Winsor, Kathleen (113 page)

"I
hope to have the pleasure of your company soon. No doubt you will be coming to
London as soon as Gerald and his wife begin to occupy lodgings together.

"Your
very humble and obedient servant, madame,

"I
am,

"Margaret,
Lady Clifford."

There
it was. Like a rock dropped in the middle of a quiet pool. "As soon as
Gerald and his wife begin to occupy lodgings together."
What
did
her Ladyship mean?

"Were
they married and not living together? Where was he living then? Where was she
living? She read the letter over again, very carefully, and this time she could
pick out several more ominous suggestions. She decided that she could not get
there too soon for her son's welfare.

And
now here she was, in the very presence of the hussy, all her outraged virtue
seething within her—and she found that in spite of herself she was embarrassed
and uneasy. Twenty years of living secluded, of seeing only her children and
the villagers and near neighbors, of scraping to keep them in food and clothes
and trying to save money enough so that Gerald could cut a figure at Oxford and
abroad, watching her good looks grow overblown and begin to fade, had not
prepared her for this moment.

Because,
for all her awareness that behind her stood generations of haughty
ancestors—while this creature was a reputed upstart from the theatres or some
place even worse—she was bewildered and overawed by the other woman's cool
self-possession, her fine clothes, her casual confident beauty. Above all, by
her youth. Still, Lady Stanhope was of sterner stuff than her shy awkward son.
Now she smiled at her daughter-in-law who sat facing her while they waited for
the tea to he brought, and she fluttered her fan as if the room were too hot,
tipping her head archly to one side.

"And
so you are my new daughter-in-law? How pretty you are, too. Gerry must be very
proud of you. I assure you I've been hearing a great deal about you."

"So
soon? I thought your Ladyship had only just arrived in town."

"Oh,
by letter, my dear! Lady Clifford is my very dear friend and has kept me as
intimately informed as if I were living on the Piazza. It's been a great
diversion to me, I assure you, through these last years when I've been too
sadly stricken by the death of my dear husband to venture into company. Oh, I'm
as competent a gossip as if I'd been here all along, I warrant you."

She
gave a little laugh, glancing brightly at the uncomfortable Gerry and then at
her daughter-in-law, wondering if the wench had wit enough to understand her
meaning. But either she did not or she did not care.

"Well,"
said Amber, "there's nothing so plentiful as gossip these days. That's one
thing we don't have to depend upon the French for."

Lady
Stanhope cleared her throat slightly and turned to lay one hand over Gerald's,
giving him a fond maternal beam. "How my Gerry has changed! I haven't seen
him since he set out for the Continent—two years ago this coming June. I vow he
looks as modish as a French count. Well, madame, I hope you'll be happy
together. I'm sure Gerry can make a woman as happy as any man in Europe— And
there's nothing so
important to a woman as a happy marriage—for all that some lewd persons like to
ridicule matrimony nowadays."

Amber
smiled faintly but did not answer. And at that moment the footman appeared,
followed by two others, who laid before them an elaborate silver tea-table and
service with little China porcelain tea-bowls and small crystal glasses for the
brandy which always followed.

Lady
Stanhope feigned enthusiasm. "How extraordinary good this tea is! Pray,
where did you get it? Mine was never so fine, I assure you."

"Lady
Almsbury's steward got this—at the East India House, I suppose."

"Hmm—delicious."
She took another sip. "I suppose that you and Gerry will be moving soon
into your own home?"

Amber
smiled over the rim of her dish at her, her eyes seeming to slant, shining and
hard as a cat's. "Perhaps we'll build a house one day—when workmen are
easier to find. Just now they're all engaged in the City, putting up
taverns."

"But
what will you do in the meantime, my dear?" The Baroness looked innocent
and amazed.

"Why,
I suppose we'll continue as we are. It seems a comfortable arrangement, don't
you agree, sir?"

