Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

James went straight to the library to search his desk drawers. “Where in hellfire did I put those rings?” He had had the rings designed by the best jeweler, had taken delivery of them, then forgotten to take them to the chapel. “Bloody memory lapses happen too frequently of late.” When he did not find them he went to his bedchamber where Morton, his valet, awaited him.

“Congratulations on your marriage, Your Grace.” When he learned the duke would be bringing home a duchess, he had been cynical, expecting the new mistress to be a bitch of the first water. Downstairs, however, when he saw the beautiful, innocent girl, who could not be above seventeen, his heart went out to her.

Hamilton threw him an accusing look. “You let me go without the rings. Find them.” He watched him open the top bureau drawer and take out a velvet box. He allowed Morton to remove his coat and his shoes. “Get my brown robe. That will be all . . . for now.”

As he disrobed, he chuckled at the rarity. He hadn’t undressed himself for the last two years. Didn’t even remember arriving home in the small hours during that time. His coachman delivered him, then Morton put him to bed. He paid well for their services.

He donned the robe and opened the velvet box. The pigeon-blood ruby surrounded by white diamonds was perfect, just as his bride was a perfect jewel. He’d provide the setting that would show off her exquisite beauty, so that everyone, from the king down, would covet the prize he alone possessed. She was everything he demanded in a duchess—young, beautiful, soft-spoken, and innocent.

James refused to believe that his young wife aroused lust in him or decadent sexual desire. These things were reserved for whores. He never wanted her touched by carnality or base sensuality, because she would be the mother of his sons. He smiled with satisfaction. His chaste bride, as beautiful inside as outside, was perfection. She had just become his most precious possession. He slipped the box into his pocket and made his way to his bride’s chamber.

Elizabeth, in a white silk night rail, her hair brushed into a cloud of gold, sat in the huge bed like a doll. As the duke sat down on the bed, her violet eyes widened, their black pupils still dilated from laudanum. She wanted to run from the chamber, from the mansion, from London—but her paralyzed legs would not move. She saw him open a velvet box, felt him remove the brass ring from her finger, then watched him slip on a gold wedding band followed by a jeweled ring. She gazed down at the red heart surrounded by glittering gems. It’s St. Valentine’s. So many red hearts . . . the symbol of love. How ironic. She said what he expected her to say and knew it would become a pattern. “Thank you. It’s lovely.”

“You have delicate hands. They were made for jewels.”

She glanced at his hands. They were square with spatulate fingers, a sign of one who would have his way at any cost. She glanced away quickly; they were hands that could inflict pain.

“Elizabeth, you are extremely young and innocent. I must consummate the marriage, and I regret that I may hurt you. I understand that physical union is naturally distasteful to a well-bred lady but I’m sure you will endure it bravely.”

Elizabeth was far from sure. They were strangers. James Hamilton had never even kissed her, nor did she want him to. Nay, they were more than strangers—they were adversaries. With growing panic she watched him snuff only some of the candles. She lowered her lashes so he would not see the raw fear in her eyes. She heard the rustle of his robe as he removed it then felt the mattress dip. She was shocked to find him naked as he moved over her. She tried to separate herself as she’d done in the chapel but could not escape. She lay motionless as he slid the night rail to her waist.

He gazed down at her as if mesmerized. She was unearthly fair and delicate, finer in every way than any other female he had known. Her skin was like porcelain, her flesh translucent as pearl, her breasts sheer perfection. He drank in her ethereal beauty like a man parched and reached out to stroke her softness. Suddenly, his hand stilled. If he caressed her, he’d lose control. If he allowed himself to slake his lust and lose himself in her body, all his power would be transferred to her. She would be the one in control. For long moments he let himself look without touching, then he drew her night rail back up to cover her breasts.

Elizabeth feared he would remove her night rail completely, but he merely inched it up over her thighs. Then his hands urged her legs apart, and he lay between them, breathing heavily. When he tried to penetrate her, she was fever dry and knew he was having difficulty. On the third attempt he entered her partway.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No,” she murmured and bit down on her lips to prevent from crying out, determined to endure in silence.

He thrust farther, and Elizabeth doubted she would be able to endure his body inside hers. His rigid shaft would not be denied and, in spite of her resolve, she could not hold back a cry of distress as he seated himself to the hilt.

