This Other Eden (92 page)

The
two pages ran ahead and summoned Billy's attention. He looked over his shoulder
in their direction, a broad grin breaking on his still boyish face. Within the
instant he was upon them, his arms outstretched, grasping Thomas by the
shoulders in clear and uninhibited affection.

"Thomas."
He smiled. "I was about to give up—on both of you."

Then
Marianne was the sole recipient of his attention as he approvingly scanned her
from head to toe. "Lady Eden," he murmured. "If only the heart
were visible, you could see how full mine is now at the sight of you."

It
seemed excessive, but she leaned toward him and extended her hand. "Thank
heavens, Mr. Beckford, that the heart is concealed, for mine, I fear, would be
a still and frozen sight."

In
concern, he studied her hand. "You are cold, lady."

"Not
cold, Mr. Beckford. Terrified."

Briefly
a sympathetic smile flickered across his face. "I understand the
cause," he said kindly, "but believe me, there's no reason for
it." He stepped closer, pressing her hand to his breast as though to warm
it. "I love Thomas like a brother. I would do nothing to hurt him. Or you.
Do you believe me?"

She
nodded. Beyond the arched door the voices rose, the delicate peal of female
laughter supported by a solid layer of lower male tones. She was aware of
Thomas and Billy staring at her. In an attempt to shift both their focus and
the conversation, she retrieved her hand. "Mr. Beckford, I look forward to
seeing your Abbey. I understand it's the tallest tower in all of England."

The
man beamed. "More than that, lady. It's a miracle, and on the closing
night of the party I shall show it to you in all its dazzling beauty."

"I
shall look forward to it, sir."

"Now,"
said Mr. Beckford, "as the musicians are about to start, let me introduce
you to the company. How selfish of me to keep you to myself."

Thomas
was beside her again, his hand raised. As Beckford moved ahead of them to the
doorway, she lifted one trembling hand and placed it over Thomas' and
remembered almost cruelly the three-room, low-ceilinged cottage in Mortemouth,
the place of her birth, her mother dead, her now mad father, her half-brother
Russell who served as her husband's manservant, and her half-sister Jane, a
common-law wife who had once operated one of the most notorious salons in
London. The accumulative weight of her lack of credentials swept over her.
After tonight, this blueblooded bastion would never, be the same.

But
at the precise moment when she needed a smile, one appeared on her face for all
the wrong reasons. As Thomas led her through the doorway, she saw the ballroom
for the first time, thronged with elegantly dressed and coiffed ladies and
gentlemen, casually chatting.

Billy's
voice sounded strangely weak and faraway as he personally took over the duties
of introduction. A uniformed attendant struck the floor twice with his
standard. The voices hung for a moment on the air, then diminished as, with one
accord, as though all heads, all eyes, were being controlled and manipulated by
a common cord, they turned and faced Marianne where she stood at the top of the
stairs.

"Ladies
and gentlemen," Billy began in his faraway voice. "It gives me great
and warm pleasure to introduce Lord and Lady Eden of Eden Point, North
Devon."

She
stood beside Thomas and felt the weight of their eyes, a weight compounded now
by the absolute silence in the vast room. She tried to make out specific faces,
but couldn't. Over her head the endless rows of chandeliers only distorted her
vision further. Were they to do something now? Had the entire party simply come
to a halt?

Still
no movement, no sound. Even the musicians in the upper gallery had apparently
lost interest in their instruments and were staring down on her. If she did not
move soon, there was a distinct possibility that she would never move again.

Then,
movement. Not from her, but from the front row of the gaping company, a woman
beautifully gowned in black silk, diamonds around her neck and twisted through
her fair hair, stepped forward. She was smiling and approaching the stairs, the
most beautiful woman Marianne had ever seen, something in her face which was
unassailable as though she were well aware that she was the only one moving and
regretted her isolation, but not enough to cease movement.

She
was climbing the steps now, gracefully lifting her gown, her eyes trained only
on Marianne, the smile broadening. Like an apparition she came until at last
she was standing directly before Marianne, her violet eyes sparkling, her voice
a cool caress. "Lady Eden," she smiled. "How I've looked forward
to meeting you. My name is Emma Hamilton."

The
sense of silent winter which had encompassed Marianne dissolved. In the sincere
warmth of that smile, she felt the thaw in all parts of her brain. Then here
she was, the notorious Emma, the woman for whom Nelson had disobeyed his King.

"Milady,"
murmured Marianne, smiling gratefully, taking the hand extended to her. "I
was afraid I'd wandered into a graveyard. How reassuring is the light in your
eyes."

Emma
Hamilton laughed prettily and leaned close in confidence. "Don't let them
fool you, my dear. Most of them are corpses." Then she turned her
attention to Thomas, extending to him the same heartfelt greeting. "I
don't know the West Country very well, milord, but I hear your Eden is
appropriately named."

Thomas
glowed under the compliment. "It is, milady, and we must remedy your lack
of knowledge of the place. Eden Castle is always opened to you."

She
bowed her head in acceptance of the invitation. Beyond Emma's smooth white
shoulder, Marianne saw the company, still gaping. "Milady," she
whispered. "What is the order of these affairs'? How long must we stand like
this? I feel like a prize hog on the block."

