“It’s the way to get what you want … if you’re bold enough,” said Jennet.
“I would be bold enough,” declared Frances.
The next weeks passed quickly for Frances. She was constantly being measured for the clothes she would need for her wedding, and when she saw the jewels which she was to wear she declared she had never been so happy in her life.
She knew that when the wedding had taken place she must return to the country, but she was not going to think about that.
In a few weeks’ time she would set out for London in the company of her parents, taking her elaborate wardrobe with her; she would see that Court of which she had heard so much; she would actually live at it until the ceremony was over. She wondered whether she could persuade her parents to allow her to remain in London. It was a pity that Great-Uncle was there to make their decisions for them. He would most certainly not agree.
But Frances was one to live in the present without giving much thought to the future. She was going to Court; let that suffice.
Her mother was as excited as she was. Lady Suffolk loved pageantry, and this wedding was going to be one of the great Court occasions.
“You see, my daughter, the King is eager for it. And he and the Queen and Prince Henry will all honor you with their presence.”
There were dances to be learned. What joy! Frances loved to dance. There were curtsies to be practiced. There was advice on a hundred points.
“You’ll do well,” her mother told her, “as long as you are not over-saucy. That might amuse the King, but the Queen and the Prince wouldn’t like it. It is more important that you please the Queen and the Prince than the King. And I doubt not that you will.”
“I have heard, Mother, that girls do not please the King.”
“That is something to keep in the mind and not on the tongue.”
Frances allowed the tip of her tongue to appear between her perfect teeth.
“Great-Uncle Northampton has already warned me,” she said.
“Remember it,” admonished her mother.
How she enjoyed those days! The gaiety, the color, the excitement. What an exhilarating place was London, and what fun it was to ride through the streets and see the women curtsy and the men doff their hats as she passed.
Many of them recognized her, and all seemed to be aware that she was to be married. She sat her palfrey demurely and, with her long hair falling round her shoulders, was a charming sight.
“God bless the little bride!” the people cried.
The bridegroom was somewhat disappointing. She was not sure why. Robert Devereux was a handsome enough boy. But although he was two years older than she was, he seemed younger.
“He has not the incomparable looks of his father,” people said; and others retorted: “Look where they led him.”
But all was well now. The Essex wealth and estates had been returned to young Robert, and James the King was eager to honor him.
The youth of the bridal pair enchanted everyone.
“Of course they are too young as yet….”
“But what an alliance!”
“It’s as well to make it when they’re young, for marriage at twelve and fourteen is as binding as at any other time.”
Binding, pondered Frances. She was bound to this shy boy!
They sat side by side at the wedding feast; he scarcely spoke, but she chattered away; and if she was disappointed in him, he was not with her. He thought his bride all that a bride should be.
She explained to him that the man who had written the masque which was now being performed, and who was taking the principal part in it, was Ben Jonson, the leading dramatist and actor who had been engaged for their pleasure.
“Look at the dancers!” she cried. “And is the scenery not wonderful? Did you know that Inigo Jones made the scenery?”
Robert said that he had heard it was so; and there were not two better artists in the Kingdom than Ben Jonson and Inigo Jones.
Frances clasped her hands together and stared ahead of her at Hymen, who was bringing forward his bride; dancers were springing from the great globe which Jonson was turning; and never had Frances seen such an array of jewels, never such dancing that was both wild and graceful.
“Oh what a wonderful wedding this is!” she cried.
“I am so happy because you are,” Robert told her.
“We shall dance together when the masque is over.”
“I do not dance well,” Robert told her.
“I do. I dance beautifully, and people will look at me, not you.”
“Yes,” said Robert humbly, “I suppose they will.”
“Soon we must speak to the King and Queen,” she told him. “Are you afraid?”
“A little.”
“I am not. I long to speak to them.”
She stared enrapt at the table at which the Royal Family were sitting, and as she did so Prince Henry looked in her direction, and for a few seconds they gazed at each other.
Frances felt suddenly angry.
In the privacy of home the Howards always said that the only family good enough to mate with was the Royal family.
Frances believed it. That boy seated on the right hand of his father, so handsome in a rather ethereal way, was the one who should have been her husband.
If Frances Howard had been married that day to the heir to the throne she would have been completely happy.
Did she want to be Queen then? Was that her ambition? But she had not thought of that until this moment.
There was something about that boy which appealed to her. She thought: If he were my husband I should insist that I was old enough to be truly married.
Yet he might have been slightly younger than she was. He was aware of her though, she was sure of it.
She turned to look at Robert and a slight distaste curled the corners of her mouth.
He said to her then: “You know I have to go abroad very soon? I have to learn how to be a soldier and how to speak foreign languages. It is all part of my education. Now that I am married I shall long to come back to my wife.”
Frances did not answer. She scarcely heard Robert. She was imagining that she was married to Prince Henry and remembering some words she had heard a little while ago.
“It’s the way to get what you want … if you’re bold enough.”
Where had she heard that? And was it true?
She remembered then. It was Jennet, the sly girl who always seemed to know so much more than the others.
Robert moved a little closer to her and took her hand in his.
Many watching smiled indulgently, telling themselves that they had rarely seen such a charming bride and groom.
The farewells had been said. Robert had gone abroad; Frances had returned to the country while her parents stayed at Court pursuing their exciting life.
Frances was sullen.
“How long will it take me to grow up?” she had demanded.
Her mother had laughed at her.
“Two years, three years.”
“It is an age.”
“Time passes, child. Go back to your lessons. You’ll be surprised how quickly you’ll become a woman. Don’t try your eyes with too much learning. We don’t want their brightness dimmed. And when you come to Court, you’ll come as a Countess. Remember that. Farewell, little Countess of Essex.”
And so she had returned. The house seemed like a prison. She hated her servants and her governesses. She did not want to learn lessons … not the sort that came from books.
She wanted to learn from the delicious experience of life.
Her great comfort was Jennet.
She often made the girl come to her bed and talk half the night of spells and potions, and how, by careful use of them, all that one desired could be obtained.
It was her belief in this which helped Frances to live through the time of waiting.