One day she was clearly in a good mood. She was smiling to herself while we dressed her—for when I was at Court I was brought back to the bedchamber. I think she liked to have me there to gossip to. It was said that she liked the occasional tart retort for which I was getting a reputation. After all, if I went too far I could always be given a black look, a blow, or one of those painful nips which she was so fond of administering as a warning to those who she considered had taken advantage of the favor she had shown them.                                                     •

She was smiling and nodding to herself; and when I saw her with Robert I could tell by the manner in which she looked at him that whatever was in her mind concerned him.

When the secret was out none of us could believe it.

She had long had the welfare of her Scottish cousin close to her heart and she made it known that she believed she had found the perfect bridegroom for her. It was a man whom she prized above all others, one who had already proved himself her most faithful servant. The Queen of Scots would know how deeply she esteemed her when she offered her the finest man in her kingdom as a husband. None other than Robert Dudley.

I heard that Robert gave way to furious rage when he heard. It must have seemed like the death knell to all his hopes. He knew very well that Mary would never accept him, and the fact that Elizabeth offered him showed that she had no intention of accepting him herself.

There was a deep silence in the apartments that day. Everyone was afraid to speak. It was not long before Robert came striding in. He pushed everyone aside and went into her private chamber, and we heard their shouting as they talked together. I doubt there has ever been such a scene between Queen and subject, but of course Robert was no ordinary subject, and we could all understand his fury.

Suddenly they were quieter and we wondered what that meant. When Robert came out he looked at none of us but he had an air of confidence, and we all wondered what had happened between them to produce that.

We soon learned.

It could not be expected that a Queen could consider marrying the mere son of a duke. Lord Robert must be elevated. Elizabeth had therefore decided to bestow honors on him and he was to be made Earl of Leicester and Baron of Denbigh—a title which had never been used by anyone but a royal personage—and the estates of Kenilworth and Astel Grove were to be his.

Everyone was smirking behind their hands. Of course she was not going to relinquish her Sweet Robin. She wanted to do him honor and this seemed a good way of doing it while, at the same time, she insulted the Queen of Scots.

We at Court understood her motive, but the people would see it differently. She had suggested a match between the Queen of Scots and Robert Dudley. How wrong all the scandalous gossip had been about the murder of Dudley's wife! The Queen was certainly not involved, for she had not married him when she could and now she was offering him to the Queen of Scots!

Our clever Queen had achieved her purpose. Robin received his honors and people ceased to lay part of the blame for the murder of his wife at the door of the Queen.

I was present when the honors were bestowed on Robert. It was a very ceremonial occasion indeed which took place in Westminster Palace; and I had rarely seen the Queen in such a happy mood. Of course he looked magnificent in his glittering doublet, his satin bombasted breeches and his elegant ruff of silver lace. He held his head high; he would come out of that hall a much richer and more influential man than he had gone in. A short while ago he had thought all hope of marriage with the Queen was over since she had announced her determination to banish him to Scotland. But now he knew that she had no intention of doing this and it had just been a ruse in order that she could comfortably shower gifts on him—an assurance of her affection when he had feared her indifference.

Elizabeth entered the hall a scintillating figure, love for Robert softening her face, making her almost beautiful. Before her, carrying the sword of state, walked a very tall young man—little more than a boy—who, it was whispered to me, was Lord Darnley. I scarcely looked at him then, my attention being all for Robert, although I should have paid more attention to him if I had known what part he would play in the future.

All eyes, of course, were on that pair, the two principal actors in the scene; and I marveled as I had so often in the past—and was to do in the future—at the Queen's blatant exposure of her feelings for him.

Robert knelt before her while she fastened the mantle about his neck, and as she did so, to the amazement of all, she put her fingers inside the collar and tickled his neck as though she found the desire to touch him in this way irresistible.

