Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

On November 15 in the ancient church at Eyam near Chatsworth, most of England’s and a few of Scotland’s aristocratic families witnessed the nuptials, as Rachel Cavendish became the Countess of Orford. Will acted as best man, then joined his friend John Campbell when the wedding party entered Chatsworth for the lavish reception.

“John, I’m so glad to see you. I desperately need your advice.”

“First things first, old man.” He reached into his pocket and took out a letter for Elizabeth. “Do you have any message for me?”

“Yes. She said, Tell him I remember. Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense.” John gave him the letter. “Give it to Charlie, and she’ll pass it along to Elizabeth.”

“I will, but therein lies the trouble. Mother threatens to disown me if I continue to see Charlie. She is adamant that I not even think of marrying Charlotte Boyle. She is being a downright bitch about the whole thing,” Will said unhappily.

“How could she possibly object to Lady Charlotte?” John was at a complete loss. Charlie was the best marriage prize in England.

“Well, for one thing, she raves on about Dorothy Boyle being an adulteress, for God’s sake!”

“Well, ruling out adultery would eliminate almost every matron of the ton with eligible daughters. Perhaps if you give her time, you can overcome her objections.”

“If I give her time, she’ll come up with more ammunition. She’s being a bitch, but she forgets that makes me a son of a bitch! I refuse to let her ride roughshod over me.”

“It seems like you don’t need my advice at all, Will. It is quite obvious you have already made up your mind.”

Will grinned sheepishly. “I have. My brothers and sisters are all on my side in this. They have taken to calling me Guts Cavendish, because I dare stand up to Mother. Thanks for listening. I’d better go and play the dutiful son and propose a toast to the happy couple.”

As dusk fell on Chatsworth, John walked outside through the vast gardens, now covered with fallen leaves from the trees, and gazed up at the moon. Subdued and reflective, he unsuccessfully tried to ignore the empty ache inside. The Devonshires’ objection to someone as noble and wealthy as Lady Charlotte made him realize the futility of expecting the Argylls to accept someone as utterly unsuitable as Elizabeth Gunning.

Elizabeth jumped at the chance to visit Charlie at Burlington House, hoping with all her heart that John Campbell had sent her a message by way of Will Cavendish. She was relieved that Maria showed no interest in joining her, preferring instead to go for a carriage ride with her latest conquest, Henry St. John, Viscount Bolingbroke. He was a Tory politician, and Elizabeth knew that her sister had chosen him to make George Coventry, who was a Whig, madly jealous—or, more to the point, so he would ask her to become his countess.

Charlie had sent the carriage for her, but when Elizabeth arrived she was surprised when her friend, wrapped in her new fur cape, ran out, spoke to the driver, then climbed in beside her.

“I’ve asked him to drive us over to Burlington Gardens. They’ve started doing the interiors, and we can be private over there.”

Elizabeth saw the pinched look on Charlie’s face and felt apprehensive. John didn’t send me a message, and she needs privacy so she can deliver the bad news.

They entered the magnificent new house, which smelled of damp plaster, and walked past some workmen doing decorative work on the mouldings. When they reached an empty chamber, Charlie handed her the letter.

“Oh, thank you!” Elizabeth whispered John’s name in her heart and went weak at the knees. “Did William bring it?”

Charlie nodded and Beth sat down on a window seat to read it.

Elizabeth:

I dare not put my thoughts down on paper. Suffice it to say that I miss you with all my heart. I wish you were here with me in Scotland, for I know how much you love the countryside. The Highlands are far wilder than Ireland but I feel sure you would appreciate their beauty.

I will try to be back in London by Christmas.

Ne obliviscaris!

John

She sighed. “He misses me, and he’ll be home by Christmas.”

Charlie gave her a tight little smile then said, “Elizabeth—”

“Yes?”

“Um . . . how do you like the house?”

“It’s absolutely splendid. I love the sweeping staircase we passed. What color will this room be?”

“Daddy says I may choose the colors . . . he hinted that Burlington Gardens would be mine when I marry.”

“Oh, how wonderful, Charlie!”

“Yes.” She bit her lip. “Elizabeth—”

“You want to tell me something. What is it?”

“I . . . I think I’m with child!” Charlie blurted, her face chalk white. “What am I going to do?” she whispered.

Elizabeth, stunned, stared at her in disbelief for a moment then took her hand as realization dawned that she spoke the truth. “You’re going to marry William, of course.”

Charlie nodded eagerly. “You were with me, remember, when he said that once his sister’s wedding was out of the way, he intended to ask my parents for my hand in marriage?”

“Of course I remember. Have you told Will?”

