“Our mother said that you would not go, she said that you could stay here, and Lady Dudley said in that case she would keep Guildford at her home, and you would be known for a disobedient and estranged wife.”

I look blankly at my little sister. “I have to obey my husband. I swore to be his wife,” I say miserably.

Mary’s eyes are huge in her pale face. “That’s what Mother said.”

“She insists I go back?”

“You have to go.” Mary nods. “Mother says it is her wish.”

I rise to my feet. I feel as weary as my cousin the king, fighting for his life while everyone quarrels about his legacy. “I’ll go then,” I say. “God knows what is going to happen next.”

* * *

My stomach churns as the barge carries me back to the Dudleys’ house. I can see my tall husband waiting on the pier, and as the barge comes up alongside and rocks gently, he gives a little bow. When the gangplank is run ashore and the rowers hold the boat fast to the ropes, he gives me his hand to help me step down to the quayside. I glance up at the blank windows of the house, which seem to overlook the gardens and the river as if they were watching for me and are not best pleased.

“Yes, my father sent me to meet you,” he says. “He’s watching us from his windows. He wants to see you in his rooms at once.”

“I’m not well,” I say. “I am sick.”

“That won’t get you out of it,” he says unsympathetically. “He came home from Westminster the moment that he learned you had gone to Suffolk Place. Against his wishes, against my mother’s request, against my orders.”

“I really am sick,” I say to him. “I will have to go to my room. I can see no one. Ask your father to excuse me, tell him that I have to lie down.”

“I’ll tell my lady mother,” he says, “but she’ll probably just come into your room and make you.” He hesitates, like one unhappy child warning another. “You can’t lock your door, you know. There’s no key. If you go to bed, she’ll just come and pull you out.”

“She can’t beat me,” I say with grim humor.

“Actually, she can.”

He turns from me and leaves me there, in the garden, standing alone but for my ladies, until one of them comes up and takes my arm and helps me to my room.

Within moments, just as her son predicted, Lady Dudley opens the door, enters without knocking, and looms over me, her face avid. “Are you sick in the morning before chapel?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say. I try to sit up but to my surprise she presses me back down on the pillow.