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and
the queen herself, as Anne Cecil just had, or if there were satin and pearls or
roasted peacock on gold plate. He would not care if she wed him barefoot in her
shift, for he would want only her. She was determined on that.
    As the newlyweds made their bows to Queen Elizabeth, who had
attended the wedding herself and now sat on a dais to watch the feast, Beatrice
leaned forward to see if she could catch a glimpse of Peter Ellingham. As she
had suspected—and hoped—he watched her, too. He was so handsome, so witty and
full of fun, and such a fine dancer. She did so enjoy his company, his pretty
compliments, and his sweet notes and bouquets.
    But she was not yet ready to march down the wedding aisle
herself. She was no Anne Cecil to be forced to wed so young. If Peter Ellingham
would but wait a while...
    He grinned and waved at her, and Beatrice covered her giggle
behind her hand.
    Meg tugged at her arm. “Beatrice, please! What if Her Grace saw
you?”
    “The queen is too busy talking to the happy couple to notice
me,” Beatrice whispered back. “Besides, we aren’t at the Abbey now—we needn’t be
solemn. We can have a little fun before the masque.”
    The edge of Meg’s lips quirked in a quickly hidden smile.
“Well—just a bit of fun, mayhap. You deserve it after all your good work on the
masque.”
    “And so do you, Meg! You have been working so hard of late. You
must promise me that you will be merry tonight, too.” Beatrice clutched tight to
her cousin’s hand. Meg was always so serious, so responsible. She always took
such good care of Bea at court. Meg deserved so much more than one evening of
dancing. She deserved— She deserved...
    She deserved a fine prince of her own. A man who saw her great
beauty and would marry her in her shift if need be, just as Bea dreamed of.
    Beatrice scanned the gathered crowd, the swirling, bright
kaleidoscope of brilliant silks and velvets, emeralds and pearls. Everyone
watched Queen Elizabeth, the peacock-center of it all in her blue-and-purple
gown, her high-piled red-gold hair twined with sapphires and amethysts. Everyone
but one man.
    And he was looking at Meg.
    Beatrice studied him carefully. It was Sir Robert Erroll, the
current star of the court who had newly arrived from Muscovy. A tall, handsome,
mysterious man who all the ladies giggled about. Unlike the brilliance around
him, he wore dark colors, tawny and black, his dark hair waving away from a face
even Bea, who was choosy about male looks, had to admit was quite perfect. His
eyes, a glowing blue even from across the crowded room, were focused on Meg.
    And Meg, Bea was fascinated to see, pointedly looked anywhere
except him.
    Most interesting indeed.
    The bridal couple took their seats just below the queen on the
dais, signaling the start of the dancing. Musicians, hidden high on a balcony
above the revelers’ heads, struck the first notes of a pavane as servants moved
through the crowd offering spiced wine and trays of delicacies.
    Beatrice saw Peter Ellingham making his way toward her, an
eager smile on his face.
    “I suppose you will want to dance with the handsome young Lord
Ellingham now, Bea,” Meg said.
    Indeed she did. Peter was an excellent dancer, and one of the
few men who could keep up with her in a galliard or volta. But Bea had a new
mission in mind now for the evening. She hurriedly scanned the crowd looking for
Robert Erroll. He was still watching Meg, a small frown creasing his brow. Meg,
though, still would not look at him.
    Bea tried to give him an encouraging smile, nodding toward her
cousin. Maybe she could get him to ask Meg to dance. His frown turned
puzzled.
    And Peter was nearly upon her.
    “Indeed I do want to dance,” Bea said quickly. “But only if you
will, too, Meg.”
    Meg laughed. “You know I don’t often care to dance, Bea. I
enjoy watching others more graceful than me. You go dance, and I will have some
of Lord Burghley’s excellent wine.”
    Meg took up one of