All the Sweet Tomorrows by Bertrice Small

in her ears were her famous pear-shaped diamonds that fell from baroque pearls. She wore but one ring this night, a heart-shaped pink sapphire on the third finger of her left hand.
    She had faintly highlighted her eyes in blue kohl, and reddened her lips, but her cheeks were pink with a combination of excitement, anger, and nerves. Wrapped in a gentle cloud of her damask rose perfume, she moved forward into the palace.
    One of the young gallants foolishly stepped into her path, doffing his feathered cap, and bowing low. “Just a word, oh exquisite one, and I shall die happy!” he lisped.
    “Stand aside, you silly puppy!” Skye snapped irritably. The reality of why she was here was beginning to sink into her soul.
    The gallant almost fell back at the sharp tone in her voice, and she swept on by him, finding her way with quick familiarity as old memories began to assail her. Turning a corner, she bumped into a courtier and, stepping back to apologize, gasped as the courtier caught at her hands, imprisoning them in his own.
“Dudley!”
she hissed at the smugly grinning Earl of Leicester.
    “Sweet Skye,”
he murmured. “I could scarcely believe my good fortune when Bess said you would be returning to us, widowed once more.” The implication was plain, and it was allshe could do not to shudder with disgust. Robert Dudley slipped an arm about her waist and pulled her close. His mustache tickled her ear as he kissed it, and then he whispered, “You do run through husbands, sweet Skye. Marry me, and I’ll never let you wear me out!”
    Angrily she pulled away from him, looking at him with distaste. Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester, was as handsome and elegant as ever, but she still found his manner offensive and overbearing. “Unhand me this instant, Dudley! I am here because the Queen has special plans for me, and if you should attempt to attack me again I shall make the most outrageous scene this court has ever seen! Lord Burghley will protect me this time, you swine!” She tore his arm from about her waist. “You will crush my gown!”
    “And what
special
plans has Bess for you, sweet Skye?” He was completely unperturbed by her anger.
    “I am sure that you shall know that shortly, my lord. Now you will excuse me. I am expected in the Queen’s chambers.”
    “I will escort you,” he said, taking her arm. She did not deny him that courtesy for she knew that once her betrothal became public knowledge, Dudley would be forced to leave her be. Silently they made their way to Elizabeth Tudor’s privy chamber, where the doors were flung wide at their approach by the Queen’s own guardsmen. As they entered, Skye recognized only two faces among the women in the Queen’s rooms, Lettice Knollys, and Lady Elizabeth Clinton, born a FitzGerald. Lady Clinton was the Countess of Lincoln in whose household Skye’s second son, Murrough, was a page.
    Suddenly a small blond boy dressed in pale blue velvet and silver lace stepped forward. “Good evening, mother,” he said.
    “Good evening, Robin,” Skye answered, her eyes devouring her son. She wanted to hug him, but knew she could not do so publicly.
    “Skye!” Lettice Knollys came forward smiling. “How good to see you again.” Her eyes flicked to Dudley.
    So that’s how it is now, Skye thought amused. “Lettice dear, it is
good
to see you also.” She turned slightly. “Beth, how are you?”
    Lady Clinton nodded. “I am well, and your Murrough is a delight, Skye. Never have I had such a gracious, well-mannered page in my household. I hope you will let me keep him for a while longer.”
    “He writes me that he is happy,” Skye replied. “I see noreason to remove him from your care, Beth. He is a lucky little boy to be in such a fine house. I hope, however, I may see him while I am here at court. My visit is not to be a long one.”
    “Send word whenever you want him,” Elizabeth Clinton replied graciously.
    “Dearest Skye!”
Every head in the room