Gerald,
thus appealed to, with his wife's and his mother's eyes suddenly upon him,
started a little and spilled some tea on his white lace cravat.
"Why—a—yes. I suppose so. It seems well enough, at least for now."

"Nonsense,
Gerald!" sharply contradicted his mother. "It's shocking! I may as
well tell you bluntly, my dear," she said, turning back to Amber,
"it's all the talk."

"Don't
you mean, madame, it
was
all the talk? Frances Stewart's elopement is a
la mode now."

The
Baroness was becoming exasperated. This was not the kind of resistance to which
her years of ruling a pliable son and two meek daughters had accustomed her,
and she found it both insulting and annoying. Didn't the jade realize that she
was her mother-in-law, a person of some importance, as well as of far higher
quality than herself?

"Have
your jest, my dear. But nevertheless it's an unheard-of thing that a husband
and wife should live apart. The world is censorious, you know, and such an
arrangement calls into question the integrity of both—but most especially of
the wife. I know the age is different from the one I was married in but let me
assure you, madame, that even present-day manners will not condone a thing of
that sort." The longer she talked the more excited she became; at the end
she was like an outraged pouter-pigeon.

Amber
was beginning to grow angry too. But she saw Gerald's miserable pleading face
and restrained herself, taking pity on him. She set down her tea-dish and
poured the brandy. "Well, I'm sorry if the arrangement is not to your
liking,
madame, but since it suits both of us I think we'll leave it as it is."

The
Baroness's mouth flew open again but her protest was cut off, for at that
moment Lady Almsbury entered the room. Amber presented the two women to each
other and this time Gerald's mother embraced her new acquaintance with
enthusiasm, kissing her on the mouth, making a very obvious contrast between
the honour she was prepared to show a plain and good woman and what was due an
impertinent strumpet, even if she was her daughter-in-law.

"I
heard you'd come, madame," said Emily, taking another chair beside the
fireplace and accepting the dish of tea which Amber gave her, "and I
wanted to bid you welcome. You must find London sadly changed."

"Indeed
I do, madame," agreed Lady Stanhope quickly. "It was not thus when
I was last here
in '43, let me tell you!"

"Well,
it looks almost hopeless now. But they've already made some very fine plans and
building has begun in various parts of the City. They say that one day London
will rise again, more glorious than ever—though of course it made us all sad to
see the old London go. But pray, my lady, was your trip pleasant?"

"Heavens,
no! It was wretched! I was telling her Ladyship only a few moments since that I
dared not wear any fine clothes for fear of spoiling them! But it had been two
years since I'd seen Gerry—and I knew he wouldn't
think
of leaving
London when he'd just been married, so I came in spite of everything."

"That
was generous of you. Tell me, madame, have you a place to stay? Since the Fire
it's become very difficult to find lodging anywhere. If you've made no
arrangements, my husband and I would be very glad to have you here until such
time as you may wish to make a change."

Good
Lord! thought Amber in irritation. Must I put up with that prattling old jade
in the same house?

Lady
Stanhope did not hesitate. "Why, that's most kind of your Ladyship! For
the truth on it is I had no place—I came in such a hurry. I should be very
happy to stay here for a few days."

Amber
swallowed her brandy and stood up. "Will you ladies excuse me now? I'm
expected at the Palace before noon and I must get dressed."

"Oh!"
cried Lady Stanhope, turning to her son. "Then you'll be going too, Gerry.
Well, sweetheart, run along. I warrant you a young man would rather wait upon
his bride than his mother."

Amber
glanced at Gerald who now, as if he had been prompted, said: "As it
happens, madame, I'm engaged to dine with some gentlemen at Locket's
today."

"Engaged
to dine with some gentlemen and not with your wife? Bless me! What a strange
age this is!"

Gerald,
emboldened by his own daring, gave a nonchalant
brush at his blue and gold
brocaded sleeve. "It's the mode, your Ladyship. Devoted husbands and wives
are démodé—no one'll have 'em any more." He turned to Amber and bowed as
elegantly as he could. "Your Ladyship's servant."

