She folded the letter and tucked it into her bosom.

I fervently wished she were less devoted to him. I knew that when—or perhaps if—we married, there would be dire trouble; and there was something else which made me uneasy. I believed I was pregnant. I was not sure whether this was good or not, for I saw in it a chance of bringing matters to a conclusion.

I would not have another miscarriage if I could help it. The last had depressed me considerably, for there was a side to my nature which surprised me. I did love my children, and they meant more to me than I would have believed possible; and when I thought of those I would have by Robert, I was very happy. But if we were to have a family, now was the time to begin.

The Queen's ministers had never ceased to urge her to marry, for there was constant anxiety as to the succession. They reckoned that if she would marry immediately there might still be time for her to give the country an heir. She was forty-five. Yes, it was late in life to begin childbearing, but her body was in good state. She had never abused it by overdrinking and overeating; she had taken regular exercise; she tired most of us out with her dancing; she rode and walked and was full of energy, both physical and mental. So they believed there might just be time.

This was a delicate matter for them to discuss with her, for she would become very angry if it were suggested she were no longer youthful; so there was a great deal of secret activity and the ladies of her intimate bedchamber were asked some searching questions.

The negotiations with France began. The Duc d'Anjou had become Henri III and his younger brother who, as the Duc d'Alencon, had once been the Queen's suitor, had taken the title of Duc d'Anjou from his brother, who now had the greater one of King of France. The Duc was still unmarried and no doubt his mother, Catherine de' Medici, felt that a share in the crown of England would be a great advantage to her son and to France.

When he had plied his suit previously, Elizabeth had been thirty-nine and he seventeen and the difference in their ages had not displeased her. Would it do so now that the Duc was more mature and—I had heard—debauched—and she perhaps felt the need for a little haste?

It always amazed me to see the excitement talk of marriage could arouse in her. It was an extraordinary side of her character that the fact that this little Frenchman, with the unsavory reputation and far from prepossessing appearance, who was considering marrying her—and she could have had many of the greatest princes in Europe or the most handsome man in England whom she loved—should have aroused such delight in her. She was as frivolous as a young girl, and indeed she acted like one. She became even more coquettish and demanded outrageous compliments about her appearance, talking of gowns and ruffs and ribbons as though they were matters of state. If one did not know her for the wily diplomat, the shrewd ruler, that she was, it would have seemed that the foolish creature was unworthy of her crown.

I had tried to understand her attitude. In my heart I knew she had no more intention of marrying Anjou than she had any other suitor. The only one she had ever seriously considered marrying was Robert Dudley. But she was fascinated by the subject of marriage; she may haveimagined herself united with a man—with Robert, I supposed—but it had to be a fantasy; she would never face the reality. Somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind was this bogey of marriage. Perhaps this was because her mother, demanding it, had paid for it with her life. I would never really understand. It was like a child who is terrified of the dark and yet asks for bloodcurdling stories about it and listens fascinated, begging for more.

I wanted to see Robert to tell him that I was with child, for I was certain of it. If he had really meant that we should marry, now was the time to prove it. I could not stay at Court when my pregnancy was obvious. The Queen had sharp eyes and I believed that recently she had watched me even more closely.

However the negotiations for the French marriage took her mind off those about her. Although those of us who knew her well were sure she had no intention of marrying the Duc, there was a growing feeling in the country about the proposed marriage, and those who did not have to be so careful of what they said were hinting that she should stop deceiving herself. There could be no issue and the marriage would mean putting power in the hands of the hated French.

But of course she could be unpredictable and none could be absolutely certain of what she would do; and there was an opinion that if she really had decided to marry at last, it would be better for the country and herself to take an Englishman and one of whom she was fond. Everyone knew who that was and that she had proved her true feelings for him over many years; and since he was the most powerful man in England already, if he were raised to be husband of the Queen, it could not be so very different.

Astley, one of the gentlemen of the bedchamber, even went so far as to remind her that Leicester was unmarried. It can be imagined what apprehension this caused me, but the Queen's reply delighted me. She was very angry and I knew it was because she thought that this courtship from which she intended to extract the maximum enjoyment was going to be snatched from her.

She shouted so that many of us heard, not only in the Presence Chamber but beyond: "Would it not be unlike myself and unmindful of my royal Majesty to prefer my servant, whom I myself have raised, before the greatest princes in Christendom."

What an insult to Robert! His pride would be deeply wounded. I wanted to be with him when he heard what the Queen had said, because it would show him that he had no hope of marrying her after all.

I sent word to him that I must see him as I had urgent news for him.

He came to Durham House and as the Queen was busy with the marriage negotiations he was freer than he usually was.

He embraced me with no lessening of his fervor and I said to him: "I am with your child, Robert, and something must be done about it."

He nodded, and I went on: "It will soon be obvious and then there will be difficulties. I have the Queen's permission to retire from the Court because I am concerned about the children. I also pleaded sickness. If we are ever going to be married, the time is now. The Queen won't have you. She has stated that clearly enough, and if she won't, then she can raise no objections to your marrying someone else."

"That's true," said Robert. "I will arrange it. Come to Kenilworth and the ceremony shall take place there. There will be no more delay."

He meant it this time. He was furious with the Queen for her excitement over the French suitor, and of course what she had said of him had been reported to him. He was not going to allow himself to be so humiliated before the whole Court and dance attendance on her while she archly prepared herself for her meeting with the Duc d'Anjou, who seemed likely to succeed where he had failed.

Fate was favoring me. This was my triumph. I had won. I knew her so well. She would not marry Anjou—she had no intention of doing so. She enjoyed pretending because it infuriated Robert and showed everyone how desperately he wanted to become her husband.

"It is the crown he wants, Cousin," I said to myself, and how I should have loved to say it to her!

How I should enjoy standing before her and telling her that I was the one he loved. "See," I would maliciously point out. "He has even risked your displeasure to marry me."

I made the journey to Kenilworth and there we went through a ceremony of marriage.

"As yet," said Robert, "we must preserve the utmost secrecy. I must choose the right moment to break it to the Queen."

I knew he was right about this so I agreed.

I was happy. I had achieved my purpose. I was the Countess of Leicester, Robert's wife.

Back at Durham House my father came to see me. He had always kept a sharp eye on us and I think I gave him more anxiety than any of my brothers and sisters, although when I had married Walter he had believed I had settled for a life of domesticity.

After Walter's death he had begun to visit me more frequently and I have no doubt that he had heard rumors about Walter's suspicious end.

Francis Knollys was a very good and pious man and I was proud that he was my father, but he had grown even more puritanical as the years passed. He watched over my children and was very concerned about their religious upbringing; as none of them was inclined to religion, they found this rather tiresome, and I had to admit that I agreed with them.

Now he called unexpectedly and it was impossible to hide my condition from him. He was alarmed and after embracing me he held me at arm's length and looked at me searchingly.

"Yes, Father," I said, "I am with child."

He stared at me in horror.

"But Walter ..."

"I was not in love with Walter, Father. We were separated so much. We had not a great many shared interests."

"That is no way for a wife to talk of her husband."

"I must be truthful to you, Father. Walter was a good husband, but he is dead and I am too young to remain a widow for the rest of my life. I have found a man whom I love dearly... ."

"And you are with child by him!"

"He is my husband and in due course our marriage will be taken out of secrecy."

"Secrecy! What is this? And you already with child!" He looked at me in horror. "I have heard a name mentioned with yours and this shocks me. The Earl of Leicester ..."