“With such a wife, ye might need to visit a tailor yerself, man!” laughed the King, and the whole Court joined in, though I sensed with reluctance. Essex was dressed in plain English wool to plain English design; those who could afford velvet but did not wear it, did so to denounce fashion, luxury and everything else originating in Catholic lands. No Spanish leather in glove or boot, no Venetian velvet or embroidery, enlivened his appearance. The young Earl had even refused to visit Catholic countries during his tour of Europe. I wondered then, not for the first time that day, who had considered it a sensible notion to marry him into a Catholic family for whom luxury and display were more important than air?

Humiliating her husband was not Frankie’s plan and she curtsied deeply to him. He ignored her and Robert Carr smiled; it would be a kindness for him to flirt with a beautiful woman whose husband appeared only to scowl.

“Come, lad, give the lass yer arm!” said the King, whose love of peace was as controversial as his love for men. Essex had no choice but to allow Frankie to put her hand on his forearm.

The King draped his own arm across the shoulders of his favorite and shuffled out, his dog close behind. Essex followed with Frankie, who winked at me as she passed.

After the King and Robert Carr had left, Frankie’s husband and parents climbed into her father’s coach. As Frankie joined them, she offered me her own carriage to take me home. Her mother and husband looked aggrieved. Did the Countess of Suffolk regret her order to me? Had I done too good a job?

“Go on, Anne,” said Frankie, laughing, the paint cracking outward from her lips like an eruption, “then my coachman will know where to find you.”

The nobles departed in order of rank, with much shouting and jostling to enforce precedence.