CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 7

Van's first venture into English society came the following evening with the Duchess of Newcastle's ball. Van had never seen anything on the scale of this entertainment. First there was the crush of carriages on the street, where they had to wait in line for nearly half an hour before they reached the door of Newcastle House and could alight. Then there was the crowd of people in the great hall and on the stairs. The air was filled with the fragrances of conflicting perfumes and hair powders and the noise of more than a hundred people talking at once.

"My, what a crush," Lady Linton said next to Van. She sounded pleased. Van drew a deep breath and fought down a rising feeling of suffocation. Her eyes searched the crowd for Edward, who had been unceremoniously annexed at the door by an elderly man in an elaborate wig.

"Where is Edward?" Lady Linton asked, echoing Van's own thoughts. Her "Oh, good, there he is" came seconds after Van had spotted him herself.

He was crossing the room toward them as easily as if it had been empty. People seemed simply to fall away before him. Just so must the waters have parted for Moses, Van thought with a flash of mingled annoyance and admiration. To do him justice, it wasn't as if he seemed even to notice the effect his crossing created. He simply walked forward serenely, his unpowdered golden head inches higher than everyone else's his shoulders in their elegant blue velvet coat inches wider. He reached Van and Lady Linton, smiled genially, and asked, "Shall we go upstairs?"

The duke and duchess were receiving their guests at the entrance to the ballroom. The duchess and Lady Linton fell into each other's arms and then Lady Linton presented Van.

"So," the duchess said, her blue-gray eyes looking Van up and down, "this is Vanessa."

"How do you do, your grace," Van murmured coolly.

The duchess's eyes sparkled with approval. "She is perfect," she announced to Lady Linton. "The Ridley girl will have a rival this season." She nodded wisely at Lady Linton. "You were wise, Katherine, not to powder her hair." Van's hand was squeezed and then dropped. The duchess's whole face then lit up. "Ah, Linton. How good to see you here with your mama."

Van's face was wearing its most austere expression as they proceeded into the ballroom. She did not at all care for the way the duchess seemed to regard her as a dressed-up doll.

She was certainly dressed up, however, she thought as they came down the few steps that led to the ballroom. She was wearing her first formal ball gown, a creation of golden silk whose full skirts were spread wide by twin panniers. The gown's bodice was cut lower than anything Van had ever worn and ended in a point just below her waist. Her hair was dressed with golden roses, and high on her right cheek Lady Linton's dresser had placed a small black patch. Van had shrugged and let the woman do as she wished, not realizing how effectively the patch called attention to the blackness of her brows and lashes and the contrasting lightness of her eyes.

The ballroom was filled with people. Unconsciously, Van moved a step closer to Edward. He put his hand under her elbow and began to talk to her easily.

In two minutes they were surrounded by people wanting to be introduced.

When the music finally started up, Van was immensely relieved to find that she was to dance the first dance with Edward. As she walked out on the floor, her hand in his, she glanced up at his profile and said with a flash of wry amusement, "I never thought I'd be happy to see you!"

He threw her a mocking look. "Feeling a little overwhelmed?"

"Feeling smothered," she returned promptly. "Dhé, but there's a crowd of people here."

"There is. And they all want to meet you." He grinned. "Mama has surely been busy."

"I feel like some sort of an exhibit," Van said a little acidly.

"Not at all. You are a very beautiful young lady." Van was startled by the thrill of pleasure his words gave her. Did he really think her beautiful? A hint of steel came into his voice. "Just remember that, please, and don't start proselytizing about the bloody Stuarts."

Van glared up at him. "You don't have to give me a lecture on manners," she said through clenched teeth. He was such a condescending Sassenach bastard, she thought forcefully, and jerked her hand away from his to take her place in the line for the dance.

She remembered her dance with Edward very well, but the rest of her partners were a uniform blur. The one other person she did notice that evening was the extremely lovely girl whom Edward seemed to be spending so much time with.

"Who is the girl with Edward?" she asked Lady Linton during the one brief moment they were alone. Van had never learned the trick of obtaining information slyly. If she wanted to know something, she asked.