I was not the only one who noticed. I saw Sir James Melville and the French Ambassador exchange glances, and I thought: This will be reported throughout Europe and in Scotland. The Queen of Scots had already professed herself to have been insulted by the suggested match and referred to Robert as the Queen's Horse Master.

Elizabeth did not seem to care. She turned to Melville, for she must have seen the look he exchanged with the Frenchman. There was very little she missed.

"Well," she cried, "what think you of my Lord Leicester, eh? Methinks you like better yon lang lad." She nodded towards Lord Darnley and I saw Melville flinch a little. I did not understand then, but later I realized she was letting him know that she was aware of the supposedly secret negotiations which were in progress to marry Mary of Scotland to Lord Darnley. It was characteristic of her that while she tickled Robert's neck she was considering the outcome of a marriage between Mary and the tall young man.

Later she pretended to be against it while at the same time doing everything she could to bring it about. She had summed up Darnley—not yet twenty years old, very slender so that he looked even taller than he in fact was, a pretty boy with round, rather prominent blue eyes and soft skin as delicately colored as a peach. The effect was charming enough for anyone who liked pretty boys. He had a veneer of pleasant manners, too, but there was something peevish and even cruel about those slack lips. He played the lute well and danced charmingly, and of course he had a flimsy claim to the succession, for his mother was the daughter of Margaret Tudor, Henry VIII's sister.

To compare him with Robert was to call attention to his weakness. I could see that the Queen reveled in the comparison and was as determined as Melville that secretly nothing should be placed in the way of Darnley's going to Scotland while outwardly she would pretend to be against it.

After the ceremony, when she retired to her private apartments, Robert—now Earl of Leicester and on the way to becoming the most powerful man in the kingdom—visited her.

I sat in the women's chambers while everyone talked of the ceremony and how fine the Earl of Leicester had looked and how proud the Queen had been of him. Had we noticed how she tickled his neck? She doted on him so much that she could not hide her love for him at a public ceremony before officials and ambassadors. What must she be like in private?

We giggled together. "It won't be long now," declared someone. Many of them were ready to wager that this was to prepare the way. It would be easier for a queen to marry the Earl of Leicester than it would to have taken Lord Robert Dudley. When Elizabeth had suggested he was a fit bridegroom for a queen, she had not meant Mary of Scotland but Elizabeth of England.

I was alone with her later. She asked me what I had thought of the ceremony, and I replied that it had seemed very impressive.

"The Earl of Leicester looked very handsome, did he not?"

"Exceedingly so, Madam."

"I never saw a more handsome man, did you? Nay, do not answer me that. As a virtuous wife you would not think he compared with Walter Devereux."

She was looking at me sharply and I wondered whether I had betrayed my interest in Robert.

"They are two very admirable men, Your Majesty."

She laughed and gave me a playful pinch. "To be truthful," she said, "there is not a man at Court who can compare with the Earl of Leicester. But you see Walter as his equal and that pleases me. I like not unfaithful wives."

I felt a twinge of uneasiness. But how could she know the effect Robert had on me? I had never betrayed it surely, and he had never glanced my way. Perhaps she thought that all women must desire him.

She went on: "I offered him to the Queen of Scotland. She did not think him worthy of her. She had never seen him or she would have changed her mind. I paid her the greatest compliment I could pay anyone. I offered her the Earl of Leicester, and I will tell you something: If I had not decided to die unmarried and in the virgin state the only man I would have married would have been Robert Dudley."

"I know of Your Majesty's affection for him and his for Your Majesty."

"I have told this to the Scottish Ambassador, and do you know what he replied, Lettice?"

I waited respectfully to hear and she went on: "He said, 'Madam, you need not tell me. I know your stately stomach. You think that if you married you would be but Queen of England and now you are both King and Queen. You will not suffer a commander.' "

"And did Your Majesty agree with him?"

She gave me a little push. "I think you know full well."

"I know," I said, "that I count myself fortunate to be connected by blood with your royalty and to serve such a noble lady.''