Juliet Landon - Taming The Tempestuous Tudor

‘And you really believe she would see me as a rival, Mama? Do you not think you and Father are making too much of this Tudor temperament?’ Even as she spoke, Etta had to admit that her mother knew Elizabeth far better than she did and that she was not likely to be mistaken in this.

‘Well, the truth of the matter is that we’ve had no word of her mind on this. Until she sends for you, there’s little you can do about it.’

‘I’m sure you’re right, m’dear,’ said Lord Jon. ‘If she doesn’t send for her, the only other way Etta could be received at court is by marriage or with someone who’s already accepted there and I’m not going anywhere near the place at the moment. Far too much going on, for my liking.’

Lady Virginia sighed and arranged the fur edge of her gown to cover her knees. ‘Throw another log on, Jon, will you? If you so desperately want to see her personally, Etta, then you must marry a courtier. But you rejected the last two courtiers before you’d even seen them, I recall.’

Lord Jon dusted his hands off and kicked the log into the blaze. Etta stood up and shook out her skirts. ‘But if I were to go to court, Mama, the choice would be so much more interesting, wouldn’t it, than it is at present? I think I could do better than the Lord Mayor of Norwich’s younger son, or Lord Torrington’s middle-aged heir. They were the last two on offer. And I don’t believe a title is an advantage, either. There are plenty of nobly born people at court without them.’

‘Then what would be an advantage, young lady?’ said her father, impatiently.

‘Love, Father. If love was good enough for you and Mother, then it’s good enough for me.’ That, apparently, was to be Etta’s last word on the subject before she walked to the door and closed it quietly behind her.

‘God’s truth,’ said Lord Jon, ‘she’s behaving more and more like Elizabeth every day. We’ve been too soft with her, sweetheart.’

‘But I think that was supposed to be a compliment, Jon dear.’

‘Come here, smooth-tongued woman,’ he said, holding out a hand.

‘What?’

‘This,’ he said, taking her into his arms.

* * *

Etta’s talk with her parents had given her some food for thought, and any mention of a love match was, she knew, as unrealistic as her dreams. The unpleasant truth about the young man’s interest in money had certainly shaken her, because she’d thought herself to be better qualified in her choice of friends than anyone else. Evidently that was not the case. She had been misled by his exquisite manners and charm. It would not happen again. She adored her parents and had striven to please them in all other respects, especially so since she had learned of her royal ancestry. She had taken schoolroom lessons with the boys in an attempt to emulate the Princess Elizabeth’s scholarship in so many subjects with the sole purpose of eventually making contact with her, on her own academic level. And no matter what reservations her parents had about the wisdom of this, she could not believe that anyone of Elizabeth’s intelligence would regard her as anything but an asset, if ever the Queen chose to recognise her as someone worth knowing, on whatever level. Friend, confidante, just another relative, occasional courtier or however Elizabeth chose to recognise her, any of these would help in her quest to relate, physically, to one of her own kin. But her father’s comment about not going anywhere near court, at present, did not bode well for any of the hopes she had nurtured for so long.

* * *

Next day, he had done his best to explain. ‘Your mother and I know the royal court well enough, Etta. We both spent some time in the service of your father. I was one of his Gentlemen of the Bedchamber, and your mother was a companion to the Lady Anna of Cleves. But we were quite happy for our duties to come to an end. Edward’s reign, then Mary’s were too fraught with danger to make life comfortable, and I have no reason to believe that Elizabeth’s reign will be any easier. That’s why we never took you or your brothers there. Too many intrigues for my liking.’

Etta had accepted this, but had still enjoyed hearing about life at court from Master Stephen Hoby, who seemed to know all about it, who he knew there, what they wore, what new fabrics he had handled at the Royal Wardrobe and what the newest Spanish fashions were. It had seemed to her then that only at court would she ever meet a more interesting and engaging type of man who did more than praise her eyes. Surely the young Queen, with her amazing intellect and reputation for scholarship, would gather around her men who could converse with her on serious subjects.

Her parents’ recent decision to find her a husband had been expected ever since the steady flow of suitors had begun to dwindle noticeably due, she was sure, to her reputation for rejecting them so quickly. So it was with some consternation that Etta realised that, this time, her parents were deadly serious and that her time of asserting her independence in this area was well and truly at an end.

Behind her step-parents’ reluctance to understand her longing to meet the new Queen, Etta caught the vibrations of another kind of fear, that Elizabeth might exercise her right to dislike her. She had not needed them to point out to her that the sovereign was under no obligation to receive her with smiles of welcome, for the recent news that she was choosing fewer maids and ladies to attend her indicated some caution in the matter. As for conducting herself at court, her only education so far had been gleaned from listening to the experiences of others and from gossip when someone had breached the complicated codes of etiquette.

* * *

The next few days seemed intended to reinforce her longing to become a part of the royal court when she accompanied Lord and Lady Raemon and her brothers to the celebration banquets held by the various guilds associated with the Royal Wardrobe where Sir George Betterton, Uncle George, was a senior officer. So with banquets, jousts and masques, visits to the Abbey of Westminster to see the decorated interior and to Lambeth Palace to dine with the Archbishop of Canterbury, there were plenty of opportunities for her to meet gorgeously dressed men and women who reflected the latest fashions and spoke at first hand of life at court. With her parents close at hand to guide her through some of the complexities of names and titles, Etta felt that this was her sphere, even more so now when it had become obvious to all who saw her that the Queen had a close relative who rivalled her in beauty and grace. But for Etta, the experience of dressing in her finest clothes every day, being seen and admired, speaking with those who interested her as much as she did them, was enough to send her to bed each night longing to become an integral part of this enchanted and glamorous world.

Towards the end of that hectic week, she was invited to visit the Royal Wardrobe as the guest of Uncle George to see the Queen’s coronation robes that had been returned for cleaning and, if it was needed, some mending. As her brothers had worked under Sir George for two years already, they took her with them by river to where the Royal Wardrobe was situated near Blackfriars, only a stone’s throw from St Paul’s Cathedral. The River Thames flowed conveniently nearby and Puddle Wharf was the landing place for cargo ships and wherries that plied the river constantly. From the jetty at Tyburn House, they were rowed downriver huddled inside fur cloaks against the biting wind and flurries of snow, Etta wearing her white fur bonnet and the matching muff she’d been given for her birthday, a little over a week ago.

On their arrival at the vast complex of buildings known as the Royal Wardrobe, Etta found that she was not the only one to have been invited to view the robes, for her Cousin Aphra was there too, and her brother Edwin who worked there under his father’s eye. Other guests had accepted the invitation, some of whom she knew were wealthy merchants who supplied the Wardrobe with costly fabrics, furs and gems, silks for the embroidery, gold beads and threads. The twins, Michael and Andrew, went off with Edwin to the department where the tailors worked, while Etta and Aphra drew close together like sisters. As a four-year-old, Aphra had taken the two-year-old Etta under her little wing, acting as a mother hen to the mischievous child, and even now could not shake off the responsibility. ‘Show me the coronation robes, Aphie. I’m longing to see what she looked like,’ said Etta.