Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-One

Elizabeth put her feet up on the seat of the coach that Hamilton had sent. The driver had been instructed to use force if necessary to bring the duchess back to London immediately. She had asked the doctor if she might be carrying the contagion home to her child, but he had assured her that if she hadn’t come down with smallpox by now, the incubation period had passed.

Elizabeth, physically exhausted and emotionally bereft, curled up beneath the carriage rug and tried to sleep. She found it difficult because her conscience was riding her relentlessly. Her sorrow mingled with her guilt until they became inextricably bound together. She somehow felt that because she had broken God’s law, Charlie’s death was her punishment. She told herself she was being ridiculous; the tragic loss was to Charlie’s husband and children. Surely God would not punish them for a sin she had committed? Shakespeare’s condemning words about Lady Macbeth ran through her mind: Not all the perfumes of Arabia will sweeten the stench of her name and of her

adulterous relationship.Elizabeth pressed her face against the squabs and the floodgates opened. Fate was such a cruel bitch, to deprive Lady Charlotte of becoming a duchess when she was so suited to the rank, yet had bestowed the position of duchess upon Elizabeth Gunning, when she hated and detested it.

Once she had cried herself out, Elizabeth did fall asleep. When she awoke her sorrow came rushing back, but she saw that the coach had reached London and knew she would have more trouble to face. She felt sad and weary beyond belief. All she wanted was to see her baby son, take a bath, and go to bed. The last thing she wanted was a confrontation with Hamilton.

She climbed from the coach on shaky legs and went up the steps of the Grosvenor Place house. Servants rushed out for her luggage and the majordomo announced His Grace awaited her in the library.

“You are a sly, manipulative little bitch! You led me to believe you would accompany your mother in the coach behind mine. That was a deliberate lie, and I demand an explanation!” Needing to assert his control, the duke sat behind his massive mahogany desk, knowing it added to his intimidating authority.

Elizabeth met his eyes. “Charlie is dead.”

“Dead?” Shocked, he rose to his feet, staring hard to see if this was some ploy. “What did she die from?”

“Smallpox.”

“Smallpox?” He recoiled so violently that his chair crashed over. “Christ Almighty, you knowingly stayed with her, recklessly exposing yourself to a deadly contagion? Are you insane, madam? I could have you committed to the madhouse for such behavior!”

“She was my dearest friend.”

“Some friend, to expose you to smallpox!” He felt sweat beading on his forehead and reached for his handkerchief to wipe it off. “Now you have thoughtlessly brought it home to me and to my son!”

“The doctor assured me the incubation period was over,” Elizabeth replied wearily.

“Do you not have enough sense to realize that you risked dying? Or worse, having your beauty destroyed by disfiguring pockmarks?”

“The loss of a wife’s beauty is indeed greater than the loss of a wife, but try telling that to your friend, William Cavendish.”

“How dare you be insolent to me, you defiant little baggage?” He took threatening steps toward her then thought better of having contact with her just yet. “I forbid you to see Jamie for the next week. We must be certain that you do not contaminate him.” He looked at her with distaste. “You look abominable! Have you forgotten you are the Duchess of Hamilton? I advise you to spend your days restoring your delicate beauty in time for the Season.”

“I am in mourning, Your Grace. May I retire?”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Get out of my sight.”

After his wife left the library, James sat down, rested his elbows on the desk, and steepled his fingers. Will in mourning might give me the advantage. James had lobbied the king for old Devonshire’s post of Lord Steward of the Royal Household but suspected the king would bestow it upon Devonshire’s son, William. Now, with Cavendish in deep mourning and old Devonshire tottering to the grave, it put a different complexion on matters. I stand a damn good chance of this appointment, if I press my advantage. Surely it should follow, as night follows day, that since I am Hereditary Keeper of Holyrood, I should qualify for the post of Lord Steward of the Royal Household.

Elizabeth encountered Bridget hovering at the top of the stairs. “Mother, will you come to my room and bring Emma and Nan? Ask Nan to leave Jamie in the nursery,” she added reluctantly.

When the three women entered her chamber, they found a dejected Elizabeth sitting on her bed. “How are the babies, Nan? I pray they show no signs of fever or rashes?”

“The bairns are both thriving, ma’am.”

Elizabeth nodded her gratitude. “My friend Lady Charlotte has died of smallpox. Her husband and her mother are grief stricken.”

“I am offended that Dorothy Boyle didn’t see fit to tell me!”

“Dorothy didn’t learn her daughter was gone until she returned to Uppingham. She is devastated. Charlie was her sole surviving child. She and the earl doted on their daughter. I don’t know the details, but the funeral will be private. We must arrange to send flowers. White roses and snowdrops, I think. I shall write letters of condolence, of course.”

