Entering the chamber, Frankie went straight to the bed. The sheets were fine enough not to chafe but not so fine as she was used to.

“I am frightened,” she said.

“It does not hurt much,” I said, pouring wine and drinking a glass at once. Frankie did not join me.

“I am only afraid of what he may do afterward.”

“He has waited a long time,” I said, knowing that did not guarantee he would love her after he had taken her. I loosed and brushed Frankie’s hair and began undressing her.

“What must I do?” she asked.

“He will guide you,” I said, my face flushing.

“Of course, I forgot that I will not be his first.”

“I am sure that you are the first he has loved. Do not be alarmed if this makes him fearful and he performs ill. Appear impressed, whatever happens.”

Frankie nodded seriously.

“I fear he will find me repugnant undressed.”

I laughed. “That is one thing you need not worry about.”

We started at the knock.

“He’s come,” said Frankie, grabbing my hand, her eyes unblinking. I remembered the first time George and I had lain together. I was fifteen, and George just shy of my father’s age. I had felt no eagerness, only worry that my repulsion would show. In fact, George had been gentle, wooing me with soft words and consideration. For Frankie though, I wished the sort of lust that Arthur provoked in me.

“I can turn him away.”

Frankie shook her head.

I patted my hair as I hurried downstairs and opened the door. Lord Rochester’s groom nodded but did not announce his master’s arrival. I stood back to allow a cloaked, masked, and perfumed figure into the hall, a futile disguise, for the fancy shoe-roses gave him away immediately.

The groom followed his master into the hall and I shut and bolted the door. Robin Carr had removed his outer clothes and was attired in crimson embroidered with gold thread, the doublet and hose matching in fashionable and exquisite precision. Carr would have disappeared in Frankie’s new parlor, so similar was his decoration. Especial attention had been given to his hair, which was brushed back from his high forehead and curled as it reached the nape of his neck. His cheek and chin were smooth, no hint of beard, his skin as plush as Frankie’s, a very particular mark of prosperity, the want of which no amount of rich clothes can conceal. In one ear he wore rubies that matched his silken garments so perfectly that no small work must have been expended in choosing and mounting the stones. My thoughts sped to my neighbor, almost blind from such delicate work as adorned his cuffs. How suffered the man who had wrought the miracle of craftsmanship that dangled from the ear of this favorite?