James held his gaze. Frances recognised the intensity of that look. She had seen it many times before, when the King had been entranced by a new masque or the grisly spectacle of the hunt in which he so delighted. Now, he seemed as likely to kiss the man as strike him.
‘Who brought ye here?’
Someone cleared their throat. A moment later, Sir John Graham stepped forward. Frances had not noticed him among the company – he had probably been keeping a discreet distance. His face was flushed and there was fear in his eyes as he addressed his sovereign. ‘Forgive me, Your Majesty. I was given full assurance of the young man’s credentials, or I would never have agreed to his appointment in your service.’
Frances saw his eyes flick to Somerset. So that was why he had accepted Villiers’s suit. Sir John’s rivalry with him had dominated the privy chamber for years. Although Sir John was too advanced in years to enjoy the same favour with James as his beloved ‘Rabbie,’ he evidently hoped to divert their master’s attention with a younger, more beguiling, alternative.
‘You should have consulted me, Sir John,’ Somerset snapped. ‘All those who aspire to serve His Grace must gain my approval first. I would never have allowed such a man as this,’ he cast a disdainful look at Villiers, ‘to come into His Grace’s presence.’
‘Hush, Rabbie’, the King interrupted. Frances caught the scowl that crossed his favourite’s brow before he recovered his usual composure. ‘Well now,’ James continued, taking a step closer to his captive. ‘What shall I do wi’ thee?’
Villiers’s eyes glinted as he stared back at the King.
James nodded to the guards to release their hold, then reached forward and took the young man’s right hand in his. There was an audible intake of breath around the room.
‘Do you know the penalty for striking a man in the King’s presence?’ he murmured, stroking his thumb across the attendant’s delicate fingers. ‘It is to have your hand smitten off.’
Behind the King, Frances saw Somerset give a satisfied smile. Villiers’s expression did not change.
James gazed down at the man’s wrist, as if imagining the blade slicing through it. ‘But I would not be a merciful king if I punished a novice in this way.’ Frances stared at him. He had shown no such mercy to witches or Catholics – or any other of his subjects who displeased him, she reflected bitterly. ‘Besides,’ he added, lifting the young man’s hand so that his lips almost touched it, ‘I could not destroy something so beautiful.’
Frances saw Villiers’s eyes darken with something like desire – or triumph, perhaps.
‘And so I am minded to pardon you—’
‘Your Grace,’ Somerset interrupted, stepping forward. ‘This man has shown himself to be violent and unruly. Surely you cannot risk—’
The King held up a hand to silence him. ‘You would have me jump at my own shadow, Rabbie,’ he said, without taking his eyes off Villiers. ‘Such passion as this young man has shown must not be suppressed but, rather . . . channelled in another direction.’
Somerset’s face flushed with anger but he pressed his lips together, defeated.
‘Now, George’ – the King said the name slowly, as if savouring its taste – ‘you may kiss my hand and I will release yours.’
The young man lowered his head to James’s outstretched hand and held it there, his lips so close that the King must have felt his breath. Frances noticed James’s fingers tremble as he gazed down at the attendant’s mass of dark hair. Very slowly, Villiers brushed his lips against his master’s skin, letting them linger. At last, he straightened, his heavy-lidded eyes meeting James’s again. Then he swept an elegant bow and walked slowly from the hall, the King staring after him.
CHAPTER 3
16 August
Frances bent to rub the velvety sage leaf between her fingers, releasing its aromatic scent. It was the first time she had allowed herself to visit Sir Anthony’s famed herb garden, even though they had been there for almost two weeks. Her years at court had taught her caution, as well as restraint. She must not appear overhasty to explore such a place, lest she arouse suspicion that she was gathering ingredients for her potions. It was a long time since she had been accused of witchcraft but she knew that the stain would never be erased.
‘You are admiring my plants, I see.’
She turned sharply at the soft voice and curtsied as Lady Mildmay drew level with her.
‘Forgive me. I did not mean to startle you,’ the older woman continued. ‘Please,’ she gestured for Frances to follow, ‘I do not often have the chance to show off my garden so I would be delighted if you would indulge me.’
‘With pleasure, Lady Grace,’ Frances replied. ‘It is one of the finest I have seen.’
Her companion smiled at the compliment. ‘I have been fortunate to have more time than most wives to tend it. Sir Anthony and I wished to fill this house with children, but God has seen fit to bless us with only our dear Mary. She is of an age with you, I think.’
‘I am sorry not to have made her acquaintance,’ Frances remarked. ‘Does she live far from here?’
‘Too far!’ Lady Grace replied, with feeling. ‘Her husband’s estates lie in the north-west, many days’ journey from here. I have seldom seen her since her marriage, though she is a faithful correspondent. She loves to tell me of the herbs and plants she has cultivated in Westmorland, despite the chill winds that blow from the hills thereabouts.’
‘She must be as skilled as her mother,’ Frances observed, as she admired the neatly kept beds, each one bordered by fragrant myrtle hedges.
‘I hear you are skilled in such matters yourself, Lady Frances.’
The remark was lightly made, but Frances experienced the familiar surge of fear.
‘I knew your mother,’ Lady Grace continued, sensing her hesitation. ‘We served in the old Queen’s chamber together for a time. I still remember her arriving at court. As pretty as a peach, and with such modesty that she was bound to win favour with our mistress. You are very much like her, I think.’
‘I wish that were true,’ Frances said, with feeling. ‘I miss her dreadfully – my son George, too. He is under my mother’s guardianship at Longford until he comes of age and inherits the estate. I hope to visit them again soon.’
‘It is a beautiful castle,’ Lady Grace observed. ‘I was raised in Wiltshire, too, and visited Longford when it was newly built. Your mother and father were almost as proud of it as they were of their young brood. Such a large family! How do your brothers and sisters fare?’
Though she had six siblings still living, it was Edward whom Frances thought of first. She had heard little of him since her departure from court the previous year. After Prince Henry’s death, it had soon become clear that Edward could not hope for the same favour from the new heir, Charles, so he had given up the court without troubling to take his leave of her. Theo had written some weeks later that he had loaned their brother some money for a voyage to Italy. Frances had often thought of him since, jostling for favour among the rapacious courts of Florence or Rome. She hoped he would find enough to keep him there.