and I traveled together in early June to the wedding, which was to be held at the palace at Richmond—the benefit of having the new Lord Protector as one’s father. The weather had turned warm, and soft air brought the scent of new growth from the fields beyond the roads.
“Sweet Robin needs cash, and he must needs marry it,” Elizabeth informed me as we supped in a wayside inn’s private chamber. “A fifth son can expect little from his father, for all that man’s lofty position.” She sniffed. “Lord Protector might mean he has a larger purse, but he holds the purse strings all the more tightly.”
It was clear Elizabeth did not approve of this marriage. She’d known Robert—or Robin as she liked to call him—for most of their life. Whenever Elizabeth had visited her father and Queen Catherine as a child, she and Robert had studied together. Robert had loved mathematics and astronomy, Elizabeth Latin and Greek. Though I’d paid little attention to Robert at the time, I recognized that he’d been charming even then, with his lopsided smile, dark good looks, and his devotion to Elizabeth.
The two were close in age—they liked to pretend they’d been born on the exact same day in 1533, but in truth Robert was about a year older, now eighteen to Elizabeth’s seventeen. They liked one another well, and after Elizabeth had made her quiet return to court, they’d renewed their friendship.
It had pleased me to see her with Robert at Edward’s gatherings, sharing dances and sometimes riding out together on the many hunts the royal family seemed to indulge in.
Elizabeth showed none of the strange infatuation with Robert that she’d given Seymour, although both men had a similar studied charm. Robert seemed a bit more practical than Seymour had been, more resigned to his place as younger son of a powerful father.
I was surprised—as many were—at Robert’s choice in Amy Robsart. I’d glimpsed her various times throughout my life, and while she was pretty enough, she had none of the intellectual robustness of Elizabeth. She barely glanced at Robert as we gathered the day before the ceremony at Richmond. But of course, as Elizabeth had told me, her father was wealthy, and Robert would gain control of that wealth once they were wed.
Elizabeth did not deign to speak to Amy, that young lady being nothing more than the daughter of a country squire, albeit a well-off one. Elizabeth had bestowed a few small gifts on her via her ladies, and would congratulate her at the ceremony, but their worlds certainly did not mix.
The ball the night before the wedding was sumptuous. Warwick spared no expense to marry off his son, pleased Robert had found a young woman of child-bearing age who stood to inherit a fortune. Amy’s dowry must certainly be large, I speculated, as I gazed about the ballroom that had been decorated with live trees that held masses of blooms entwined around them.
The musicians hired for the night had been, for the novelty of it, suspended on ropes from the high ceiling. The musicians gazed nervously at the hard floor beneath them and clutched their instruments as they floated about. The music was a bit strained, but the revelers did not seem to mind.
I danced with several gentlemen in the pavanes and galliards, including Robert Dudley himself and Robert’s brother Guildford. I also danced with a young man called James Colby, tall and red-haired, who’d been introduced as one of Robert’s friends.
Colby danced well, though he seemed to have little interest in me. I preferred Guildford, who’d inherited some of the Dudley charm.
Very late that night—indeed, in the early hours of the next morning—I pattered along an upstairs gallery, searching tiredly for the chamber I shared with Aunt Kat. Richmond Palace was vast, and I lost my way.
I rounded a corner and spied, in a dark window embrasure, my Lady Elizabeth snug in Robert Dudley’s embrace.
I staggered to an abrupt halt. My heart beat hard three times before I realized that they were not kissing, but conversing. However, Robert’s arms were firmly around Elizabeth’s waist, and she smiled up at him, making no move to push him away.
If either saw or heard me, neither made a sign.
I decided, after a few sickening moments, that I had better stand at the end of the passage to make certain no one else came this way. I could not imagine what scandal would befall Elizabeth if she were to be discovered in the arms of a man who planned to marry another woman on the morrow. I turned my back on them, but I could hear their conversation clearly.
“An interesting choice of brides, sweet Robin,” Elizabeth was saying. “As I told you before.”
“She will do,” Robert answered.
“Aye, she is rich and from good stock.”
Robert tittered. “You make her sound like a soup.”
“May you have many, many offspring from your soup,” Elizabeth returned. “That is why gentlemen marry, is it not?”
“Gentlemen with ambitious fathers do,” Robert said darkly, his amusement fading.
“Now, now, this occasion is happy,” Elizabeth chided him. “In the hall you danced on light feet.”
Robert laughed once more, his dourness vanishing. “Do not tease me. Ever you tease me, dear Lizzie, as though you live to torment your Cock Robin.”
Elizabeth’s voice softened. “’Tis a pleasant thing to live for, teasing one’s friends.”
“But you tease me especially,” Robert said. “Come, admit it. I am your favorite tease.”
I tried not to roll my eyes at his obvious flirtation, and I debated making some noise so they would cease.
If I interrupted, however, Elizabeth would be embarrassed and possibly furious. She might send me from her side for days or even weeks before she decided to forgive me.
