Chapter 13 #3
“Dudley trusts you, though he can be more of a fool about people than I. But in this instance, he was correct.”
“More comfort.” My heart thumped. “You know much about me, but I know nothing about you. How can I be certain I can trust you?”
Colby lost his smile, and his cheekbones stained red. “You know all you need to know.”
“Which is next to nothing,” I continued stubbornly. “Not even the name of the wife you married.”
“She came from no important family. You would not recognize her.”
Colby’s mouth had tightened, not with anger, but with trepidation, I realized in surprise.
I wondered what he was hiding, and I resolved to find out. If my fate was in his hands, I needed all the information about him I could gather.
“There is someone approaching, Master Colby,” I said as footsteps sounded in the passageway beyond us. “Perhaps you ought to release me.”
Instead of complying, Colby pulled me all the way against him and pressed a kiss to my mouth.
The kiss was brief and unexpected, but my lips went hot beneath his, and my breath came close to choking me. Colby held me firmly but not harshly, his touch almost tender.
He stepped back as one of Mary’s ladies came around the corner. A mercy he did, because I thought I’d never breathe again.
Colby was not quick enough to prevent Mary’s lady from spying us. Her brows went up and her mouth down, but she passed by with the barest of nods.
I understood what he’d been doing. Better that Mary’s lady spread the news that I was kissing James Colby in back corridors, than that we’d been speaking about preventing the queen’s marriage scheme, by force if necessary.
Colby gave me a somber nod before he turned and strode away from me, his dark tunic and riding breeches soon lost in the shadows.
I spent a long time trying to catch my breath, my heart burning.
Colby had kissed me, but it had been a ruse. On the other hand, the soft imprint of his lips refused to fade and stayed with me the rest of that afternoon and long into the night.
I determined, after that encounter with Colby in the passageway, to discover everything I could about him.
But strangely, though I asked as many questions as I dared over the next several days, I found no one who truly knew anything about the man or what his life had been before he’d joined Elizabeth’s household.
Even Uncle John, who’d obtained the position in the guards for him, confirmed he’d come from a quiet, genteel family in Shropshire, but little else.
The one gentleman who might know—Robert Dudley—remained locked in the Tower.
I informed Elizabeth of the conversation I’d overheard between Mary and Ambassador Renard about cutting Elizabeth out of the succession.
Not surprisingly, Elizabeth flew into one of her rages. Not only was Mary trying to bar her from the throne, but she’d speculated that Elizabeth was not even Henry’s child. The entire business made her ill again with fury.
Elizabeth stewed in a foul temper the day Mary opened her first Parliament, but Elizabeth’s anger and my fears turned out to be premature.
Mary managed to restore the legitimacy of Catherine of Aragon’s marriage to Henry—implying that his marriage to Anne Boleyn therefore was not—but Mary’s wish to disinherit Elizabeth was never entertained.
I learned later from Uncle John that the wiser gentlemen in Mary’s council had persuaded her that cutting Elizabeth out of the succession posed far more risk than retaining her as the legitimate heir.
All Mary had to do, the council said, was to find a husband and provide an heir—naturally, Elizabeth would then be moved down the line of succession.
Mary capitulated, though I heard that her words to her advisors on the matter were harsh.
After that, she seemed to decide that if she could not stymie Elizabeth by law, she would severely cut at her in personal ways.
In the cold days of early winter, Mary invited Margaret Douglas—King Henry’s niece by his sister Margaret, and a firebrand in her own right—to live with her and be her closest companion.
The pair of them cut out Elizabeth at every turn, who by rights should be next to her sister in importance at court gatherings.
Margaret now rode with the queen when they went out for exercise, leaving Elizabeth behind. Margaret followed just behind Mary when she moved through the palace, forcing Elizabeth to trail after them. Margaret did this gleefully, making certain everyone knew she’d been honored above Elizabeth.
Elizabeth’s temper soured, and her headaches grew worse.
When one day Mary chastised Elizabeth for having a private chat with the French ambassador—implying that Elizabeth leaned toward treachery—Elizabeth came to the end of her patience.
She asked stiffly to be allowed to retreat to her estate at Ashridge in west Hertfordshire for Christmas. Mary’s crowded and hectic court hurt her health, Elizabeth claimed, and she needed to heal in the country air.
Mary smiled and acquiesced. She bade Elizabeth a pretty farewell and bestowed on her lovely furs to keep her warm during the journey.