“You speak English well,” a young man sitting next to me said. “With a pretty accent.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Danke, or tack—thank you in German and Swedish, too,” I said with a wink.
He grinned and struck me up in another conversation, but soon enough Lord Northampton stood behind my chair. “Would you and Lady Christina like to see the Royal Library?”
“Oh, yes,” I said, and Princess Cecelia nodded her assent. We followed Lord Northampton from the banqueting hall through a long gallery and up a sweep of stairs. At the top of the stairs the gallery led either left or right. We took the right, and as we did, I caught sight of a couple out of the corner of my eye. The man, splendid in purple, was the queen’s handsome favorite and her lifelong love, the Earl of Leicester, also known as Robert Dudley, whom I recognized from the christening.
What would it be like to have a lifelong love? Highborn women did not expect to marry for love, but one had only to read Greek or Roman mythology, or attend a masque or performance at court, to know we all wished we could.
Lord Robert was accompanied by a heavily pregnant, beautiful woman perhaps ten years younger than Her Majesty and looking remarkably like her. It was a tribute to the power of her charm, I supposed, that even while so pregnant she seemed able to enchant Lord Robert.
“Who was that?” I asked Lord Northampton as he led to the library.
“Lord Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester,” he answered.
“Nay, the lady . . . accompanying . . . him.”
“Lady Lettice Devereux,” he answered gruffly. “Sister to the little girl who bore the bride’s train this morn. Cousin to the queen.”
• • •
Two days later we were seated at tournament to watch the jousting. Princess Cecelia sat with the queen, of course, her husband the margrave beside her. The margrave was splendidly dressed in new garments, as was Princess Cecelia, and they had been handing out lavish gifts to our new English friends, which was worrisome and the focus of much discussion among us ladies. The journey had taken many months more than we had anticipated, and gifts and remunerations had to have been paid along the way. I wondered that King Erik had funded his sister so lavishly, especially since any and all talk of a potential marriage between the king and England’s queen had come to naught since our arrival and the idea, for the most part, had quietly died. If she spent all of our money, how would we get home?
Lord Northampton asked me to sit with him, and after ascertaining that this was all right with Princess Cecelia, I happily agreed. There was no need for a chaperone, as we were among all the others, so Lord Northampton did not invite anyone else to accompany us to his viewing area, which was very close to the action. I could have reached out and touched the jousters as they kicked up dust in the arena.
“Some weeks ago I spoke with your princess about my affections for you.”
“Indeed, she mentioned that to me, Lord Northampton.”
“Please, call me William,” he said, smiling. His smile, as always, put me at ease.
“William,” I said. “But then you must call me Elin.”
“I had told her that I found you beautiful, Elin, a delightful, rare flower. I had wondered if there was any hope of your remaining in England and, perhaps, marrying me.”
“What was her answer?” I, of course, already knew, as she had told me, but I wanted to let him speak for himself on this delicate matter.
“She said there was an engagement in Sweden that she believes was set aside due to the lack of a dowry, and that she was to act as your mother while in England. She would also send a letter to your mother with some of Geoffrey Preston’s merchant friends. In the meantime, dear Elin, I should like to know your mind on this matter.”
Princess Cecelia knew about the dowry problem and assumed that it had canceled my engagement—or perhaps she knew that it had already been canceled, and I was the only one who hadn’t been told for certain.
I was angry and yet . . . I knew now that I did not truly love Philip, and I would never be able to trust him. But if we were legally betrothed, then there was no more to be discussed. William made me laugh, he clearly adored me, we had rousing discussions, and while he knew more than I in every matter, he never made me feel lesser for it. I felt good with him. I felt safe. I was truly fond of him even if there was not the passion found, perhaps solely, in poetry.
“I am honored that you would wish to take me as a wife.” I took his hand, which seemed to please him, thrilled that he’d concerned himself with my opinion. “I find great pleasure in your company and enjoy our times together very much,” I said. “Perhaps I may think upon it while we wait to hear from my mother.”
“Of course,” he said. “Of course you must. I would provide everything you need, should you agree, of course. Maids of honor and servants and lady maids of your own, fine houses and your clothing and jewels. No woman will ever be more treasured than you, Elin.”
“I know your character, William,” I said. “I feel treasured by you already.” And I did. I had never felt so valued by a man.
He placed his hand over mine and I allowed it to rest there. I prayed silently for a quick response from my mother; the Danes sometimes let through the English ships, so a letter and response might be forthcoming.
Once the challengers rode into the tiltyard, my mind set aside thoughts of marriage and letters and focused on the match. The horses twitched with energy, stamping at each end of the arena, and though the men were wrapped in metal I could sense their readiness to battle. I watched and cheered as much as the next person. Lord Robert rode for the queen’s favor; the gossip was that there had been a loud and public quarrel between Lord Robert and Her Majesty after the queen had seen him close together with Lettice Devereux. I had difficulty believing that, as the queen seemed so calm and dignified. And today, when she smiled upon him, it was certainly with the look of a woman deeply in love. I looked but did not see Lady Devereux among those watching. I wished that one day a man would ride for my favor, but then I looked at William, so kind, intelligent, and caring, and thought perhaps that didn’t matter so much after all.
After the contests were complete and the crowds began to thin, William led me out toward the litters returning to Bedford House and then stopped to talk with someone while I proceeded on. As I reached the end of the tiltyard, one of the comers lifted off his helmet and then turned and looked straight at me. His longish blond hair was pulled back in a queue and he had a smear of blood on his cheekbone. His blue eyes held mine. I was taken aback by his strength and his frank interest. “Thomas Gorges,” he said before bowing to me, metal clanking.
His words startled me out of my reverie, and I nodded. “Lady Elin von Snakenborg.”
“Are you new to court?” he asked.
“Yes.” I nodded. “I’ve come with Princess Cecelia from Sweden.” At that, I felt a presence beside me. William looked at Thomas for just a moment and then put his hand behind my back to guide me on. Thomas bowed his head toward me and turned to leave.
“I know Her Majesty enjoys the tiltyard, but it can be a bloody and, perhaps, unrefined sport,” William said as we walked. “I shall take you hawking.”
Later that night, in our chamber, Bridget and I discussed the day’s events. “William spoke to me himself of marriage,” I said, shrugging into my sleeping gown.
“William? Not Lord Northampton?” she teased, already snug under a thick coverlet.
“Yes, William,” I said with a soft laugh. “Princess Cecelia has written to my mother to ask her permission. Since things are unsettled, or perhaps void, with Philip . . .” I let the sentence dangle. In spite of his ill treatment of me, I did not want to dishonor him.