Again
Emma laughed and drew Marianne close to her. From off the white shoulders,
Marianne caught a delicate whiff of perfume. "I'd say you've stood long
enough," whispered Emma. "Perhaps it would help if you were aware of
the service you are performing for them. Our appearance on these steps will
fill the silence of their breakfast tables for months to come." Emma took
her arm now and led her a step or two down. "And I assure you,
milady," she whispered, "you do not in any way resemble a hog, prize
or otherwise."

She
took her arm and led her the rest of the way down the steps. As they passed by
Billy, standing midway on the stairs, Marianne noticed a warm look pass between
the two of them, Billy's eyes seeming to say "Thank you."

Emma
was talking again, apparently impervious to the gaping faces. "I tried to
seek you out this afternoon, Marianne," she said, softly. "But I was
told you were resting. I feared this ordeal for you and felt that if we entered
together, it might go easier for you."

Regretfully
Marianne shook her head. "I was not resting. In truth I was deciding
whether I should stay or leave. Your company would have settled the matter
quickly for me."

She
felt Emma's arm around her waist now. "Of all the rituals involved in
these country house parties," she whispered, "I find the early
evening gentleman's hour the most boring of all. Shall we walk tomorrow
afternoon?" she proposed then.

Marianne
smiled. The woman was irresistible. "I'd like that very much."

Emma
leaned closer. "Meet me in the Rotunda at four o'clock. Perhaps we can
steal a glance at Billy's miraculous tower."

They
were on the floor of the ballroom now. The crowd was still frozen in their
attention, mostly old faces, heavily veined, colorless, though there were a few
young ones sprinkled here and there. She was aware of Thomas behind her,
chatting to Billy, the four of them still set very much apart.

From
the front row of the company, Marianne saw two men step forward, one short,
middle-aged with graying hair, the buttons on his coat straining to hold back a
slight paunch. And the other-

He
was unmistakable. He wore a dazzling red uniform with dark blue trim. The front
of his chest was covered with gold medallions and ribbons, his hair graying
slightly, arranged in a soft pageboy. A black patch covered one eye, and one
arm of his coat was pinned neatly up. His face was peculiarly tender and
sensitive-appearing, a beautiful transparent English complexion, so fine around
the temples that she could see the traceries of blood vessels. Here was
Napoleon's nemesis, the Hero of the Nile.

"Dear
God," she thought, "if only William were here."

Then
Emma was guiding her, not toward the dashing figure of Horatio Nelson, but
rather toward the short, squat, uncomfortable-looking little  man who stood
rigidly at attention beside Nelson, as though trying to match his stature.

"Lord
and Lady Eden," Emma said, "I would like you to meet my husband, Lord
William Hamilton."

The
man stepped forward as though from a receiving line, received Thomas'
handshake, and murmured a greeting, then lifted Marianne's hand and pressed it
lightly to his lips. "Lady Eden," he said with a smile. "Rumors
of your beauty were sadly underrated. I fear that between my wife and yourself,
the rest of the unfortunate ladies of the company might as well retire to their
chambers."

He
seemed gallant and warm, a sadness in his slightly dimmed eyes, a look about
him which suggested that the facade must be preserved despite personal
humiliation.

"Milord,"
Marianne said, curtsying to him. "Thank you for your generous words. But
the women here need feel no threat from me."

Lord
Hamilton countered gallantly. "What they need feel and what they truly
feci are quite opposite. Your beauty speaks for itself."

The
intensity of his gaze caused a blush to creep up her cheeks. As though she
sensed her discomfort, Emma was there again, guiding her to one side until she
stood directly before the man himself.

"Lady
Eden," Emma said simply, as though she were aware of the inadequacy of words,
"Horatio Nelson."

For
a moment he only stared down on her. The blush which had commenced with Lord
Hamilton grew and spread until she was certain it covered her entire face. What
a state of mind God must have enjoyed, she thought, when He created this man,
for if ever He created a man in His own image, this was he. And He had
succeeded with all parts, from the elegantly slanted forehead to the patrician
nose to the firm beautifully molded mouth.

Aware
that she was gazing as intently as he, she extended her hand and bowed her
head, resting her eyes for a moment on the marble floor. "Milord,"
she whispered.

As
he pressed her hand to his lips, she again thought of William Pitch. "Milord,"
she said, "a dear friend of mine sends his highest esteem and very best
regards."

Nelson
acknowledged the sentiment graciously. "I thank you, milady. We are in
need at the present of high esteem and best regards."

She
remembered the Royal Condemnation and William's outrage at it. "The times
will pass, milord," she continued. "Frequently it has happened in our
history that the people lean in one direction and the monarch leans in
another."

Suddenly
in the small group around her, there was silence as profound as the greater
silence emanating from the vast room. Had she said too much? The wrong thing?

Then
Lord Nelson gave her a disarming, grateful smile. "Your candor is as
refreshing as your beauty. Lady Eden. Please convey my thanks to your dear
friend. Support from unknown quarters is perhaps the most rewarding of all."

Then
Marianne stepped aside and made way for Thomas, and a moment later the
musicians began to play and the company at last dispersed for the first dance.
Without knowing precisely how it happened, Marianne found herself in partners
with Lord Hamilton, Thomas paired with. Emma, Lord Nelson retreating to a far
table, surrounded by his aides.

"Don't
worry," Emma whispered, as she took her place in the square.