For months after that night, Frankie did no more than nod in acknowledgment of Sir Robert Carr, but feelings for him began to stir her heart. She had reached an age to choose for herself whom to love and she was falling for a man who eminently suited her. It worsened her distress in her own marriage, for now she had someone to compare to her husband, and in no area did Essex triumph. It worried me that Carr’s attentions to Frankie appeared to be overseen by Overbury, who could have encouraged them only in hope of the disgrace it would bring on her family if she were discovered in adultery. Frankie told me to stop worrying, that she had no intention of encouraging Carr, his flirtation simply made her feel more loved than did her husband’s scowling.

Friendship with Frankie was bringing me the benefits I had foreseen; foremost among them, love. Although I sensed a slight distance between us, as was perhaps inevitable in light of our differing ranks and ages, we were like a happily married couple, our talents complementary and our shortcomings thereby ameliorated. My beloved George was invited to the investiture of Prince Henry as the Prince of Wales; a knighthood was likely to follow. Barbara had settled well into the household of Baron Ellesmere, John was almost ready for Oxford and Thomas had his sword, a gift from Arthur, although it did nothing to alleviate the young man’s hatred of my lover. Mary’s cough did not go away but it did not worsen. Richard Weston redoubled his efforts to recover debts owed us and by that means we kept afloat.

My angel keeper saw me laughing with Frankie, loving my family, dancing with my lover. He must have seen me satisfied and content in every aspect of my life and looked away for a day or two. It was long enough.

6

George fell ill. It was the end of February and snowing, a little over a year after Frankie and I first met. The winter was unusually severe; the Thames froze solid, the water wheel with it. My husband asked me to bring Arthur to him, which frightened me.

“Shall I fetch Dr. Mayerne?” said Arthur when he arrived, bashing snow from his hat and boots.

“He will kill George with his foul mercuries. Sir William Paddy has been. He says George has a stone in his bladder.” Arthur stopped shaking out his cloak and looked at me. We both knew several men who had died of the stone and few who had recovered. I hung up his outer clothes and he followed me upstairs. George lay in bed, our two elder sons by his side. John nodded at Arthur but Thomas ignored us.

George opened his eyes and beckoned me over, whispering that I must call for the priest. I sobbed on his chest until Arthur gently prised me off.