Royal Road to Fotheringhay - Plaidy Jean (хороший книги онлайн бесплатно .txt) 📗

“So he is her lover then?” suggested the young man nonchalantly.

“I did not say so. He is her adviser, and she sets store by his counsels. He is an arrogant upstart who must be treated with care.”

“Father,” said Darnley, “do you think the Queen will take me for her husband?”

“It rests with you, my son. Your looks are fine enough.”

Darnley smirked. He was very vain of his looks.

“But,” went on his father, “if she should discover your drinking habits and how violent you become when you indulge them; if she learns of your adventures with village girls and tavern sluts …”

“She shall not. Father, I will be good. I will be angelic. And then Her Majesty will give me the crown—a present for a good boy.”

SHE RECEIVED him in her audience chamber. He knelt before her, a tall, slender youth, and she thought: How charming he is! How young!

“Madam,” he said, “at last I kneel before you. It has been my dearest wish since parting from you in France.”

“My dear Lord Darnley,” she answered, “you cannot be happier to be here than I am to see you.”

“Madam, your beauty dazzles me. I fear I shall stammer or be speechless.”

“Why, you have made an excellent beginning. Come, sit beside me. I would hear news of the English Court.”

He sat beside her and many watched them. The Earl of Lennox did so with high hopes. Moray did so with annoyance; the last thing he wished for was Mary’s marriage with Darnley. The fellow was arrogant and a Catholic. If such a marriage took place the Catholic lords would be rising and driving the Protestants—and with them John Knox and Moray—out of Scotland.

Mary meanwhile was recalling their meeting at the Court of France. “You played the lute for me.”

“I blush for shame. I trust Your Majesty will give me a chance of showing that I have improved since then.”

“Certainly you must play for me again. You danced well, I remember. You must lead me in the galliard.”

“Madam, nothing could give me greater pleasure.” He was looking at her ardently. “Forgive me, Madam,” he murmured. “I had not known that anyone could be so beautiful.”

“We will ask the musicians to play for us, and we will dance. But first there is the banquet.”

She allowed him, as guest of honor, to lead her to the banqueting hall; he sat beside her and she drank from the same goblet to remind him that he was her blood-relation, and to assure him that he was heartily welcome at her table.

She noticed how his eyes kindled as he drank.

“Madam,” he said, “I fear I disgrace myself. I am intoxicated.”

“On so little wine?”

“On so much beauty, Madam.”

“And you recently from the Court of England! They say Elizabeth’s beauty is like the sun.”

“Madam, the Queen of England has no beauty. She is shrewish—an old woman, and the vainest in the world.”

“You are young, my lord. It may be that I, who am twenty-two seem an old woman to you.”

“I know not what Your Majesty’s age may be, but you are the most beautiful and perfect being in the world. That is all I know.”

She had heard similar flattery before, but this seemed different. It was his youth perhaps which appealed so strongly.

The Cardinal of Lorraine, had he been present, would have realized that the sensual side of Mary was tired of waiting for the gratification so long denied her. Mary was eager to fall in love, and if the ideal lover whom she was beginning to desire so ardently did not come to her, she was ready to invest the nearest and most likely man with the necessary perfection. Mary’s sensuality was clamoring for expression, and here was a handsome youth paying extravagant compliments, a youth of the blood royal, a Catholic like herself, and therefore suitable to be her husband.

Mary did not ponder on the qualities of this young man. Outwardly he filled her ideal; she was tremulously eager for passion to overtake her.

They danced. Darnley—by no means inexperienced—realized that he was making a good impression on the Queen. He could, he believed, become King of Scotland if he wished. His ambitions grew as he pictured the future. His father was right. He would step with the utmost care during the coming weeks. He would be modest rather than bold, for he must not forget that she was a queen. There was more to be gained than a brief pleasure before riding on to the next conquest. If he could continue in the success he had had this night, in a few weeks she would be madly in love with him. And then…

These were delightful pictures. Darnley, King of Scotland, the crown matrimonial glittering on his head, and an eager, passionate woman—and a very beautiful one—desperately in love with him!

He was a graceful dancer and the Queen chose again and again to dance with him. The pavanne and the galliard were danced; and Mary had torches brought that they might dance—as she had in the salle de bal at Fontainebleau—the branle des torches in which the dancers passed torches from one to the other. Then they danced the branle des lavandieres, and that other dance, the Purpose, in which the partners kissed. In this last dance Mary was again Darnley’s partner, and the kiss they exchanged was full of meaning to them both.

From that moment the Queen was in love. She had made up her mind who her husband would be. She thought it was because he was the most handsome and charming young man she had ever met. She did not stop to count other reasons. She did not remind herself that she must marry, that she was tired of waiting, that too many and strong forces were against a grand marriage into the royal houses of Spain and France. She did not think: Elizabeth of England is against my marriage with Lord Darnley; therefore I wish to marry Darnley. She did not think: I am young; I long for a lover, and I have waited too long.

THE MARYS discussed the newcomer while they undressed their mistress. “Very handsome!” was the verdict.

“He dances so gracefully,” said Mary.

“I noticed how he kissed Your Majesty in the dance,” ventured Beaton.

“Well, what of that? It is as necessary to kiss in the Purpose as it is to clap hands in the branle des lavandieres.”

“Necessary, Madam,” agreed Beaton. “But not always pleasant.”

Mary tapped her cheek with feigned annoyance. “Livy dear,” she said, to change the subject, “you are very quiet.”

Livy came forward and, kneeling before the Queen, laid her head in her lap.

“Madam,” she said, “do you remember that when we were little we all swore we would not marry until you did?”

“I do, darling.”

“You married once… and were a widow, but none of us has married. I have often wondered who would be the first. And now this handsome Lord Darnley has come along …”

“What are you mumbling into my skirts, Livy? Get up at once and show yourself.”

But Livy continued to kneel.

“’Tis clear,” said Flem, “what has happened. Lord Sempill has been asking her to marry him for these many weeks, and she has put him off by declaring that she has vowed a vow to the Queen.”

“No, Livy! That is ridiculous!” cried Mary. “You are in love with this tall and handsome Sempill?”

“Yes, Madam, but—”

“Rise, Livy. Get up at once. You are to marry Lord Sempill… immediately. I insist.”

“Oh, Madam,” said Flem, “let it not be immediately… otherwise Master Knox will have all sorts of suggestions to make against poor Livy and her Sempill.”

Mary stood up and her eyes flashed. “Who cares for Master Knox! Let him rave. Livy, my dearest, you shall have the grandest wedding ever seen, and all the world shall know how I love you. We shall have masques and mummeries… feasting… dancing …”

“And you, dearest,” said Flem, “will dance the Purpose with Lord Darnley.”

“Have done with you!” cried Mary. “You insolent Fleming! And if I dance with Darnley, you shall partner Maitland. Come! You know how I love a wedding, and what wedding would I rather attend than that of my dear Livy?”