Island of the Swans (39 page)

“A name… ah yes,” Alex murmured, staring down at the tiny bundle, sleeping peacefully at last. “Well, we named our daughter after Queen Charlotte. I’d like to call my heir George, in honor of the king.”

Jane’s heart thudded painfully. It was hard to imagine a child of hers named after the sovereign whose coronation proclamations she and Thomas had ripped to shreds when they were young.

“Wouldn’t that be a mite confusing,” she replied hastily, “with your firstborn named George as well?”

“Well, I’ve had cousins named Alexander,” the duke answered thoughtfully, “and we always managed to sort it out. The principal factor in all this is the impression you made at court. The king was so taken with you the day you were first presented, you must recall how he volunteered to stand as godfather to our first son. ’Twould be an affront if we didn’t ask him now, and, naturally, if we
do
ask him, we must name the bairn for him.”

“I see…” Jane said quietly.

Thus, six weeks later, after the requisite exchange of correspondence with the palace, the Eighth Marquess of Huntly and the future Fifth Duke of Gordon was given the Christian name of George, after King George III. Jane tried not to think about what Thomas Fraser would say, if ever he should hear of it.

It wasn’t long, however, before Jane no longer cared whether outsiders considered it strange that the Duke of Gordon had two sons called George, and one a bastard at that. She was too preoccupied with her own cares and with an emerging cycle of pregnancy and delivery that occurred every other year. In 1771, Jane’s father died from an outsized liver that no longer functioned. Alex had seen to it that Baronet, Sir William Maxwell of Monreith was buried in high style, much to the relief of all concerned, and that lodgings were purchased for Lady Maxwell, to keep her in Edinburgh. Jane’s second daughter, Lady Madelina, was born the following year, and two years after that, on the exact anniversary of little Huntly’s birth, another daughter, Lady Susan, made her appearance on February second.

“Think of how convenient ’twill be to have their birthday fetes on the same day,” Alex teased her, bringing to her bedside the now familiar caudle. In addition to the milk, egg, and brandy, Nancy Christie now added a few spoonfuls of oatmeal, sugar, nutmeg, and a little lemon juice to make it more palatable in hopes of bolstering Jane’s depleted strength.

Jane smiled at Alex weakly, and obediently sipped the concoction. She focused on the necessity of hiring additional help for Nancy, now that five of the six little brass beds in the nursery were occupied.

By August, Jane had established a routine regarding the children and longed for a change of scene.

“Alex?” she said, one evening, sinking exhaustedly into a chair in the library. “Do you think it possible for us to visit Edinburgh so that I may see Eglantine? I don’t think all’s well with her.”

Alex looked up from some papers he had been perusing at his desk.

“Problems with Wallace?” he asked.

The duke had always been amused by Jane’s flighty sister, dating from the time he caught the wench spying on him from behind her front door in Hyndford Close when he first began courting Jane. Something had bothered him about the chap Eglantine had married two years ago, the eccentric Sir Thomas Wallace of Craigie.

Jane glanced down at the letter from Eglantine she held in her hand.

“Thomas Wallace may be no baronet at all.”

Alex stared at her in disbelief.

“Surely, you jest?”

Jane sighed and shook her head.

“It seems he inherited the estate of his grandfather through his mother and simply styled himself a ’Sir’—a title he apparently is
not
authorized to claim!” Jane pointed to Eglantine’s latest missive. “Now Eglantine has discovered there’s no money, a mountain of debts, and that they must sell Craigie House and all the land.”

“The deuce, you say!” Alex declared. He glanced at Jane’s drawn face, which mirrored both worry about her sister’s unorthodox situation and fatigue from months of late-night vigils, for she had insisted on breast-feeding all four of her children during their infancy, rather than summon in a wet nurse.

“What would you say if we took Eglantine to London with us for a few months? Get her away from that rogue for a time?” Alex asked casually.

Jane stared at her husband, wide-eyed, an excited flush brightening her tired features.

“London!” she cried, clapping her hands. “What a wonderful idea! And with Eglantine! Oh, Alex, you’re dear to think of such a thing! Could we really?”

She jumped up from her chair and threw her arms impulsively around her husband. She kissed him firmly on the cheek. Then, just as quickly, she bit her lip and furrowed her brow.

“But, what about the children? I can’t leave little Susan… she’s still at the breast…”

“We’ll take the two youngest ones with us and leave Charlotte and the two Georges in William Marshall’s care. ’Twill be just for six weeks. You deserve a rest from those little savages!”

Jane looked at Alex ambivalently. She had never warmed to the butler, despite Alex’s obvious regard for him. However, a tutor could be engaged, and she realized a change of scenery would be restorative, especially if it involved an indulgence in the glittering life of sophisticated London.

Sure enough, within a few weeks, the Duke and Duchess of Gordon, along with Eglantine Maxwell Wallace, took up residence for the winter and spring in a leased house on St. James’s Square. Jane and her sister were immediately caught up in a glamorous round of parties, balls, and routs, while Alex dutifully attended the House of Lords.

One day in early May, 1775, as the Gordon coach rolled through Hyde Park on its customary afternoon outing, Eglantine nodded to a passing carriage filled with admiring dandies proceeding at a fast clip.

“My dear husband may not be a genuine Scottish baronet,” Jane’s sister said gaily, “but that’s no reason to cease being called Lady Wallace here in London, do ye think?”

Jane laughed, happy to see her younger sister appear so cheerful, considering the series of harrowing discoveries she’d made about her ne’er-do-well husband. Dating from Eglantine’s removal to London, Sir Thomas had reportedly been frequenting all the brothels between Edinburgh and Dumfries, and was currently recovering from a severe bout of the clap.

