desperate moment, the Lord Chamberlain even considered reminding her that such abandoned laughter would only accentuate the royal wrinkles.
Hidden in the wings, monitoring his players from the prompt copy, Edward began to relax. No one else seemed to notice that "Twelfth Night" was, as yet, unpolished.
He found himself savoring the thought that, despite his doubts, the play was a resounding triumph. In an instant, all the long, hard hours spent writing and rehearsing were forgotten, as was the expense of acquiring and supporting his company of players. Edward even forgave the tardy troubadours. Life and human endeavor seemed blissfully worthwhile once again.
On stage, the Duke was speaking of love. "Let still the woman take one elder than herself."
Beaming broadly, Edward snuck a discreet look at his audience. "Twelfth Night" still held the entire Court firmly in its grasp.
"So wears she to him, so sways she level in her husband's heart."
Suddenly Edward spotted Anne sitting amongst the audience.
"For, boy, however men do praise themselves..."
Sensing Edward's eyes upon her, Anne looked over at him. She quickly glanced away, only to look back.
"...their fancies are more giddy and unfirm, more longing, wavering, sooner lost and won than women's are."
Edward gazed at the Court's newest maid of honor, completely entranced by her youthful beauty.
On stage, Viola replied to the Duke, "I think it well, my lord."
The prompt script slipped from Edward's hands, breaking his trance. He ducked down to retrieve it and was astonished to find himself gasping for air. The Earl had been holding his breath!
"Then let thy love be younger than thyself, or thy affection cannot hold the bent. For women are as roses, whose fair flower, being once displayed, doth fall that very hour."
"And so they are - alas, that they are so - to die, even when they to perfection grow."
-:-:-
Elizabeth's eyes never left the stage. The audience followed her lead, hardly knowing what to make of such brilliance. When "Twelfth Night" ended, the Great Hall exploded in a furor of enthusiasm.
Edward led his players forward. They took bow after bow together, savoring their triumph. Even Edward, who harbored few doubts about his writings, was taken aback by the emotions surging through him.
The Queen and her Court had reacted to his scenes and characters just as he had intended. There was a heady power in commanding such an immense and sophisticated audience. Bowing deeply, Edward felt its strength surge through him with an absolute joy.
"Twelfth Night's" dazzling debut dominated Court conversation for days afterwards. Only one lone courtier spoke out against Edward's comedy. His name was Christopher Hatton and he objected to being lampooned as Malvolio, the play's cross-gartered blusterer. When, at Burghley's suggestion, Hatton complained to Elizabeth, she dismissed his objections with a wave of her hand.
Several days later, the Queen rewarded Edward with a large country estate. The Earl had become her Majesty's newest shining star, but stars can fall all too easily. Within a year his brilliance would tumble headlong to the earth.
-:-:-
Edward, dressed even more than usual in the height of courtly fashion, stood outside one of Whitehall Palace's music rooms. Inside, he could hear Anne playing a lively galliard by William Byrd. The Earl couldn't understand why he, Elizabeth's most accomplished favorite, should suddenly feel as nervous as a schoolboy whenever he saw the Queen's new maid of honor.
The compelling desires that burned inside him reminded Edward of those heady days when he had first discovered romance. For years, he had thought of little else. Now, this beautiful young woman was rekindling those distant feelings.
Anne's face besieged his thoughts day and night. Simply hearing her voice filled the Earl with desperate longings. When he slept, the maid's faultless form floated through his dreams. He often woke in a hot sweat, imagining that the bed linens were the touch of Anne's smooth skin pressing eagerly against his yearning body.
Gently pushing open the music room door a crack, Edward peeped cautiously inside. Anne was performing on the virginals for a small audience mostly made up of Court musicians. She played exquisitely. A handsome young admirer stood attentively at her side, waiting to turn the pages of music.
Suddenly, Anne looked up from her score and favored the room with a brief, radiant smile. Edward's heart was racked with urgent desires. He longed to fling open the door and rush to Anne's side.
The Earl reached for the doorknob and then hesitated, frozen by fear. His knuckles whitened as they squeezed the handle. Edward realized that he couldn't venture even a single step inside the room without being betrayed by his heart's frenzied poundings. He could only stand, hidden by the door, spying tenderly on his newfound love.
-:-:-
The setting sunlight slanted through open windows, throwing Edward's pacing shadow against oak-paneled walls and intricate tapestries. His rooms were located at the Savoy, a faded, old castle on the Strand. They consisted of two good-sized bedchambers, an impressive dining room and a large study. Each room was decorated with carpets, solid furniture and gilt candlesticks.
Tiring of his restless pacing, Edward threw himself across the bed, a bottle of wine within easy reach. For the thousandth time, he contemplated fate's newest irony. On the exact same day that "Twelfth Night" had won him the Queen's favor, he had lost his heart to a maid of honor.
Every courtier knew that dabbling with Elizabeth's maids was the fastest way to arouse the royal rage. Passionate thoughts about any maid of honor, never mind the youngest arrival, were the very height of folly. For Edward, as the newest favorite, such musings were nothing less than social suicide. Published abroad, they would topple his career at Court just as it was beginning.
Elizabeth was an extremely possessive woman, highly intolerant of romances inside her Court. Edward had seen her so carried away by rage that she had struck errant lovers with her own royal hands. A lengthy stay in the Tower was mandatory for any person of rank who dared to marry without first seeking Elizabeth's permission.
It was, of course, no great wonder that Henry VIII's daughter loathed romances in her maids. After all the Virgin Queen must be surrounded by virgins. Court romances might become less dangerous if she could be persuaded to marry, but Edward knew that Elizabeth would never take a husband. Wedlock would make her a mere queen, while now she reigned supreme as both king and queen.
An elderly courtier had once told him that prudent single noblemen remained celibate while at Court, or if that was impossible, sought out married women who wouldn't try to tie them down in marriage as maidens or widows would. Edward had found this amusing at the time, but now he also saw the wisdom of such advice.
Clambering off the bed, he walked into his study, carrying the wine bottle. Picking up a pen, the Earl resolved to forget his foolish infatuation. He told himself that his priorities lay not in a new love affair, but in penning more entertainments for Elizabeth.
Edward set pen to paper but, for once, the words denied him. It was all very well for a white-haired courtier to urge celibacy but Edward was still relatively young and possessed of an extremely fertile imagination.