"That is Miss Caroline Ridley," Lady Linton replied promptly. "Isn't she lovely?"

Caroline Ridley's hair, also unpowdered, was almost as golden as Edward's. Her eyes, Van thought sourly, were probably blue. "Yes," she said. "Very lovely."

"It's about time Edward married," the countess said firmly. "He's had a number of years to enjoy himself, but now it's time for him to set up his nursery. He was twenty-seven this year."

Van stared at Lady Linton. "Does he love Miss Ridley?"

"Why shouldn't he?" the countess returned a little defensively. "She comes from an excellent family, is extremely beautiful and very charming. She appears to be a perfectly lovable girl to me."

Van was astonished by this point of view. "One doesn't love people simply because they are lovable, Cousin Katherine," she said.

Lady Linton stared at her son. "I don't see why not."

Why not? thought Van. Well, if what Lady Linton had just said were true, she, for instance, would love Alan MacDonald. Alan was also perfectly lovable. The fact was, however, that Van had scarcely spared him a thought since she left Scotland. Her thoughts at this point were interrupted by two young men who, it appeared, desired to be presented to her. Van repressed a sigh and forced herself to make polite conversation.

The following morning Signore Martelli arrived at nine o'clock and Van, who had not got to bed until three in the morning, was waiting for him. After her lesson she discovered that almost a roomful of flowers had arrived for her. The flowers were followed by a series of male callers, all of whom wished to take her driving in the park.

Van did go driving with Viscount Standish, principally because she discovered that he was the eldest son of the Marquis of Altop, one of the English Tory nobles her father had desired to know about.

It was a very depressing afternoon. "I am familiar with your family, Lord Standish," Van said almost as soon as they reached the park.

"You are?" The young viscount looked both surprised and pleased. "How is that, Lady Vanessa?"

"I believe your father and mine have the same principles," Van said meaningfully.

The viscount's slightly chubby face was puzzled. "Have our fathers met?"

"No," Van replied patiently, "but I understand Lord Altop supported a venture my father was very much involved in. I refer," she continued, as he still continued to look blank, "to the Jacobite rising of 1715."

"Oh, that!" The young man's brow cleared. "Yes, my father was all for the king over the water at one time."

"At one time," Van repeated. She frowned. "He does not then retain those sentiments?"

"Well, he ain't fond of the Hanovers, if that's what you mean. The thing is, you see, they serve a purpose. And it's Parliament that counts, when all's said and done." He looked at her, evidently keen to impress. "I've a seat in the House, you know."

"Then I take it the Standons of Altop are no longer interested in seeing a Stuart restoration?" Van said in an expressionless tone.

"Good God, no," the young man replied hastily. "The Stuarts would bring in the Catholics. And the French." Then, in an alarmed fashion, "I say, you aren't Catholic by any chance, are you, Lady Vanessa?"

Van's profile was aloof and still. "No. We are Episcopalians in Morar."

"That's all right, then," he replied cheerfully. He gave her an admiring glance. Van was looking extremely elegant in a pearl-gray driving outfit that emphasized the beauty of her dark coloring. "Are you still Jacobites up in Scotland?" he asked.

Van thought of a number of replies she would like to make to this vapid apostate, but she really did not wish to make things awkward for Lady Linton. So she forced herself to breathe slowly and to say only, very calmly, "Yes. We are still Jacobites in Scotland."

There was a moment of silence. Then he said heartily, "What did you think of the ball last night?"

Van replied pleasantly and by the time he drove her home Lord Standish was rambling away, as comfortable as he could be. Van, however, was not comfortable. And her mood of depression had not been helped by the sight of the Earl of Linton driving Miss Caroline Ridley behind his team of beautifully matched grays.

That evening they went to the opera. "Did you have a pleasant afternoon with Standish?" Edward asked Van as he settled a long velvet cloak around her shoulders.

Van's mouth set. "No. I did not."

His blue eyes glinted down at her, but as Lady Linton chose that moment to join them, he did not reply.