“I did hurt you.” His voice held a note of satisfaction. “There should be pain, Elizabeth, when a virgin bride’s hymen is penetrated. Don’t hold back your cries.”

A sudden panic engulfed her. I’m no longer virgin. Dear God, what will he do to me when there is no blood? She felt him begin to move. There was nothing tentative about the onslaught as he thrust forcefully. Though it hurt immensely, her pride refused to let her cry out. But by the time he spent, she had reached the end of her endurance. Her fists clenched tightly, and she became aware that the jeweled ring had slipped around her finger to the inside and was cruelly cutting into her palm. She squeezed her hand tighter, realizing it would draw blood. As she pushed the white silk night rail down to cover her thighs, she prayed desperately that the drops of blood would save her from Hamilton’s wrath.

He rolled off her, but before he left the bed, he gazed down with hooded eyes, saw her tears, and smiled. “I did hurt you, but you were afraid to cry out.” He kissed her brow. “Sorry, Elizabeth.”

She heard the chamber door close and knew at last she was alone. She lay absolutely still, drained of all emotion. She did not dare allow herself to think of John Campbell or her heart would break.

Morton was astounded when Hamilton returned to his own chamber and began to dress. The bastard is going out on his wedding night!

It had taken the duke less than an hour to consummate the marriage with his lovely young bride. Then Morton realized that a virgin would be of little use to a debauched profligate like Hamilton. Though he knew he could not protect the young duchess from her husband, he decided to let her know that she had an ally in him.

When Elizabeth awoke the next morning, she realized with a sinking heart that it had not been a nightmare. It was very real. No matter how much she wished otherwise, she was married to the Duke of Hamilton. She was served breakfast in bed, then she took her bath. She saw Kate Agnew whisk away the night rail with the telltale drops of blood upon it and set out a new one. It too was embroidered with a coronet and the initials EH for Elizabeth Hamilton. Then Kate brought her a morning gown to wear.

“The tradespeople are waiting, Your Grace. Three dressmakers, a boot maker, a wig maker, and a jeweler. If you will go into the sitting room, I will show them in.”

The modiste took measurements of her height, waist, and bust, then in quick succession Elizabeth had her foot, head, and even her wrist measured. The dressmakers presented books filled with dress designs for daytime and evening wear and showed her dozens of samples of material in every shade under the sun. The wig maker vied for her attention with his own designs and samples, while the jeweler knelt to one side trying to tempt her with a display cabinet filled with gem-studded necklaces and bracelets.

She cast a look at Kate Agnew that clearly asked for help.

“His Grace left instructions to choose anything you desire.”

Perversely, Elizabeth did not want the things Hamilton’s money could buy her. Yet instinctively she guessed that if she refused them, he would find a way to punish her. She turned from the goldsmith and began to examine the material. Silks, satins, laces, taffetas, tulles, and velvets ran the gamut from pale pastel through vibrant bold colors to deep rich jewel tones. She had never seen anything as lovely as the cloth before her, which had come from such far-off lands as France, Italy, and the Orient. Tentatively, and not without pleasure, she made some selections.

Just before noon the Duke of Hamilton strode into her sitting room. Ignoring everyone else, he walked a direct path to her.

Elizabeth stood immediately. She did not want him towering over her. She did not curtsy, but murmured politely, “Your Grace.”

He lifted her fingers to his lips. “Good morning, Elizabeth.” After gazing at her possessively for a full minute, he deigned to notice the others. He instantly took exception to the samples of one dressmaker. “These won’t do at all. The quality is totally unacceptable. This lady is the Duchess of Hamilton,” he said with emphasis. “Only the best is good enough for my wife.” He turned to Elizabeth. “Show me what you have chosen.”

Hesitantly, Elizabeth pointed to the apricot silk, the turquoise satin, and a black velvet. She realized her mistake immediately, when he rejected them in favor of his own selections.

“The blush-colored silk will show off your flawless complexion to perfection, and the dull gold satin, when trimmed with sable fur, will be a striking contrast with your glorious hair. I forbid you to wear black—it is too sophisticated, too worldly-wise.”

