All the Sweet Tomorrows (10 page)

“I cannot leave London until Sir Robert Small has returned, Majesty. He is due back sometime this month from a most successful voyage. His advance ship is already in Plymouth, and I have had word that the spices he carries will enrich Your Majesty’s coffers greatly.”

Elizabeth Tudor smiled. “You do not have to leave us until Sir Robert has returned, and you have had time to make your arrangements with him. I know the businesswoman that you are.” She took Skye’s arm in her own, and together they strolled from the Queen’s privy chamber. “Come, ladies! Come, Dudley! My feet itch to dance, and it grows late.”

The Queen’s party made their way through the corridors of Whitehall Palace to a large room with walls of linenfold paneling and a fine parquet floor. The musicians were already set up in a corner of the room upon a small raised platform. Elizabeth and her party passed through a line of bowing courtiers as they walked to a gilt throne set up at the end of the room. The Queen
sat gracefully upon the red velvet cushion set upon the throne, and motioned Skye to one of the low maid-of-honor chairs by her side. The other women quickly found their seats, one being forced to stand behind the Queen’s chair; and the courtiers began to come forward to pay their respects to the Queen. Some faces were familiar to Skye, others were not, and she paid little attention to the pageant about her. It bored her. Court usually bored her. Only when most of the courtiers had paid homage to the Queen and the majordomo called out, “Edmond, Petit Sieur de Beaumont,” was her interest revived, and she looked up.

Although her Kerry-blue eyes widened slightly, Skye gave no other sign of her surprise and shock, for the man coming toward her was one of the handsomest she had ever seen. He was also a dwarf. He was not misshapen like so many dwarfs, but rather well formed, and he was certainly dressed in the height of fashion. His doublet was made from cloth of gold, sewn all over with tiny golden brilliants and edged in gold lace at the neck and the sleeves. His short, round cloth-of-gold breeches were lined in stiff horsehair in order to puff them out fashionably. His stockings were gold silk, embroidered in gold brilliants and tiny black jet beads, and his flat-soled shoes were of gold leather with black rosettes. His short cape was of black velvet, lined in cloth of gold and trimmed in silver fox. At his waist hung a gold sword, proportioned to his size, and twinkling with rubies and diamonds.

As he reached the foot of Elizabeth Tudor’s throne he bowed smartly. “Majesty,” he said in a deep voice, a rather large voice for one so small.

“Welcome, Edmond de Beaumont,” Elizabeth said. “I hope that you have been enjoying your stay here in England.”

“English hospitality is justly famous, Your Majesty,” was the reply.

“Lady Burke, come forward,” the Queen commanded, and Skye rose from her low seat, and came to stand next to the Queen’s chair. “M’sieur de Beaumont, may I present to you Lady Skye Burke, who has agreed to go to Beaumont de Jaspre as your uncle’s bride.”

Around them there was a hum of surprise.

Skye curtseyed to Edmond de Beaumont, noting with some embarrassment that as she bowed low he was treated to a fine, indeed almost indecent view of her breasts. As she rose he said softly, “My uncle is a
very, very
fortunate man, Your Majesty.” Skye blushed to the roots of her raven hair, yet as she raised her
eyes to Edmond de Beaumont, she saw that though his face was polite and serious, his violet-colored eyes were laughing.

“I can only hope your uncle is as charming as his nephew, M’sieur de Beaumont,” she replied.

“I do not think that charming is a word one would use in connection with Uncle Fabron,” was the reply, and again the eyes were laughing at her.

“Oh, dear!” Skye said without thinking, and she bit her lip in obvious worry.

Edmond de Beaumont burst out laughing. “Are you always so honest, Lady Burke?” he asked.

“Our dear Skye is most candid, is she not, Dudley?” remarked the Queen.

“Indeed, Majesty,” Dudley replied. “Lady Burke always says what she thinks. A most refreshing, and often stimulating trait, M’sieur de Beaumont.”

Skye shot Dudley a look of undisguised venom, which Edmond de Beaumont was quick to note. Now why, he wondered, does the lady so obviously dislike the Earl of Leicester? Did he perhaps rebuff her? No, de Beaumont thought. She did not look like the type of woman who would chase after a popinjay like Lord Dudley.

“You are to go with M’sieur de Beaumont, dearest Skye, for you will have many questions to ask him about your future home, I am sure,” the Queen coyly simpered.

