Randolph had secured Mary Beton, nothing loth. That very morning the ambassador had received instructions from his Government to leave no stone unturned till he had discovered the Queen’s predilections amongst the numerous marriages that were proposed to her, all and each of which gave Elizabeth such disquiet. He proceeded now deliberately to sound her principal maid-of-honour, under cover of making fierce love to her himself.
With the loud music and the long intervals of inaction there was ample opportunity for the process.
‘We shall soon have nobler doings even than these,’ observed Mr Randolph, whispering confidentially to his partner, ‘when another royal wedding gladdens the walls of Holyrood. Shall we dance the Spaniard’s bolero, or the Austrian’s gavolte, or our own old English brawl? Whatever be the measure, Mistress Beton, my only hope is that we may dance it together.’
Randolph looked very tenderly at her while he spoke, and his partner’s ruff heaved visibly.
‘Nay; you statesmen are too premature,’ she replied. ‘Ladies are not to be thus wooed and won in a day, much less queens. The Archduke, Don Carlos, Lord Robert--which of them can be called a fitting mate for our Sovereign? You must not hurry us thus, Mr Randolph; you are indiscreet.’
‘And cannot you guess why I am so anxious for your mistress to marry?’ whispered the insidious statesman, pressing nearer to his listener. ‘Is it not that alone which will free her beautiful maidens from their self-imposed celibacy? Till that auspicious day even our thoughts are not our own, and a man of honour must be tongue-tied on the subject nearest his heart.’
Mary Beton blushed and trembled. It was almost a declaration, and from that impenetrable and capable man! The staid maid-of-honour was losing her head every moment.
‘It may come sooner than any of us think,’ she murmured, giving him her hand to lead her, as the dance demanded, on their tour through the rooms. ‘Sooner than any of us desire,’ she added, with a sudden resumption of her usual stateliness.
He pressed the hand affectionately, and his voice became exceedingly trusting and confidential. Mr Randolph was a man who never hesitated to waste a sprat for the purpose of catching a salmon.