‘He seems to approve of the Madeira wine. It is fortunate that the King ordered such vast quantities,’ she replied sardonically.
They had reached the end of the hall now and were obliged to change places as they began the slow procession back, keeping their steps in time with those of the other dancers. Frances’s eyes were drawn back to the dais. She stared, astonished, as Queen Anne walked slowly onto it, accompanied by her son, Charles. She was much thinner than when Frances had last seen her and was leaning heavily on the prince’s arm. Frances was as shocked by the change in her as by her sudden appearance at court. As she stared, she was jostled by the lady next to her, who gave an exasperated sigh. Quickly, Frances tried to fall back into step but stumbled over the skirts of another, who turned sharply and glared at her.
‘Forgive us,’ Thomas said, pulling Frances gently away. ‘My wife is in need of a rest.’ He steered her towards a quiet recess. ‘What is it?’ he asked.
Frances nodded towards the dais. She saw her husband’s eyes widen briefly as he noticed Anne, who was now lowering herself onto the throne next to her husband’s. It was placed there at every court gathering, but Frances had grown so accustomed to seeing it empty that she could hardly believe that the Queen was there now.
‘You did not know she was coming either?’ Frances murmured.
Thomas shook his head, still gazing at the dais. ‘I had not thought to see her here again.’
The Queen was extending her hand to the ambassador now, while Buckingham looked on approvingly. Frances thought back to the conversation they had had at Denmark House. Anne had admitted she had encouraged the King’s obsession with the young favourite, hinting that it was to serve a greater purpose than merely to satisfy her husband’s lust. Ever since Frances had puzzled over what that purpose might be.
‘Is it for Raleigh, I wonder?’ Thomas mused. ‘The Count de Gondomar has said his master expects the King to make recompense for San Thomé. Perhaps the Queen intends to soften his opinion.’
Frances hoped he was right: Sir Walter had little other chance of avoiding the fate that seemed more certain with each passing day. Bacon had confided at their last meeting that he had received instructions to prepare for a private hearing at Whitehall.
At that moment, the musicians struck up another tune and the courtiers formed themselves into two neat rows in preparation for the pavane. Frances saw Lady Kate Manners take her place among them, her eyes cast down but her face flushed with excitement. She loved to dance and would often beg to practise the steps with Frances when they were alone. Frances’s smile vanished as she saw Buckingham weave his way through the assembled throng and come to a halt directly opposite Kate, pushing two gentlemen out of the way in his eagerness to be her partner. He made an ostentatious bow, one hand clasped to his chest as if in reverence, then stepped forward and pulled her towards him as the dance began.
Frances watched as the marquess swept her along. He moved with such impeccable elegance and precision that the rest of the dancers appeared awkward and graceless by comparison. Now and again, he cast a sly glance over his shoulder towards his royal master, whose eyes never left him, even though the ambassador was trying to engage him in conversation.
Unable to bear the sight of him any longer, Frances looked to the opposite side of the hall and was surprised to see Lord Rutland among the company.
‘He does not approve of the dance, it seems,’ Thomas observed, following her gaze. ‘Or perhaps it is his daughter’s partner who offends him?’
Frances did not reply. She had seen little of the earl in recent weeks, for he had been preoccupied by affairs at Belvoir Castle. She suspected he would have left to attend to them in person if it had not been for his fear that Buckingham would make the most of his absence. That he was intent upon marrying Lady Katherine was well known to everyone at court, the King included. Thomas had overheard a furious row between the two men, during which James had accused his lover of playing him false. Far from prompting Buckingham to employ greater discretion, this seemed to have encouraged him to flaunt his flirtation with the hapless Kate even more. Perhaps he knew that stoking the King’s jealousy would intensify his obsession.
Frances glanced at the throne as James took a long draught from his goblet. She noticed the fleeting disdain on Gondomar’s face as he watched a thin trail of red wine snaking down the King’s chin. But he arranged his mouth into a smile as soon as James leaned forward to address him.
It was obvious they were talking about Buckingham, judging from the frequent looks they turned in his direction. The King’s cheeks were flushed – with wine or rage, Frances could not tell. She watched as his favourite deftly twirled Kate towards the dais, drawing her even closer so that by the time they were within a few feet of the King their faces were almost touching. The dance was ending now, and as the other couples made their obeisance towards James, Buckingham kept his eyes fixed upon his partner. As the music faded into silence, he leaned forward and slowly pressed his lips against hers.
‘How dare you, sir?’
There were murmurs of surprise as Lord Rutland pushed his way through the crowds. Kate had managed to pull away from the marquess and was standing, head bowed, colour rising to her face. Buckingham smirked at her father as he drew level with him.
‘Your daughter is an excellent dancer, my lord,’ he remarked languidly. ‘She follows the steps perfectly.’
Rutland glowered at him. ‘You dishonour her.’ His voice was so low that Frances strained to hear. ‘I should have you horsewhipped for this.’
The marquess opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment a loud scraping noise echoed across the room and everyone turned to see the King rising from his throne. ‘Come, Steenie,’ he commanded. ‘You have had enough sport this evening.’
He did not wait for an answer before he staggered from the dais, the Count de Gondomar staring after him. An awkward silence followed. Frances could see tears pooling in Kate’s eyes as she stared at the floor. She moved to help but Thomas laid a hand on her arm. He would not wish her to make even more of an enemy of Buckingham than he was already.
At that moment, a delicate cough sounded around the hall and Lord Bacon stepped from the shadows, the heels of his exquisite satin shoes clipping on the flagstones. ‘My lord marquess.’ He swept an ostentatious greeting. ‘I have been admiring your dancing all evening. Why, you move with such grace that Apollo himself must be wringing his hands with envy.’
Frances held her breath as she saw Buckingham turn his gaze to her friend, eyes narrowed.
‘And, if you will permit me to observe, your coat is the finest cut of any I have seen here at court – even in the old Queen’s day. Is that Venetian silk?’
‘Persian.’ The younger man drew himself up to his full height.
His flattery has hit its mark, Frances realised, with a mixture of astonishment and admiration. She had not thought that even a man of Buckingham’s vanity would be so easily distracted.
Bacon clicked his tongue, then reached out to touch the doublet, his eyelids fluttering closed as if in wonderment. ‘You are the brightest jewel of this court, my lord,’ he declared, hand on his chest, then raised his glass aloft. ‘To the Marquess of Buckingham!’ The words echoed into silence and Frances darted an anxious glance around the company.