“What are you going to do about this… this predicament?” Jane asked Eglantine gently.

“Oh,” replied her sister airily. “I expect I shall eventually divorce the sot.”

“
Divorce?
” Jane said, shocked at the suggestion. “You know as well as I do, practically no woman alive is granted a divorce, and rarely is a
man
, unless he’s Henry the Eighth!”

“I’ve had your solicitor, Charles Gordon, do some checking. I might win if I charge fraud,” said Eglantine, matter-of-factly.

“Ah… I see,” Jane said thoughtfully. “Very clever. Are you sure you should be introduced to the king next week as Lady Wallace?” she wondered aloud.

“Absolutely!” her sister replied tartly. “Didn’t our dear Mama always say we must keep up appearances!”

Indeed, eight days later, “Lady” Wallace was presented by the Duke and Duchess of Gordon to King George III in the grand reception hall of St. James’s Palace. Jane noted that the monarch had gained a substantial amount of weight since last they’d met and now resembled nothing so much as a large, bewigged pear. Nevertheless, he was resplendent in ivory silk breeches and a dark blue velvet coat emblazoned with gold braid and the Order of the Garter affixed to his breast.

After the introductions were made, the king turned to Alex and questioned him about his reaction to the growing unrest in the American Colonies.

“Do you not consider them ungrateful children?” the king asked morosely. His double chin trembled as it nestled in the white linen stock encircling his neck. “Parliament merely asks them to pay a minimum of the expenses incurred defending their borders, and they call such taxes ’The Intolerable Acts!”

“’Twas regrettable, that business at Lexington and Concord in April,” Alex replied delicately.

“Those self-styled ’Minutemen’ were given plenty of warning to lay down their arms,” continued the king.

“Americans are all savages, Your Majesty,” Jane interjected with a tone of disgust. “Our Redcoats will teach them a lesson in loyalty that’s sorely needed.”

“Do you expect the violence to continue, Your Majesty?” Alex asked quietly.

King George sighed and readjusted his bulky form on his gilded chair. “Let us hope not. But if it comes,” he went on, eyeing Alex shrewdly, “I trust I shall be able to count on you Scots to raise regiments, if we need them?”

“Of course,” Jane and Alex replied in unison.

“That is gratifying,” replied the king. “And what of my godson, young George?” he inquired, suddenly shifting away from the troubling topic of his rebellious American subjects. The king cast an appreciative glance at Jane’s elaborate court gown of ivory silk, shot through with gold threads. “Is the lad here in London with you?”

“No, Your Majesty,” Jane answered, giving the thirty-six-year-old sovereign a mischievous smile. “I doubt our Capital is fortified enough for such an assault. Our littlest bairns are with us, though.”

“Ah, yes… I had heard you’d added another babe to your brood… a girl, I think I heard it was. How many is it now?” Jane hesitated for a brief second, unsure whether to number Bathia’s son among the count. She decided to include him.

“We’ve five children in the nursery, Your Majesty,” she smiled. “’Tis a paltry number, when compared with your nine.”

“Quite right,” the king answered, obviously pleased by her apparent admiration for his ability to father such a gaggle of royal heirs. “Our dearest queen devotes herself to me and her adopted country. For this, I consider her a jewel more precious than any in my crown.” Jane found herself warming to George Ill’s simple, homey virtues, despite the prejudices she had adopted as a youth. There was something almost touching about a king who seemed fond of his wife. “’Tis a pity our queen is so lately delivered from childbed,” he continued. “I shall tell her I have seen you pay us Court.”

“If you would be so kind as to send her my warmest good wishes for her continued recovery,” Jane murmured, taking his cue that their audience was at an end.

As soon as the three visitors were safely inside their coach, Eglantine emitted an unladylike giggle.

“If His Majesty ever had a word with Constable Munro in Edinburgh, Jane, they’d lock you in the Tower!”

“Pray, who is Constable Munro?” Alex asked, puzzled.

“’Tis simple,” teased Eglantine. “Munro was the man who suspected your dear wife was the perpetrator in a shocking wave of vandalism which occurred along the High Street many years ago.”

The duke cocked an eyebrow in the direction of his magnificently attired spouse.

“What did you do, my dear? Steal fish from a hawker’s basket?”

Jane smiled uneasily, but remained silent.

“Oh much worse than that!” Eglantine chortled, unmindful of the dangerous emotional waters she was treading. “On Coronation Day in 1760, she and Thomas Fraser crept down the High Street and tore down every single billboard proclaiming George III King of Britain! And here we are in 1775, and everyone in London is saying that the Duchess of Gordon is practically the king’s favorite female! Next to Queen Charlotte, of course! Can you imagine?” she laughed uproariously.

Jane could hardly keep from flinching at the sound of Thomas’s name. Neither she nor Alex had mentioned him in six years. Her sister’s innocent indiscretion had bared an old wound. Jane glanced at her husband. His face showed no discernible emotion, yet she could guess precisely what he was thinking: ’twas always bad luck to speak of the Devil.

Jane glanced out of the sitting room window at Gordon Castle, startled by the sudden shrieking sounds that wafted up to her from the direction of the tall tower. Looking out, she could see the Duchess Tree, which had grown steadily to a height of some thirty-five feet. As the child’s alarm grew more shrill, Jane dashed down the corridor to the library.

“Alex… Alex! Come quickly. The two Geordies are playing in the scaffolding and they can’t get down!” she exclaimed.