The American Duchess (12 page)

Miss Alden looked startled. “I don’t think I understand, Your Grace,” she replied cautiously.

Tracy told her about the morning’s incident.
“Why
didn’t that child say anything about his tooth?” she asked rhetorically and then answered herself. “Because he didn’t think he was important enough to matter, that’s why.” She put down her cup with some abruptness. “An American would look you right in the eye, tell you he had a toothache, and damn well expect you to pay attention. And if you didn’t, he’d soon find another job.”

“There aren’t that many jobs available in England, Your Grace,” said Miss Alden softly.

“So it seems. And the ones that are available all seem to involve creeping about under the feet of somebody else. It all makes me terribly uncomfortable.”

Miss Alden looked at Tracy for a moment in silence. “I hadn’t thought of it like that,” she said slowly. “As an American, I suppose it is rather difficult to adapt to our ways.”

Tracy met the governess’ eyes, her own very somber. Making one more attempt to break through the class barrier between them, she said, “I could use a friend. Miss Alden.”

After a moment the older woman smiled. “I should be happy to be your friend, Your Grace.”

“Thank God!” Tracy said devoutly. Miss Alden laughed and Tracy went on. “Please, won’t you call me Tracy? There is hardly a soul in this whole country who calls me by my own name.
It makes me feel very lonely sometimes.”

“All right,” said Miss Alden, hesitating. “Tracy.”

Tracy smiled her irresistible smile. “It is not that I mean to complain, Elizabeth, but everything is still very strange to me. And I don’t like to bother the Duke with all my little problems. He is so very busy, you see.”

Miss Alden did see. For the first time she saw Tracy as she was; not as the Duchess, but as a young girl who found herself in a strange land far from all the people she had always known and understood. She was so beautiful, and seemed so assured, that Miss Alden had forgotten that she was only nineteen. “I shall always be happy to try to sort things out for you, Tracy,” she said gently.

“Thank you so much, Elizabeth.” Tracy’s eyes moved beyond Miss Alden’s shoulder and her smile warmed to radiance. The governess knew, without looking, who had come into the room behind her.

“Would you like to go for a drive with me,
ma mie?”
a soft, familiar voice inquired.

“I’d love to,” said Tracy and as Miss Alden watched from the window a few minutes later, the Duke and Duchess drove together down the wide drive. Tracy was looking at her husband and laughing at something he had said to her.

Watching them, Miss Alden felt a sharp pang of envy and her sympathy for Tracy considerably lessened. How could one feel sorry for a girl who was married to the Duke of Hastings?

Chapter 15

But speaking of the beauty that we mean, which is only it that appeareth in bodies, and especially in the face of man, and moveth this fervent coveting which we call love ...

—The Book of the Courtier

Toward the end of September, Tracy told her husband the news she had been harboring for almost two months. They had had an especially pleasant day, driving into Brighton where Adrian had shown her the sights, particularly the Regent’s Palace, which she had found unbelievable. They returned home for a late dinner together and then went to bed.

It had started to rain shortly after their return home, but the night was warm and the Duke had opened the window. Lying close along his body in the sweet, damp night air, Tracy felt more peaceful and happy than she had for many weeks. Her eyes closed, she listened to the slowing beat of his heart.    “Adrian?” she murmured.

His hand was slowly caressing her hair. “Mmm?” he said deeply.

“I’m going to have a baby.”

He didn’t say anything, but the hand that was stroking her hair stilled. After a minute she raised her head and looked into the dark blue of his eyes. “Are you pleased?’“ she asked softly.

“Very pleased.” He spoke slowly, gravely. “Are you certain?”

“Yes. I went to see Dr. Brixton yesterday. It will be in March.” Satisfied by what she saw on his face, she rested her head once more on his shoulder. “It will be a boy,” she murmured contentedly.

“Why do you say that,
ma mie?”

“Because you will want a boy, and you always get what you want.”

At that he laughed, deep down in his throat. “I begin to think you may be right,” he answered and, very gently, he kissed the top of her head. In a few minutes she was asleep.