“You look ready to drop,” Emma said, turning down the bed.

“I’d like a bath first, please. Nan, I am aching to hold Jamie, but my husband, and I too, think it best that I keep my distance for a few days. The doctor said the incubation period had passed, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Two days’ rest was all Elizabeth needed to restore her looks and vitality. Her emotions were another thing entirely. She knew instinctively that her sadness would not lift until she had mourned Charlie. There would always be a tender place in her heart for the girl who had befriended her without reserve. She had just finished writing a letter to the Earl and Countess of Burlington when she heard a tap on her door. Curious, she called, “Come in.”

Jack Gunning entered and closed the door quietly. “Beth, I am so sorry for your loss. I know how much Charlie meant to you.”

Beth brushed away a tear. “I talk to her every day,” she said brightly. “An odd Irish thing to do, I suppose.”

“Elizabeth, there’s been a gulf between us since you wed Hamilton. I’m sorry if this marriage brought you unhappiness, but at the time I couldn’t go against your mother.”

“You found enough courage since then to be unfaithful.”

“I’m so sorry you found Dorothy and I together.”

“I can’t condemn you. Let him without sin cast the first stone.”

Jack’s blue eyes widened as the implication of her words sank in. He did not ask who the man was; he didn’t need to. “From your mother’s complaints I gather that you too have gained courage.”

Elizabeth smiled. “She was a paper tiger. The moment I stood up to her, she crumpled. My fear of her vanished into thin air.”

“I rejoice that you are no longer that timid seventeen-year-old girl. In little more than a year you have become a woman in her own right. Baby James is a credit to you, my beauty.”

“He’s my entire world. Let’s go and visit him!” I’ll wait no longer to hold my son. Who the devil will tell Hamilton anyway? Certainly not Nan, Emma, Morton, nor Mr. Burke. Even Mother knows which side her bread is buttered on. Elizabeth kissed her father’s cheek. “I’ve missed our time together. How about giving me a fencing lesson tomorrow?”

Elizabeth was mildly surprised when the duke was home in time for dinner. He spent little time at Grosvenor Place. She donned one of her plainer dinner gowns and joined him in the dining room.

“Good evening, Your Grace. My appetite is improving daily.”

He ignored the small talk and frowned. “Why are you in gray?”

“It . . . it’s a mourning color.”

“We are not in mourning.” He poured himself a whiskey.

“I am mourning,” she asserted.

“Then do it privately.” He changed the subject immediately. “I’m joining you for dinner so we can discuss plans for our ball. Ours was the most successful of the Season last year. This year, I want ours to be the first. Since they’re all the rage, I’ve decided it shall be a masquerade.”

Elizabeth could not believe what she was hearing. “When our good friend is bereaved, I think a ball would be in bad taste.”

“I am the Duke of Hamilton. Nothing I do is in bad taste.” His tone forbade contradiction. “The costumier will be here tomorrow. I would like to see you gowned as the Queen of Scots.”

Elizabeth could not repress a shudder as the vision she had seen at Holyrood Palace came full-blown into her mind. I cannot! Her inner voice contradicted, You mean you will not!

“You may show off Jamie to our guests. Perhaps we can have a small golden crown made for him so he can be King James Stuart?”

Surely he is jesting?“Jamie is to represent King James, the child, while you no doubt will be King James, the man?” Her sarcasm was exquisite, but inside she was quailing.

“Brilliant idea! Beauty and brains in a wife is a rare combination. Something Coventry will never enjoy.”

Elizabeth’s chin went up. “Maria is my sister, Your Grace.”

“Difficult to believe. She has neither mind nor morals.”

She stood up defiantly. “I’ll have no part of this charade!”

“Sit down.” He drained his whiskey. “I have the means to make you obey my every whim, madam.”

Suddenly Elizabeth found it difficult to breathe. Surely the swine wouldn’t use her baby to control her? She slowly sat down.

That night in bed, she could not sleep until she devised a plan for the ball that would appease him yet give her the freedom of choice she was finding so difficult to live without.

When the costumier arrived the following day, Elizabeth stood patiently while the woman measured her for the Mary, Queen of Scots costume and took her advice on which neck-ruff would be most flattering. When all was decided, Elizabeth held out a pair of ruby earrings. “I need another costume made for the ball, but I insist upon secrecy. It is to be a special surprise for my husband. If I can count on your discretion, these will be yours.”

“Your Grace, I understand completely. Many ladies wish their costumes to be a surprise. You may rely upon me to keep mum.”

