The Virgin's Daughter (6 page)

He smiled to himself. Lucette Courtenay had no idea what she was walking into.

—

The English court took up residence at Greenwich in mid-May, and it was there that Elizabeth received her onetime closest friends, Dominic and Minuette Courtenay. The Duke and Duchess of Exeter, despite their exalted titles and position, spent very little time at court, and Elizabeth had not tried too hard to change that over the years. It wasn’t always comfortable to be around those one had known quite so well in the days before one became queen.

She knew they would come this spring, however, for they had agreed to their daughter’s visit to France, and Lucette would depart from Greenwich with Dr. Dee, bound for Dover. Elizabeth braced
herself for Minuette’s suspicious eyes and wary questions about her daughter’s trip, but in the event it was Dominic who asked to speak with the queen. Alone.

When he bowed to her in her privy chamber, Elizabeth felt a moment’s déjà vu rush upon her and remembered how William had always been caught between admiration and resentment of his friend. She quite understood her brother’s feelings now, for Dominic had a way of looking at you as though he knew every flaw in your character.

But he was, at heart, a gentleman and a loyal subject. “Your Majesty,” he said, “you are looking very well.”

“Let us hope my husband thinks the same later this summer. I mean to at least make Philip regret the necessity of divorcing me.”

“You will not protest?”

“I protest only when there is a reasonable chance of success. I’m afraid Philip and I have reached the end of our mutual usefulness to each other.”

“I am sorry for it,” Dominic said, and sounded genuinely as though he was sorry for Elizabeth herself, and not just because the ruler of England was losing the partnership of the ruler of Spain.

Disconcerted, Elizabeth said sharply, “Why are you here, Dominic? You never trouble yourself to come to my court unless it is to scold me about something.”

“I’m afraid that’s the only role I’m familiar with as far as royalty is concerned.” There was a shadow to his voice, and Elizabeth knew he was also seeing her brother, William, before him, young and eager and needing Dominic’s restraining hand.

Elizabeth refused to follow that painful path. “If you’re here to complain about Dr. Dee taking Lucette to France, I’m afraid you’ve left it rather late. They leave for Dover tomorrow.”

“I know. I will ride with them.”

Of course you will, she thought. “But you will not cross the sea with Lucette?” That would rather complicate matters, for Dominic’s sharp eyes and suspicious mind would be hard for Lucette to blind.

“She does not want me.” He said it plainly, almost disinterestedly.
“No, I only wanted your personal assurance that Lucette will be well guarded to and from Renaud LeClerc’s hands. There is mischief abroad in Europe these days and some men have long memories. I would not have her hurt merely because she bears my name and the queen’s friendship.”

Not once in seven years had Dominic spoken to Elizabeth of the revelation she had forced upon his family, never openly acknowledged the eruption that must have followed in his own heart. But confronted with his stern, familiar face, Elizabeth felt something she so rarely did that it took her a moment to identify the emotion: guilt.

Just as Dominic had chosen his vocabulary with care in referring to Lucette, Elizabeth did the same in making her promises. “I swear to you that Lucette’s welfare is ever close to my heart. She will be well watched, I promise.”

Dominic’s voice dropped, to a tone no one ever used with Elizabeth. “If she is hurt in any way, Your Majesty, I shall know where to look.”

Only because of their long association—and her own half-told truths—did Elizabeth refrain from sharp correction. But she would not let the implication pass. “Do you think I am unaware of my responsibilities, Lord Exeter? I am well acquainted with the threats offered vulnerable women. But as I have so often entrusted my own daughter to your care, surely you need not fear to do the same. Princess Anne, after all, must surely attract greater threats than Lucette.”

“And I would like it to remain that way, Your Majesty. Lucette is her own person, not a pawn in your political games.”

Elizabeth smiled with cold fury. “Lucette is most decidedly her own person. Do you honestly believe anyone could persuade that girl to be a pawn of any sort? She knows very well what she is about.”