Skye stepped from the Queen’s side and accepted Edmond de Beaumont’s outstretched hand. Together they turned, bowed to the Queen, and, turning again, moved through the crowded room. They made an almost comical sight for the
petit sieur
was only three feet four inches tall, and Skye stood five feet seven inches in her bare feet. No one, however, dared to laugh, for the Queen was a tyrant where good manners were concerned, and this little man was her honored guest.

“And
do
you have many questions to ask me, Lady Burke?”

Skye paused a moment, and then said, “I suppose I shall, m’sieur. I am only now getting used to the idea of marriage with your uncle.”

Edmond de Beaumont led her to a quiet alcove with a window seat. She sat, and he helped himself to two goblets of chilled white wine from a serving man’s tray. Handing her one, he sat facing her. “Do you not wish to marry my uncle?”

“I do not have a real choice, m’sieur. I must obey the Queen.”

“Is there another gentleman that you prefer to my uncle?”

“No, M’sieur de Beaumont, there is no one else. My husband is dead but two months, and I shall mourn Niall for the rest of my life.”

He drank deeply. He was relieved that there was no one else. It was possible that she would learn to love his uncle, and that they would be happy. God only knew that it would save him a great deal of difficulty. His cousin, Garnier de Beaumont, his uncle’s only living child, was a half-wit; and so his uncle had made Edmond his heir. But if he became the Duc de Beaumont then he must marry, and what girl would have him? Oh, he was well enough favored, but he was tiny. How often he had been mocked by men and women alike because of his height. His size certainly did not affect his intelligence, but no one ever bothered to find that out about Edmond de Beaumont, because he stood only three feet four inches tall.

This extravagantly beautiful woman, however, did not seem either amused or appalled by his size. She spoke to him plainly, and without guile. He looked up at her again, and said quietly, “I respect your grief, Lady Burke.” Then to change the subject he asked, “Do you have children?”

Her smile lit her whole face, and she said, “I have four living sons and two daughters.”

“They will like Beaumont de Jaspre,” he assured her. “The climate is mild and pleasant most of the year, and your children will enjoy bathing in the sea.”

“My children will not be coming with me. m’sieur.”

“But why?” He was surprised, and now he understood the reason for the sadness that lurked deep in her fabulous blue-green eyes.

“My eldest son, Ewan, must remain on his lands, m’sieur. His full brother, Murrough, is a page with the Earl of Lincoln’s household, and must remain with the court if he is to earn lands and possibly a peerage of his own. My third son is the Earl of Lynmouth. He is the Queen’s favorite page, the small boy who now stands on Her Majesty’s right. As for my youngest son, Lord Burke, he is but two and a half months old. He, too, must stay on his lands, and he is much too tender to travel besides. My daughters are to remain here also. Willow is nine, and heiress to my business partner, Sir Robert Small. Deirdre is just sixteen months old, and, like her baby brother, too young to travel.”

“I do not understand, Lady Burke, why you agreed to this
marriage,” Edmond de Beaumont said. “I have been told that you are outrageously wealthy in both monies and lands, and now you say you have children much too young to leave. Surely you are not one of those women who seek a great title?”

“If the choice were truly mine, M’sieur de Beaumont, and your uncle the Holy Roman Emperor himself, I should not wed with him; but the choice is not mine. It is the Queen’s will that I do so, and therefore I must.”

“Why?” He was distressed for her.

“Because I am Irish, M’sieur de Beaumont, and the English have had a stranglehold on my homeland for several centuries now. I agreed to marry your uncle because if I did not, my infant son’s lands would have been parceled out among the Anglo-Irish, those sycophants of the English monarchs.

“I am a realist, M’sieur de Beaumont,” Skye continued. “I could not hope to beat the English in a fair fight, for unfortunately the Irish are not a nation able to unite behind one ruler. If we were the English would not be in our homeland. My duty is to my children, and to the memories I have of their fathers. I am responsible for the lands of four families, as well as an enormous commercial interest and a fleet of vessels. Should I beggar myself and my children for an ideal? I think not.”

“Madame, I wonder if you are the right woman for my uncle.”

“Why?” She smiled at him. “Because I am outspoken, m’sieur?”

“My uncle is used to a more complacent type of female,” he smiled back, and she thought that he had a beautiful smile.