“Excellent! I would like to disguise myself as a male. Black satin formal knee breeches and coat, with perhaps a gray waistcoat. I want a subdued look, nothing flashy. I’ll need a black tie-wig and black shoes, of course.”

“I shall have all ready for your first fitting within the week.”

“Thank you. On that day the rubies will be yours.”

When the woman left, Elizabeth made her way toward the nursery.

She had decided to spend every possible hour that she could with Jamie. God alone knew when Hamilton would take it into his perverse head to separate her from her child. On her way past the dining room she saw Mr. Burke cleaning silver. She had taken to avoiding him because he kindled her guilt. Today, however, she was so worried that John Campbell might show up in disguise at their ball that she decided she must speak with him.

“Mr. Burke, I suppose you are aware that the duke insists that we hold the first ball of the Season at Grosvenor Place, even though I am in mourning?”

“Yes, Your Grace. A masquerade ball, I believe.”

She hesitated then plunged in. “We have a mutual acquaintance who must not take advantage and attend in disguise.”

“That would be impossible, Your Grace. Our mutual acquaintance has been posted to France.”

Elizabeth drew in a swift breath. War will be declared any day! Surely if England is at war the Season will be greatly curtailed? “Thank you, Mr. Burke.” Don’t die, John. Just don’t die!

That evening, once she had tucked Jamie into his cradle, she went along to her parents’ wing, ostensibly for the fencing lesson, but more for an opportunity to talk with her father. “Have you heard anything about war being declared?” she asked anxiously.

“Actual fighting has been going on for more than a year between the English and French in India and America. It’s inevitable that war will soon be declared and fought in Europe, my beauty.”

“Do you know when we will be at war?”

“If Newcastle wasn’t such a dithering old woman, he would have declared war already. Last night at White’s I heard that Minorca in the Mediterranean had been captured by the French fleet.”

“Minorca is an English possession?”

“Aye. In spite of Newcastle, the king will act tomorrow or next day—his electorate of Hanover has been overrun by the French army.”

“That will effectively put a stop to all the balls and parties.”

Jack threw back his head and laughed at his daughter’s naivete. “The number of galas will double and will be twice as spectacular. The Court will put on a magnificent show to prove England’s superiority and royal ascendancy over the French, even if our army suffers calamity . . . especially if our army suffers calamity.”

Elizabeth’s hand flew to her throat. “We must not lose!”

Her father handed her a sword and winked. “Better get on with the lesson so you can defend yourself when the Frenchies come.”

The following day Elizabeth took Jamie to show him off to her sister. “Maria, you have red spots on your face! My God, have you been feeling unwell?”

“Stop worrying! I shan’t die like your silly friend, Charlie.” Maria looked smug. “As a matter of fact I have had bouts of morning sickness lately. I believe I’m with child.”

“That’s wonderful, Maria, but what about the spots?” Elizabeth could hardly breathe for anxiety.

“It’s not very polite of you to mention them, Beth. Every once in awhile I get face eruptions. I don’t know the cause, but the cure is simple enough. I simply cover them with maquillage. ”

“Do you mean the white lead paste? Perhaps that’s the cause!”

“What nonsense. You always did have quaint notions. The palest shade of pink paste has been named Maria in my honor. You’ll see, it will be all the rage when the Season begins.”

“I’ve brought your invitation to our masquerade ball. I think it totally inappropriate for us to entertain so soon after Charlie’s death, but James is bent on opening the Season.”

“Tsk, tsk, Elizabeth, I’ve never heard you criticize your duke before. You never did know how to handle him.” Maria touched her hair. “I think I shall attend your ball as Lady Godiva. Rather appropriate since I’m Countess of Coventry, and it will give the ton something to gossip about. I hope you are inviting Prince George.”

“I can’t imagine James not inviting royalty. Why do you ask?”

Her sister gave her an arch look. “I wish to add him to my list of conquests. I’ve had a viscount, an earl, a marquis, and a duke. In the great hierarchy, a prince is next in line for my favors, and George is the only prince I know.”

Maria’s fabrications are preposterous. I suppose that’s what comes of being taught to act stage roles from the age of two. It becomes difficult to tell fantasy from reality.Elizabeth’s inner voice mocked: Don’t use that excuse for your own infidelity. You knew exactly what you were doing!

Beth dropped a guilty kiss on her son’s head. “I must be going. Jamie is getting restless. I brought him to see his aunt Maria, but she has hardly glanced at him,” she said lightly.

Maria waved a dismissive hand. “Babies are all the same.”

“Until you have your own.” Elizabeth didn’t take offense. “Good-bye. Give my love to George. I haven’t seen him in months.”

