“Sir Thomas Overbury and the King will not wish you happiness if it is found with Robin, for they want him for themselves.”

“Everyone wants him, but I have him,” said Frankie. She opened her mouth as she laughed, took my hands and whirled me around. I was worried for her but felt relieved to be in her confidence again. She began to hum a tune, then sing, and we danced together on that soft carpet knotted by Turkish hands, steeped in the perfumes of Arabia and Spain, and I laughed at her boldness and joy. Frankie’s energy was catching—I was glad to be alive, grateful that my children were well again, and I felt a little drunk without having tasted a drop. It was unfortunate that the Earl of Essex chose that moment to enter the room, although his humors were so bilious he would not have been appeased had we been at our prayers. He stopped short at the sight of us dancing and the sound of our womanish cackling.

“My lord,” said Frankie, sinking into a deep curtsy and staying there while she composed herself. Lord Essex walked warily toward us, as if coming within reach of two hissing vipers, but was still clearly furious from Lord Salisbury’s command to love, not beat, his wife. “Do inspect my new cabinet. It is of the finest workmanship imaginable,” Frankie said on rising. “The marquetry is the most intricate to come to our shores.” The Earl of Essex looked everywhere but at the cabinet and his wife. “It is in remarkably good condition for having traveled such a distance.” She was trying to provoke some reaction in her husband to the beauty before him. She pulled open the tiny drawer inside which lay Carr’s poem, but Essex ignored her. “I sense you do not care for the new cabinet, my lord,” she finished, her arms dropping to her sides.

“I prefer English furniture,” he said, speaking at last. “It is in keeping with our surroundings. One soon tires of exotic frivolities. I imagine it was very costly? It is important that those with means spend them on English craftsmanship so that our own people enjoy the benefit of the current profligacy.” At this he shot a sideways look at the little group absorbed in hanging the painting.

“I believe there is no one in this country who could make such a cabinet.”

“Because the cold and damp will soon warp it. An English craftsman would know that.”

“I am sorry it does not please you.”

“It does not. We leave for Chartley in two days. Alone,” he said, looking at me with dislike although it was misplaced, for I shared his disappointment that all efforts to inspire love between him and his wife had failed.

“For how long?” Frankie cried.

“As long as it takes.”