Charlie’s hand went to her throat. “Oh, I couldn’t.”

“Of course you can! Will is a man, not a boy. He will take care of everything, Charlie. You love each other, and you already have a house. I don’t see any insurmountable problem.”

“You’re forgetting his mother. She hates me!”

“She doesn’t know you. Once she does, she will love you.”

Charlie shook her head. “I overheard Mother raging over the Duchess of Devonshire’s remarks. She called it ‘an accursed match’ and a ‘mésalliance.’ Mother says she’s like a relentless steam-roller, determined to destroy everything in her path.”

“You are shivering.” Elizabeth took her hands and chafed them. “You are icy cold. The house isn’t heated. You can’t stay here.”

They got back into the waiting carriage for the short ride back to Burlington House. “Can you tell your mother, Charlie?”

“No, no, she would run mad.”

Beth understood her reluctance; she would never dare confide anything to her own mother. “Then promise me you will tell Will?”

Charlie nodded miserably.

At Devonshire House, William and his father were having yet another serious discussion about the duchess’s opposition to her son’s union with Lady Charlotte Boyle.

“I’ve pointed out to her that you are about to achieve the dynastic marriage of the century, but she won’t budge!” He threw down the letter he had just received from Chatsworth. “Read it.”

William scanned the pages with a growing disgust. “It’s filled with self-pity and self-righteousness. Mother is obsessed over some imagined ‘wrong’ I will do to her with this ‘monstrous marriage’!”

The duke downed another whiskey. “Since I can make no headway with her, I don’t suppose I can dissuade you, William?”

“Absolutely not! I am as inflexible as she. I am twenty-eight. I am Marquis of Hartington. I insist on my right to marry as I please. Any other mother would be over the moon at such a brilliant match.”

Devonshire raised his glass. “I bow to the inevitable—you have my blessing. Just give your mother time to come round.”

William immediately dashed off a note to Charlotte’s parents.

The following day the Earl and Countess of Burlington greeted Lord Hartington warmly. Seated in their exquisitely furnished formal drawing room, Dorothy Boyle swallowed her rancor over the Duchess of Devonshire’s objections, and when William asked for their daughter’s hand in marriage, they both assured him that they welcomed him as a son-in-law.

Richard Boyle quite naturally began to discuss money and property. “Charlotte’s dowry is thirty thousand pounds, and I’ve promised her yearly ‘pin money’ of a thousand. I shall have a bank draft drawn up.”

“There is no hurry for that, I assure you, Lord Burlington. If you will agree to an immediate engagement, I thought perhaps a wedding in the spring, once Charlotte turns seventeen, would please the ladies.”

Richard beamed at his future son-in-law’s consideration.

Dorothy smiled at her husband. “Darling, why don’t you go and get the plans for Burlington Gardens to show William? While you’re off to the library, Will and I can have a cozy chat.”

Since Richard’s great passion was building houses, he rushed off to get the plans.

“The real reason for wanting to wait until the spring is your mother, is it not?” Dorothy spoke with sympathetic understanding.

“Yes,” William admitted. “I’m hoping she will give us her blessing, but if she doesn’t, it will make no difference.”

“Good. Charlotte’s maid, Jane, has confided to me that my daughter’s menses have stopped. Waiting until spring isn’t an option, I’m afraid.”

William, momentarily shocked, colored. “Forgive me, Lady Burlington.”

“Nonsense, my lord, there’s nothing to forgive. December is a lovely month for a wedding. I beg you not let Charlie know I have the faintest notion.”

Richard Boyle returned, his arms filled with plans. He cleared off an eight-foot refectory table and eagerly spread them out.

“Lord Burlington, I fear I am too impatient to wait until spring. Would you be amenable to a December wedding?”

“Certainly, my boy. Come and look at Burlington Gardens. I intend to assign the house to my daughter’s husband for life.”

William gazed down at the plans in disbelief. “You are most generous, Lord Burlington.”

“But not very romantic, I’m afraid. Houses are all very well, Richard, but William wants to propose.” Her eyes met Will’s with understanding. “You’ll find Charlie upstairs.”

The second week of December, Burlington House was filled with a profusion of white hothouse carnations, chrysanthemums, and lilies for the wedding of Lady Charlotte Boyle to William Cavendish, Marquis of Hartington.

Elizabeth Gunning handed the bride her bouquet of white rosebuds and lifted the long train so her friend wouldn’t trip as she descended the staircase in the Pall Mall mansion. Elizabeth, along with William’s sisters, Rachel and Cat, wore identical bridesmaids’ gowns of ice-blue satin over Irish lace. Her heart was overflowing with happiness for Charlie, a stark contrast from the anguish she had felt for her friend a fortnight ago.

