Anne's generous lips were slightly parted and as she exhaled they made the faintest cooing sound. Hardly daring to breathe, Edward bent close to this perfection. Her face filled his eager, covetous vision. The maid's flawless skin glowed with a taut, silky-smooth sheen. Edward found himself mesmerized by the minuscule hairs that clung to her like golden fur begging for his touch.
The Earl stayed close to Anne for several minutes, intent on memorizing every detail of her. Then with a gentle sigh, he turned and stole out of the bedchamber.
Edward rode away from Whitehall with his head tilted back, admiring the innumerable stars. The Earl's mind was calm, his thoughts untroubled. He had decided to court and win Anne Vavasor. A sweet sonnet took shape, soaring in flowing rhythms across the sparkling night sky.
-:-:-
The following evening, Anne entered her bedchamber dressed for sleep. As the maid climbed into bed, she found a sheet of paper, neatly folded and discreetly sealed, lying on her pillow next to a single red rose.
Unsealing the poem, Anne began to read,
"How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st
The wiry harmony that mine ear confounds,
Do I envy those keys that nimble leap
To kiss the tender fingers of thy hand,
Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap,
At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand!
To be so tickled, they would change their state
And situation with those dancing chips
Over whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,
Making dead wood more blessed than living lips.
Since saucy keys so happy are in this,
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss."
Carefully folding the sheet of paper, Anne repeated part of the last line softly to herself, "Thy lips to kiss."
Then, leaning forward with a sudden, gleeful giggle, she blew out the candles, plunging her room into darkness.
1651
"Beggin' your pardon, Ma'am."
The old woman looked over at Ben, surprised by his interruption, "Yes?"
"I'm very sorry, Ma'am..."
"What is it?"
"Well, Ma'am, beggin' your pardon, Ma'am, but I ran all the way from Cripplegate, Ma'am and I have to..." Ben stood up, his face twisted into a pained expression. He crossed his legs. "You know..."
"Oh very well. But be quick about it or your master will hear ill of you."
"Thank you, Ma'am," said Ben, rushing for the door.
Gnarled hands toyed with the book in her lap, but the old woman was in no mood to read. Now that she had begun Edward's story, she was amazed at how vivid her recollections were. It was so easy to conjure up the past. The memories were all there, waiting for her. Perhaps it might be better if they weren't. Hadn't she been made old by her secrets? Had not carrying them withered her before her time?
Ben hurried back into the room, resumed his seat and picked up the pen. He glanced at the old woman and was once again astonished at how old and white she looked. One thing was sure; the old crow had never worked a day outdoors in her life. What was she saying?
"We were speaking of?"
Ben looked down at his pages. "Err...poems, Ma'am."
"Ah yes. Poems. Well, now that Edward's sonnet had been successfully delivered, he launched his campaign in earnest. The utmost discretion was essential. They called Elizabeth the Virgin Queen, you know.
"For once, Edward decided on a prudent course. Next day, as he feasted with the Queen, the Earl kept a goodly distance from Anne. He deliberately refrained from even looking in her direction, lest an adoring glance should betray his intentions.
"That evening, the entire Court attended a masked ball. Attired in a lavish costume, his face hidden behind a colorful mask, Edward managed to secure a single dance with the Court's newest, and most popular, maid. As they whirled around together amidst swirling couples, he gallantly complimented her on her skill at the virginals. She replied with praise for his players and a smile, which dazzled him.
"Before Edward once again trusted himself to speak, Anne told him how much she had enjoyed reading his poem. 'I keep it under my pillow,' she whispered boldly as the music stopped. With another blinding smile and a demure curtsey, she skipped away to her next partner, leaving Edward lonelier than he had felt in a very long time.
"Next day, encouraged by the warm reception his sonnet had received, Edward entered a backgammon tournament. Manipulating his games, he soon found himself matched against Anne. The Earl used their time together to persuade the maid to dine at his apartments in the Savoy."
CASTLE HEDINGHAM
On the appointed evening Edward and Anne sat at a long table, beneath a large portrait of Edward's father, John. The sixteenth Earl of Oxford was portrayed standing proudly in front of his ancestral home, Castle Hedingham in Essex.
Edward kept the painting as a reminder of both his father and his first home. The young Earl's earliest memories revolved around golden summer days spent roaming through Essex's green woodlands or galloping wildly across open fields with his father.
Edward had been born inside the ancient castle in 1550. He had grown up there, surrounded by dogs, cats and love. Edward's mother, Margery, was a dark-haired beauty, who had married John after his first wife died during childbirth.
As serving men placed dishes of steaming chicken in front of them, Edward found himself telling Anne about his father. "For my seventh birthday, he gave me a peregrine falcon, helped me train it to hunt down pigeons."
"Did he also teach you the sword and lance?" Anne asked.
"Daily. We spent hours together in mock combat. I also practiced with his knights whenever I could. I dreamed of being as good as he was. His words and training kept me alive when I went to fight in Scotland. The man's better never drew breath."
"What happened to him?"
"He died while I was still young..." Edward's voice trailed away as he touched a napkin to his lips. It was time to change the subject. "Do you know? My grandfather, the fifteenth Earl, was the first lord to support his own company of players. Father kept them going..." Edward's voice trailed away again. So much for changing the subject, he thought.
Sensing his unease, Anne spoke up, "Did you act with them?"
Edward brightened. "Oh yes. Often. Making entrances, delivering lines."
"You have a talent for the stage?"
"Perhaps," Edward replied. "All I know is that I was never happier than when treading those old boards at Hedingham." He drained his wineglass.
Anne looked up at the painting. "Castle Hedingham's a goodly size."
"Yes. Its walls have laughed many a siege to scorn."
"When was it built?"
"The keep was built atop a Saxon fort my ancestor, Aubrey, captured 500 years ago. It sits on a steep hill which completely dominates the surrounding countryside."
"There must be a wonderful view from the battlements."
"Oh yes, you can see as far as the next county."
"Indeed. I'd like to visit sometime..."
"I never venture near Castle Hedingham," Edward interrupted.