“If you complain to the Queen that I am not suitable,” she said in a more serious tone, “Elizabeth will wonder what I have done to incur your displeasure, m’sieur. That would endanger my infant son, Lord Burke. I promise you that I shall be exactly the type of wife your uncle seeks. They tell me that he is old, and not in good health. I vow to nurse him most tenderly.”

“Who on earth told you that my uncle is elderly, Lady Burke?” Edmond de Beaumont was surprised. “Uncle Fabron is but forty-five, and is in excellent health.” He saw the shock upon her face. “My God, they have lied to you in order to gain your cooperation!”

She was very pale, and he placed a surprisingly warm hand over her trembling, clenched ones. “Lord Burghley said that your uncle was an older man in ill health. That I should be home
within a year or two at the most. Dear God, my babies! I shall never see my babies again!”

“This is infamous!” Edmond de Beaumont accepted the fact of arranged marriages, but this beautiful woman was being used in a terrible way. “I shall speak to the Queen myself,” he said. “You cannot be made to leave your children like this!”

“No!”
Her blue eyes were huge and frightened. “M’sieur de Beaumont, you must not speak to anyone of this! You will do me no kindness, and I shall lose everything. I have accepted my lot, and so must you.” She turned her hand so she might grasp his tiny one.
“Please, m’sieur,”
she said.

“Madam, I am already your devoted servant,” he answered. “It will be as you wish. I would be your friend.”

“You already are, M’sieur de Beaumont, and since you are, I think you should call me Skye.” She calmed herself now, assured by his gentleness and air of concern.

“With pleasure, Skye, if you will call me Edmond.”

Across the room Robert Dudley sneered to the Queen, “Look how she simpers at the dwarf so sweetly. It sickens me! Is the duc a dwarf also? How amusing that would be, Bess! It would take two of them to equal one Geoffrey Southwood, or Niall Burke!” He laughed nastily.

“Are you jealous, my lord?” Elizabeth Tudor’s voice was sharp. “I thought you had gotten over your passion for Lady Burke. Do not try my patience, Robert. I have been most generous with you, and you will repay my kindness.”

“I adore you, Bess! You well know it, but you will not marry me. I am only a man, madam!”

“Fie, Rob, lower your voice,” the Queen chided. “Others are looking at us, and in answer to your question the Duc de Beaumont is not a dwarf. His nephew showed me his miniature, which was sent for his intended bride. He is a well-favored gentleman. Lady Burke should not be overly unhappy in Beaumont de Jaspre.”

“She will be out of the way,” Dudley answered. “You do not fool me, Bess. I know you far too well. Lady Burke is in your subtle mind an enemy. By sending her to Beaumont de Jaspre you rid yourself of that particular enemy.”

“I also gain a spy against France, Spain, and the Papal States,” the Queen said quietly. “I have no doubt that Lady Burke will hear many interesting things that she can pass on to us.”

“By God, Bess,” Lord Dudley said admiringly. “You are totally ruthless!”

The Queen smiled archly at the Earl of Leicester. “Dance with me, Rob,” she said, “and we shall discuss what to give Lady Burke as a wedding gift.”

Skye and Edmond de Beaumont were watching the Queen and Lord Dudley capering merrily to a sprightly tune played by the musicians, when William Cecil came up to sit with them.

“So you have made friends with the Petit Sieur de Beaumont, Lady Burke, and you, m’sieur, see the exquisite prize we are sending to your uncle. Do you think that he will be pleased?”

“How could he not be, Lord Burghley?”

“The Queen has decided that you will depart here at the end of April, Lady Burke. M’sieur de Beaumont will travel with you and your party to Beaumont de Jaspre.”

“The Queen has promised me that I may remain in England until Sir Robert has returned, my lord.
I will not go until then!
What is all this indecent haste about? I will leave by mid-May. I must first have a trousseau made, for the gowns I have to wear here in England and Ireland will be totally unsuitable in a warmer climate. Would you have me arrive to wed the duc in my shift?”

Edmond de Beaumont chuckled aloud at the look of discomfort upon the face of the Queen’s Secretary of State and Lord Treasurer. “There is no great rush, Lord Burghley,” he said. “After all, my uncle is in robust health, and the miniature I shall send him tomorrow of Lady Burke should increase his ardor. If we leave in mid-May as Skye suggests, we will be in Beaumont de Jaspre by June, a perfect time for a wedding, especially there.”

“Ah … yes, yes!” William Cecil began to edge nervously away.