Legacy: The Acclaimed Novel of Elizabeth, England's Most Passionate Queen -- and the Three Men Who Loved Her (40 page)

for that military blunder. But later, when called to Philip’s tent to be

commended on his bravery, he was careful not to let that contempt show.

One does not tell the master of half of the world that he is a spineless

Susan Kay

fool—particularly when one is a penniless young lord seeking one’s

fortune wherever it may be made.

Philip’s personal request sent Robin back to England with despatches

for the Queen and within a few weeks, in recognition of his services at

St. Quentin, the Queen restored to the Dudley family lands which had

been escheated to the crown. But of the five Dudley boys who had set

out on their father’s desperate venture in 1553, only Robin and Ambrose

were now left to claim the rank of a duke’s son. Guildford had died on

the block; John of his rigorous imprisonment; Henry in the French war.

Whenever Robin surveyed the wreck of their once notorious family, he

knew it was left to him to restore its fortune.

Accordingly, he spent a short time making himself agreeable at court,

and gleaning information as to the nature of the Queen’s illness. When

at last he was satisfied that there was no longer any hope of a recovery,

he returned to his country estate and began to make plans for the future.

t t t

Amy Dudley stood in the low arch of the doorway and watched her

husband sadly. He was sitting at an old writing desk, with his back

towards her, poring over deeds and documents with taut interest. A

candle burned on either side of him and his favourite hound lay at his

feet in the sweet straw.

Misfortune had hardened him. He was no longer the easygoing boy

she had fallen in love with at Syderstone; they lived together in this big

house like strangers and made love occasionally in cursory silence. Ever

since his return from the Tower he had been like this, tense, preoccupied,

distant, driven by a burning restlessness which kept him hunting till dusk

and prowling through the quiet house at night. Often he went down to

the village alone, galloping out of the courtyard on that wild black stal-

lion which frightened her so much. She believed he met women there,

but dared not ask. He seemed to be waiting for something, consumed

by impatience, and the longer he waited the more moody and irritable

he became.

“Robert,” she said diffidently from the doorway, “what are you doing?”

He was silent. She sensed his displeasure at being disturbed.

“I’m selling some land,” he said curtly as she came over to his side. “I

need the money.”

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“For what? You lack for nothing here, Robert.”

“I intend to make a small investment for the future. That’s all you

need to know. Go to bed now, Amy—I’ll be up soon.”

Her eyes were steady on his face, but the hand resting on his shoulder

had begun to tremble.

“It’s for
her
—isn’t it?”

His lips tightened; he flung down his quill.

“It’s for Elizabeth, if that’s what you mean. She will be Queen before

the end of the year with any luck and then—”

“And then you will go to her,” said Amy dully.

“Naturally I shall go to her,” he snapped. “She is the only one who

can bring me to power and fortune again. For Christ’s sake, Amy, don’t

you understand—she will be Queen of England.”

“She’s always been your Queen. Do you think I haven’t known it all

these years?”

He began to gather up his papers in angry silence. Amy caught desper-

ately at the fur robe which hung loosely round his broad shoulders.

“Robert, listen to me, I beg you. Listen to me this once even if you

never do again. I’m not a fool. I know how attractive she is to you, and

to all men. She’s handsome and clever, and amusing—but her eyes are

like ice. And you won’t melt them, Robert—no man could. There’s

something cruel and twisted deep inside her. Oh, Robert, keep away

from her. I know she’s dangerous.”

He unpicked Amy’s hot fingers and put her from him; his face was

hard and contemptuous.

“I shall be leaving at the end of the week for Hatfield,” he announced

with measured calm. “When you have finished embellishing your absurd

fancies, you will find me waiting upstairs.”

“Wait as long as you like,” she sobbed, “I will not lie between the two

of you again.”

He shrugged indifferently and blew out the candles on the table.

“As you please, my dear. I shall not lack for comfort if you come no

more to my bed.”

He whistled to his dog and went quietly out of the room, leaving her

alone in the dark.

t t t

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Robin crossed the small ante-room and stared through the narrow

window out on to Hatfield’s great park. From the corner of his eye he

could just see the bags of gold which he had placed on the table over an

hour ago, and the sight made him frown. A whole hour he had been

hanging around here like a lackey waiting to be admitted; evidently she

was in no hurry to see him again. Discouraged and vaguely ill at ease, he

sat down on a stool, remembering the Tower and that secret visit with a

rueful smile. It did not rank in his memory as the greatest love scene of

all time. Until that moment he would have confidently said that no other

man in England had more skill when it came to parting a woman from

her clothes. Yet strangely, alone with Elizabeth, he had not even tried;

and the memory troubled him. Why had he not tried? God knew, he had

been desperate enough for a woman after all those months of monk-like

existence. Was it the fear of rebuff, the sneaking, uneasy feeling that she

would laugh at him, the suave, the utterly irresistible Robert Dudley?

That brief hour, how quickly it had passed in feverish conversation, and

in all that hour he had done nothing more significant than hold her hand.

Oh God, the shame of it made him squirm. From then until now, he had

been haunted by the memory of that candlelit scene in the semi-circular

stone room, that golden opportunity lost. He had tried to forget it in the

eager arms of a dozen other women, but her image would not be pushed

away. It mocked him daily, lay steadily between him and fulfilment, until

he knew that for the rest of his life he would know no peace until he had

had her.

The door opened and he looked up expectantly.

“Her Grace will see you now, Lord Robert.”

