‘I told you, I – we – are quite well,’ she said, a little too brightly. ‘We will be better still for the ride back to Whitehall.’ That, at least, was not a lie. It promised to be another fine day and the sun was already high in the sky.
‘I will be with you by nightfall. The King is out of humour after last night’s feast so will not wish to hunt for long.’
‘Do you presume to know His Majesty’s desires now, Tyringham?’
The sound of Villiers’s silken voice made Frances’s blood run cold. She kept her head bowed after a brief curtsy, unable to bear the sight of him.
‘I have readied the hounds, sir,’ her husband said quietly.
‘Good. Now you may ready my horse – make haste, man. The King wishes me to ride out ahead of the party, to ensure the keeper of the Great Park is prepared for our arrival.’
Thomas glanced from his wife to his master. Frances gave a slight nod. He hesitated a moment longer, then walked briskly to the stables. Villiers waited until he had disappeared from view before turning to address her. ‘I did not see you at the Garter feast, Lady Frances.’
‘I felt a little unwell so retired early,’ she replied, stroking her belly distractedly.
‘I do not think I have congratulated you yet. When will it be born?’
Frances had been asked the question many times these past few weeks and had always been vague in her answer.
‘I cannot be sure,’ she repeated now, ‘but it will be months yet before I leave court.’
‘I rejoice to hear it,’ he drawled, his mouth curling into a slow smile. ‘I would find this place a good deal less diverting without you in it.’ His long fingers stroked his chin. ‘But I pity you, when the time does come for you to return to the country. I cannot imagine that a woman of your intellect, of your . . . curiosity will find enough to amuse her, so far from court.’
Frances stared at him, heart thudding. Had he seen her yesterday? Surely he had been too steeped in his perverted lust to have noticed her flee from the gatehouse. Seeing his eyes spark with fury, she suddenly felt far from sure.
At that moment, there was the clatter of hoofs and Frances exhaled quietly as she saw her husband approaching with Villiers’s horse. ‘I am sure I will find plenty to entertain me, Sir George,’ she said pleasantly.
He looked at her for a moment longer, then went to the mounting block and leaped gracefully into the saddle.
‘Will you not bid me adieu, Lady Frances?’ he called.
She gave a tight smile.
‘Come now,’ he persisted, holding out his hand. ‘Let us offer each other the mark of friendship.’
Frances’s smile did not waver, though she inwardly recoiled at the thought of touching him. But to refuse would be an insult and, intense though her loathing was, she had no wish to make an even greater enemy of him. She made to step forward, but Thomas placed a restraining hand on her arm.
‘Do not let him bait you, Frances,’ he murmured, under his breath.
She closed her hand over his and gave it a squeeze to convey her reassurance, then walked slowly to Villiers. His smile broadened as she approached and he leaned towards her. ‘I am glad to see that you are biddable after all, Lady Frances, but you must learn to be more so, if you and I are to be friends.’
His grip on her hand tightened as he lowered his lips to it. They felt cool on her skin, but she snatched away her hand as if they had burned it. He gave a low chuckle and turned his gaze to the road ahead, gently patting the horse’s neck. Then, without warning, he jabbed his heels so sharply into its sides that it reared in fright. Before Frances could react, she fell backwards onto the cobbles, a crushing pain searing through her stomach. The last thing she was aware of was a hot, oozing wetness seeping between her legs. Then everything was darkness.
PART 2
1618
CHAPTER 21
28 June
Frances gazed down at the baby cradled in her arms. He was his father in miniature, with the same clear eyes and light brown hair. It had been an easy birth. He entered this world as quietly as the old Queen left it, her mother had said. Helena had insisted that she come to Longford for her confinement, where she could care for her. It had taken little to persuade her. The pull of her childhood home was as strong as ever, and she had rejoiced at the prospect of seeing George again – her mother, too. John and Robert had come with her, and it gladdened her heart to see how they worshipped their elder brother already. She wished she might stay long enough for William to know him too.
George would be twelve next month. His indulgent grandmother had not exaggerated: he had grown into as fine a young man as Helena had described in her many letters. He was as slender as a young colt and almost as tall as Frances, and had grown even more like Tom since the last time she had seen him. His initial shyness upon seeing her had soon dissipated, and Frances knew that she had her mother to thank for that. Helena had made sure that the boy had grown up to feel his mother’s presence almost as if she had been at Longford every day of the past four years.
William’s eyes began to close. Frances knew that she should put him into his cradle, but she could not bear to be parted from him quite yet. She felt the familiar ache as she thought of the other child she had cradled in her arms two years before. Anne. They had named her for the Queen. She could remember little of the birth – she had drifted, waking only when Thomas had laid the tiny form on her breast. Her daughter had been wrenched from her womb too soon – born sleeping, as her husband had said. But she had been perfect, her features as delicate as porcelain and downy red hair covering her scalp.
‘You should rest, my dear.’
Her mother was standing on the threshold of the chamber. Frances wondered how long she had been there. ‘I have done little else this past week,’ she replied, quickly brushing away tears.
Helena walked over and bent to kiss her forehead. Frances breathed in the familiar scent of rose and chamomile. It was like a balm to her soul. She did not protest as her mother took the sleeping boy from her arms and laid him in the crib at the end of the bed, then came to sit next to her.
‘What news did Thomas have?’
Frances glanced at the letter on the table.
‘Very little,’ she lied. ‘His duties permit him scant leisure to write, as usual. The marquess makes sure of that.’ She failed to keep the bitterness from her voice. The title had been bestowed upon Villiers at the beginning of the year. He had been formally admitted to the privy council the following month, so he now held sway in his royal master’s public domain, as well as his private life. The only saving grace was that her friend Sir Francis Bacon had enjoyed similar good fortune. As well as becoming a privy councillor, the King had also seen fit to bestow upon him the lord keepership. She knew he had coveted his father’s former position for many years, and for good reason: it carried considerable powers – more even than the new Marquess of Buckingham enjoyed. She hoped Lord Bacon would use it to his advantage.
Helena was gazing at her intently, as if waiting for the truth. She had always had an uncanny ability to tell when her daughter was keeping something from her. ‘My servants carried talk from Salisbury that Raleigh has set sail for England. Perhaps they were mistaken.’