Elizabeth knew it was the control, not the colors, that was paramount. She watched him select styles with extremely low-cut necklines, and he chose the material and shades.

“I have a luncheon appointment, so I’ll leave you to it. Indulge yourself, Elizabeth. Whatever you desire.”

She gathered her courage. “I desire . . . that is, I should like to visit my friend Lady Charlotte this afternoon.”

His brows lowered, and he took her aside so his words would not be overheard. “I’d rather you didn’t visit Lady Hartington today. The king’s drawing room is in a few days. I’ve sent word that the Duke and Duchess of Hamilton will be attending. The Court will be agog to learn who my bride is, and I want to surprise them.”

She lowered her lashes so that he would not see her resentment. “As you wish,” she acquiesced.

Hamilton’s luncheon appointment was with George Coventry, and he couldn’t wait. He hadn’t attended the morning session in the House, since he’d been out until dawn, but knew his friend wouldn’t miss it. He spotted Coventry at their usual table.

“James, I’m surprised you weren’t at Leicester House last night. Quite a crush. Mistress Elizabeth Gunning was in great demand.”

“You enjoy taunting me, George. How long until your wedding?”

“Only three weeks. If you’ll do the honors and consent to be my groomsman, we can make the final arrangements.”

“Of course. It’s only fitting since we will be brothers-in-law.” He gave him a large envelope with the Hamilton crest on it.

“Brothers-in-law? Don’t tell me you intend to follow my lead and ask Mistress Elizabeth Gunning to marry you?”

“She is Elizabeth Gunning no longer, George. She is Elizabeth Douglas, Duchess of Hamilton. We were wed in a secret ceremony last night at the wedding chapel in Shepherd’s Market.”

“You are jesting! Surely this is a hoax, James?”

“Look in the envelope.”

George slit the wax seal with his thumbnail, expecting to see a marriage license. Instead, it was a silk night rail embroidered with a coronet and the initials EH. It had spots of blood on it.

“You bastard! You had to trump me, no matter what it took!”

“Don’t be a poor loser, George. It’s bad form.”

“It’s not the money, it’s the principle of the goddamn thing!” He could not hide his disgust. “You’ll have my bank draft today.”

“That’s civilized of you, old man.”

“Yes, but don’t expect John Campbell to be civilized when he learns you have snatched the prize while his back was turned.”

“Anticipating his reaction gives me even more pleasure than anticipating yours did. What, you’re not leaving, George?”

“I’m not hungry. You make my gorge rise.”

John Campbell saddled a mount in Inveraray stables and rode out across Argyll, keeping to the well-worn tracks. He had been a soldier since he was fifteen, and commanded men for more than a decade; though battle had hardened him to death, he found it difficult to lose men under his command. But it did not compare with losing a brother. He had lost part of himself with Henry’s death, yet conversely a part of Henry would be with him always. They rode together now across their land. It was not yet spring in the Highlands, but winter had loosened its cruel grip and the deep snows were beginning to melt. He spotted a red stag with a majestic rack of antlers and knew they would soon be in rut, seeking mates.

John had been amazed at how brave his mother had been at the news of her son’s death. His father too had shown his mettle and his courage over the devastating loss. When Henry’s body arrived and they laid him to rest, John had vowed to be strong for them. But in truth they had turned to each other, and it was their deep and abiding love that had carried them through and comforted them in their darkest hour. All his life he’d scoffed at love. Perhaps he’d been wrong. Perhaps, on rare occasions, it was possible for two people to fall and stay in love. As he drew his fur-lined doublet close about his neck, he envied his parents their marriage.

His duty to take a wife and beget an heir weighed heavily upon him now that his brother was gone. Though his parents had said nothing on the subject, his sister, Anne, had not been reticent.

“John, it is time you wed and produced an heir. You’re the last of the male line. It’s selfish and immature for a man your age not to settle down with a wife and family. It is your duty, in fact.”

Cynically, he wondered if she’d be pressing him if she had produced sons rather than daughters. “You always did have a penchant for the obvious, Anne.” The moment he said it, John felt guilty. His sister too was mourning.