“Or gives that impression. Elizabeth,” and it was as though all the intervening years since they were young together dropped away. “I love her dearly. Promise me she will come home safely from France.”

She looked at his straight body, the firm, well-balanced figure only slightly marred by the missing left hand, and knew that the last
thing she needed in this delicate summer was Dominic Courtenay in a vengeful mood. “I promise, Dominic.”

16 May 1580

Greenwich

Dominic spoke with Elizabeth alone last night. He didn’t tell me what he said, but I can guess. He is not at all happy about Lucette going to France without him. But he will not protest, for fear of driving her further away
.

Sometimes I confess a longing to shake both my husband and my daughter until they come to their senses! But, as I manifestly mishandled telling Lucette the truth, I am not at all confident that I know how to heal this. It was easier when I was the one who was twenty-two—now that I have children old enough to manage their own lives, I find myself praying at odd moments of night and day that they will come through without too many scars
.

And yet…would I relinquish the scars of my own youth? Good and ill are too tightly wound, we cannot have one without the other. And after all—if Lucette is William’s daughter, a truth that only God can ever know for certain—would I wish her never born? No more than Dominic would
.

Daughter by blood or not, Lucette has all of Dominic’s pride. It is distinct from royal pride, which assumes it is always right. Their pride is a bastion for their fear that if they are not perfect, no one will love them
.

I believe I have gentled that fear in my husband over the years. I hope Lucette will find someone to do the same for her
.

It had been years since Lucette had spent so much time alone with Dominic. Before her fifteenth birthday, she had loved traveling with him—Dominic would take her to Tiverton ahead of the rest of the family, or let her join him in touring some of his outlying lands in the West. She had always counted herself her father’s favorite.

This trip to Dover was an uncomfortable mix of nostalgia and awareness that things were not—and could never again be—the same between them. The easy adoration of a firstborn daughter for her all-powerful, all-wise father had been the dearest casualty of the queen’s interference. Sometimes Lucette hated Elizabeth for it, until she remembered that it was not Elizabeth who had created this mess. She had been living in a world of illusion. It was not the queen’s fault that disillusion hurt so very much.

For all that, Dominic Courtenay was a fairly simple man to get along with. Lucettte had once overheard her mother complain to him that it was impossible to have a satisfying argument with a man who would not fight back. As she recalled, Dominic had stopped her mother’s complaints with a kiss.

For all her promises to Pippa that she would speak to Dominic before leaving England, Lucette found herself nearly as silent as he was on the journey. They were in the company of Dr. Dee and royal guards, it was true, but she did not even attempt to make an effort. Mostly because she did not know, even after all these years, what to say.

I’m sorry I have blue eyes. I’m sorry the king loved your wife. I’m sorry to be a constant reminder of things best forgotten. I’m sorry I gave you all my love when it must have been a daily insult to your feelings to have your wife’s bastard calling you Father…

Really, far better to keep to neutral matters such as the state of the roads and the likelihood of a smooth Channel crossing.

Which was all well and good, until their final night at Dover Castle. Dominic requested to dine alone with her, and for once he carried the conversation.

“Dr. Dee tells me how much this journey will benefit your studies. He seems to think your primary interest in traveling to France is scholarship rather than courtship.”

“Isn’t scholarship always my primary interest?”

“Is it?” Dominic asked mildly. “Just as well. Perhaps you’ll have less need for a dagger among scholars.”

Lucette grinned despite herself. “You’ve never been in the midst of a scholarly debate, have you? I might very well wish for a dagger.”

“Good thing I brought one for you, then.” Dominic handed her a silver-chased casket, more than a foot long and half as wide.

Lucette opened it. The dagger Dominic had given her for her fifteenth birthday lay within it, an eight-inch blade inside its beautiful sheath. She could feel the weight of it in her hand, remembered the hours spent learning to use it with Dominic’s patient teaching.

“No easily hidden blades for France?” she asked. “The entire household will know what is in this casket before I’ve been in Blanclair a day.”

