The Tudor Triangle

Chapter 18 Elizabeth

June 4th, 1550

Sheen Palace, Richmond

The crow flies up unexpectedly and almost brushes past me as it fights its way through the branches and breaks free. I clutch Robert's arm.

"It is Princess Elizabeth, what will I say?"  I am half-terrified, half excited.  I was introduced to her briefly yesterday but did not speak to her. 

Robert laughs, "just tell her she looks magnificent and all will be fine." 

A gentleman tries to gets her attention as she goes past but she waves him away, as if he is an unwanted fly.  She does not even turn her head, her gaze is fixed on us.  She has much favour with the King now as they share the same faith. Mary, the oldest Tudor sibling, as a staunch Catholic is left out in the cold. Elizabeth's black gown is very simple but cut beautifully. There are flashes of emerald green on the slashed sleeves that catch the eye.  Overall, she is the very picture of Protestant modesty.  Her amber hair ripples down her back unadorned, somewhat spoiling the solemn look with its bright colour. The way she carries herself with her  regal bearing makes for  a compelling sight.

However, there are none in the court who do not know her reputation has been greatly damaged by Thomas Seymour.  Uncle to the Anne who married yesterday and now paying for his sins in the next world. He has only been dead just over a year.  I have just heard snippets but it seems there was some talk of impropriety between her and her stepfather. I suspect it is her enemies who have started this evil rumour because such things are unimaginable.  I am sure she is a good soul. Since Thomas's death she has been very demure.  Robert has confided in me that he thinks Elizabeth must be finding it very hard. The Elizabeth he knew from childhood loved to laugh, dance and make merry. Now she has to be the perfect quiet Godly maid.

I study her as we pay deference to her presence, I with a deep curtsy. She is not beautiful or rounded and comely. She is willowy and at least one head above me. Her nose is a little too pronounced, she does not have small dainty features. However she has an aura of Majesty that is undeniable, more than her brother I would argue. The only way to explain it is that she glitters and glistens, like the snow does when the winter sun shines upon it.  Her skin is as white as the petal of a daisy. I have heard it said many court ladies use lead for such purposes. Her Boleyn eyes contrast, as they are dark and compelling. They could be brown but are so dark to appear almost black. Her eyebrows are curved and high, giving her a haughty look.  The uncovered hair is unmistakenly Tudor red. Suddenly the sun catches some strands as it streams through the leaves, so that they seem aflame. She carries herself with dignity, as if she were already an Empress.  My goodness, if she goes to France or the like to be married she will be a magnificent Queen.  I cannot believe I am standing before the princess I have admired for so long.  She is of my age but seems so much older to me.

"So you are married," she exclaims to Robert.  She has her back to the crowds and briefly some privacy.  Somehow, Robert has turned to her and they are standing together and I am to the side of them.

 She looks at him and suddenly, it is as if something has changed, like she is seeing him for the first time. It is just one brief look that changes again to a teasing one but I have seen it.  I like it not but I am relieved to see that Robert has not noticed anything.  Indeed, I am not too sure Elizabeth knows what her own heart may be telling her.  May they both continue in ignorance, I pray.  It takes me aback.  Has she just seen him with new eyes now I have claimed him, like a greedy magpie? It is troubling.  For how can I hope to compete with a Tudor?  I suddenly realise, she is a woman just as I am.  Elizabeth and I have alot more in common than I would have imagined, Robert Dudley.  I feel defensive, he is my husband. I pull at the necklace round my throat.