A/N: Happy Easter, all! Thank you for your comments and favourites - as always, I'm really pleased that you're enjoying the story. I'm being a bit mean to Robert Dudley at the moment, as he has the capacity to be an excellent adviser to Elizabeth once he gets over his foolish infatuation. He just needs to get there...
CHAPTER NINE
Reverberations at Home
The air is uncomfortably warm this morning as Anne emerges into her Privy Chamber to speak to her Steward about the day's work. In spite of her numerous guests, the house must still be run.
"I fear Mr Trench is in a most fearsome temper this morning." Seton begins, "One of the scullery boys did not provide a scrubbed platter as quickly as he demanded. It is now a dented, bent platter: while the boy fled and now cannot be found. I think it likely that he has departed the estate in search of his home."
"Oh dear." Anne sighs, "He is an excellent cook, to be sure; but how many youngsters have departed in fear of his temper? I sometimes wonder if his talent is worth his rages."
"I shall seek out a new scullery boy, your Grace."
"Another one." Anne smiles at him, her fan already out and busy, "Ensure that the ale for the Spit Jacks is as well chilled as you can achieve; if it is warm now, then later it shall be as though they are sitting in the fires, rather than beside them."
The organisation of the day complete, she makes her way through to William's private chamber, where he is standing beside an open window, attempting to catch whatever breeze he can, "I think we shall be outside for much of the day today. I shall dispatch the gamekeepers to erect awnings where the trees are insufficient to provide shade; otherwise none of the ladies shall be able to emerge."
"Indeed." Anne agrees, her hand seeking out his, "None of them shall wish to catch the sun. That is most unbecoming. For myself, I shall resort to my lace coif and a wide brimmed hat."
William's hand grips hers a little more tightly, "Then it shall be safe to escort you without, perhaps?" It has been a few weeks since they were able to escape the house to walk together in the park. Someone always seems to accost them on the way.
"I should like that, my love."
While some have opted to ride in the park, most are seeking what cool air they can alongside the lake. With so few trees nearby, the wide expanse of grass is littered with wide awnings to keep the hot sun at bay, and few have emerged from them onto a bowling green that is starting to look a distinct shade of yellow.
Fanning herself in the shade of the largest of the awnings, Elizabeth watches as Lady Dudley picks her way through an almain on her new lute. One of the few skills that she was taught by her mother: she is a capable, if careful, player; and the cascading notes are a pleasure to hear. From her start as Mistress of the Princes' household, she has become a welcome member of her Majesty's retinue, and Elizabeth has found herself seeking out the shy young woman's company rather more frequently since they arrived in Kent. Anna is embroidering nearby, while her other ladies gossip quietly as they watch a few of the men of the Court risk a game of bowls in the hot sun.
The few days that she set aside, dismissing the council to give them some leisure, seemed to grant a brief respite to that undercurrent of tension that the religious situation has generated. Now, however, it has returned again, and Sir Robert in particular is becoming more strident over the matter of the men from Douai. To be fair to him, those unwanted missionaries have been causing much discord wherever they go, as even those whom they think to be sympathetic to their words have proved to be otherwise. There was even something of a riot in Winchester when one young man chose to berate the crowds at the Market fair.
They are blind to the reality of the situation, of course; to their mind, they are rescuing their oppressed Catholic brethren from a realm of heresy. That her Catholic subjects are free to worship as they will without restraint or censure has not entered their heads. Had they been persecuted, of course, things would be different: but they are not. Lord Richmond's observers have reported that even those who are most fervently for the Pope are appalled at these young men, fearing that their message might bring enmity upon their heads from their reformist neighbours. Rather than be discouraged by such stony ground, however, the young men seem instead to be all the more determined. No wonder they are being more overt.
She emerges from her brooding to look across to one of the other awnings, where her Lord Chancellor is dozing in a comfortable chair. Always the remedy for hot weather when one is older, it seems, she smiles fondly to herself.
The sounds of hoofbeats captures her attention, and she turns to look out at the drive, fearful that messengers are bringing bad news. Instead, one of those new-fangled carriages rattles in the wake of four horses led by a postilion. The main cabin rattling and bumping on thick chains that do at least a little to smooth the ride, the enormous vehicle rumbles past. Someone is visiting, then. Relieved that it is not a matter of concern for her, Elizabeth turns her attention back to her ladies.