“Good. I want them knowing you are well armed. Besides, Carrie told me she had already packed a bodice dagger at your request.”

Lucette braced herself for questions, but Dominic clearly found nothing unusual in a young woman arming herself before traveling. After all, it was he who had taught her caution.

She swallowed against memories and noted that the dagger was not the sole item in the casket.

“A letter for Renaud LeClerc?” Lucette asked. “Aren’t you afraid I might read it before handing it on?”

“You have only to ask if you’re interested in its contents.”

She hated it when he was reasonable. And Dominic Courtenay was always reasonable. “Unless you’re offering to sell me to one of Renaud’s sons at a reduced rate, I can’t imagine what interest I might have.”

“I hope you’ll mind your tongue better among those who have no reason to indulge you.” Dominic never had to raise his voice to make it bite.

She felt herself flush. “I apologize. Of course whatever you have written to the vicomte is your business. I shall gladly deliver it into his hands, and hope that neither dagger will have need to be used during my sojourn.”

With a thrill of nerves, she pondered that weapons might be a much more practical accessory than Dominic had any cause to guess.
This was no intellectual exercise she was walking into. Kingdoms were at stake. Lucette rested her fingertips on the sheathed dagger and wondered. Would her nerve hold if it came to its use? She had never stuck a blade in anything more dangerous than a dead deer.

With a decisive snap, she closed the lid and re-placed the casket on the sideboard. When she moved away, Dominic stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Be careful, child. You tend to think that you are indestructible—rather like your mother. But there are men in this world who will not share that view. You have lived protected in England, what with the queen’s affections turned your way. Some of that will carry with you, but perhaps not enough. It is time for you to be wise, Lucie, and not simply to trust that others will see you as you see yourself.”

And how do I see myself?
she nearly asked. For that was the heart of her conundrum, was it not? That she had no fixed point of identity. When one could not be absolutely certain of one’s father, how was one supposed to know where she fit in the world?

26 May 1580

Pontefract Castle

To Her Most Gracious Majesty Queen Elizabeth,

As befits the first and most humble of your subjects, Your Grace, I send my love and thanks for your gracious care. The days at Pontefract pass with little wit and pleasure, being so far from your glorious court, but I trust my studies are pleasing to Your Grace
.

As requested, I have enclosed the draft of a letter to His Majesty James VI of Scotland. I trust that it will meet with your approval and that of your government. If there is aught else I can do for Your Grace, no doubt you will inform me in due course
.

Your most loving daughter,
              

Anne Isabella
         

Torn between irritation and amusement, Elizabeth tossed Anne’s letter on the small table set to the side of her throne and raised an eyebrow at Burghley. “Well,” she said drily, “one cannot say the Princess of Wales lacks for spirit.”

“One would expect no less from your daughter.” Burghley indicated the enclosure, the draft letter to James of Scotland. “And one cannot fault the correctness of her missive to the Scots king.”

“No, it is the very model of reserve and maidenly submission. What a shock for James should he indeed make her his wife and discover only afterward my daughter’s true character.”

“Has King Philip protested your plans toward James of Scotland?”

“Philip has done nothing but protest every plan I have ever made for Anne. I have no doubt I shall hear little but criticism while the Spanish are here this summer. So long as he confines himself to words,” she said, with a significant glance at Burghley.

He grunted acknowledgment. “The household guards at Pontefract are on alert, and Walsingham has eyes inside the household. The greatest threat to the princess at present is boredom.”

“There will be little time for her to be bored once Philip is here and she returns to court.”

“Your Majesty, do you intend to keep her at court after the king’s visit? She is of an age to be of some use to you, besides her natural gifts of adornment.”

Elizabeth drummed her fingers on the arm of her gilded throne, an outlet for her instinctive displeasure. This was not the first time Burghley had broached the subject. And considered dispassionately, the Lord Treasurer was quite right. At eighteen, she herself had been an active member of her brother’s court. But then, her brother had been three years younger, and neither of them had been doing much actual ruling at that age.