The Virgin's War (Tudor Legacy #3)(23)
And so, finally, Elizabeth had—not summoned, but asked her friends to attend her at court.
They came as they always had, with little fanfare and less notice. Every other noble in England took pains to cultivate their opportunities, to assemble a circle of supporters, to flaunt their influence in the government or the court. In the earliest years of his title, Dominic Courtenay had been pressed and flattered by many who sought to benefit from his royal ties. But he’d always had a way of turning such people away without hardly having to speak a word. He might once have become the most powerful noble in England. Instead, his indifference was legendary and only his family—or duty—could stir him.
And always, the surest way to command Dominic Courtenay’s aid was to persuade Minuette to speak to him. So it was the Duchess of Exeter alone who came to Elizabeth at Hampton Court, on a May afternoon of gentle sun and gorgeous blossoms. The queen had chosen the venue with care—for this palace had many memories for both of them. Not all good, but all of the sort that bound the women to one another forever.
In the years since her brother’s death, Elizabeth had altered the decorations of the privy chamber that had once been William’s. Even still, she imagined Minuette remembered the space well. She had spent many evenings there with the king when they were all young and thoughtless.
Elizabeth would never admit—even to herself—that she was a little frightened of meeting Minuette again. But she could not ignore the relief that came like a cool breeze when her friend entered as she always had, with no more than the usual polite curtsey. After an absence of more than two years, Elizabeth noted for the first time the signs of encroaching age in her friend: the lines around her eyes, a little fading of her rich honey-coloured hair, the slightest softening of her jawline. But Minuette’s beauty had never been dependent on youth alone.
When Elizabeth beckoned her to stand, Minuette tilted her head and studied the queen carefully in return.
“Will I do?” Elizabeth asked, as she used to, seeking approval before a public appearance. For once, she was nervous that the rich purple of her gown and pearl-draped bodice were not sufficient to distract from her own fifty-one years.
But Minuette smiled, the artless, charming smile of their shared youth. “You do very well.”
“I try to do well. But not always successfully.” It was the nearest Elizabeth would ever come to apologizing.
Minuette’s expression, wry but understanding, showed that she accepted the unspoken words. “What is it my queen desires of me today?”
“Your ‘queen’ desires your aid. Your friend would like to sit with you and discuss it beforehand.”
If it was not—could never be—the same as before, that was a path they had already walked once in redefining their friendship after Elizabeth became queen. If only the two of them were allowed time and space, the ties that bound them would see them reconciled.
“Philip is sending a Jesuit priest named Tomás Navarro to join Anne’s household as an ambassador. Oh, he is not titled that, of course—but it is plain. Spain believes the time is ripe to drive a wedge into the space between us. Philip wishes to force it so wide there can never be reconciliation.”
“You could stop it—the Jesuit, at least. It would cause waves to refuse him access to the princess, but how much stormier can the sea become? I’ll wager Philip expects you to stop it.”
“Do you? I am not so certain. He knows my pride. He may very well be gambling that I will allow him to pass if only not to openly admit that Anne and I are divided.”
“Will you allow him to pass?”
“I will. The Council of the North meets in May, presided over by Anne. Perhaps you have heard from Philippa?”
Minuette was always cautious in bringing her children into political discussions. But she could hardly fail to admit the obvious—that her daughter wrote to her. “We have heard something of it, yes. It seems an astute move, for Pippa writes that the North is grown increasingly supportive of Her Highness. And anything that strengthens people’s ties to your daughter must strengthen your own.”
“I am not sure it is wise for the public to come to that conclusion,” Elizabeth remarked.
Minuette shook her head, but with an affectionate smile. “Ah, wheels within wheels, Your Majesty. That is a game at which both your parents excelled.”
“But not my brother?”
They had so rarely spoken of William in twenty-five years. Yet Minuette hesitated only briefly. “Will never had your subtlety, Elizabeth. Nor your patience. He would never have been able to maintain peace the way you have. I imagine there are many Englishmen living who, all unknowingly, owe their lives to your reign.
“And now, I suppose that whatever spins at the very center of your many wheels is aimed at protecting as many of your subjects as possible,” Minuette said decisively. “Am I to assume that you wish Dominic and me to participate in some of that wheel-spinning?”
“Are you amenable to my wishes?”
“War is coming, Elizabeth. We do not need you to tell us that. And as my children seem determined to be involved in so very many dangerous situations, what use is sitting at home and fretting?”
“Is that a yes?”
“A qualified yes. First, Dominic and I will hear the details of what you wish from our service. But unless it involves us assassinating political figures…we will serve our queen.”