Nearby, however, the noise has roused Richmond from his slumbers, and he also turns. In his case, however, his reaction is one of pleasure as he recognises his arms on the door. Such a foolish purchase, of course; but his ability to ride far is compromised by his age; so, inspired by his borrowed vehicle, he opted to import the thing from France. He has not used it yet, so instead it carries his daughter in law and grandchildren. Unlike Robert, Lizzie is a kindly soul whom he loves almost as much as his own daughters, and he is delighted to see her arrival. Robert, on the other hand, shall likely be unimpressed. It has not gone unnoticed by Richmond that his son has been attempting to seduce a niece of one of the Queen's younger ladies. Not that he has any right to complain, of course. Prior to the King's death, and his elevation to the Regency council, he was no better.
Fully awake, he sits back to watch the ongoing game of bowls. It is unlikely that Robert's greeting of his wife shall be particularly enthusiastic, but that is as it is. He shall greet his grandchildren later.
Anne is grateful for the thick stone walls of the hall, as they serve well to keep the worst of the heat outside. As the morning has worn on, the warmth has grown ever worse, and even the awnings beside the lake are losing their appeal.
Elizabeth Rich of Leighs arrived an hour ago and is now installed with her husband in larger apartments to accommodate both herself and her son and daughter. Most have not been accompanied by their offspring, but she knows how fond Richmond is of his grandchildren and thus they are welcome for his sake as much as that of the princes, who now have other youngsters with whom they can play.
The ladies in the hall are fanning themselves as best as they can, while the men linger beside open windows, the lingering aromas of the midday meal slowly dispersing in what little breeze enters.
Elizabeth and her family are in their chambers in the Gloriette, where its extended outlook permits a little more breeze to reach them. Even the boys seem subdued by the heat; their usual exuberance muted as they squirm in their confining garments. Anne smiles to herself, no doubt the pair wish that they were like the little peasant boys that they would have observed upon the road, clad in shirts and free to leap into streams to mitigate the discomfort. They are, however, princes; and thus must submit to the obligation to observe decorum at all times. Summer is not always the most enjoyable time of year.
Her own fan flaps back and forth, wafting a light draught across her face, powdered yet again with more crushed eggshell to absorb the perspiration that she is not permitted to show. All of the women are forced to do likewise, and she expects that they shall all resemble stuccoed walls by this evening, at which point they shall wash the entire edifice away and start all over again.
She looks up from her seat as William approaches, his expression an odd mixture of concern and attempts to conceal it, "What is it, my Lord?"
"I have sent stewards to recall the councillors to the Privy Chamber, my dearest; a messenger has arrived with word for her Majesty that is likely to alarm her."
Anne's stomach sinks, "I shall attend upon her Majesty and advise her."
He nods, and crosses to where Richmond is sitting at a card table with Hackney. Even as she departs, the two are helping the Lord Chancellor to rise to his feet.
In spite of her concern, she is relieved to find that the chambers in the Gloriette are entirely fresher than those of the main house; the air cooled by its journey across the lake. There is no wait to be summoned, and Elizabeth smiles with pleasure at the sight of her, "Mama! I am most pleased to see you…" her voice trails off as she sees Anne's expression, "What has happened?"
"At this time, I know not, my dear Majesty." Anne answers, "A messenger has arrived by fast horse, bearing papers to be considered by yourself and your council. William is already assembling them in the Council Chamber."
"Anna," Elizabeth turns to Lady Conti, "Please see to the Princes."
"Yes Majesty." Anna curtseys and takes a seat alongside the boys, who watch briefly, then return to manoeuvring Henry's tin soldiers.
It is not a report that awaits Elizabeth's attention when she seats herself in the Council chamber, but instead a rough pamphlet. Crudely printed, the poorly made paper sports a badly carved woodcut image upon the front of a woman in enormous skirts being flung upon a bonfire before a bishop and a monk. Beneath it, a simple legend: The whore of England cast to Hell before England's saints.
If any of the councillors expect her to be shocked, Elizabeth startles them all by showing only amusement, "I am most poorly executed - in all contexts, it seems." She looks up at them all, "Oh, whist now! I am well aware that the Vicar of Rome views me so! This is naught but a wild strike by the fools from Douai who seek a counter-reformation that none desire! If any at this table require me to seek heads for this, then I should be a fool to bow to such an answer!"
