She unrolled a length of spangled silk. “He cannot stop writing of his love for me. It is his own hand, not Overbury’s. There is talk again of whom Robin should wed and every pretty child is put under his nose.”

I thought it unlikely that another woman would tempt Robert Carr, for he loved her strength more than her youth or even her beauty. None were like Frankie. No other had the same rigorous ambition for her own happiness coupled with the wit and courage to achieve it. No other was as bold and alive. I sensed a new flintiness in her. She moved to another trestle and examined the fabrics laid upon it.

“Will you let me meet Robin at your house?” she said, without looking up.

Surprise made me stupid. “The place is too shabby!” I cried.

“I doubt we will notice a lack of good hangings,” she said, laughing. “You do not think I ask you to be my bawd?”

“You compare yourself to a whore?”

“What if there is a baby? I would want it too much to murder it in my womb.”

For all this time I had been against Frankie becoming Carr’s mistress; in every way it was to her disadvantage. Men of rank are as openly admired for the number of women they bed as for the number of deer they kill. A married noblewoman, who had produced children with her husband, was allowed a little love elsewhere as long as she was discreet and remained obedient to her family. Frankie, however, had yet to fulfill the first duty of a wife. Yet I saw that her mind was fixed and closed to argument. If I refused to help her, she would act alone.

“I can keep your menses timely,” I said with a slight nod.

Frankie put her arms around me and we held each other close for a long time.

“If I wait longer I will be dead of greensickness, and I would rather die having loved Robin.”

This resolve felt honest to me. “I will make you a dress, Frankie,” I said, “and you will wear it at my house.”

She kissed my cheeks repeatedly and the Ottoman brought us each another glass of wine.

“For this I have put concoctions in my husband’s drink and offered prayers against my marriage,” Frankie said, lifting her glass as if for a toast. “I defy the will of my entire family, except Lord Northampton perhaps, and imperil my standing at Court. I chance my soul by allowing Robin into my bed.” We clinked glasses and gulped the wine. She was not terrified but elated. It was not a lack of religion, nor even that she believed Robin’s love was worth her soul; she was convinced that God would know how pure was her love and would bless it.