Elizabeth had lain sleepless for two nights before she had received Charlie’s note. She shuddered as she remembered her mother snatching it from her fingers before she could read it.

“Have I not made it clear that I will be the first to read any correspondence you receive, Elizabeth?”

Beth’s hands began to shake uncontrollably as her mother read the note from Charlie. She would never breathe a word of her friend’s secret, but that would not matter if Charlie’s words revealed her plight.

“It seems your friend is getting married.” Her mother’s eyes gleamed with envy as she thrust the note at her daughter. “Ask her to teach you how to catch a husband!”

Elizabeth sagged with relief as she read the note.

Elizabeth:

William proposed to me last night. I am the luckiest and the happiest girl in the world!

Love,

Charlie

That night Elizabeth burned the note, along with the one she had received from John. Regretfully, there was nowhere she could keep private letters safe from prying eyes.

Now, as the bride took her place beside the groom, Elizabeth’s thoughts turned to William. Though his father, his brother, and sisters were present, his mother was conspicuously absent. Rumor was rife that the Duchess of Devonshire was so incensed her husband had taken his heir’s side against her wishes that she had decamped from Chatsworth and moved into the rectory at Eyam. Her Grace hoped to become a martyr in the eyes of Society but, instead, the ton whispered that the old duchess had gone mad.

As Elizabeth looked at the handsome groom she fervently hoped his mother hadn’t taken the joy from his union with Charlotte. Her glance traveled to his brother, Charles, standing beside him, and she wished with all her heart that his best friend, John Campbell, could have returned in time for the wedding. John had sent her another letter explaining that since his brother’s regiment was overseas, his mother had begged him to stay in Scotland for Christmas and that he would return to London in January. Sadly, it was another letter she had had to burn.

The Boyles spared no expense on the lavish reception for more than two hundred invited guests. Wedding gifts were displayed in the long picture gallery, a full orchestra played in the ballroom for dancing prior to the formal wedding dinner, and liveried footmen proffered trays filled with flutes of champagne for toasting the newlyweds.

When Maria Gunning danced twice with the young Prince of Wales, George Coventry, madly jealous, asked Elizabeth if he could partner her. Hamilton, guarding his own interests, cut in on his friend George. Then red-haired Michael Boyle, deciding to sow a little mischief among his friends, deliberately cut in on Hamilton. When the music stopped, William’s male friends encircled him, and reached for champagne to offer toasts.

“Too bad John couldn’t be here,” William declared. “Let’s drink to our absent friend.”

Michael Boyle laughed and waggled mischievous eyebrows at Charlie. “Probably couldn’t bear to see Will leg-shackled!”

“He could come back from Scotland leg-shackled himself, for all we know,” Coventry jested.

Boyle saw the fleeting look of distress on Elizabeth’s face. “The ladies of Scotland are reputedly cold with ice in their veins. You’re a Scot, Hamilton, isn’t that true?”

“Yes, but there isn’t one of them who wouldn’t melt at the thought of an estate, or a fine set of bagpipes playing ‘The Campbells Are Coming, Hurrah, Hurrah!’ ”

William laughed. “John does have a fine set of bagpipes!”

Hamilton saw Elizabeth’s cheeks turn a delicate pink. “The party is getting bawdy. Please forgive us, Mistress Gunning—such coarseness is unforgivable.” He led her off to her parents.

When he left, Bridget looked with speculative eyes at Elizabeth. “Dare I hope that you have made a conquest of His Grace?”

“No, Mother,” Elizabeth said faintly. “He was just being kind.”

“Dukes are rather elusive. They’ve had lots of practice eluding the marriage trap. You might have more luck with the Duke of Grafton. He’s been a widower for years.”

John Gunning took his daughter’s hand. He’s also been Dorothy Boyle’s lover for years. “No, Bridget, the Duke of Grafton is completely unsuitable for Elizabeth,” he said firmly.

Hamilton joined Coventry to rub salt into his wounds. “Maria giving you the cold shoulder these days, is she, George? Doesn’t seem like you’ll be winning our wager any time soon.”

“I’ve had her on the brink a couple of times, James, which is far closer than you’ve gotten with her sister, I warrant.”

“You and I go about things differently, George. But I warn you, I play to win.”

“Everyone knows you can’t bear to lose. If you do start to lose, you change the rules. If that doesn’t work, you take your cricket bat and go home.”

His mouth curved in a saturnine smile. “Precisely.”