"That may be so, Majesty," Richmond answers, quietly, "I suggest that you read the text upon the other side. The pamphlets were turned over to receive more text upon the other face."
She complies, her eyes widening in dismay - and anger - at the words, "So, I am the wanton spawn of a whore who murdered a queen, and shall die for it." She says, "My children are half-breed monsters who are saved only by virtue of the one who fathered them and should be removed to be educated by those who can protect them from my vile heresy." She stops.
Everyone exchanges angry glances; to threaten Elizabeth is of little concern to her; she is well aware that not all love her, even if her subjects do. No; it is the demand that her sons be removed from her care and handed to others - presumably monks - to be moulded into espousing the same bigotry that inspired the pamphlet.
Beside her, Philip's face has reddened with rage, "If they presume to do so, then they shall find themselves obliged to contend with me. Even if they claim to share my faith, to suggest that true Englishmen should regain the favour of Rome by stealing our sons proves that they do not. Not even a fraction of it."
"To my mind," Richmond sighs, "They would think you to be willingly complicit in their plans on that very basis."
"And they would be wrong." Philip snaps, "Most wrong."
"Why do we not round them up?" Dudley suddenly breaks in, "Every damned one of them? If they seek martyrdom, then let them have it!"
Richmond turns to him, "Martyrdom? God help us, no. To make martyrs is to bring more to the cause that they profess. We must be wiser than that; we must…"
"No!" Dudley is on his feet, his chair falling back behind him with a loud crash that startles all at the table, "You would risk the life of our Queen? Our Princes? For what? To prove that we are better than they? You coward! We must fight this contagion - before Popery destroys all that we hold dear!"
"Popery?" Richmond's eyes are equally angry, though he is unable to rise so easily, "I will not be party to the descent of our realm into internecine war! Englishmen live side by side as brothers, regardless of their professed faith; to strike against one faith over another would destroy that! Would you be willing to grant disaffected men the opportunity to claim a cause to fight against those who do not agree with them?"
"To protect our Queen?" Dudley demands, viciously, "Would you wish to see her harmed by your cowardice? By Christ, I would see you banished from this table for such poltroonery! What use are you to the realm, you womanish old fool?"
"BE SILENT!"
Everyone freezes still; never having heard Elizabeth raise her voice before. Her eyes narrowed, her face pale but for two red patches upon her cheeks, she glares at Dudley, "Do not presume to decide who sits upon my council, my Lord. His Grace of Richmond has given greater service to this realm than any who sit at this table. He served my father, then my mother, and now serves me. Furthermore, he is right. For us to act punitively against those who seek out of desperation to impugn me would serve only to set fuel to the fire that they are so keen to spark. We are not blind to the danger that this pamphlet aims to inspire. It serves you ill to pretend that you are the only one amongst us who can see it. Speak so to my Lord Chancellor again, and I shall remove you from my Council."
Northumberland chews at his lip with embarrassment as Dudley is obliged - face flaming with shame - to resume his seat. Beside him, Lisle and Warwick exchange equally uncomfortable glances. Their brother has - finally - allowed his impetuosity to overstep his bounds.
"Forgive me, Majesty," Dudley mumbles, thoroughly chastened, "My desire to protect you caused me to speak out of turn."
"And what of his Grace of Richmond?" Northumberland interjects, quietly.
"There is no need." Richmond says, "We are all intent upon her Majesty's safety, and that of their highnesses. We shall discuss our differences in private over pots of ale, and all shall be made right again." His expression changes slightly, "Besides, in spite of the manner in which Sir Robert expressed those concerns, he is correct. We cannot sit upon our hands and do nothing in answer to this."
Elizabeth nods, and smiles fondly at him for his decision not to escalate the argument, "Indeed so, my Lords. I think it would be wise to ensure that sermons are preached against this pamphlet where it is discovered, and those shires watched to see how it is received. Should it become clear that the populace is indeed seduced by this, we shall think again. For now, however, we shall act only where there is violence."
