The Virgin's Spy Read Online Free PDF

five years younger than her husband, after all. But Stephen didn’t want to know, he didn’t even want to guess. Why on earth bring it up?
    As though he could read his son’s embarrassment, Dominic asked wryly, “Would you prefer to have had this discussion with your mother? If I hadn’t promised to address the matter myself, she would have taken it in hand.”
    Stephen choked. “In that case, say what you must.”
    “It might not be what you fear, Stephen. I simply want you to consider this—never take what is not freely offered, and then only if you are certain you will not leave pain behind. That is poor payment for any woman, whoever she may be.”
    “No virgins, no wives, and no force? I remember. I promise not to shame myself or you, Father.” To lighten the subject, and because he was feeling unfairly singled out, he added, “I presume Kit has already been given the same lecture for his time in Dublin?”
    With hooded eyes, his father said simply, “Kit’s lectures will never be the same as yours.”
    Because you are the eldest,
ran the unspoken words,
and my heir. Because your life and honour must be impeccable if you ever hope to live up to me.
    There were times when Stephen envied his younger brother so much that he could hardly see straight.
    —
    In all her years as queen, Elizabeth had never met so subtle and capable a negotiator as her own daughter. Though Anabel was only nineteen, she possessed her father’s certainty and her mother’s stubbornness, traits that she ably employed in negotiating her immediate future as Princess of Wales.
    “In addition to Ludlow, I need a home rather closer to London,” Anabel said. Not for the first time.
    Elizabeth had been admittedly dragging her feet on the issue, not so much because she disagreed as because she wanted to remind her daughter that there was only one queen in England. But when even Burghley backed the princess, Elizabeth knew her daughter was in the right.
    That didn’t mean she would make it easy. “And which palace would you like your queen to abandon?” she asked tartly. “Windsor? St. James? Perhaps I should simply move out of Whitehall and pass the seat of government into your hands.”
    Anabel didn’t—quite—roll her eyes. “The point of me being near but somewhat independent is to learn from you, Your Majesty, and to learn how to run my own royal household in a controlled environment where I cannot do too much damage. Of course I do not want to run England. Not for many long years.”
    Sometimes, it was like speaking to herself, Elizabeth thought. Other times, it was like speaking to Anne Boleyn. And every now and then, just for a flash, it was like speaking to William.
    With a heavy sigh meant to convey giving in with weariness (though Anabel would correctly read it as assumed), Elizabeth capitulated with the decision that had already been taken in her privy council more than a fortnight ago. “In addition to Ludlow Castle, you will also be given Syon House and Charterhouse. Does that meet with your approval?”
    How could it not? Syon House would not come as a great surprise, for Anabel herself had suggested it months ago. Once an abbey, Elizabeth’s father had granted the lands to John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland. Upon his execution in 1556, the land and beautiful house Northumberland had built had passed back to crown control. But Elizabeth never made use of the house that had once been a prison for her half sister, Mary Tudor. Because Syon House came with ghosts, and one of those was Northumberland’s fifth son, Robert.
    Situated very near Richmond Palace, it would make a gracious home for the Princess of Wales when she wished to be more central than the Welsh borderlands could afford. And when she wished to be at the very heart of things? No place better than Charterhouse.
    Just a mile from Whitehall (itself the largest palace complex in Europe), Charterhouse had been the London home of Elizabeth’s uncle, George