The opera that evening was to be Samson by Handel. "It's really an oratorio although it is performed at Covent Garden," Edward told Van as they took their seats in the Linton box. "It's based on Milton's Samson Agonistes. Do you know Milton?"

Van shook her head. "Is it the story of Samson and Delilah?"

He was looking around the half-empty house. "Not really. When the opera opens, Samson has already been betrayed by Delilah, and blinded and imprisoned by the Philistines. It's more of a character study, the revelation to Samson that he, despite his guilt and his suffering, is an instrument of God."

Van nodded slowly and then also looked around her. "Where is everyone?" she asked in surprise.

"Samson is rather serious for most people's tastes," Edward answered. He sounded perfectly affable. "There is no spectacle, not much action at all, really. The boxes will fill up, all right, but most of the people will come in later."

Van was horrified. "And miss half the opera?"

Lady Linton chuckled at her expression. "I assure you, Vanessa, Edward and I are always on time."

Indeed, Covent Garden was still half-empty when the orchestra sounded its first note. Van, however, did not notice. Nor did she notice the rustling and whispering as people slowly came in and took their seats. She was aware only of the stage, of the agonized suffering of the man who sang so magnificently, and of the man beside her whose concentration on the music was as intense as her own.

At the intermission a chattering collection of people filled their box. Van was intensely irritated. She did not want to talk to all these people. She wanted to be quiet.

Edward's hand touched her elbow. She knew it was he even before she turned her head. "Let's go for a walk," he said softly.

Van's look was grateful. "Oh, yes," she said, and he guided her along to a deserted hallway, where they walked slowly up and down, talking quietly about the music.

Van was quiet as well going home in the carriage. The concluding soprano aria, "Let the Bright Seraphim," where the singer's voice had vied with a trumpet in roulades, was still sounding triumphantly in her ears. Finally she turned to Edward, who was conversing easily with his mother.

"Do you have a copy of Samson Agonistes?" she asked. "Might I borrow it?"

"Of course. It would be my pleasure." And he gave her his rare, approving smile.

After her session with Signore Martelli the following morning, Edward asked her to come into the library with him. As Van walked in through the door the earl was holding for her, she realized there was someone else in the room.

"Lord Stowecroft," Edward said formally, "may I introduce Lady Vanessa MacIan."

"How do you do, my lord," Van said out of a suddenly dry throat. This stocky, pockmarked man was the single most important figure her father wanted to hear news of. She looked from him to Edward.

"I will leave you two alone," the earl said pleasantly. Then, to Lord Stowecroft, "Thank you for coming, sir."

The older man merely nodded, and as Edward turned and left the room, Van wet her suddenly dry lips.

"Linton said you wished to see me, Lady Vanessa," the earl said abruptly. "Do you have a message from Morar?"

"Yes," Van said. This man, she knew, had met her father—a long time ago, in France. "There is great hope of a French landing," Van said now, tensely. "My father wants to know what English support the prince can rely on."

"None," the Earl of Stowecroft said heavily. "Tell that to Morar. If the prince should land, he will get no help from England."

Van's face reflected her feelings. "My father thought—" she began, but the earl cut her off.

"I know what Morar thought. He thought he could count on me and on the other English nobles who have supported the Stuarts for all these years. Well, I would rather see a true-born Stuart on the throne than a German elector, but it is not going to happen, Lady Vanessa, and I'm damned if I'll ruin myself and my family striving for the impossible."

"It will not be impossible if the prince's friends prove true to him," Van said.

"It is impossible," the earl said bluntly. "It is too late. We might, perhaps, have succeeded in 1715, if we'd had the leadership. But now it's too late. This dynasty has occupied the throne for too long, Lady Vanessa. They won't be dislodged."

"If the prince can gather a French army—"

"Yes—that's just the trouble." The earl's heavy, pockmarked face was grim. "Do you think the English are going to welcome a prince who comes to them at the head of a French army? France is the hereditary enemy here, Lady Vanessa. I know you feel differently in Scotland, but here France is the enemy." Van was silenced.

