Any writer will tell you that brilliance does not come from the head. It comes from the heart.

I learned this from the greatest writer the world has ever known. He whispered it in my ear as I lay in his arms. He told me as he looked over my crossed-out lines and empty pages. I see its truth in the little book he gave me. But I never understood what he really meant until it was too late and he was already gone.

Yes, I loved William Shakespeare. Yes, he loved me. No, it did not end well. William and I would never grow old together. We would never build a life together. Love doesn’t always guarantee happiness.

He was so handsome. An actor. A writer. So passionate about his work that sometimes it seemed to be the only thing he could ever love. His words were my rival, and sometimes I felt I could never compete. But I loved William Shakespeare more than I loved anyone on this earth. I loved him more than Henry Carey, more than Alfonso, more than myself, even. He was my salvation from the life that had been chosen for me. He encouraged me to become more than what I had been destined to be.

Our love went against everything I believed in. A lifetime of doing what I believed was right was wiped away the moment he and I became lovers. I sinned against my queen, and I sinned against my God.

He wrote about me. He hadn’t even done that for his wife. He wrote incandescent words about a woman who was captivating, beautiful, and mysterious—all things he told me I was. No one knew the identity of the woman in his sonnets, but I knew. When I read them, I knew he loved me, even all those lonely years later.

Because I loved William Shakespeare, I lost my honor, my name, my dearest friend, and my queen. I lost my best work, one of my greatest accomplishments.

Was it worth it? Was it worth it to love that man? That genius? Was it worth it to throw away my life for him?

You tell me.

The world doesn’t remember my name, but they will never forget me. I am a part of his work, his sonnets. I am his lover, his muse, his Juliet. I am his Dark Lady.

During the Reign of Queen Elizabeth I

Greenwich

I remember Twelfth Night so clearly. I often reflect on it even now, when I am about to fall asleep. I can recall every detail. I remember what I wore, what I said, what dances I danced, the pageantry and singing. It was my first introduction to Queen Elizabeth’s court, with its intrigues, absurdities, and dangers. This was the night my life really started.

My emerald dress flowed to the floor. A simple, silver chain clasped around my neck. I was perfumed and powdered; the brush’s bristles tickled my neck and face. My hair hung loose down my back, as I was a young lady just recently come to court. This was a flag of my virginity, a proud display of youth. Lady Margaret loaned me a type of silver, which we draped over the back of my head. What a contrast against my long dark hair, shining in the candlelight.

I remember the warmth of Lady Margaret’s hands on my shoulders as she inspected our accomplishment. I detected a bit of pride in her sweet features as she admired me.

She smiled and said, “You look like a countess. And you deserve to be one.”

Lady Margaret would know. She was the Countess of Cumberland. The title afforded her many fine things; Cumberland was a rich and fertile area. She was gowned in a subtle pink, her hair pulled back in an elaborate bun. She reminded me so of the fairies I used to create stories about when I was young…but I did not tell her this because it seemed childish.

Frances stepped up to me and ran a hand through my hair. She was dressed in a royal-blue gown. It was the perfect complement to her eyes. Her blond hair danced around her shoulders. She was gorgeous—the epitome of English beauty. A pang of jealousy went through my chest. We all knew her night would be filled with courtiers, dancing, and laughter.

She held my shoulders between her two hands and shook them. “There will be dancing, and food, and men!” she cried.

A knowing look passed between Margaret and me—the latter was what Frances was obviously most excited for.

The Great Hall was filled with sound that night. The music itself felt like a presence in the cavernous room hung with the queen’s rich tapestries. A long, heavy table laid with endless settings for the queen’s guests sat at one end of the hall. Plates and knives had been scrubbed until they shone. Ladies clucked around each other and swarmed the high-ceilinged room, while men gathered around tables with wine, their glasses sparkling in the candlelight. The air felt thick with merriment.

Feasting was the evening’s first event, and Queen Elizabeth had outdone herself. The queen’s chefs had roasted a swan to perfection and painstakingly replaced the feathers before presenting the delicacy to her guests. There was rich, roast duck for everyone, accompanied by the finest wine. We had the softest, most aromatic bread I had ever tasted and wild boar that had once roamed the queen’s own forests. I could only imagine the hours Elizabeth’s handmaidens had spent, organizing this grand feast.

The queen sat far in front of us, on a raised throne, so all could admire her. In my first audience with her, when I was presented, I could only think of how cold and distant she had seemed. It was obvious she was enjoying herself now, though. She wore a lavish, golden gown embroidered with beads and pearls, her favorite gem. She wore her wavy, copper hair like mine—long and loose around her shoulders. Whether or not she deserved the honor, we were all willing to believe it that night.

No one abstained from drinking or making merry. Rowdy men poured themselves more ale while the women chattered. The Great Hall could hardly contain the splendor of the evening.

After we feasted, we danced. Lady Frances was immediately chosen by a young courtier with an eager smile. Lady Margaret was allowed to dance with her husband, the Count of Cumberland. They danced together with calm experience.

My eyes never left the dance floor as finely dressed figures twirled in time to the music, the ladies’ gowns swirling around their slippers, the men’s feet their metronome. Frances’s hair flew out behind her like a banner, and we could hear her laughter floating above the tune.

I longed to join them. My hands ached to hold a handsome courtier’s, and I couldn’t help but sway to the music. It reminded me of the songs I would play for the countess of Kent. I missed her, but I was grateful to be here. The scene before me was all I had ever imagined of court.

There were so many handsome men in the room, I could hardly look at one before I drifted to another. But one man in particular seemed to stand out from the rest, perhaps because he looked utterly indifferent. He stood slightly away from the other men near the large double doors with a glass in his hand. He nodded in time to the music, but he seemed to be buried in his own thoughts. His eyes darted in my direction, and he must have caught me staring at him. My own eyes went to the polished floor, my face burning in embarrassment.

“Who is that?” I asked Margaret when I had the chance to pull her aside. She was short of breath.

“Who?” She craned her neck to look. “That man?” She waved a hand. “A playwright, I believe.”

“He’s quite striking.” I was surprised at the boldness of my words. Those sorts of things I usually kept to myself. But there was something about this playwright. He wore no finery or anything that might attract a young lady, and he seemed to be more interested in the music than in finding a partner to dance with. All the company he needed was himself.

I peered over at him. I felt my heart dance to the music when I caught his eyes again. He raised his glass to me from across the room. It was all the encouragement I needed.

I took a step forward, and then another, until I realized I was actually crossing the room to talk to him. I was almost there. His eyes again happened upon mine, and I swallowed. His dark brown hair was cut short, and I could detect a hint of stubble lining his jaw. He watched me, waiting for me.

• Update #3 - Looking toward release Dec. 19, 2018

  Hello and Happy Holidays,

  Thanks to all of you and your support, Shakespeare's Lady is almost finished with the final proofs! This is a very …

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• Update #2 - A publisher is chosen! June 25, 2018

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• Update #1 - Decisions, decisions... May 28, 2018

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