"Majesty," William interjects politely, "While it is clear that this is naught but a scurrilous paper, I shall set my gamekeepers to keep watch upon the boundaries of the estate for more than merely poachers, and none shall be permitted to enter the main gates unless on royal business. The side gates shall be guarded more thoroughly for the duration of your stay. Other than that, we shall permit you to continue your stay without interference."
Elizabeth nods, "Thank you, your Grace. I am saddened that my presence puts you to such inconvenience."
"It is one that I am more than content to bear, Majesty." He smiles at her, "Now that we are decided, perhaps you might like to walk in the park with his Majesty awhile? The afternoon is passing, and perhaps the air might be better outside."
She smiles back, "Thank you, your Grace, I think I should like that."
Richmond is seated upon a stone bench at the edge of the island garden overlooking the lake when Dudley approaches him. Dudley's steps are slow, as he has no desire to speak to the old man, particularly after being so roundly humiliated in his presence.
As promised, there is a marble-topped table alongside the Lord Chancellor set with a flagon and two cups, and he turns slightly at the sound of crunching gravel, "Ah, Sir Robert. Please: be seated."
"I prefer to stand." Dudley's tone is brittle.
"When you hear what I have to say, Sir Robert, I think you shall be glad that you did. There are some nearby who might overhear if you stand so far away from me."
His expression bitter, he does as bid. For a moment, they sit in silence, looking out over the stone balustrade towards the lake, where swans are gliding across the waters, overlooked by a hazy sky. Beyond, the hill rises to the stable block on the other side.
"How long have you loved her?" Richmond asks, quietly.
Dudley's head turns sharply, "Her?"
"I may be an old man, Sir Robert; but I was once young. I, too, lost my heart to women beyond my reach. You are hardly the first."
Dudley glowers, "I have not done so."
"Come now. Do not lie to me, my Lord. I have little to do these days but observe those around me, and I have seen how you look upon her. Moreover, I have seen your failure to observe the boundaries of protocol on more than one occasion when in her presence. It is not deliberate, I am sure; and I am alone in seeing it, I think."
"And the price of your silence?"
Richmond turns to look at him, "Blackmail, Sir Robert? God, no. I desire nothing from you and would not stoop to such low tactics even if I did. Instead, I plead with you: I see no evil in harmless wishing for that which cannot be. Evil lies instead within allowing that wishing to consume you, and to prompt your actions in your dealings with the lady, and with others. Do not let your feelings for her guide you in this. That is all I wish to say, and I shall not raise the matter again unless I am obliged to. That, however, lies in your hands. Restrain yourself and I shall not need to. You have my word that none of the lady's confidantes shall know of it."
"Should you do so, know that I shall end you. I will not be humiliated by an old fool such as you." Dudley's voice is a low hiss.
"Do not make threats that you cannot fulfil, Sir Robert. I do not see a murderer in you; and I do not think you capable of losing your soul in so foul a fashion. I am a man who has done what you have not: I have used innocent words and twisted them against better men than I with the intent of sending them to the block. My soul is tainted in a manner in which yours is not, and I seek only to beg you to think upon the safety of your soul, and the welfare of your family's name. My lips are sealed, and not even upon my deathbed shall I speak of this."
His expression unchanged, Richmond reaches for one of the cups, "Now, that cup of chilled ale I promised. Again, I do not demand an apology from you, for I know that your words were naught but impetuous determination to protect her Majesty. We all desire that, and I think it better that we work to achieve that aim together. Do you not agree?"
Dudley looks out over the lake, his expression bitter and angry, "Does it entertain you to bring me to this?"
"To what?" Richmond looks bemused, then thinks for a moment, "Ah; you believe me to think that I have bested you in some fashion. That was not my intent; you are a man of her Majesty's Council, as am I. Her Majesty's father delighted in conflict between his councillors, as he found it a useful means to control them. Her Majesty's mother sought to create a different way - and her Majesty continues that. Factions are not helpful to the realm, and thus I do not belong to one. I offer naught but the opportunity sup cool ale as the day draws towards suppertime. I shall join my family to sup, so you need not see me again until the morn."
Slowly, Dudley reaches out and takes the cup. For a while, he peruses it, "Let me demonstrate to you how I regard your peace offering." Slowly, he tilts the cup, and pours the ale out onto the gravel, "I meant what I said in the council chamber, you old fool." His voice is perhaps a little louder than it should be - but there are none nearby, "You are irrelevant to England now. It is mere sentiment that keeps you at that table in a capacity that you do not deserve. The sooner you are gone, and your senile fancies taken with you, the better."
