Had it come? And was Amy to be its first victim?

“Why do you not answer me?” he said; and the answer she gave pleased him more than any could: “I … I dare not.”

He felt powerful. He was, after all, a Dudley. In him was the love of power which had raised his grandfather from a humble lawyer to be the extortioner-in-chief of King Henry VII, the same love of power which had induced his father to step along the road which had led from Tower Hill to the Council Chamber and would take him before long to the Protectorate. He felt very tender toward her; he took her trembling hand and kissed it.

“You are afraid, Amy. Afraid of me!”

“I … I think I should return to the house.”

“Nay,” he said firmly, “you shall not.”

He sensed the ready obedience in her and it delighted him. He wanted now to repay her for the pleasure she gave him. He said on impulse: “I will marry you, Amy.”

“Oh … but how could you! Your father would never allow it.”

She saw his lips tighten. “If I chose to marry I would do so,” he said sharply.

“My father is rich and important, but that is here in Norfolk. We have our house and our estates, and one day they are to be mine. But … what of your father in London? He visits the King himself, and they say that even the King must do as he wishes.”

“The King may do what my father wishes,” said Robert boastfully, “but I shall do what I wish.”

“But it could not be.” She was too innocent to know that her attitude was stiffening his determination to have his own way.

“If I will it, it shall come to pass,” he said.

Then suddenly he had taken both her hands, was drawing her toward him and kissing her.

“Robert …” she began.

“Your skin smells like buttermilk and your hair like hay,” he said.

“We shall be seen.”

“And do we care for that?”

“They will think you are a shepherd with your love.”

He released her. He did not care that Robert Dudley should be mistaken for a shepherd.

They walked slowly back to the house.

She said sadly: “It is like a dream that will never come to pass in reality.”

“We will make it come true.”

“But I know your father will never consent. It is wrong therefore to hope.”

“I tell you I will do as I please.”

“But you have forgotten who you are and the grand schemes your father will have for you. You have forgotten that although I am my father’s heiress and he is considered rich in these parts, you are Robert Dudley, the son of the most important man in England.”

“There is something you have forgotten. It is this: When I say I love, I love; and when I say I will marry, I will do so. No one shall stand between me and my desires.”

It was bold and it was what was expected of him.

He kissed her as they stepped into the house, and he kissed her as though he cared not who might see.

Amy told her maid Pinto what had happened. Amy could not keep anything from Pinto.

“Pinto,” she cried, “I am swooning. Bring a fan and fan me. I know not what is to become of me.”

Amy lay on her bed, half laughing, half crying, while Pinto tried to soothe her frivolous young mistress.

“Now, now, sweeting, now, now! What is it? You must not be so excited. It’s that young man, I’ll wager.”

“Clever Pinto!” said Amy with a smothered laugh.

“Oh, Mistress Amy, what has happened? What have you done? He is not for you.”

“You must not let him hear you say that, Pinto. He would be angry with you. He is for me, Pinto. He says it, and he will be very angry with any who gainsay it.”

Pinto felt sick with the horror of this. The family might think it great good fortune to have that young man as their guest. Pinto was a wise woman. She watched him often, and always with a fearful absorption. “What have you done?” she demanded. “Tell me … everything.”

“I was in the meadow with him … making a daisy chain.”

Pinto sighed and shook her head. “How many times has it begun thus?” she cried. “Making a daisy chain! There is some evil in daisy chains. So simple! So innocent! Thus was Eve when the serpent came along.”

“He says he will marry me, Pinto.”

“Never!”

“He is determined to do so.”

“They are always determined at first. It is only afterward that their determination wavers.”

“You misjudge him … and me.”

“Then you are still my little virgin?”

Amy nodded. “He swears he will marry me. Not even his father will stop him.”

“A man who could deal so swiftly with the Norfolk rising not stop his son making the wrong marriage!”

“But this is the right marriage, Pinto.”

“Nay, dearest.”

“He says so and he is always right.”

“I like this not, Mistress Amy.”

“I shall never allow you to leave me, Pinto, wherever I go.”