"Tell this to Morar," the Earl of Stowecroft said. "Tell him that England does not want a king who is beholden to France. And England does not want a king who is Catholic. And those of us who still feel differently are not foolhardy enough to set our heads up to be knocked off when such a venture ends, as it inevitably will, in defeat."

"You speak for yourself, of course," Van said, and he interrupted her once more.

"I speak for all of us. We've heard the rumors too. There is no English noble who will go out for the Stuarts, Lady Vanessa. Tell that to your father from me." His mouth tightened. "I should hate to see a good man like Morar get dragged down in a boy's wild venture."

"Unfortunately," Van said in a cold and contemptuous voice, "my father's loyalties are not so... adjustable."

The man flushed unbecomingly. "Oh, I can guess what you think of me," he said hardly, "but I've given you the truth."

Van's slender back was ramrod straight. "I will relay your words to my father."

"Good." He grunted. "I'll show myself out, then. Good day, Lady Vanessa."

"Good day, my lord." Van stood where she was until the door closed behind him; then she walked over to stare out the window at the garden behind the house. After a few minutes she heard the door open again and knew, without looking, who was there.

"Well," Edward said, "was your interview satisfactory?"

If he had a gloating look on his face, Van thought as she slowly turned around, she would smash him. But his eyes were not at all mocking. They were filled, in fact, with a cold blue light.

"I have the information I was asked to get," she replied.

"Well, I hope to God Morar has the sense to listen to it," he said viciously and, coming all the way into the room, he slammed his gloves down on a desk.

Van's fists clenched. "You almost sound as if you were afraid of us, my lord," she said tauntingly.

"Not afraid of you, afraid for you" was his disconcerting reply. He braced his hands on the desk and leaned a little forward. "If the clans rise for Charles Stuart, they will be signing their own death warrants."

Van could feel the pulse beating in her temple. "Why are you so opposed to the Stuarts?" she asked suddenly. "Are you afraid of France too?"

"We could handle France better than we could handle the Stuarts," came the grim reply. Van's lashes lifted and her eyes met his. "I have no liking at all for the Stuarts, Van," he said. "None. In fact, it would give me intense pleasure to hear that every last one of them had dropped off the face of the earth."

"Why?" Her lips moved, although barely any sound came out.

He gave a short, hard laugh. "Why? Because they are a selfish, arrogant, stupid, power-hungry family, that is why." He straightened up and began to walk around the room, his step long and quiet, a great golden beast loose in the room with her. "You, of course, have no notion of any of this. You have been brought up on legends of Stuart greatness." He paused in his pacing to stare at her. It seemed as if the cold, blue North Sea glittered in his eyes.

Viking, Van thought. Sassenach.

"Loyalty is a splendid thing, Van," he was saying. "But one must ask oneself: To what and to whom does one truly owe loyalty?"

Van rested her fingers on the back of a carved rosewood chair. "One owes loyalty to one's king," she replied.

"And if loyalty to one's king conflicts with loyalty to one's country?"

Van's fingers were white with pressure. "I don't understand what you mean," she said tautly.

"I mean that the king exists for the good of the country, the country does not exist for the good of the king. It is the country that comes first. The Hanovers understand that. The Stuarts do not."

This was not a point of view Van had heard before. Loyalty to the Stuarts had never been something one discussed at Morar. It was simply there, a fact of life, part of the very air one breathed. She had been brought up to believe that it was the simple duty of her father, her brother, her clan, of every man in Britain, to contribute to the restoration of the rightful king. What Edward was saying was disturbing.

"The Stuarts were good for the country," she said.

"Yes," he replied with irony, "they were such good rulers that we executed two of them and exiled two others." He ran an impatient hand through his hair and a few dislodged strands fell like golden thread across his forehead. "There is no such thing as the Divine Right of Kings," he said. "This is the eighteenth century, not the Middle Ages."

Van released her chair so abruptly that it rocked. "Yes," she said acidly, "this is the eighteenth century and you consider yourself a great and progressive reformer. Well, government is not like agriculture, Edward. And what is new is not always what is best!"

"The problem, of course," he said bleakly, "is that in the Highlands you are still living in the Middle Ages."

Van walked out of the room.