“Sir Robert Carr?” Frankie laughed, pleased to say his name aloud.

“What ambition, to compete with the King for love! In looks I give you better odds, but the King trumps even you in dominion. Tell me more of Carr,” said Essex, knocking the toe of his boot against her knee. In another man, it might have been an affectionate gesture. “The King’s dog will never be loved by us even if he has changed his name; he loses the esteem of his own countrymen in so doing.”

“I know nothing of such things.”

“He shows loyalty only to vanity; his collar and doublet are French, his narrow sleeve from Italy, breeches Dutch, his slops and boots Spanish. He is a traitor to his own land.”

Frankie only shrugged and looked across the water.

“Still the King loves him best,” continued Essex, knocking his boot a little harder against her knee, as if this were her fault. “The King even loves your mother better than his own true servants.”

“Perhaps she serves him better.”

“It’s not him she serves, is it?” he said. Frankie did not know whether her husband was referring to her mother’s long-standing affair with Lord Salisbury or her stipend from Spain, earned as an informal ambassador, passing information between the English and Spanish Courts. Both circumstances infuriated Essex, less for the ambiguous morality they displayed than for the fact a woman was acting outside of home and duty to her husband, to which narrow spheres she should confine herself.

“Why don’t you join the winning pack, husband—then you will not need me to inform you of those close to the throne but will be one of them yourself.”

“I will not frizz my hair for the King. He heaps wealth on his favorite like a boy gathering flowers for his sweetheart, not realizing that his coffers have hard floors. He risks the standing of us all.”

“What you speak is treason, not to mention poisonous.”

“Poison? Tell me of it, wife. The Court is alive with rumor that you wish to poison me.”

“You will die of your own discontent soon enough.”

He leaned forward. “I cannot desire a woman who speaks for herself, dresses without modesty, and is unchaste and disobedient. No man would, but for that you wish me dead.”

“You should join a company of players, my lord, you have a talent for wild imaginings.” She reached up and yanked shut the curtains of the awning under which they sat; anger had an effect on his member that tenderness had not. She fished a leather flask from her hanging pocket and took a small sip.

“What wife imbibes while her husband goes thirsty? Unnatural woman.” Frankie handed the flask to him.