The Virgin's War (Tudor Legacy #3)(45)

There was silence, longer than Elizabeth would have liked, but the queen recognized the internal and silent considerations in both of the young people before her. Ireland did not hold pleasant memories for either of them. Elizabeth didn’t know the whole of what had happened there three years ago, but she knew that much.

They seemed able to communicate merely with their eyes, for not a word had been spoken between them when Mistress Sinclair said abruptly, “If Lord Stephen is willing to command the force, then I am willing to negotiate with your government for its use. For a fixed amount of time, of course—I do not make open-ended contracts.”

“I would expect no less of William Sinclair’s granddaughter.”

Beneath Elizabeth’s satisfaction at accomplishing what she’d wished ran a decidedly feminine curiosity about the nature of the relationship before her. She would have to ask Minuette what she thought of her oldest son and this decidedly bold young Scotswoman.





29 August 1585


London


And so both my daughters are married.





30 August 1585


London


If I were interested in presenting myself in the best possible light, no doubt I would record only how happy the news of Pippa’s marriage has made me, how delighted I am that she has found happiness, that wedding Matthew is the fulfillment of years of hope.

Every single one of those statements is true. But they are not the whole truth. I have also wept for her choice to wed so quickly and so far from us. Though I am grateful my other children were with her, I am angry that Dominic and I were not.

Except that anger is not the true emotion. It is fear. Because I know my daughter, and if I do not wholly understand the gifts she walks with, I do know how they inform her choices. If she wed in such haste, it is for a reason. I do not like what my fear whispers of what that reason might be.





7 September 1585


Dover Castle


To distract myself, I have come to Dover with Dominic. I will remain in the castle for a week or two while he rides back and forth along the coast. Though the season will soon pass when a naval assault is likely, my husband will ensure that whatever is in his control is perfectly prepared.

Chief amongst the things we cannot control being, of course, our children. It was so much simpler when the most I had to fear was illness or accident or the likelihood of Kit throwing himself off the battlements in an ill-judged attempt to keep up with Stephen. Now, even more than their bodies, I fear for their happiness. Lucie is wrapped in self-imposed isolation, Kit is in love with a princess set to marry another, and Stephen…Oh, Elizabeth! How could you send Stephen back to Ireland?

My only consolation in that last is that Maisie Sinclair has insisted that she will accompany her troops to Dublin. From the moment I met her, I was impressed by her practicality. It is a trait not to be undervalued, especially by those likely to get themselves into trouble over esoteric matters. Maisie, I believe, will keep Stephen grounded.

Much in the way Dominic has always done for me.



Philip received the reports of his daughter’s meeting with the Scots king in contemplative silence. He wished he had heard directly from Anne, but she wrote only very occasionally these days and always with the strictest formality. It was Navarro who wrote from Carlisle instead, with a stiff bias against the Calvinist counselors King James surrounded himself with:

Is it proper for an Infanta of Spain to tie herself to the most flagrant heretic? The Infanta Anne has a wise heart, Your Majesty, and is open to the appeals of the faithful amongst her people. Should we not encourage her to consider a husband who would promote such instincts rather than crush them?



Navarro did not know Anne as well as Philip did. “Infanta” was a courtesy title to her, nothing more, for she was as English as her mother. That meant stubborn and suspicious and insular—but it also meant pragmatism and a willingness to negotiate for the things she most wanted.

And Philip would safely wager an entire shipload’s worth of silver from the New World that marriage to James of Scotland was not what Anne truly wanted. Navarro might wish to promote a Catholic marriage, but the priest was being deliberately na?ve. There were no French royals available at the moment, and England would never wed Anne to a mere Italian count, which left only Spain. England would revolt if another Tudor woman tried to wed a Spaniard.

There were one or two Catholic possibilities amongst her own Englishmen, but Philip did not even bother envisioning such a thing. Both Anne and Elizabeth had good reason to look to Scotland, and his daughter would not break such a necessary match lightly.

The first time Philip had traveled to England—during the late king’s reign, when Elizabeth herself was only Princess of Wales—Philip had met a man named Robert Dudley. It had not been hard to guess why the young lord did not like Philip, and subsequent inquiries had confirmed how close he and Elizabeth were. Robert Dudley had been one of the casualties of William Tudor’s violent end. But what, Philip wondered now, if Robert had lived? It would have been politically disastrous for Elizabeth to marry the fifth son of an attainted and executed traitor. Philip did not think she would have married her beloved Robin. But she might conceivably have refused to marry anyone else. She was just stubborn enough to do so.

Philip knew—had known for several years—that his daughter was in love with Christopher Courtenay. And by all reports, Christopher was equally in love with her. On paper, not the best match. Christopher was the younger son of the Duke of Exeter—though now that his brother had been stripped of his titles by Elizabeth, it was possible the boy would inherit. Nor was he Catholic, but his family was not noticeably fanatic in their Protestant sentiments. And Philip knew something that not many people did—that Dominic and Minuette Courtenay had been married by a Catholic priest.