For a moment, I don’t even take it. I stare at it with rising hope, then slowly, wonderingly, I put out my hand. I feel as if someone is handing me the key to escape from a prison of worry.

At last Ned has written to me—at last. Perhaps he has written from the coast and he has returned to England already and is riding north to find me. I am so glad to see his letter that I quite forget my resentment that it comes so late. It does not matter. Nothing matters. If he will come to me now, we can confess; I can break my betrothal to Henry Herbert and we can tell the queen, and all will be well. As little Mary says, so wise for her years: a home and a husband, what more do I want?

But then I see it is not Ned’s handwriting, nor his seal. As soon as I have it in my hand my hopes plummet. I leave the busy stable yard, where the grooms are taking the horses from the court and turning them out into rich meadows, and step into the garden, where the trees make a cool shade over a stone bench and I can sit and rest my aching back and read my letter.

It is from Henry Herbert. It is quite dreadful.

Having hitherto led a virtuous life, I will not now begin with loss of honor to lead the rest of my life with a whore that almost every man talks of...

I nearly drop the page. I think I am going to faint; I am breathless with horror. I read it again. He calls me a whore; he says that every man talks of me. I can feel my heart pounding and the baby in my belly has gone still, as if he too is frozen with horror at the insult to his mother.

“Ned,” I whisper miserably. I cannot believe that he should stay away and let this terrible thing happen to me. I cannot believe that our love affair should end up in this disaster: a baby in my belly and Henry Herbert—Henry Herbert of all people!—accusing me of being a whore.

You sought to entrap me with some poisoned bait under the color of sugared friendship yet (I thank God) I am so clear that I am not to be further touched than with a few tokens that were by cunning slight got out of my hands both to cover your abomination and his likewise.