“Bad news from court,” I say baldly. And there! I see it! A flash across her face, instantly hidden, like a flare of torchlight in a shadowy room. She expects something; she is waiting for something to happen. There is a conspiracy indeed, and Dudley is wrong to think her innocent, and Cecil is right to alert the queen. Dear God, what if she is plotting war against us?

The smile she turns on me is utterly serene. “Indeed, I am sorry to hear it. Tell me, is Her Grace the queen well?”

“She has learned of your proposed betrothal to the Duke of Norfolk,” I say flatly. “And she is much distressed that he should have engaged himself without consulting her.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Has he not done so yet?” she wonders.

“No,” I say shortly. “And when she asked him for an explanation, he left court without permission.”

She turns her eyes down as if in regret and then looks up again. “He has gone away? Far?”

I nip my lip in irritation at this mummery, which may amuse her but does not entertain me. “Robert Dudley suggests that you write to the queen and explain the betrothal, and that you write to the duke and persuade him to go back to court and reassure his queen and kinswoman.”

She lifts her face and smiles at me. “I will certainly take Robert Dudley’s advice,” she says sweetly. “But my lord duke, Thomas Howard, will do as he thinks best. I cannot command him. I am his betrothed, his wife-to-be, not his master. I am not a wife who believes in ruling the roost. His own queen must command him; I cannot. Does she not order him back to court?”

“She orders him but he doesn’t go,” I say curtly. “And his staying away from court looks like a confession of guilt. Next thing they will be saying that he has run off to raise an army.”

Again, I see it, though her eyelashes flicker down to hide that flash of hope. So that is what she wants. She wants war, in the very heart of our court, in the very heart of our country. Dudley is mistaken, and Cecil is very right to fear her. Dear God, I am housing and humoring an enemy who will destroy us all. She hopes that Norfolk will lead an uprising. God damn her, she would see the peace of England broken to get her a husband and a throne.

“Don’t even think it,” I warn her flatly. “Thomas Howard would never raise an army against Elizabeth. Whatever he has written to you, whatever anyone has said to you, whatever you dream: don’t think it. He would never lead out an army against the queen, and no one would follow him against her.”