“I shall give him your love. He will never have mine.”

Beth shook her head. Maria was Maria; she would never change.

War was declared against France two days before the Duke and Duchess of Hamilton’s masquerade ball, guaranteeing its success. London’s nobility was in a mood to celebrate.

On the night of the ball, Elizabeth donned her Mary, Queen of Scots costume with Emma’s help then told her to go downstairs to enjoy the party. Beth went along to the nursery to have a word with Nan. “I shall bring him back upstairs at the first opportunity, and we’ll put him to bed. It’s wicked to put a baby on display and parade him about like a trophy.” As she dressed him in his elaborately embroidered christening robe, Jamie gurgled and pulled on a curl of her red wig.

James entered the nursery, resplendent in his King James Stuart costume. His critical eye fell upon Elizabeth, and he ordered her to turn around so he could view her from all angles. When he found no fault, he placed his hand on his sword and bowed, waiting for Elizabeth to curtsy.

Beth grit her teeth. It was anathema for her to abase herself and bow down to him. She knew he did it to show that he controlled her. She wanted to fly at him and scratch out his eyes, but the thought of him taking Jamie from her made her mask her temper. She sank into a low curtsy and waited for the “king” to raise her.

Hamilton opened the box he’d brought with him. “I had this ermine cape made for baby James and this gold circlet, of course.”

Elizabeth was seething. Her hands actually trembled as she put the ridiculous costume on her baby. “Ready, Your Majesty!”

The royal trio became the center of attention before they even got to the ballroom. Their guests, all wearing elaborate disguises, gushed over the little lordling, who seemed to thrive on the attention. He began to crow, and everyone except Elizabeth dissolved in laughter. Smile. You are the Duchess of Hamilton.

The liveried servants circulated with silver trays of drinks, and everyone began to drink toasts to the Royal Family. Elizabeth knew that once Hamilton had consumed enough liquor he would lose interest in her and hopefully their son, Jamie.

It seemed that everyone in London had decided to attend the first entertainment of the Season. Not only was there a crush of people in the ballroom, but the rest of the spacious rooms were beginning to fill up too. When Maria arrived wearing the flesh-colored, skin-tight gown and the long blond wig that brushed her thighs, she caused a sensation. Elizabeth watched her husband join the throng that followed Maria to the ballroom and spied her chance to leave. She took Jamie upstairs and handed him over to Nan.

In her own chamber she carefully removed the elaborate Mary, Queen of Scots costume, neck-ruff, and red wig and put them out of sight in the wardrobe. Then she wiped her face clean of cosmetics. She put on white hose and a white shirt and tied the stock in a simple style. She donned the gray waistcoat and black satin suit then slipped her feet into black shoes. She took the black tie-wig over to the mirror and carefully covered her own golden hair, making sure no tendrils escaped. Finally, she fastened on the smallsword she had used for years when fencing with her father.

Elizabeth was both surprised and pleased at the reflection of the sober young man who stared back at her from the looking glass. Not only was Beth fulfilling Charlie’s fantasy, but she was finally dressed in mourning for her friend. Charlie, this is for you.

She descended the stairs quickly and mingled with the crowd. Her heart was hammering at the daring thing she was attempting, but as she walked about unobtrusively, none took much notice of her, and her pulsebeat settled down to almost normal. She bowed to Newcastle, the Prime Minister, and thought he would have made a better woman than a swashbuckling seafarer.

Some of their guests’ disguises were very good, and Elizabeth could not guess their identities, but there was no mistaking Prince George in a Hussar’s uniform. She decided that if the prince was close, Maria would not be far. She turned around and came face to face with Lady Godiva. Beth bowed gallantly, and spoke in a deep voice. “Who could this be in such a spectacular costume? I’m sure I know you.”

“In the biblical sense, no doubt,” said a sardonic voice behind her. Elizabeth stiffened. The voice belonged to her husband.

As Maria swept past her to take Prince George’s arm, Beth turned to Hamilton. “I beg your pardon?” she said coldly.

“No apology necessary.” He lifted his glass in mocking salute. “She’s a whore—both Lady Godiva and the female portraying her.”

Elizabeth was incensed. She wanted to draw her sword and run him through. “You are an uncouth swine, sir! No gentleman would impugn a lady’s honor by repeating such vile gossip.”

“Not gossip, m’boy. I speak from personal experience. The Beauty has spread her legs more than once for me lately. Now she’s set on fucking a prince. Sorry, you don’t stand a chance.”

As the sneering Hamilton walked away, Elizabeth stared after him. Blood rushed to her cheeks and pounded at her temples.