To his surprise, it is clear that his words have hit home; for Richmond has gone very silent, and his expression is almost stricken. In that moment Dudley realises that he has been unnecessarily cruel; but the words are spoken now, and he cannot take them back. Embarrassed, he rises and hastens away.
Richmond attempts to reach for the other cup as though nothing has happened, only to find his hand shaking. Drawing his arm back, he bites his lip and tries to stop the brimming tears.
William is talking to Martin at the stables to arrange for the gamekeepers who already regularly patrol the boundaries of the estate to do so on horseback. Left to her own devices, as Elizabeth and Philip have followed his suggestion that they walk in the park together, Anne emerges from the house into the old inner ward of the castle, and almost has to leap aside as Dudley marches past her as though she is not even there.
Startled, she does not have time to challenge him as he disappears into the house, but she can see a grey-haired figure seated across beside the balustrade overlooking the lake and surmises what must have happened.
"I take it that Sir Robert did not enjoy his conversation with you, my friend?" She says, sitting down beside Richmond.
He does not answer, and she turns to see that he is distressed, "What is it, Richard?"
"Am I too old, my Lady Anne?" he asks, painfully, "Is my presence upon the Council a burden rather than a help?"
She stares at him, bemused at such a statement, then takes his hand in both of hers, "Is that what the Dudley fool told you? God's blood, no! You have proved even now to be a voice of reason amongst the hotheads that share her Majesty's table!"
"There is another Robert here that desires my death, then. My son longs for me to depart this world and grant him his inheritance, while Northumberland's does likewise in hopes of profiting from the space I would leave upon the council." He stares out over the lake, "Truly now I am being made to pay for my duplicity when our late King ruled."
"I do not believe that. Not for a moment, my old friend." Anne insists, firmly, "When we first set out to win Elizabeth's rights as queen, you won my trust with your loyalty and service - and thus I am certain you redeemed yourself for your acts before Henry died. In the absence of our late lord of Essex, God rest his dear soul, there is no other to whom I would rather turn if the realm were to be in peril.
"Who else upon the Council has your knowledge and experience? Who else stood at my side, and then Elizabeth's, when Mary tried to steal her crown - not once, but twice? Who else overcame his fear and kept faith with us in the face of the plague even when he was the only man left upon his feet? We are old, yes; but we still offer her Majesty loyal and experienced service. No matter what is to come, we shall - between us - protect her as we have always done. Old Tom Cromwell should rise from his grave to berate us for our failure if we did aught otherwise."
Finally, he laughs, "What a fool I am; I thought myself past such maudlin sentiments. Jesu, my dear Lizzie is here, as are her boys, and I am cowed by the bitterness of a young man who envies my position!"
Anne smiles, but then her face becomes more serious, "That said, while his manner of doing so was most inappropriate, I share his concerns. Elizabeth is aware of the threats ranged against her, even in the absence of a direct rival; but nonetheless, she places such belief in the love of her subjects, that any disaffected burgher with a blade could strike her down with impunity."
Richmond shakes his head, "I think that it would be more than mere disaffection. His Grace has done what he can to increase the security of the estate while she is here - and only one who has declared it to be a mission for God would risk making the attempt. Besides, there is no way to reach her without entering through the main House, and who would get that far with her Majesty's royal guard in residence?"
"Perhaps; but sometimes I wonder if our work to bring harmony to England in matters of faith has hobbled her Majesty in her dealings with those who wish to inflict discord." Anne sighs, "Throughout my Regency, I was determined to ensure that no decision of mine would turn back upon her. Perhaps this has?"
"I think not." Richmond disagrees, "We have clearly established the equal supremacy of both faiths in matters spiritual, while seeking all Englishmen to look to her Majesty as their Queen in matters temporal. Render unto Caesar is perhaps a watchword in the parishes now. If you seek a realm in which one faith is less than the other, then look to France - for there is a kingdom in which religious strife is evident in almost all strata of society. I think we have found the better way - and only those who are not here see otherwise."
Anne nods, and is about to answer, but then looks up, startled, "Thunder?"