He filled his lungs with the icy air and lifted his eyes to a bank of dark clouds that was gathering ominously above. It matched his mood. Then suddenly, the sun broke through and a bright beam of light shone down, illuminating a craggy outcrop of rock that towered before him. It enlightened his thoughts. Life was fleeting and unpredictable—why should he waste it in a dreary, dutiful marriage without affection? For the first time he allowed himself to seriously consider making Elizabeth Gunning his wife.

Though her background was unimportant to him, his family would be shocked and disapproving for a pedigree was paramount to the nobility. But once it was a fait accompli, there would be nothing they could do about it, and eventually they might come to accept her. Tucked in his shirt pocket, the golden curl he had stolen from her lay against his heart. He missed her so much he ached from it. Was it possible that he had fallen in love? As he turned his horse back toward Inveraray Castle, he mocked himself for a lovesick fool. But he knew he’d return to London with all speed.

At Grosvenor Place, Elizabeth was being readied for Court. She had bathed, and her body had been powdered all over. Next she had sat in her shift in the dressing room for two hours while her nails were buffed and polished, her maquillage applied, and a specially trained coiffeuse styled her hair. From time to time the Duke of Hamilton came to approve the effect they were creating.

“Let me see her in the blush-pink silk,” he instructed Kate Agnew, who in turn signaled two maids to begin the dressing. First came a boned corset that emphasized her tiny waist and thrust her breasts upward and outward most provocatively. Next came a full-skirted petticoat, then they lifted the gown over her head and stood aside so the duke could apprise their efforts. “No, that isn’t the effect I desire. Try the ivory damask.” He returned to his own dressing room where Morton, his valet, waited to shave him.

When he came back he seemed happier. “Exquisite.” Yet still he wasn’t satisfied. “Isn’t there a wig just that shade of ivory?”

“May I wear my own hair, Your Grace?” Elizabeth asked softly.

He looked ready to grant her wish, then smiled. “No, the wig.”

The coiffeuse, who had spent more than an hour on her hair, fitted on the elaborate ivory powdered wig without demur.

Hamilton handed Agnew a small key. “Try the ruby necklace.”

When the duke returned he was dressed in satin breeches and an ivory brocade coat. He too wore a wig, and his outfit was completed by an ornate small sword. “Not the rubies. Get the pearls . . . not the short ones. I want the expanse of her breasts left uncovered.” The creamy pearls fell in a waterfall from her indecently low-cut neckline to down below her waist. When Hamilton selected a beauty spot and placed it on the curve of her breast, Elizabeth blushed, vividly remembering the last time she had worn one.

He handed her an ivory fan and led her before the cheval glass. “You are perfect.”

As she gazed at the creature in the mirror, she thought that Elizabeth had disappeared and someone else had taken her place. But she admitted that the effect of ivory and cream was arresting.

“I’ll get her cape,” Kate Agnew said.

“There’s a new one on her bed,” Hamilton directed.

The servant held the fur with awe. “It’s ermine!”

“A Duchess of the Realm is entitled to wear ermine.”

James made sure the royal reception was well underway before they arrived. The Spring Season had begun in earnest—everyone who was anyone had returned to London and, by the carriages crowded in the courtyard, obviously had flocked to St. James’s Palace. At the doors of the presence chamber he gave their names to the liveried flunky.

“The Duke and Duchess of Hamilton.”

The amazing announcement caused the crowd of courtiers to turn from the door where the king was to enter toward the new arrivals. Until this moment most had not known there was a Duchess of Hamilton and all were eager to see the paragon he had chosen. A buzz went up immediately as the ducal couple entered the chamber. It was followed by a breathless hush as their eyes fell on the ethereal vision in ivory. Someone whispered, “It’s one of the Beauties!” The murmurs spread in a wave. “Hamilton has taken one of the Gorgeous Gunnings for his duchess!” People on the outer edge of the crowd, standing against the tapestried walls, climbed on chairs so they could get a better look.

King George entered and saw only his courtiers’ backs. Loudly clearing his throat brought on a paroxysm of coughing that effectively reclaimed everyone’s attention. The crowd quickly shuffled into a semicircle about the monarch, and he began a slow progression. He stopped before Hamilton, his eyes bulging out of his head when he saw who the duke was escorting.

“The lady graces our Court with her beauty.”

