This Other Eden (90 page)

On
hearing the foolishness spoken aloud, William exploded again. "Why don't
we just pillory him, put him in stocks on Tyburn Hill? Then a grateful nation
can parade by and spit on the man who singlehandedly has kept the French
madness from our shores." Again he turned angrily away from the table.

Marianne
tried to offer him assurance. "I doubt, William, if the entire nation
shares George's condemnation. It would be my guess that Nelson would emerge as
strong as ever."

"That's
not the point," William protested, turning back to her. "The Royal
Condemnation is part of history now. What will history say, that England
devours her heroes, crowns them with one hand and thrusts a sword in their
belly with the other? If Nelson's appetites included the Queen herself, then he
should be given her as a small payment for leaving parts of himself scattered
about the globe on behalf of England."

Jane
smiled nervously. "Perhaps they are very much in love," she murmured,
apparently missing the entire point.

Thomas
stood now and tried to place a comforting arm about William's shoulder.
"It will pass," he soothed. "You are probably suffering more
than Nelson. What could a Royal Condemnation mean to him? And besides, the Lady
Emma has apparently been an effective nurse in the past. Undoubtedly they are
at this moment closeted in some secret rendezvous, nursing each other."

But
William could not be assuaged. He shrugged off Thomas' arm and looked about at
the table as though he were surrounded by idiots and children. Wearily he shook
his head. "You don't understand."

Then
suddenly the weariness seemed to slip off him. He paced rapidly twice more the
length of the table, his hand continuously massaging the stump of his arm, his
head down, a tremendous conflict brewing somewhere in his mind. Marianne
watched, as did the other two, all sensing a painful decision in the making.

He
looked up from his pacing. For just a moment, she saw the same man who had
exploded in brilliant and righteous indignation at the foolishness of the
Masquerade Ball. "I am going back," he announced.

Jane
started forward, her face anguished, clearly wondering if she were on the verge
of losing him again.

"I
am going back," he repeated with greater conviction. "I'm serving no
one here, least of all myself. My God, what time I have wasted!" A smile
broke out on his face. "The Royal Farmer had better look up from his
carrot patch, for I intend to bombard him with enough verbal shot to make him
think he's with Nelson at the pitch of battle."

With
that he grabbed for the paper and left the room, the sound of his footsteps
reverberating on the stone floors, not measured and remote like a funeral
march, but angry, decisive, determined.

A
few moments later, Jane murmured her apologies and followed after him.

Thomas
sat back in his chair. He drained his wineglass. "Taking it all a bit
seriously, isn't he?" he commented.

Marianne
leaned forward. "Nelson is more than just a man to him, Thomas. Surely you
can understand that."

"He's
Jesus Christ to him, that's who he is," Thomas retorted.

"No.
William looks at him and says, why not me? He's never really recovered from his
time in Paris, you know." She paused, then smiled. "Until now."

Slowly
Thomas stood and walked the length of the table. Something in his expression
suggested to Marianne that William and his trials were no longer the topic of
the evening. He pushed the cutlery to one side and sat on the table, looking
down on her. "He needs a woman," he said, resting his hand on her
knee.

"Lord
Nelson?" She smiled. "Obviously he has one."

"I
mean William."

"And
he has Jane."

"I
repeat, he needs a woman."

His
voice was changed, deeper, his gaze intense upon her. "Did you ever love
him?" he asked, his hand moving up her leg.

Marianne
kept her eyes on his hand. "I thought I did once. He's a gentle man."

"Did
you love him?" he insisted.

Finally
she looked up at him, past sensations rising vividly in her mind as his hand
pressed against her upper leg. "No, milord," she whispered.

For
a moment, some controversy seemed to be raging in his head. Then all was
resolved as he lifted her to her feet, then into his arms as, nuzzling her neck
and ear, he softly pleaded, "Nurse me."

On
a fair spring mom, as they were leaving the Great Hall in the company of their
two young sons for their daily walk across the headlands, Marianne glanced
toward the gate and saw a messenger on horseback. For a moment she thought it
was the courier from London bearing
The Bloomshury Gazetteer
. Then she
remembered William's hasty departure three weeks previously, with Jane at his
side, on his way to do battle with the King. With Editor Pitch back at his
desk, all messengers had stopped.

Then
who?

"Milord,"
Marianne said, pointing toward the gate, where the watchmen were holding the
messenger at bay.

She
saw Thomas look up and squint into the sun, then slowly rise from his kneeling
position before James. "Wait here with the children," he commanded,
and Marianne obeyed.

She
watched him as he took great strides across the inner courtyard. His appearance
gave her constant pleasure. Nearing fifty, he was still the most intensely
attractive man she'd ever known.

These
reflections made her blush as she watched him draw near the first grillwork
barrier, the watchman shouting something at him now. She saw the gates rising.
Apparently the messenger had passed inspection.

