“Elizabeth, now she was stubborn.”
Elizabeth . She used the Queen’s Christian name just as Adam had—so startlingly personal. “Is she the reason you won’t leave? The Queen?”
Her mother seemed annoyed by the question. “Of course. What else?”
“What is she to you? What is this hold she has on you?”
Her mother’s face softened. She came closer and caressed Isabel’s cheek with the back of her finger. “Bel, there were times in these last years when I missed you so much. Wished that I could just talk to you, be assured you were all right. Elizabeth is exactly your age, you know. She often reminded me of you. Strong-willed. Clever. But sometimes too impetuous.” A noise outside made her turn again to the window. “Ah, I see Carlos is up after all.”
“Up before me, actually.” She watched Carlos stride along the gravel path toward Nicolas. She was still struggling with how to convince her mother. “He went to the stables. He likes to see to the horses first thing. Old habit.”
“I’m so glad you have him, Bel. And he you. So glad to see you happy.”
“Mother, come back with us, please. You can have a happy life, too.”
“Sometimes, my darling, we need to think beyond our own happiness.”
“Even if it means courting death?” She could not believe this was happening. “Why won’t you let me help you?”
Her mother turned to a tier of seedlings. She lifted a small clay pot where a green shoot, just three fragile leaves, trembled in the slight current of air. “I have seen four reigns here,” she said, touching the tiny plant with a kind of caress. “Four Tudor monarchs. I knew King Henry. He cared only for his own magnificence. At his worst, he was a tyrant. King Edward was a mere boy, bullied by powerful dukes, sickly to the day he died. Queen Mary was a pitiful woman, vicious in her weak-minded obsession with her religion. None of them thought of what was best for England.” She looked up at Isabel. “None, until Elizabeth. She has a heart that beats in sympathy with the English people. She senses their latent vitality. This poor realm is a seedling, Bel, struggling in the cold, harsh wind of an early spring. In Elizabeth’s hands it can flower, fresh and vigorous. Without her, tyranny can so easily trample it again.”
Isabel saw the passion in her eyes, and it gave her a shiver. She felt as though her mother was slipping away from her. “This is no answer.”
“It is my answer.”
“But—”
Voices sounded in the screened passage. Timothy, the young footman, appeared, followed by a man who strode in with a brisk air of business.
“Sir William!” her mother said in surprise. She sounded pleased at the interruption. Isabel was not. She tried not to glare at the man for intruding on them. He appeared younger than her mother by perhaps five years. His clothing was costly but somber.
“Honor, forgive the early hour,” he said as he reached them. He looked at Isabel and added affably, “The business of state keeps no hourglass.”
“Well, I trust the business will allow you to join us first for breakfast? Isabel, this is Sir William Cecil.”
Isabel was taken aback. What exalted circles her mother moved in! She knew Cecil to be the Queen’s first minister and closest adviser. “Sir,” she said with polite deference as she curtsied.
“Sir William,” her mother said, “allow me to introduce—”
“Your daughter. I know. And no, no breakfast.” His brusqueness might have seemed rude in someone else, but Isabel sensed a familiarity between him and her mother that spoke of a comfortable friendship. He gave Isabel a courtly bow of the head. “You, Señora Valverde, are the reason I am keeping you and your good mother from breaking your fast. I trust your evening at the Spanish embassy was pleasant?”
Isabel was astonished. How quickly gossip spread. “Very pleasant, sir. Bishop Quadra was most gracious.”
Her mother said wryly, “Really, my friend, do
Elizabeth . She used the Queen’s Christian name just as Adam had—so startlingly personal. “Is she the reason you won’t leave? The Queen?”
Her mother seemed annoyed by the question. “Of course. What else?”
“What is she to you? What is this hold she has on you?”
Her mother’s face softened. She came closer and caressed Isabel’s cheek with the back of her finger. “Bel, there were times in these last years when I missed you so much. Wished that I could just talk to you, be assured you were all right. Elizabeth is exactly your age, you know. She often reminded me of you. Strong-willed. Clever. But sometimes too impetuous.” A noise outside made her turn again to the window. “Ah, I see Carlos is up after all.”
“Up before me, actually.” She watched Carlos stride along the gravel path toward Nicolas. She was still struggling with how to convince her mother. “He went to the stables. He likes to see to the horses first thing. Old habit.”
“I’m so glad you have him, Bel. And he you. So glad to see you happy.”
“Mother, come back with us, please. You can have a happy life, too.”
“Sometimes, my darling, we need to think beyond our own happiness.”
“Even if it means courting death?” She could not believe this was happening. “Why won’t you let me help you?”
Her mother turned to a tier of seedlings. She lifted a small clay pot where a green shoot, just three fragile leaves, trembled in the slight current of air. “I have seen four reigns here,” she said, touching the tiny plant with a kind of caress. “Four Tudor monarchs. I knew King Henry. He cared only for his own magnificence. At his worst, he was a tyrant. King Edward was a mere boy, bullied by powerful dukes, sickly to the day he died. Queen Mary was a pitiful woman, vicious in her weak-minded obsession with her religion. None of them thought of what was best for England.” She looked up at Isabel. “None, until Elizabeth. She has a heart that beats in sympathy with the English people. She senses their latent vitality. This poor realm is a seedling, Bel, struggling in the cold, harsh wind of an early spring. In Elizabeth’s hands it can flower, fresh and vigorous. Without her, tyranny can so easily trample it again.”
Isabel saw the passion in her eyes, and it gave her a shiver. She felt as though her mother was slipping away from her. “This is no answer.”
“It is my answer.”
“But—”
Voices sounded in the screened passage. Timothy, the young footman, appeared, followed by a man who strode in with a brisk air of business.
“Sir William!” her mother said in surprise. She sounded pleased at the interruption. Isabel was not. She tried not to glare at the man for intruding on them. He appeared younger than her mother by perhaps five years. His clothing was costly but somber.
“Honor, forgive the early hour,” he said as he reached them. He looked at Isabel and added affably, “The business of state keeps no hourglass.”
“Well, I trust the business will allow you to join us first for breakfast? Isabel, this is Sir William Cecil.”
Isabel was taken aback. What exalted circles her mother moved in! She knew Cecil to be the Queen’s first minister and closest adviser. “Sir,” she said with polite deference as she curtsied.
“Sir William,” her mother said, “allow me to introduce—”
“Your daughter. I know. And no, no breakfast.” His brusqueness might have seemed rude in someone else, but Isabel sensed a familiarity between him and her mother that spoke of a comfortable friendship. He gave Isabel a courtly bow of the head. “You, Señora Valverde, are the reason I am keeping you and your good mother from breaking your fast. I trust your evening at the Spanish embassy was pleasant?”
Isabel was astonished. How quickly gossip spread. “Very pleasant, sir. Bishop Quadra was most gracious.”
Her mother said wryly, “Really, my friend, do
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