The wide-eyed girl who stood in the doorway smiled coyly and tried

to catch his eye. He did not appear to notice and she turned off the smile

in disappointment as he walked past her into the room beyond, without

a glance, taking the gold with him.

A great fire was burning brightly in the stone hearth and Elizabeth was

sitting beside it in a high-backed chair, with a long, ringless hand resting

on either tapestried arm. She was regally composed, dressed all in white

with her few jewels scattered in the myriad of bright curls which framed

her face. She was rather more beautiful than he had remembered.

He bowed very low, much lower than he had first intended; he had

not been prepared for such formality.

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“Your Grace.” He had been on the point of saying “Elizabeth” and

suddenly thought better of it beneath her steady watchful gaze. In the

window-seat he noted the ubiquitous Kat Ashley with a prick of annoyance.

“Welcome to Hatfield, my lord. What is it you want?”

He blinked. He had not expected that. Struggling to regain the offen-

sive, he swept a courtly bow and said smoothly, “I want nothing but

the pleasure of speaking with Your Grace and of placing myself and my

possessions at your service.”

Her eyebrow rose very slightly with just a hint of irony. She had made

that sort of pretty speech herself before now and she thought she knew

exactly what it was worth. She said nothing and he grew uncomfortable.

“May we speak alone, madam?” There was a note of desperation in

his voice and she looked him up and down with a glance that might

mean amusement.

“Leave us, Kat, and wait in the next room.”

Mrs. Ashley went with a sniff and a reproachful look and he breathed

a sigh of relief, for surely it would be easier now they were alone.

She leaned forward quickly to pick up one of the bags which lay at her

feet and he was reminded of the swift, swooping movement of a falcon.

“So these are your possessions? They seem remarkably portable, my

ragged Robin. But you are not so ragged now, are you, and hope to be

even less so in the future—my future.”

How shrewd she was, and how cynical, when he had hoped to find

her so amenable. He stood in awkward silence as she opened the bag and

then he saw the quick glint of pleasure in her dark eyes as she looked at

the gold within. She glanced up and smiled at him.

“Does this come with Amy’s blessing?”

“Does that matter?” he countered swiftly.

She shook her head and the jewels in her hair flashed fire.

“Would you take it back if it did?” she asked wickedly.

He looked at her extraordinarily long fingers, delicate hands far

stronger than they seemed, hands which he knew to his cost could deliver

a blow at astonishing speed and which would never let go of anything

that had once fallen into their grasp.

“I wouldn’t give much for my chances on that score,” he said drily.

Their silence lasted a moment more and then exploded into laughter.

She had raised the invisible barrier between them. He sat down on the

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stool at her feet and they began to talk unguardedly, like old friends. For

nearly two hours, Mrs. Ashley paced the ante-room in annoyance and

occasionally applied an eye to the keyhole. Then at last Elizabeth glanced

regretfully at the clock on the chimney-piece and held out her hand.

“Robin, you must go. I’m sorry I can’t ask you to dine, but even now

it wouldn’t be safe. You should not have come and I should not have

received you. The Queen still has spies in my household.”

“The Queen is in no condition to listen to spies’ tales now.” His

voice was serious suddenly, his glance urgent and compelling as he leaned

forward to take her hand. “She’s very near to death, but if she fails to name

you as her successor you may have to fight for your crown. Cardinal Pole

could oppose you in his own right and rally the Catholics against you.

Use that gold to arm yourself.”

“And you?” she asked quietly. “You will fight for me?”

“To the death if need be.”

She clasped both his hands between her own in the ancient symbol

of allegiance.

“Till death us do part then.”

He bent his head swiftly and kissed the hands which covered his own,

knowing that the dice were thrown, that she had sworn him for life

into her service and that death alone would release him from her jealous

possession. Where she led he must follow, but must he only follow? He

dared to ask it and received an ambiguous little smile in return.

“Good friends should travel side by side, like parallel lines.”

“Parallel lines never meet,” he reminded her meaningfully. “Even

in eternity.”

She looked up at him and there was no laughter in her eyes now. They

were cool and clear as they rested on his face for a moment.

“You are the mathematician, Robin. If you tell me that is so I shall

believe it. But surely you remember Roger Ascham saying you would

never make a politician if you gave up Cicero to study Euclid’s ‘pricks

and lines.’”

He was shrewd enough to know when he was being mocked and

warned off. He would need to be a strategist to win her love; he would

have to stalk her like prey. She was daring him to go to war, to enter a

battle where all the odds were against his ultimate victory. She had flung

down the gauntlet of challenge and he was too great an adventurer to

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resist taking it up, knowing the value of the prise at stake. And just to

show her he was not daunted by the prospect, he told her that if she chose

to play chess with him, he knew all the right moves.

“The right moves, yes,” she conceded mockingly, “but not necessarily

the right order in which to make them.”

There was a glint of amusement in her eyes as she held out her hand

and rather carelessly dismissed him. He was very glad then that he had

not pushed his luck by attempting to kiss her; he saw with uncomfortable

clarity what a crass blunder that would have been.

All through the long journey back to Norfolk, the memory of her

pale, enigmatic face tormented him. It was always her delight to speak in

riddles and that curious ability to obscure her real meaning had saved her

from death on more than one occasion. He spurred his horse angrily and

wondered why she should feel the need to exercise that talent on
him
! It

gave him the uneasy feeling that she did not entirely trust him, and he

knew instinctively that until he had that trust he would never gain his