Lady Stanhope got to her feet. “I was just going abroad myself. I’m engaged to dine with Lady Clifford and then we’re going to the play. One never has a moment to oneself in town.” The two countesses started out of the room, walking side by side, followed by Nan and Tansy and Monsieur le Chien. Lucilla gave Amber an arch sidewise glance. “I suppose you knew that Lord Carlton is a guest in the house?”
Amber looked at her sharply. What did she mean by that? Was it possible she had heard gossip about them? But they’d been very discreet—always entering and leaving by their own doors, paying each other no undue attentions in public. Her heart hammering hard, Amber tried to give her an off-hand answer.
“Oh, yes. I know. He’s an old friend of the Earl.”
“I think he’s fascinating! They say every woman at Court is mad in love with him! And have you heard? They say he’s one of my Lady Castlemaine’s lovers—but of course they say that about everyone.” She rambled on, for she always talked as if she had more to say than time would allow, but Amber was conscious only of relief. Evidently she knew nothing—she just wanted to prattle. “But to think of the venturesome life he’s led—soldier-of-fortune, privateer, and now a planter! I’ve heard he’s one of the richest men in England—and of course his family’s most distinguished. It was Marjorie Bruce, you know, who was the mother of the first Stuart King of Scotland, and that’s his family. And his wife, they say, is a great beauty—”
“Everyone’s a great beauty with a portion of ten thousand pound!” snapped Amber.
“Well,” said Lucilla. “He’s a fine person, I vow and swear. He’s everything in the world that I admire.”
Amber bowed to her. “Good-day, madame.”
She walked off, down the stairs, seething inside, furious and hurt. Oh, I can’t stand it! she thought wildly. I can’t stand knowing he’s married to that woman! I hate her, I hate her, I hate her! I hope she dies! Suddenly she stopped, catching her breath. Maybe she will. She began to walk on, her eyes glowing. Maybe she will die, over there with all those sicknesses—maybe she will—She had completely forgotten her grievance against the Baroness for spending her money.
The next night she and Bruce came home from Whitehall together. He had completed the most urgent part of his business and was beginning to go there in the evenings to gamble and talk. They climbed the stairs, laughing over the current story that Buckingham, still in hiding, had been arrested for rioting in the streets and locked up and then released again without being recognized. Outside her rooms they parted.
“Don’t be long, darling,” she whispered.
She came into her own drawing-room still smiling, but the smile froze unpleasantly as she found Gerald and his mother sitting there, before her fireplace.
“Well!” She swung the door shut.
Gerald got to his feet. He looked wretchedly unhappy and Amber knew that coming here had not been his idea. The Dowager Baroness gave her a languid look over her bare shoulder, then stood up and made just the suggestion of a curtsy. Amber did not return it, but she came on into the room, glancing from one to the other.
“I didn’t expect to find you here,” she said to Gerald, who immediately cleared his throat and stuck a finger into the high close-fitting cravat about his neck. He tried to smile, but nervousness made his face break into little pieces.
“I just came to talk to Gerry while he was waiting for you to return,” interposed his mother hastily. “I’ll be going along now and leave you two young people together. Your servant, madame. Good-night, Gerry dear.” As Gerald obediently kissed his mother’s cheek Amber saw her give him an admonitory but encouraging pat on the arm.
With a triumphant flaunting little smile she left the room, her long train swishing after her, making a definite sound in the stillness, and all at once a clock began to chime. Amber did not watch her go but kept her eyes on Gerald, and as she heard the door close she tossed her muff and gloves to Tansy and waved him off. Monsieur le Chien was prancing and barking at Gerald, for he had seen him but seldom and was not sure he belonged there.
“Well,” repeated Amber again, and walked to the fire to warm her hands.
“Eh bien, madame,” said Gerald. “Here I am. And after all” —suddenly he straightened his shoulders and faced her defiantly —“why shouldn’t I be here? I’m your husband, madame.” It sounded like what Mother had told him to say.
“Of course,” agreed Amber. “Why shouldn’t you?” Then all at once she put one hand to her stomach and, with a little groan, dropped onto the settee.
Gerald started. “Good God, madame! What is it? Is something amiss with you?” He turned and would have run out. “I’ll fetch someone—”
But Amber stopped him. “No, Gerald. It’s nothing. It’s just that I’m with child, I think—I didn’t want to tell you until I knew for sure—”
He looked delighted, amazed, as though this had happened to no man before him. “Already? My God! I can’t believe it! But; Lord! I hope it’s true!” She had surprised him out of all his airs and French grimaces; he was merely a frightened pleased English country boy.
Amber was amused, thinking him a complete dolt. “I hope so too, my lord. But you know how a woman is in this circumstance.”
“No—I don’t. I—I never thought about it before. Are you better now? Can I get something for you? A pillow for your head?”
“No, Gerald, thanks. I just want to be let alone—I—Well, to tell you truly I’d rather sleep by myself—if you don’t mind—”
“Oh, but of course, madame. I didn’t know—I didn’t realize. I’m sorry—” He started to back away. “If there’s ever anything you want—anything I can do—”
“Thanks, Gerald. I’ll let you know.”
“And I wonder, madame—may I call sometimes—just to see how you’re doing?”
“Of course, my lord. Whenever you like. Good-night.”
“Good-night, madame.” He hesitated, plainly wishing that he could think of something appropriate to say on this occasion, and then with a helpless little laugh he repeated, “Well, good-night,” and was gone.
Amber shook her head and made a face; then got up and went into the bedroom. Nan gave a questioning lift of her eyebrows, to which Amber replied with pantomime gestures that sent them both into hilarious laughter. The two women were alone in the room, chattering and giggling together, Amber now in smock and busk and a froth of lacy petticoats. When Bruce knocked at the door she called out for him to come in.
He had removed his periwig, coat and vest and sword, and his white shirt was opened. “Still undressing?” he asked her with a smile. “I’ve written two letters.” He stopped at a table and poured himself a tall glass of brandy and water. “It’s always seemed to me that women would gain five years of their lives if they’d wear simpler clothes.”
“But what would we do with ’em?” Nan wanted to know, and they all three gave a burst of laughter.
Amber’s hair was now undone—for no lady would lift a hand to her head—and Nan had left the room, herding Tansy and the dog before her. She was standing at the dressing-table, unfastening her necklace, when she saw his face and shoulders appear behind her in the mirror. His green eyes watched her for a moment and then he bent, swept the hair off her neck, and put his lips there. A cold thrill ran over her body; she caught a deep breath and her eyes closed.
He set the glass onto the table and one hand closed over her arm to turn her about. “Oh, Bruce—” she cried. “Bruce—how I love you!”