The marriage was proved to be legal, and very soon after Dorothy and her husband came to Leicester House.

She was radiantly happy and so was her husband, and, of course, Robert was charming to them. He promised he would do all he could to advance them. Robert, as always, was the devoted family man.

It was the end of the old year 1583 and fortunately I had no idea then of the tragedy the new year would bring to us. Both Robert and I had always tried to hide our anxieties about our little son, by telling each other that lots of children were delicate in their infancy and grew out of it.

He was a bright little fellow, gentle in demeanor; he certainly did not take after either of his parents. He adored Robert, who, when he was at home, lost little time before paying a visit to the nursery. I have seen him carry the child on his shoulders while little Robert screamed with delighted terror as he was swung in the air, and, when put down, demanded more.

He loved us both. I think we seemed godlike to him. He liked to see me ride out in my chariot drawn by four white horses and my memory of him, his little hands stroking one of the ornaments on my dress, will stay with me forever.

Leicester was continually making plans for great marriages and he would not have given up the idea of Arabella Stuart even though the Queen had poured scorn on it.

After Sussex's death, Robert seemed more than ever with the Queen. I knew that one of her pleasures in keeping him constantly at her side came from the fact that she deprived me of his company. You may be his wife, she was telling me, but I am his Queen.

She was loving to him. He was her dear Eyes and Sweet Robin, and she became irritable if he stayed away from her for long. Sussex's warning had left her completely unmoved. They were saying at Court that no one would ever take his place with her, for if he could survive his marriage he could survive anything.

Alas her enmity towards me showed no sign of abating, and I was constantly hearing that it was unwise to mention my name in her presence and that on the occasions when she spoke of me it was always as that She-Wolf. She had evidently decided to accept my "cubs," though, for both Penelope and Dorothy were received at Court.

As the new year approached it was time to prepare the Queen's New Year's gifts. Robert had always endeavored to make each year's outstrip the previous one. I helped him to choose his gift, which was a large porringer of dark green stone with two magnificent gilt handles curled about it like golden snakes. It was most impressive. Then I discovered that he had another gift for her. It was a necklace made of diamonds. He had given jewels on many occasions, but never anything quite so extravagant as this. I felt myself go cold with rage when I saw that it was decorated with lovers' knots, and I believe I would have torn it apart if I could have done so.

He found me holding it in my hands.

"To placate Her Majesty," he said.

"You mean the lovers' knots?"

"That's just a design. I mean the diamonds."

"It's what I call a rather bold design, but I am sure the Queen will approve of it."

"She will be delighted with it."

"And no doubt ask you to clasp it round her neck?"

"I shall claim that honor." He must have sensed my mood, for he added quickly: "Perhaps if she is softened enough I might ask the all-important question."

"And that is?"

"That she will receive you at Court."

"You would not please her by begging such a favor."

"Nevertheless I intend to do my utmost to bring it about."

I looked at him cynically and said: "If I were there, your position would be difficult, Robert. You would have to play the lover to two women—and both of them of uncertain temper."

"Now, Lettice, let us be sensible. You know I have to placate her. You know I have to be in attendance. It makes no difference to us."

"It makes a great deal of difference. It means I have a husband whom I rarely see because he is constantly dancing attendance on another woman."

"She'll come round."

"I see no sign of it."

"Leave it to me."

He was jaunty and confident as he went off to put the lovers' knots round the royal neck, while I asked myself how long I was expected to endure this. There had been a time when I had been reckoned to be the most beautiful woman at Court; and the reason I was not known as such was not due to a fading of my charms, but simply because I was not there.

I asked him as soon as I had an opportunity how the Queen had liked the necklace. He smiled complacently.

"It pleased her mightily. She would wear it immediately and has scarce put it aside since."

"A clever choice, I see. And was she any more inclined to look with favor on the giver's wife?"

He shook his head gloomily. "You know her temper. She became moody when I broached the subject and made it clear that she was not ready to consider it yet."

I knew that I was as far from being received at Court as ever.

It was true we entertained at Leicester House, Kenilworth, Wanstead and our other smaller residences and then I came into my own, but it seemed that whenever I was enjoying my role as wife to the most influential man in England, the Queen would decide that she would visit the Earl of Leicester and that meant that Leicester's wife must disappear.

My patience was beginning to run out. Robert was still my loving husband—when he was with me—and I made it my business to make sure that there was no other woman in his life—apart from the Queen. Whether this was due to a slackening of desire because of his increasing years, the satisfaction he derived from me, or fear of incurring the Queen's displeasure, I could not say; but whatever else Robert was he was the Queen's man, and that was something she was never going to allow him—or me—to forget.

He might be satisfied with his rising star but I was certainly not with my declining one.

In my frustration at being excluded I gave way to even wilder extravagance. I wore more glittering gowns when I rode out, and added to my retinue. As I passed through the streets people stood in greater awe than before and once I heard it whispered: "She's a grander lady than the Queen herself." And that gave me pleasure ... but only temporarily.

Was I, Lettice, Countess of Leicester, going to allow myself to be pushed aside simply because another woman was so jealous of me that she could not bear to hear my name mentioned? It was not in my nature to accept that. Something was going to happen.

I was considerably younger than Leicester, considerably younger than the Queen. They might be satisfied with the state of affairs, but I was not.

I began to look around and found that in our own household there were some very attractive men. That I had lost none of my appeal I could see by the covert glances that came my way— though none, fearing Leicester's terrible wrath, would dare make their meaning clear.

Naturally this state of affairs could not go on indefinitely.

In May of that year news reached England of the death of Anjou. There was talk of his having been poisoned, as there always was when someone important died, and one suggestion was that Robert's spies had been responsible because he feared the Queen might marry Anjou. That was nonsense and even Robert's enemies gave little credence to the story. The fact was well known that the Queen's Little Frog Prince had been a poor specimen of manhood—stunted, pockmarked as he was, he had indulged his senses to excess and no doubt because of his frail physique had suffered through this.

The Queen went into deep mourning for him and bewailed her loss. He was the one man she would have married, she declared, but no one believed her. I was never quite sure whether she deluded herself into thinking she might have married him; it was certainly safe to think so now that he was dead. It was difficult to understand how she, so clearheaded in state matters, should have his strange obsession about marriage. I think that it might have soothed her in some way to let herself believe that had Anjou lived she might have married him. She now needed Leicester close to her, so that one lover could compensate her for the loss of the other.

Anjou's death was followed by that of the Prince of Orange, the hope of the Netherlands, who was assassinated by a fanatic incited by the Jesuits. There was deep gloom throughout the country and the Queen was constantly in conference with her ministers, which meant that I scarcely saw my husband at all.

When he did pay me a brief visit he told me that the Queen was not only concerned about what was happening in the Netherlands, but the success of the Spaniards there made her very much afraid of Mary Queen of Scots. Ever since that queen had been the prisoner of ours, there had been alarms. Plots were constantly formed to rescue her and set her on the throne. Robert told me that again and again Elizabeth had been advised to get rid of her, but she believed that royalty was divine and whatever annoyance Mary of Scotland caused her, she still remained royal and a crowned queen at that. There could be no doubt of her legitimacy and claim to royalty, which made her all the more deadly an enemy. Elizabeth once told Robert that she was prepared to die at any time because no one's life was more threatened than her own.

The Court was at Nonsuch and I was at Wanstead when my little son's health took a turn for the worst. I called in our physicians and the gravity of their comments threw me into deep despair.

My little son had been subject to fits which left him very weak after they occurred; and all that year I had feared to leave him to nurses. He seemed to find great comfort in my presence and looked so sorrowful when I even hinted at going away that I could not leave him.