The Virgin's Daughter (2 page)

Elizabeth dismissed her generosity with a wave of one hand. “I owe Renaud LeClerc a debt for his care of you. And I can use every possible ally wherever they are placed. A French general and vicomte is a useful friend for England just now.”

They had reached the practice yard, a cleared section of fields by an indolent river where today Dominic and Renaud supervised a training bout of swords between Renaud’s sons. Julien, the sixteen-year-old whom Elizabeth had watched turn bright colours every time he looked at Minuette with what he thought was studied nonchalance, was already taller than his eighteen-year-old brother, Nicolas, but he was less disciplined. Julien scored hits more by virtue of luck than skill, something that Renaud pointed out to his younger
son in caustic French. The smaller children were ranged round the outside of the yard, cheering indiscriminately both young men, who in age and privileges were almost godlike to those ten years behind them.

Minuette’s sons followed every move of the older boys and their swords with rapt attention. Eight-year-old Stephen and six-year-old Kit were as different in temperament as in looks, but they shared an affinity for weapons and tactics. From the boys, Elizabeth’s gaze skipped over her daughter hand-in-hand with Kit’s twin, Pippa—the girls in nearly matching shades of blue gowns, Anabel’s subtly more splendid and artful—and rested where it most often did whenever she saw the Courtenays.

Ten-year-old Lucette Courtenay was the eldest of the younger group, a curious, intelligent girl with dark brown hair underlaid with tones of red. From the time she could walk, Lucie’d had a restless, impatient air, as though she could not drink in the world fast enough.

There was something poignantly familiar about that impatience.

But it was Lucette’s eyes that Elizabeth dwelt on. Where Minuette had hazel eyes, and Dominic’s were deep green, their eldest daughter surveyed the world from eyes of the brightest sea blue, a stunning combination with her dark hair and pale skin.

“No.” Minuette interrupted Elizabeth’s musings.

Though they did not even look at one another, Elizabeth knew that Minuette had heard the unasked question. It was the same question—and answer—they had been tossing between them for years.

Have you told her?

“You cannot keep it from her forever,” Elizabeth pointed out, as she so often had. “There is no mistaking those blue eyes. When once Lucette is introduced at court—”

“Who says she will come to court?”

“The eldest daughter of the Duke of Exeter? She’ll be at court.” Elizabeth spoke with the confidence of a monarch accustomed to
obedience. “People have long memories, Minuette. And when they see your daughter’s eyes, she will hear the stories. Do you not prefer she hear it from you?”

Minuette turned her back, a rudeness that only Elizabeth’s oldest friend could get away with. “She is my daughter, and it is not your concern, Your Majesty.”

Elizabeth watched her friend walk away and thought, The niece of the Queen of England is very much the queen’s concern.

ONE

N
onsuch Palace rang with merriment and music on this long winter night, for 21 February 1580 marked the birth of Anne Isabella, Princess of Wales and Queen Elizabeth’s sole heir to the English throne. This year was a particularly grand celebration, for Anabel, as she was known to her intimates, had reached the age of eighteen. The courtyards, ballrooms, and corridors of Henry VIII’s delicately wrought Nonsuch Palace bubbled with not only celebration, but speculation. Elizabeth had always kept her daughter closely guarded and at one remove from her court. But now that Anabel was eighteen, surely the queen must begin to give serious thought to her daughter’s future consort.

Lucette Courtenay had wished Anabel well earlier in the day and did not feel compelled to fight her way through tonight’s flatterers simply to lay particular claim to her childhood friend. Anyway, Pippa and Kit were both at her side. Lucette’s twin siblings would be eighteen themselves within the week and they had always taken Anabel as one of their own, a trio adept at going their
own way and charming themselves out of trouble when necessary. At twenty-two, Lucette felt herself much more than four years their elder.

Her brother Stephen caught her eye as she turned away. “Leaving already?” he asked, his deep voice so much like Dominic’s that it always startled her.

“You know I’m not interested in festivities as such. Besides, I’ve been summoned.”

“A private assignation?” He might have been teasing. “Should I follow at a discreet distance to guard your honour?”

“I’m quite capable of guarding my own honour,” she retorted. “Not that Dr. Dee is likely to threaten it.”

He laughed softly as she left.

Slipping through palace corridors that became decreasingly populated the farther she moved away from England’s royals, Lucette did not bother to wonder why Dr. Dee had sent for her. John Dee had been her tutor and mentor since she was fourteen, and Lucette was accustomed to his unusual demands. He might have anything to say to her tonight: from a debate on whether “algeber” or “algebar” was the correct term for that field of mathematics to a request to sight the stars with him. She hoped it wasn’t the latter. It was really very cold outdoors, and not that much warmer in the tower room up the four flights of spiral stairs that she climbed now. She was resigned to nearly anything.

But when Lucette knocked and was told to come in, she found herself very surprised indeed. Dr. Dee awaited her, as expected, but so did another man, one who stood with his back to the fire so that his figure was outlined in hazy light. She knew that figure, as did everyone at England’s court and many outside it: Francis Walsingham. Queen Elizabeth’s principal secretary and intelligencer.

Severe in his black clothing and somewhat devilish with his pointed beard, Walsingham said, “Welcome, Lady Lucette. And thank you for coming.”

“I didn’t come for you,” she replied, only realizing her rudeness as
she spoke. She pressed her lips tightly together, determined not to be shaken.

Amusement ghosted through Walsingham’s eyes as John Dee said mildly, “Don’t let’s stand on ceremony, my dear. Be seated, and hear Sir Francis out.”

What else could she do? One did not flout the requests of Francis Walsingham. Besides, she trusted Dr. Dee, as much as she trusted anyone, and knew he would not be involved in subterfuge if he did not think it necessary.

