Winsor, Kathleen (140 page)

"I
wonder if I might see Susanna?"

"Why—yes—yes,
of course."

She
walked to the door and called to someone in the next room. She turned back to
face him. "Susanna's grown like anything. She's—she's much bigger than
when you left." She was scarcely aware of what she said. Oh, my darling!
she thought wildly. Is that all you're going to do—after two years? Just stand
there—looking as if you scarce know me at all?

But
the next moment the door was pushed open and Susanna stood in it, dressed in a
grown-up, green-taffeta gown with the tiny skirt tucked up over a pink petticoat,
and her golden glossy hair caught back at one side with a pink bow. She looked
at her mother first and then, somewhat bewildered, at the two men, wondering
what was wanted of her.

"Don't
you remember your Daddy?" asked Amber.

Susanna
gave him another dubious glance. "But I have a Daddy," she protested
politely.

Charles
had told her, when she had said that she had no Daddy, that he would be her
Daddy now. And since then she had regarded the King as her father, for she saw
him often and he always made a great fuss over her because of her prettiness
and his own fondness for children.

Bruce
laughed at that and coming forward he reached down, took hold of her, and
swooped her into his arms. "You can't fob me off with any such tale as
that, young lady. You may have a new father, but I'm still your first—and it's
the first one who counts. Come now—give me a kiss—and if it's nice enough
perhaps I'll find a present for you."

"A
present?"

Susanna's
eyes turned big and round and she looked back at her mother, who winked and
nodded her head. Without further hesitation she flung her arms about his neck
and kissed his cheek resoundingly.

Almsbury
grinned. "Her mother's own child. I see it more every day."

Amber
made him a face, but she was too happy now to take offense at his quips. Bruce
carried Susanna to the door, opened it, reached outside and picked up a box,
and then putting her down he dropped to his heels beside her.
"There," he said. "Open it up and we'll see what's inside."

Both
Amber and Almsbury came up close to see what it was as Susanna, now very
self-important, picked up the lid. There lay a beautiful doll, perhaps a foot
and a half tall, with light blonde curls done in the latest mode and wearing a
fashionable French gown. Packed beside her was a wardrobe containing several
more gowns, petticoats and smocks, shoes and gloves and fans and masks, all the
paraphernalia of a lady of quality. Susanna, all but delirious with pleasure,
kissed him again and again. Then, very carefully, she lifted her treasure from
its satin-lined bed and held it in her arms.

"Oh,
Mother!" she cried. "I want to have her in my picture too! Can
I?" Susanna was having her portrait painted by Mr. Lely.

"Of
course you can, darling." She glanced at Bruce and found him watching both
of them, and though he was faintly smiling there was something moody and almost
wistful in his eyes. "It was so kind of you to think of her," she
said softly.

At
last, when half an hour or so had passed, Amber glanced at the clock.
"It's time for your supper, sweetheart. You must go now, or you'll be
late."

"But
I don't
want
to go! I don't want any supper! I want to stay with my new
Daddy!"

She
ran to him where he still knelt on one knee, and he put an arm about her.
"I'll come back to see you soon, darling, I promise. But now you must
go." He kissed her and then, reluctantly, she made a curtsy to Amber and
Almsbury. Primly she
walked to the doorway, where, as the nurse held it open for her, she turned and
looked around at them.

"I
s'pose it's time to go to bed with my new Daddy now!"

The
nurse hastily covered Susanna's mouth with her handkerchief and hurried her
out, closing the door firmly, while the two men burst into laughter. Amber
spread her hands and gave a shrug, making a comical little grimace. There was
no doubt Susanna had been sent off many times with the excuse that it was time
for Mother and Daddy to go to bed. Bruce got to his feet.

Amber's
eyes were on him instantly, questioning, begging.

Quickly
Almsbury took out his watch. "Well—damn me! But I'm late now—I hope you'll
excuse me—" Already he was backing from the room.

But
Bruce turned about swiftly. "I'm going with you, John—"

"Bruce!"
Amber gave a little cry of anguish and ran toward him. "You
can't
go
now; Stay just a little—and talk to me—"

While
he stood looking down at her Almsbury went out the door and shut it softly.
Bruce glanced back over his shoulder as he heard the sound, hesitated a moment
longer and then tossed his hat onto a chair.

Amber
lay on a low cushioned day-bed, her eyes closed, her face serenely peaceful and
content. Her hair had come down and fell in tawny masses about her shoulders.
Bruce sat on the floor beside her, arms resting on his drawn-up knees, head
bent forward to lean on his wrists. He had taken off his periwig, coat and
sword, and his wet white-linen shirt clung to his back and arms.

For
a long while they continued silent.

Finally
Amber, not opening her eyes, reached out and put one hand on his, her fingers
tender and warm. He raised his head to look at her. His face was moist and
flushed. Slowly he smiled, bent his head again and laid his lips on the back of
her hand where the blue veins swelled.

"My
darling—" Her voice lingered over the word, caressing it. Then slowly she
lifted her lids and looked at him; they smiled, a smile born of recent memories
and long acquaintance. "At last you're back again. Oh, Bruce, I've missed
you so! Have you missed me too—just a little?"

"Of
course," he said. It was an automatic reply, made as if he thought the
question a foolish or unnecessary one.

"How
long will you be here? Are you going to live here now?" She could have
been almost grateful for Corinna if she had insisted that they live in England.

