Free Watch the Lady by Elizabeth Fremantle

countess turned on Penelope. “How could you have shown such insolence? I am ashamed that you are a product of my household . . . marriage is a sacrament of the Lord . . . it is not for you to pick and choose . . . I thought I’d bred obedience into you . . . you are your mother’s daughter, that is clear as day—”
    â€œEnough!” barked her husband, raising that twitching arm.
    The countess looked chastened.
    â€œKindly still your tongue, Sister,” said Leicester in a menacing growl. “That is my wife you impugn.”
    The countess mumbled a cowed apology. Penelope found some satisfaction in seeing her guardian at the sharp end of Leicester’s wrath, but inwardly admonished herself; for it was surely a sin to delight in another’s comeuppance, even one who had treated her so strictly.
    Placing a hand on Penelope’s shoulder, digging his fingers in, Leicester said, “The Queen has sanctioned this match and I would counsel you not to risk her disapproval by causing a fuss about it. You must know by now what happens to those who lose her favor.” His look was hostile and an image of Anne Vavasour in the Tower, grey with fear, crept into her mind.
    She cleared her throat. “I am required to dress the Queen for supper,” she said, and dropped into an exaggerated curtsy. “May I be excused?”
    â€œYou may,” said Leicester, and she left.
    They seemed to have taken her failure to argue further as acquiescence, but as she walked towards the Queen’s rooms her resistance burgeoned. It was not natural for a couple to be forced together where there was not even a sliver of attraction. She would not wed Rich and that was that.

November 1581
Leicester House/Smithfield
    The various pieces of Penelope’s wedding dress were spread about the chamber. Dorothy and Jeanne were trying to lift her spirits with an irritating chirpiness as they laced her tightly into the embroidered bodice and helped her into the cumbersome layers: hoops, bum roll, underskirt, overskirt, sleeves.
    â€œI am so very happy to be coming with you,” said Jeanne. Penelope squeezed out a smile. She too was glad that Jeanne, a childhood companion, would be in her household; it was the sole joy to come out of her marriage, as far as she could see.
    â€œWho will be riding beside your litter?” Dorothy asked.
    â€œI don’t know. All our Knollys uncles, I suppose . . . and Leicester. He is very pleased with himself for replenishing the Devereux coffers with my wedding.” She didn’t quite manage to hide the resentment in her voice.
    â€œHere,” Dorothy indicated for Penelope to hold her laces with a finger while she tightened a knot. “And Sidney. Will he be there? I hope so.”
    â€œAs do I. I have never seen him,” said Jeanne, holding her small hands out, palms up, as if it were an inexplicable loss.
    â€œI don’t know.” Penelope’s reply was curt. She wished they would stop talking about him, but how were they to know of her feelings for Sidney? It was a secret kept between the two of them, expressed in snatched moments: that first encounter in the stables at Whitehall; hurried exchanges beneath the weeping willow on the river at Richmond; hands held in a dance on a feast day; fingers brushing together as they passed each other in the long gallery at Hampton Court. She was catapulted back to the dairy at Greenwich, the door closing, his hands on her waist, the cool damp wall against her back. Their first kiss, witnessed by the silent wheels of cheese and the hanging bags of curd, which occasionally released a wet plink, the only sound other than their urgent breath. The memory made her insides somersault.
    Once out hunting at Nonsuch when her horse was lame, Leicester had sent Sidney to her aid. She’d hoped it would mean a half hour alone but Peg Carey was sent to join them, as