It was almost midnight when Charlotte, the new Marchioness of Hartington, went upstairs with her bridesmaids to change out of her wedding gown. The newlyweds were spending their wedding night in their new home, Burlington Gardens, and a sleigh with a team of white horses stood ready to transport them across the snow-covered acres that separated the two mansions.

Before Charlie went downstairs, Elizabeth wrapped her in her fur cape and whispered in her ear, “I hope you will always be as happy as you are tonight.”

“Oh, Beth, I don’t think that will be possible. My heart is overflowing with love. I hope John comes back soon. When he does, you will be able to meet here at Burlington Gardens.”

Elizabeth slipped on her winter cloak so that she could follow the newlyweds outside and see them off. Though she stood amidst the crowd of guests who were laughing and waving until the sleigh disappeared through the snowflakes, Elizabeth felt utterly alone.

Shivering, she closed her eyes and fingered the brass button that she had sewn into the lining of her cloak. Suddenly, she was no longer alone, or cold, as John’s warm presence enveloped her.

Inveraray Castle’s great hall was filled to the rafters for the Christmas celebration. Guests staying for the holidays and visiting neighbors from miles around had gathered for the feasting and revelry. The din of raucous laughter mingled with the skirl of pipes grew more deafening with each hour as the Campbells of Argyll lifted horns of October ale and drams of whiskey to mark December 25, 1751.

A forty-foot Douglas fir, trimmed and decorated, stood at one end of the hall, and the air was redolent with the aroma of roasting meat and game. Highland cattle, stags, geese, grouse, and partridge had been on the spits since before dawn, making stomachs growl in anticipation of the Christmas feast.

John’s sister, Anne, and her husband, the Earl of Sutherland, had brought their two children, Fiona and Grace, who dogged John’s footsteps wherever he went. He had just hoisted Gracie so she could reach a piece of marzipan from a silver dish on a high table.

“You seem to like children, and ’tis obvious they adore you.”

John turned to see Mary Montagu, daughter of the Duke of Buccleuch, at his elbow. They were visiting from Buccleuch Castle, their pink sandstone fortress that housed innumerable treasures, including an art collection that boasted dozens of Van Dycks, a Rembrandt, and a Leonardo da Vinci painting. Campbell and Buccleuch ancestors had intermarried, and John was well aware that his mother had invited young Lady Mary in hope of making a match.

John laughed. “Gracie takes shameless advantage because she knows I will indulge her passion for sweets.”

She touched Grace’s chin with her finger. “Lucky girl! What lady would not wish to have you indulge her passion?”

John was saved from the sally by young Fiona trying to steal the dirk from his boot. He cuffed her gently. “Stop that!”

Lady Mary laughed. “Your niece’s passion is weapons. At Boughton House in Northamptonshire we have an armory with a collection of weapons that rivals that of the Tower of London. I would love to show it to you, John.”

His mother, whom he realized must have been watching, joined them and lifted little Gracie from his arms. “John, after New Year, Lady Mary is planning to visit her aunt in London, an arduous and risky journey in wintertime. I told her she must allow you and your captains to act as her escort.”

John bowed. “Mistress Montagu, it would be an honor to escort you safely to London.”

Her glance lingered on his mouth. “How gallant you are! Surely we have known each other long enough for you to call me Mary? We can break our journey at Bowhill in the Borders and Boughton House in Northamptonshire, if you and your captains will accept our hospitality. I shall be able to show you the armory after all.”

I have already been exposed to your weapons, and they are formidable.John knew that he had been outflanked by his mother and the attractive daughter of Buccleuch, which was hard to swallow for a military man. He cursed himself for an unsuspecting fool. He knew he should have kept up his guard; for days his mother had been cataloging the Buccleuchs’ wealth, priceless collections, and property. Her words came back to him now: They say Boughton House resembles a great gray Versailles set down in the heart of England. What a pity it is only occupied for a month each year when they are not in Scotland.

“Ah, you must excuse me. They are about to drag in the Yule log and I’d like to help. It’s supposed to be lucky, you know.”

His mother’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You are already lucky, John. I have seated you and Lady Mary together at dinner.”

Long after midnight, when Inveraray Castle finally lay shrouded in silence, John Campbell climbed to the turrets of the north tower. The icy-cold wind whipped the snow about so that the visibility was nonexistent, but it was a good place to think without distraction. He shook his head at his own folly of offering his dinner partner grouse instead of partridge, as if the game bird must only be eaten by Elizabeth.

Mary Montagu was a great marriage prize, suitable in every way. In a couple of years, when he could no longer put off taking a wife, he had no objection to considering her, if she was still in the market for a husband. But that was for the future. At the moment, he was only interested in the present, in returning to London and taking up where he left off with Elizabeth Gunning. She was his heart’s desire.