They both raise their eyes skywards. In the time that they have been talking, the clouds have massed and built into great towers, and on the other side of the trees in the distance, a thick shaft of dark grey announces a great deal of rain to come.
"Come, Richard; we must get you inside." Already Anne is rising to her feet.
"What of their Majesties? Did they not go walking in the park?"
"I sent them to our new ornamental garden; there is a grotto there in which they can shelter for the time being. I shall dispatch grooms with horses for them as soon as the rain is past."
Trying not to hurry him too much, Anne grasps Richmond's sticks and assists him to rise, before guiding him to the shelter of the house.
Elizabeth fans herself as she walks alongside her husband. As they are in private, she has reverted to Portuguese again for their conversation. In spite of the trouble being stirred in her realm, she has learned to set aside such concerns when she is at leisure. How else is she to find rest from the cares of rule?
"I shall be glad when this heat breaks, Lizzie." Filipe sighs, mopping at his face with a kerchief. As they are in private, he has unfastened his doublet. She wishes that she could escape from the thick confines of her overgown; but it would be far more trouble to do so.
Their conversation has been entirely of little matters; plans for a new hunting lodge that has been gifted to them from Northumberland, a new tutor for Hal as he is showing an aptitude for languages that his current tutor cannot meet, designs for the privy garden at Placentia, which are showing signs of age now. Their surroundings are very inviting, and assuredly form the basis of their new plans.
In spite of the thickness of her sleeves, Elizabeth leans close to her husband, and he releases her arm to rest his about her shoulders. Such times as this are all too rare, and she is grateful that his Grace and Mama have created a shady ornamental garden in which to escape the summer heat. The dappled shadows of the leaves on the trees are most soothing to watch as they drift back and forth in the breeze.
They pause and sit together on a stone bench, a fountain playing nearby, "I wish that this could go on forever, Filipe."
"Then I shall seek to the Lord to stop the day, and thus we shall live in this one moment for all of eternity."
"But then we would be without our dear sons, would we not?" she teases him, "I think it is better that we hold our peace upon that."
His fingertip traces along the line of her chin, "Then I shall savour this moment instead."
Instinctively her lips seek out his, all of her love for him vivid in the intensity of the kiss. For all the privacy that has been afforded to them, they have had little opportunity for intimacy in a household so busy with attendants. Even here, it is too open - what if a gardener came upon them?
"Oh, God; if I could…" Filipe breathes, as she breaks from him, her own breathing quickening with desire; but she, too, knows that there is too great a risk of being found, and she forces herself to sit quietly, her eyes seeking out those dancing shadows; only to find them gone.
Bemused, she looks up and can see through the leaves that the sky is no longer blue, lost behind a cover of grey as clouds draw in. It seems that the heavy heat of the day has sent them a rude intruder.
Then they hear it: a grumble of thunder off to the north and then a pattering sound. Drops of water land about them, and upon them, and then it is suddenly a deluge.
Shrieking, Elizabeth leaps to her feet, Filipe in tow, and gathers up her skirts to run for the only shelter nearby. Within, the ornamental grotto is a cool, slightly damp, space that is free from the pounding water that has already drenched her overgown, and is leaching cold fingers of chilly dampness through her kirtle and chemise.
Her husband is equally sodden, and laughs as she leads him through the tunnel into a wide, open cavern. There are benches around the walls, and small niches in which Greek goddesses look upon them with eyes of marble, their bodies smooth and firm, unclad and invitingly erotic.
"Help me, Filipe, I can hardly move in this sodden velvet." Elizabeth is struggling with her lacing, eager to remove the heavy fabric that still soaks the garments beneath. His fingers are cold, and he struggles for a moment with the knots, but once they are unfastened, he is able to loosen the multitude of crossed lacings, and ease her out of the massive gown. Beneath, her kirtle is at least mostly dry, and she examines the seams, "There, that is better. Here, get out of that doublet, my love; it is as wet as the overgown."
It is as that rogue garment falls to the floor that it begins, an urgent wave of desire that will not be ignored. In an instant, she is reaching for his shirt to pull it over his head, her fingertips, then her lips, upon his firm body, "Take me, Filipe: I need you, I need you…" her breathing is fast, her eyes dilated, as her kisses rise up his chest, over his throat and to his mouth.