Lucette let her amber-coloured skirts bell around her as she sat. She was accustomed to simpler gowns and adornments, but one could not grow up Minuette Courtenay’s daughter without learning how to use even fabric to one’s advantage. Not that she had ever acquired her mother’s instinctive grace.

“What may I do for you, Master Secretary?” she asked coolly.

“You do not consider that perhaps I may be interested in doing something for you?”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. “You do not engage with those who cannot be useful to you in some way. And as I have never yet done you any favours of which I am aware, then there is nothing that you could owe me.”

Walsingham inclined his head, again with that faint air of amusement that managed to highlight his intensity rather than diminish it. “You are your mother’s daughter,” he murmured.

There had been a time when that would have been the highest praise Lucette craved. But now she heard only the unspoken corollary:
Your father’s daughter, on the other hand…

Before she had to ask again, Walsingham sat across from her and proceeded to business. “You have been invited to France by Charlotte Bertran. I would very much like you to accept her invitation.”

Now doubly surprised, Lucette said, “I have not even spoken of that at home yet. How did you know?” But the answer was evident. “Ah, because you have read my letters. Is that a long habit of yours?”

“No. But Charlotte Bertran is the daughter of Renaud LeClerc.
And I am, shall we say, interested in anything from that quarter just now.”

“Why? Surely you do not expect to turn anyone in the LeClerc household to your service.”

“It is your service that interests me.”

Lucette’s gasp was half laugh, half shock. She looked from Walsingham to John Dee, inscrutable as always in the candlelight, then back. “You want me to turn intelligencer? I am a woman.”

John Dee interjected in his quiet, thoughtful manner. “If that is your sole objection, then you should hear Sir Francis out.”

She was quick enough to grasp why, and the further shock of it drove her to her feet. “You view the LeClercs as enemies, and think that they will not expect a woman to unearth their secrets.”

Walsingham rose more slowly, regarding her with an air of disinterest she did not believe. “Nicolas LeClerc is a widower, and Julien has never married. Charlotte made it clear in her letter that she would like to match you with one of her brothers. Why would they suspect a young woman with such long ties to their family—a woman actually born in their household—of spying?”

“They would not, because I will not do it.”

“Even if it were a matter of life and death?”

“Is it?”

“I do not trifle in other than matters of life and death, my lady. I have cause for concern in the LeClerc household and would be as happy to have those concerns dismissed as confirmed. I could approach it in another manner, but it would take longer and be less certain.”

“No,” Lucette said decisively. “As you called me my mother’s daughter, then you know that my family does not meddle in politics.”

“Not even at the queen’s command?”

“Her Majesty would never command this.”

“Are you certain?”

Drawing herself up to her full five and a half feet, Lucette said
firmly, and daringly, “If Queen Elizabeth has a request for me, she can ask me herself.”

She left without being dismissed, fury at Walsingham’s impertinence mixed with a less laudable and less comfortable emotion: curiosity.

It had always been her besetting sin, and as Lucette swept through the freezing corridors of Nonsuch Palace she admitted to herself that her interest had been engaged and she would be a little disappointed if nothing more came of it.

—

“She declined?” Elizabeth asked, before Walsingham had even finished bowing.

“She did. She has something of her mother’s tongue about her, but her temper—”

“I know all about Lucette’s temper,” Elizabeth interrupted drily. It was Will’s temper, which meant it would cool as swiftly as it flared.

“The lady more or less dared you to ask her yourself.”

“I told you it would come to that.” The queen waved away an attendant offering an array of sweets and gestured to Walsingham to sit. “Are you certain involving her is the best course?”

“Absolutely.” Walsingham was accustomed to the queen revisiting decisions already made, and he listed his arguments succinctly once more. “No one will think twice about Lucette Courtenay visiting her family’s longtime friends in France, especially considering that she was born there. Charlotte is clearly anxious to match the girl with one of her brothers, so Lucette will have every reason and opportunity to get close to both of them.”

“You have not told her why, or that you have a particular interest in Julien LeClerc?”

“I will not tell her why until she agrees—and about Julien, I will tell her nothing at all. I need her to make up her own mind.”

Elizabeth drummed her fingers on the tabletop, tempted to delay
but knowing that another opportunity so perfect might never present itself. “Then I suppose it’s time to exercise my royal prerogative and see how far Lucette will allow herself to be commanded.”

“Your Majesty will keep in mind the delicacy of the situation.”

“A French plot to assassinate me? I am every day aware of the delicacy of the situation, Walsingham. It is why the Princess of Wales will leave court within the week. It would not do to keep her too accessible.”

“The princess is not, I take it, in agreement with that plan?” Walsingham asked disingenuously, for those at court who had not heard Anne’s outrage for themselves had quickly been apprised by those who had. Elizabeth knew her daughter to have been named well, for she had every single bit of her Boleyn grandmother’s temper and quickness to take offense.

“Princess Anne will do as she must, as she was born to do. She may blame me for her position, but I do not think she is in a hurry to give up its privileges. Until Philip accepts the inevitable and divorces me, there is no chance of him having another heir and Anne will continue to be a pawn in Spanish politics.”

Walsingham eyed her narrowly, and Elizabeth stared him down, daring him to accuse her of delaying the divorce herself. But he merely cleared his throat and said, “The sooner we have eyes in the LeClerc household, the better.”

“Consider it accomplished,” Elizabeth said. “I know how to bring Lucette to heel.”

But there was a slight hollow inside when she pondered the girl’s features in memory—though not really a girl any longer, she mused. Twenty-two. Bright and stubborn and wary and innately generous…and with those wide blue eyes that had the power to unsettle the Queen of England more than she had ever allowed anyone to know.