"Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken"
Caroline read aloud the thrilling words as she sat alone in a solitary corner of the library, reveling in her book. So intent was she upon her reading that she did not hear anyone enter the room until a voice behind her startled her.
"What ho, Cousin, have your nose in a book again?" Edward laughed. "What are you reading? Sounds rather dull."
Caroline turned with a start to see both Edward and John standing behind her and closed her book hastily.
"Tis only Shakespeare's sonnets," she replied. "And it is most certainly not dull. Wouldn't you agree, John?" she turned to him appealingly as Edward shook his head in mock despair.
"Can't say I've ever read them," he said, almost apologetically. "What is it about?"
"Never read them?" Caroline's brow creased in consternation. "Then listen to these words." And, opening where she had left off, re-read the excerpt. When she lifted her head, Edward was faking a yawn and she frowned at him. But there was a strange look in John's eyes that nearly frightened her.
"An ever-fixed mark," he murmured. "That looks on tempests and is never shaken."
"Isn't that beautiful?"
"Indeed, Lady Caroline." he seemed to suddenly return to reality as for a moment, his expression had seemed far away. "Beautiful... and true. Don't you think so, Edward? Love should never be fickle but able to withstand the fiercest storms and the most hopeless sorrows without moving."
"But what can I know of love?" Edward returned sadly. "I must marry to form a political alliance and will never know the power of that love you read of, Caroline. But I hope that you will."
John had fallen strangely silent and was staring at the floor as if something unusual had attracted his full attention. Caroline laid her book aside and turned toward the glass doors that led out into the garden.
"Will you come, both of you?" she asked, eagerly. "I've read long enough and I long for a little sunshine before I return to Her Majesty, the Queen."
At her invitation, both young men followed her out into the garden. The sun was indeed shining brilliantly. The birdsong blended with the constant laughter of the falling water in the fountain and surrounded the little enclosed area with beauty of sound to add to the beauty of sight. Caroline moved slowly down the cobblestone path as John and Edward fell in step with her, one on each side. The melancholy mood of a few minutes before lifted quickly as the three friends lost themselves in lively chatter and laughter. They had encircled the little garden once when the library doors were opened and they turned, simultaneously, to see the Chamberlain standing there, his usual stern expression arranged carefully on his austere features.
"Your Royal Highness," he said with a bow. "I beg pardon for my intrusion. The King has requested your presence in the throne room immediately."
"All right then, thank you." Bowing a farewell to his friends, the prince turned and followed the Chamberlain inside and John and Caroline were left alone. Both were silent for a moment, then Caroline broke the silence with a sigh.
"I must return to the Queen," she said, gazing wistfully at the rosebushes. "She will be expecting me now." But she lingered a moment longer. "The roses are lovely, are they not? I wish I could carry their beauty and fragrance with me."
With a smile, John reached forward, plucked the largest and most glorious of the roses from the bush, and placed it in her hand.
"There you are, Lady Caroline. Carry it with you and may you always be as happy as you are this day."
Caroline glanced up at him but her eyes fell and she stared at the rose in her hands.
"Thank you, John," she managed with difficulty for she felt something like a lump in her throat that she could not swallow. "I shall keep it always. To remind me of this happiness." Not trusting herself to say another word, she turned and slipped back through the doors. As she did so, a single petal fell from the rose and landed on the garden path. John watched until she had vanished from sight, then knelt to pick up the fallen petal. He pressed it to his lips, then slipped it carefully into his pocket. He, too, would keep it always. Perhaps it would remind him of these happy moments in the dreary days to come.