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appear. She would only take the pleasure out of it anyway,” she added peevishly.
    “Pleasure being the operative principle of governments and courts,” Robert said drily.
    Elizabeth refrained from pouting, just. “Your father is surely pleased at any sign of discontent from Mary. It means the court is safely out of reach of the Catholic faction. If Mary were wise, she would realize that and swallow her pride. Decisions are made by those who are present. Her idealism will leave the Catholics nothing but their pride.”
    “Why do you dislike her so much?”
    Because she thinks my mother is a whore and I’m a bastard, and for all her apparent submission to Will she thinks the same of him … “Because she’s a fanatic. She would see England burn rather than compromise. And that sort of belief I will never understand.”
    Robert sighed. “I do not disagree, but I also do not think it wise to ignore her as the king does. Fanatics breed followers, and Mary free will forever be dangerous.”
    “What are you suggesting?”
    He shook off the introspection and smiled lightly. “Me? I am not serious enough to suggest anything. Leave that to councilors. My job is to entertain.”
    “And you do it so well,” she replied. Sometimes she marveled that Robert should be Northumberland’s son—though the physical resemblance was there, Robert seemed to belong to the court in a way that his father never had. Northumberland used his size and forceful presence to get what he wanted; Robert came at things more subtly.
    As he escorted her off the dance floor, a woman in a dark red gown appeared so suddenly in their path that Robert nearly collided with her. She didn’t move even when he put his hand out to stop himself, just stared him down with an impertinence that would have done royalty proud. Elizabeth recognized her: the sullen lady from her mother’s presence chamber.
    “Yes?” Elizabeth asked sharply, uncomfortable despite herself when the woman met her eyes.
    Slowly enough to be rude, the woman dropped into a curtsy. “Pardon me, Your Highness. Sometimes it’s all a woman can do to look to herself.”
    She addressed the last part to Robert, and Elizabeth wondered why, then told herself she didn’t care. If the woman had made a fool of herself over Robert Dudley, she was neither the first nor the last.
    Robert remained polite, but there was an undercurrent to his reply. “You would be wise to watch your step, Mistress de Clare. You might have disturbed the princess.”
    Once more the woman met Elizabeth’s eyes, but this time the hostility was moderated by something softer that Elizabeth couldn’t place. “That was not my intention. I apologize, Your Highness.”
    Elizabeth accepted with a nod and pulled Robert back to the dance floor. At least there no one would interrupt them and she could pretend that Robert’s wife did not exist—and nor did any other woman who might have caught Robert’s eye.
    By the time Minuette returned to the great hall after the pageant, the dancing had begun. She stood and watched from the shadow of a corner, letting the music rush through her like the surge of a waterfall. There was something about the Greek costume she still wore—the loose white silk pleated at the shoulders to leave her arms bare when she moved, the lengths of fabric caught beneath her breasts by a simple gold cord and then skimming around her body in flutters like butterfly wings—that made her feel light and joyous and just a little reckless.
    Elizabeth was dancing with Robert Dudley. Minuette approved, for Robert could nearly always cajole the serious-minded Elizabeth into something approaching lightheartedness. She liked the smile she saw on Elizabeth’s face as she danced, though an image crossed her mind of a widowed French prince who might not approve if he were here.
    William stood on the low dais at the front of the hall, in the company of a young woman who had recently come to court. Minuette could not