The Marriage Game by Alison Weir

reputation is at stake here. It is said—forgive me—that Dudley is your lover, that you often visit his rooms alone, and worse.”
    “That is a vile calumny!” she seethed. “I enjoy his company. That is all.”
    “Madam, the Spanish ambassador sees Lord Robert as a threat to negotiations for your marriage to the Archduke.”
    “William, I am attended at all times by my ladies. I am careful of my honor. Let those who impugn it dare say so to my face! I am relying on you to make the truth plain. Lord Robert is a faithful friend. He has a way with him that I much like. If I see him often, it is because he is my Master of Horse. You cannot deny that he is zealous in the performance of his duties, or that he is marvelously talented when it comes to arranging entertainments and jousts. God’s blood, why should I not enjoy the company of such a one?”
    “There is no reason, clearly, madam, so long as it is just friendship, but again, I do urge you to be circumspect,” Cecil enjoined her.
    “I assure you, William, that I value my good name as much as my soul. And
I
will be the judge of what is circumspect.”
    Elizabeth’s door remained firmly locked at night, but by day there were plenty of opportunities for seeing Robert—and for flirting and more. They rode out together and hunted whenever possible; in the evenings, they often played chess or gambled at cards or dice.
    “You always beat me,” Robert would groan.
    “I am the Queen!” Elizabeth laughed. “Of course I should win. But I gave you a fair fight.”
    Sometimes they enjoyed lively debates on religion and philosophy, or danced in the Queen’s spacious privy chamber. There was a daring new dance from Italy called La Volta, which she could never perform in public because it allowed too much physical contact with a male partner. The dance had been condemned by several shocked preachers as the cause of much debauchery, and even murder, but behind closed doors, with only her ladies and musicians present, it thrilled her to have Robert lift her high in the air, one hand placed firmly on her busk below her breasts, the other on her back, with his muscular thighs supporting hers as she descended.
    Always she wanted his touch, his attention, his admiration.
    “Do I look well in this gown?” she asked him one day. It was of forest-green velvet, but she thought its bunched skirts made her look fat.
    “You would look better without it!” Robert said boldly, winking at her, at which she slapped him.
    “Go to!” she sniffed. “I asked if I looked well
in
it?” She was determined to have an answer.
    “Not as well as in other gowns,” he told her.
    “That is what I thought,” she said. “I will have it altered.”
    On another occasion she was having her period.
    “I feel lousy,” she complained, needing reassurance, “and I look terrible.”
    “You look beautiful to me, Bess,” Robert said, kissing her hand. It was all she needed to hear.
    When St. George’s Day came, she made him a Knight of the Garter, and thrilled to see him looking so tall and splendid in his velvet robes. The other peers selected for the honor—the Duke of Norfolk and the earls of Rutland and Northampton—looked down their disdainful noses as Dudley knelt before the Queen, hauteur in every bone of his body. Were good looks and a fine seat in the saddle all it now took to secure the highest order of knighthood that Her Majesty had to bestow?
    Elizabeth ignored them. She cared little for their opinions. She gave Robert a fine mansion, the Dairy House, at Kew, and other lands, along with grants of money. She kept him constantly at her side. In light of these visible signs of her favor, there was frantic speculation that she would marry him. Courtiers came flocking, seeking Robert’s patronage, bringing him gifts, hoping he could secure them favors and preferment. He reveled in it all.
    “I see you are become very popular,” Elizabeth observed to him one day, as they walked