“I should think not!” said Pinto.

Pinto looked at the sixteen-year-old girl who had never been far from her country home. What did she know of the way of the world? And the young man had the air of knowing much.

Perhaps he would go away. He could not mean this talk of marriage. Pinto would know how to comfort Mistress Amy when he went. There was no fear that Robert Dudley would marry Amy Robsart. Fear of it? Yes, fear. For if innocent little Amy married Robert Dudley, how would it end?

Surprisingly the Earl of Warwick gave his consent to the marriage of his son with the daughter of John Robsart. Robert’s powers of persuasion were great, and his father recognized that determination which he knew so well because he himself possessed it. Robert was his fifth son, so his marriage was not the important matter of that of a first-born; the Robsarts were rich. Moreover at this time the Earl had great matters to which he must attend. Every day seemed to bring the fall of Somerset nearer and he, Warwick, was preparing himself to become Lord Protector. The matter of a fifth’s son’s marriage therefore seemed less important than it might have seemed at another time.

Jane Dudley, who could not accustom herself to her grand title, contemplated Robert’s marriage with happiness.

“It is a true love match,” she said, “and that is what I would have chosen for Robin. Amy is a pretty girl, a little simple because she has been bred in the country, but I like that. Robert will spend much time in the country, and the country life—away from the plotting and planning of the Court—is a good life.”

Jane pictured herself visiting them, resting in the lovely manor house, playing with their children, showing dear Amy how to make certain special preserves which could not be left to the serving maids, and how to grow herbs which could be used for flavoring and medicines. She saw that happy life for Amy and Robert which she had hoped might be hers and John’s.

She scarcely saw John these days. But how unreasonable it was to expect him to give his time to her. She had served her purpose. She had borne thirteen children to enrich the Dudley fortunes and, although six of them had not survived, seven was a goodly number, particularly when they were such children as hers.

As for the Robsart family they could scarcely believe their good fortune. Their dear little Amy, their simple little pet was to be the means of allying theirs with the most powerful family in England.

The wedding was celebrated with much pomp and ceremony at the Royal Palace of Sheen, and King Edward himself attended. Never had the Robsarts believed such glory would come their way.

After the ceremony the married pair returned to Siderstern and prepared to live happily ever after.

And for a time Robert was happy.

Still greater power had come to his father. He had brought a charge of treason against Somerset, who on Tower Hill had met the same fate as that which a short while ago had befallen his brother, the fascinating Thomas. With Somerset headless, John Dudley was ruler of England, for the fourteen-year-old King—sick and steadily growing weaker—counted for little.

John’s immediate action was to assume the title of Duke of Northumberland, although never before had any man, unconnected with royalty, had the title of Duke bestowed upon him.

Honors found their way to the Siderstern manor house. The Duke of Northumberland bestowed Hemsley Manor, which was not far from Yarmouth, on Robert and his wife. John Robsart was given jointly with Robert the Stewardship of Manor Rising. This was a sure sign of the King’s favor; but the King’s favor was in reality Northumberland’s favor and it was small wonder that that fell upon his son and his son’s father-in-law.

For Robert and Amy the long days were full of pleasure. Whether it was hunting, hawking, tilting, or sport of any sort, there was none in Norfolk to compare with Robert. Wherever he went his smile was sought. He was called by the folk of Norfolk: “Our Lord Robert.”

So he grew in strength and beauty, taking a great interest in local affairs. If his father was the greatest man in England, Robert was the greatest in Norfolk. There was scarcely a woman in the county of Norfolk who would not have been his for the asking. The young bridegroom of seventeen had become a handsome man of twenty—the handsomest in Norfolk, the most fascinating, it was believed, in the whole of England; and if a search of the entire world were made, where would one so merry and gay, so full of charm and chivalry, be found to equal Lord Robert!

It was not his father’s wish that he should stay forever in the country. Now and then there would come a call to Court, and Robert would set out with his servants while the country folk—particularly the women—would sadly watch him go. They said that Norfolk was a dull place without Lord Robert.