"A moment, dear one," he whispers, turning her about. She moans with frustration at the delay as he fumbles again with the lacings of her kirtle. Wildly, almost desperately, she forces herself out of the sleeves to remove the garment, and then must wait yet again for him to do the same with her stays.
Then, finally, she has only the chemise to discard, flinging it aside with almost wanton abandon. They have never been granted such privacy as this: decorum be damned.
Shivering with excitement, she turns to him, and fights with his codpiece and hose to free him. His expression is as hungry as hers; a deep, painful longing to give in to that most ancient, animal desire and sate it.
High above them, the sky rages in a maelstrom of wind and rain; but they know nothing of it, sheltered and guarded by a cavalcade of nymphs as their passion beats a counterpoint of equal power to the storm.
Elizabeth shifts slightly, and opens her eyes a little drowsily. For a moment, she wonders where she is, and then her hand brushes against her hip.
Startled, she lifts her head, and realises that her only garments are her stockings, and she remembers where she is. If she is shocked, it is only for a moment. Most who undertake that act of procreation do so with their garments still in place…
Then she remembers why they are there. God have mercy, how long have they been here? She lost all track of the passing of the hours as she and Filipe lay together, sating that initial maddened desire, then allowing him to reawaken her with gentle fingertips to accept him again, and again…
There…a distant rumble of thunder. Her light doze has not left them open to discovery.
They are lying upon her enormous overgown, their other garments spread about it to ensure that they were not obliged to be unclad upon a cold stone floor. In spite of the breaking of the weather, the heat that preceded it remains to some degree inside the grotto, so she does not shiver with cold in spite of her nakedness.
She lies back upon the heavy velvet with a sigh of joyful satisfaction. How can any priest claim that this is for the sole purpose of creating children? If that is so, then that shivering pleasure that her husband visited upon her is a gift for the burden of bearing the child. She had cried out at it, writhing and pleading for it to stop, yet not wanting it to…
Beside her, Filipe breathes in more overtly as he, too, wakes. He turns onto his side, that firm round of his shoulder enticing her to reach out to rest her hand upon it.
"Are you contented, your Majesty?" he asks, softly.
"Yes…" she whispers, "most contented."
His face falls a little, they shall be searching for us, I think."
"I heard thunder. Perhaps we slept only a few minutes." Elizabeth sits up, and sighs, "I wish that I could remain here - enfolded in your arms and free to enjoy your touch at will…"
"But you are Queen, and thus cannot." Filipe agrees, rising to sit beside her. For a moment, she feels as though she is Eve, in that first moment of innocence in the Garden of Eden, before evil entered the world. But now the world demands her back.
"Let me pretend I am not. Just for a little longer." She pleads, reaching for his shirt and doublet, while he gathers his hose, "Is it not right that a wife should dress her husband?"
"If it allows me to look upon you in your most beautiful aspect, then I shall permit it." He smiles at her, reaching out for a moment to stroke a pert breast.
It takes only a short time to dress him, before he assists Elizabeth in retrieving her enormous number of garments. First the chemise, then the stays, the petticoats and the bum-roll. Then the kirtle, and the overgown. Her hair is a cascade of copper down her back, all the pins scattered as he unfurled it. She laughs at him as he grovels upon the floor for each and every one, "Come now, Filipe, once we are seen, who shall truly believe that all we did when caught in the storm was seek shelter and talk awhile? Even if they do, then they shall suspect otherwise."
He sighs, "Even so, there are some who shall disapprove."
"Let them." Elizabeth answers, cheerfully, "We shall endeavour to enter the house surreptitiously, thereby giving rumours as little chance to take root as we can. I shall not permit any disapproving old maid to besmirch what we did."
"Nor shall I." He kisses her again, this time a chaste, loving kiss between husband and wife, "This shall live in my heart as a memory that none shall take from me. Perhaps I shall have a grotto built at Knole, to flee there again in inclement weather."
Her eyes luminous, Elizabeth smiles at him, "I should be delighted with that."
The rain has largely ceased as they emerge into the daylight again, the paths awash with water from the deluge. Thunder still rumbles occasionally in the far distance, but it seems that they are now safe to leave the garden without fear of another dousing.
Very, very close together, and perhaps a little reluctantly, the Queen and her beloved consort abandon the grotto, and make their way back to the house.