“Your Majesty, my duchess and I are honored.”

“Eh? What?” The king, glancing at the ermine cape over Hamilton’s arm, realized its significance. Elizabeth went down into a deep curtsy before him, and his bulbous eyes became transfixed on the twin curves of creamy flesh displayed so enticingly for his pleasure. His anger at the marriage receded as he took her hand and kissed it. “Her Grace will always be a welcome addition to our Court.” He fondled her fingers for a full minute before he raised her. “I claim the first dance, Hamilton.”

“Elizabeth! I cannot believe you married James without telling me.” Charlie, with her husband, Will, in tow, had rushed across the ballroom the moment the king relinquished her friend.

Beth looked into Charlie’s eyes, trying to communicate her deep aversion. “I refused him, but my parents accepted. They gave me no choice!”

“Your parents made a grand marriage for you, Elizabeth,” Will acknowledged before his wife said something inappropriate.

“My lady marchioness,” Hamilton drawled as he joined them. “Will, it’s good to see you. I hope marriage gives you as much satisfaction as it does me. Our small circle of friends will all have wives when George weds at Easter. All except John, of course, unless there is truth in the rumor that he eloped to Scotland.”

“No truth whatsoever,” Will said grimly. “Did you not hear that Henry Campbell was killed in action on the Continent?”

Elizabeth gasped. A loud buzzing began in her ears; she went icy cold then hot. The floor seemed to rise up and hit her in the face. She fanned herself frantically to keep from fainting.

“Young Henry? That’s tragic news.” He searched his wife’s face. “Are you all right, my dear? Did you know the young man?”

“I met him in Ireland.” Mother lied to me! John did not go to Scotland to get married. Oh, John, my love, how will you bear your brother’s death? She had an overwhelming desire to find him and comfort him. The rest of the evening was a blur to her. People continually offered congratulations to the newlyweds. She danced, she conversed, and later she recalled that at one point the duke ordered, “Smile. You are the Duchess of Hamilton.”

At midnight, the duke took her home in the carriage. “I wager you are the most beautiful duchess to ever grace the king’s Court. I was the envy of every man who saw you on my arm.” When they arrived home the majordomo descended the steps of Hamilton House, opened the carriage door, and helped her to alight. The duke remained seated. “Good night, Elizabeth.” The coach departed with Hamilton inside.

Relief swept over her. She was exhausted from being on display and smiling for hours, but at least she knew she would be free of his dominant presence until tomorrow. He had only come to her bed twice since the night they were married, but the paralyzing fear that he would come each night never left her.

It seemed to take an eon for Kate Agnew to remove her jewels, wig, makeup, and gown, and ready her for bed. The woman hovered over her like a spider and reported every word she uttered. When she was finally alone Elizabeth walked over to the mirror and stared at herself. Smile. You are the Duchess of Hamilton. Tears welled in her eyes and slowly spilled down her cheeks.

Two days later, John Campbell arrived in London. He spent the afternoon catching up on business matters and dictating correspondence to his secretary, Robert Hay, and he thought about seeing Elizabeth with growing excitement. He was almost tempted to call on her at Great Marlborough Street, then thought better of it. He would much rather see her alone than in the presence of her parents. They would learn of his intentions soon enough if Beth agreed to let him court her. Instead, he made his way to Burlington Gardens.

Charlotte stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “John, we are so sorry about Henry. He was so full of life. It doesn’t seem possible.”

Will embraced him. “We are glad we knew him and will never forget the good times we shared.”

“Thank you.” John took Charlie’s hands. “Look at you! You are absolutely blooming. I take it you highly recommend marriage.”

Charlie’s hand caressed her midsection. “My waist has totally disappeared. I shall look like a little barrel before long.”

“You exude such happiness it makes me envious. To that end, Charlie, could you invite Elizabeth tomorrow so I can see her?”

Her face froze into an unhappy mask. “That would be impossible.”

John looked from Charlie to Will. “What is it?”

“Hamilton made Elizabeth his duchess last week.”

John looked at them as if he did not comprehend their words.

“Elizabeth is married to Hamilton,” Charlie said quietly.

He stood staring at them for a full minute before he broke his silence. “I’ll kill him!”