"Your
servant, sir." She curtsied, amused and a little surprised that he had had
the courage to defy his mother.

Then
he bowed to his mother and Lady Almsbury and made his escape while Lady
Stanhope seemed unable to decide whether to let him go for the time being or to
tell him outright what she thought of such behaviour. She let him go. As Amber
was leaving the room she heard her say: "Heaven! How he's changed! Every
inch the young gentleman of fashion, I vow!"

It
was nearly midnight when Amber returned from Whitehall, tired almost to
exhaustion and eager to get into bed. Twelve hours at the Palace was a
considerable strain on her, the more so because of her pregnancy. Every instant
she was there she must be alert and gay; there was never a moment to relax, to
look or act as tired as she sometimes felt. And now there was a nervous ache in
the back of her neck, the muscles of her legs jumped, and everything inside her
seemed to quiver.

She
had just started up the stairs when Almsbury came running out of a lighted room
which opened from the hall-way. "Amber!" She turned and looked at
him. "I thought you were never coming!"

"So
did I. They had some damned puppets there and no one could be satisfied till
they'd played 'Romeo and Juliet' four times!"

"I've
got a surprise for you." He was just below her on the stairs, grinning.
"Guess who's here."

Amber
shrugged, uninterested. "How would I know?"

She
looked over his head to the door-way where someone was standing—a tall
dark-haired man who smiled at her. Amber caught her breath. "Bruce!"
She saw him start toward her, running, and then Almsbury's arms went about her
as she fainted, crumpling helplessly.

The
thin April
sun
came through the casemented windows and made patches of brightness on the bare
floor. It struck light from the spurs on a pair of man's boots that lay there,
touched the pale-blue ostrich feathers piled on the brim of a hat, glittered on
the worked gold-and-silver hilt of a sheathed sword—all heaped beside the
canopied bed. Within, sunk deep into a feather mattress, Amber lay half
drowsing, just on the verge of coming fully awake. Slowly her arm slid over the
empty bed, an expression of puzzlement and vague worry crossing her face. She
opened her eyes, found herself alone and sat up with a sudden frightened cry.

"Bruce!"

He
jerked back the curtains and stood there, grinning down at her. He wore his
breeches but no shirt or periwig and was apparently just done shaving, for he
was still wiping his face. "What's the matter, darling?"

"Oh!
Thank God! I was afraid you'd gone—or that I'd only been dreaming and you were
never here at all. But you are here, aren't you? You're really here. Oh, Bruce,
it's
wonderful
to have you back!"

She
held out her arms to him, smiling broadly, her eyes filled with brilliance.
"Come here, darling. I want to touch you—" He sat down beside her and
her finger-tips moved over his face, wonderingly, as though she could not
believe even now that he actually was there. "How fine you're
looking," she whispered. "Handsomer than ever—" Her hands moved
down over his broad muscular shoulders and chest, pressing hard against the
warm brown flesh. Then all at once her eyes returned to his and she found him
staring at her.

"Amber—"

"Yes?"

Their
mouths came together with sudden devouring violence. Unexpectedly she began to
cry and her fists beat against him, passionate, demanding. Swiftly he pushed
her back upon the bed and her arms strained him to her. When the storm was
spent, he lay with his head on her breast, relaxed against her. Now their faces
were still and peaceful, content. Tenderly her fingers stroked through his
coarse black hair.

At
last he began to move away and stood up. Amber opened her eyes and smiled
drowsily.

"Come
back, darling, and lie here beside me."

He
bent and kissed her lips. "I can't—Almsbury's waiting."

"What
if he is? Let him wait."

He
shook his head. "We're going to Whitehall—his Majesty expects me. Perhaps
I'll see you there later—" He paused and stood looking down at her. There
was a lazy half-amused smile on his face. "I understand that you're a
countess now. And married again, too," he added.