"We'll
be here a couple of months, I think. Then we're going
to France to
buy some furniture and visit my sister. After that we'll go back to
Virginia."

"We."
Amber did not like the sound of it. It reminded her again that his life, all
his plans, included a woman now—a woman who was not herself. And it hurt her
pride that he was taking Corinna to visit his sister for she had asked Almsbury
once what kind of woman Mary Carlton was; he had told her that she was very
beautiful, proud and haughty—and that she and Amber would not like each other.

"How
d'you like being married?" she challenged him. "You must find it
mighty dull—after the gay life you've lived!"

He
smiled again, but now she knew that with every word she said he drew farther
away from her. She was scared, but she did not know what she could do. She
felt, as always, helpless to contend against him and hold her own. "I
don't find it dull at all. In Virginia we have a better opinion of marriage
than you do here."

She
rolled her eyes at that and sat up, straightening her bodice around and
beginning to fasten it again. "Hey day! How mightily proper you've grown!
I vow and swear, Lord Carlton, you're not the same man who left here two years
ago!"

He
grinned at her. "I'm not?"

She
looked down at him sharply, then suddenly she was on her knees beside him, held
close in his arms. "Oh, my darling, darling—I love you so! I can't stand
to know you're married to another woman! I hate her, I despise her, I—"

"Amber—don't
talk that way!" He tried to make a joke of it. "After all, you've
been married four times and I've never hated any of your husbands—"

"Why
should you? I didn't love any of them!"

"Nor
the King, either, I suppose?"

She
dropped her eyes at that, momentarily abashed. Then she faced him again.
"Not the way I do you— Anyway, he's the King. But you know as well as I
do, Bruce, that if you'd let me I'd leave him and the Court and everything I
have on earth to follow you anywhere!"

"What?"
he asked her mockingly. "You'd leave all this?"

As
he spoke she realized all of a sudden that he did not consider her position,
the luxury and pomp in which she lived, to be of any real worth at all. It was
the sharpest disillusionment she had had. For she had expected to brag about
it, to impress him with her title, her power, her money, her gorgeous rooms.
Instead, he had made her feel that all she had got from life—these things for
which she had been willing to make any compromise—were unimportant. Worse, were
trash.

"Yes,"
she said softly. "Of course I'd leave it." She had an inexplicable
feeling of humility and almost of shame.

"Well,
my dear, I wouldn't dream of asking such a sacrifice of you. You've worked hard
for what you have and you deserve to keep it. What's more, you're exactly where
you belong. You and Whitehall are as well suited as a bawd and brandy."

"What
do you mean by that!" she cried.

He
shrugged, glanced at the clock and got to his feet. "It's growing late.
I've got to go."

Amber
sprang up after him. "You're not going so soon? You haven't been here two
hours!"

"I
thought you were engaged for supper."

"I
won't go. I'll send a message I've got the vapours. Oh, stay here with me
darling and we'll have supper together! We'll have—"

"I'm
sorry, Amber. I'd like to, but I can't. I'm late now." Her eyes, golden
and hard with jealousy, accused him. "Late for what!"

"My
wife is expecting me."

"Your
wife!" An ugly expression crossed her face. "And I suppose you don't
dare stay out by so much as half-an-hour or she'll have you by the ear for it!
It's mighty strange, Lord Carlton, to see you, of all men, turned Tom
Otter!" Tom Otter was the prototype of the hen-pecked husband.

He
was getting into his coat and though he did not look at her his voice was
sarcastic. "I'm afraid living in America has put me somewhat behind the
fashion." He buckled on his sword, set the periwig on his head and took up
his hat. Casually he bowed to her. "Good-night, madame."

But
as he started out of the room she ran after him. "Oh, Bruce! I didn't mean
it, I swear I didn't!
Please
don't be angry with me! When can I see you
again? And I want to see Bruce, too. Does he remember me?"

"Of
course he remembers you, Amber. He asked me today when he was going to visit
you."

Suddenly
her eyes took on a bright malicious sparkle. "What does Corinna—"

"Corinna
doesn't know that his mother is alive."

The
sparkle went out. "A pretty arrangement," she said sourly.

"You
agreed to it. And please, Amber, if she ever sees you together don't let her
find out. I've made it clear to Bruce that he must never mention you."

"Good
Lord! I never heard of anything so ridiculous! Most wives don't have to be
pampered and protected so! Why—I give my husband's whore an allowance!"

He
smiled down at her, slowly and with a certain sad and cynical quirk at the
corners of his mouth and in his eyes. "But Corinna, my dear, hasn't had
the advantages of your education. In fact, until she was married, she lived
somewhat retired."

"You
men! Why is it the greatest whoremaster among you always marries some simple
little sugar-sop who doesn't know one end of him from the other!"

"When
shall I bring Bruce here?"

"Why—any
time. Tomorrow?"

"Two
o'clock?"

"Yes.
But, Bruce—"

He
bowed to her again and went on, out of the room, while Amber watched him
between anger and tears, undecided whether to break something or cry. So she
did both.

They
came together the next day at two. The little boy, now eight and a half, was
much taller and looked a good deal older than when she had seen him last. His
resemblance to his father was stronger than ever. He was not at all like her.
He was a very handsome decidedly masculine child with great charm and
delightful manners, and it seemed incredible to Amber that he could be her own,
born of some brief ecstatic moment so many years ago.