In
front of Thomas, the horse stopped. The messenger alighted and withdrew from
his saddlebag a pamphlet of some sort. From that distance it was impossible to
read Thomas' face or the nature of the message. A moment later she saw him
motion for one of the groomsmen to take the horse and rider away for
refreshments and respite. The watchmen lowered the grilles. Thomas continued to
stand, intently reading the message.

Still
she waited in the cool spring morning sun, her curiosity increasing. Edward, at
her side, scuffed annoyingly at the gravel, clearly irritated that his morning
outing was being delayed.

Whatever
the nature of the message, it obviously was quite lengthy and occupying all of
Thomas' attention. She was on the verge of going to him when slowly he started
walking back to her, his head bowed.

While
he was still several yards away, she called out, "Thomas, what is
it?"

He
did not reply, but simply drew near and placed in her hands a large pamphlet
made of parchment and rimmed in gold, a crest of some sort on the front, and
bound with a pale lavender ribbon.

"An
invitation," he said calmly. "Apparently our exile is coming to an
end."

She
tried to read his calm expression and at the same time read the elegant print.
But the sun danced across the snow white parchment and caused the words to
blur. "From whom?" she asked, bewildered by the sense of panic within
her.

"Beckford,"
he replied, walking a few steps away. "It seems that Billy has at last
built his tower. There will be a week-long celebration at Christmas." He
turned back. "As you can see, Lord and Lady Eden have been invited."

At
that moment she recognized the panic within her, for she saw it clearly on his
face. The terms of their exile had been hard but simple. All that had been
asked of them was that they find within themselves all that they required. This
they had done and quite successfully. Now apparently the rest of the world
wanted to take a look at them, to see how they had fared.

In
the silent interim, her eyes finally adjusting to the sun on white parchment,
she studied the lengthy invitation, which included a guest list and a calendar
of events, culminating with the grand unveiling of Fonthill Abbey. She thought
grimly, "I can't go through with it." Thomas was still pacing a
distance from her, an expression on his face which suggested that he shared her
fears.

"Read
carefully, lady," he suggested now. "All the bad children are being
lumped together."

Puzzled,
she looked again at the guest list. Two names down, after Benjamin West,
President of the Royal Academy, and the satirical poet. Dr. Wolcot, she saw
them, incredible titles appearing so primly on the page-Lord Horatio Nelson,
followed by Lord and Lady Hamilton.

"Good
heavens!" she gasped. "What a company!"

Then
apparently his mind was made up. He returned to her side and took the pamphlet
from her. "We'll give the messenger food and rest, then send him on his
way. I fear that Lord and Lady Eden will be occupied during that time."

On
a clear tone of resolve, he stuffed the pamphlet inside his jacket and bent
over James, drawing the bonnet about his pink smooth face.

With
caution, she asked, "Occupied with what, milord?"

Astonished,
he looked up. "You're not suggesting that you want to go, are you?"

She
hesitated, trying to organize her thoughts, taking refuge for a moment in
Edward's upturned face as he sulkily insisted that they "go see the
ocean."

"In
a minute," she said, smiling, and released his hand. As Edward amused
himself with a fistful of pebbles, she faced Thomas. "I don't want to go,
milord," she began, "but perhaps we should."

He
raised up from bending over James. "Why?" he demanded. "I see no
reason for such an occasion. We are contented here. I've said from the
beginning that Beckford's tower was insanity—"

"Billy's
tower has nothing to do with it," she interrupted.

"Then
what?"

Again
she paused, frustrated at being asked questions that she could not answer for
herself. She yearned, with heart and mind, to be of real service to him, to
prove beyond all doubt that she was able to compensate for his exile, when he'd
broken all barriers and taken her as his wife. She could not simply continue to
satisfy him in bed and give him children. Eden Castle had always had a Lady
Eden. If she now was filling the role, then she must fill it properly.

These
thoughts and others, the sight of her son playing at her feet, bearing the onus
of bastardy, with both his parents in hiding behind the walls of Eden Castle,
all this pressed against her.

Finally
she said simply, "For their sakes"—she motioned to their sons— "we
should go."

Thomas
stared at her. "Do you know the risks?"

She
nodded.

"I'm
not even certain we can count on Billy's good intentions."

"I
think we can."

"In
society's eyes we have done wrong."

She
smiled. "Then we must correct society's vision."

He
looked at her as though trying to read the conviction behind her words. He
stepped close and lifted her face. "I will not bear silent witness to
anyone who hurts or spurns you."

She
covered his hand with hers. "With you beside me, I shall feel neither,
milord."

He
bent close and lightly kissed her. Immediately Edward objected by wriggling
between them, still insistent that they proceed with the point of the outing.

As
Thomas scooped him up, more to get him out of the way than anything else, he
said, "I see no need to make a firm decision now. The messenger will stay
until morning. I believe it requires more thought on both our parts."