* * * *

She had pleased him with her news, and she wanted very much to please him. But still, there was so much about him she did not understand. He came to her in the library the next morning and said, “You must write to tell your father.”

“Yes.” She looked down at the book she was holding to have an excuse to keep her face hidden.

“Tell him if it is a boy we shall call him William.”

“Oh, Adrian.” She looked up at him, all efforts at privacy forgotten. He was standing by the window, dressed for riding in buckskins and worn but polished boots. The sun gilded his face and drew sparks of chestnut from his dark brown hair. “Thank you,” she said softly.

He was looking right at her but, suddenly, and without his eyes even flickering, the shutters came down. He seemed all at once a thousand miles away. “There is no cause for you to thank me,” he said in measured tones. “The debt is all mine.”

It frightened and hurt her when he closed up against her like this. She did not know what to say but sat looking at him out of troubled, golden eyes. He seemed to sense her distress because after a minute he smiled and held out his arms. She ran to him with wild relief, melted, as ever, by the power of his touch.

She decided she would learn to ride. Adrian spent a good part of his day in the saddle, and she thought, if she rode, she could perhaps accompany him sometimes. She asked Mary to teach her.

It was to be a secret from Adrian. She wanted to surprise him with a
fait accompli,
and Mary entered enthusiastically into her plan. The two girls would sneak out to the stables in the morning, when the Duke was closeted with his men of business or out on the estate, Tracy dressed in one of Mary’s habits, and Mary would give her a lesson. As Tracy was naturally athletic and fearless, she learned very quickly. Soon she had graduated from the longe line to circling the paddock on her own. By the end of the second week she was cantering with graceful confidence and Mary was saying she was almost ready for Adrian to see.

As it turned out, they didn’t have a chance to surprise him; he surprised them. Mary was standing in the middle of the paddock one cloudy morning watching Tracy walk her black gelding along the fence. “All right,” Mary called, “pick up your canter.” Tracy squeezed and lifted and the horse obediently went into motion. “No, no,” Mary called, “wrong lead. Try again.” Tracy pulled the horse up, again gave the signals, and this time Mary said, "That’s it
.
”

Tracy was busy shortening her reins when she heard a voice, quiet but perfectly audible, cut across the paddock. “What do you think you are doing?”

It was Adrian.

Tracy pulled up in surprise and rocked a little in the saddle. He came across the paddock and took a firm grip on her bridle. “Get off,” he said tersely.

He looked like a stranger; she had never seen that expression in his eyes before. She got off the horse.

When she was standing beside him he said again, “What do you think you are doing?” And she realized, with an odd sense of shock, that he was angry.

“Mary is teaching me how to ride, Adrian,” she replied steadily. “We were going to surprise you.”

He turned his eyes to his sister, who was looking white faced and bewildered. “I don’t suppose you knew,” he said to her. “Tracy is expecting a baby.”

Mary turned even whiter.
“Oh my God. No, Adrian, I didn’t know.”

He nodded. “Take the horse back to the stable, Mary.” His sister moved instantly to follow his command. “Come with me,” he said to his wife. “I’ll drive you back to the house.”

Tracy fell into step with him, but she found, as she kept up beside him, that she herself was becoming very angry. She waited until he helped her into the curricle and then said, her own voice icy and dangerous, “What is the matter with you? If I want to learn to ride a horse, then I will damn well learn. I don’t need your permission!”

He didn’t answer, but after a minute he turned his horses off the path to the Castle and onto the path that led through the park. They drove for five minutes in silence, Tracy rigidly upright beside Adrian, until he finally pulled up in the shelter of some large trees that edged the ornamental lake. He stared at the water, his profile unreadable. “I’m sorry,
ma mie,”
he said at last, sounding very weary. “I did not mean to be so abrupt.”

She was immediately disarmed, as only he could leave her. She shivered a little. “But what is the matter, Adrian? I thought you would be so pleased. You love to ride yourself.”

He still did not look at her. “My mother had a fall from a horse when she was carrying a child.” He spoke very quietly, his eyes on the gray water. “She miscarried and it killed her.”

“Oh,” said Tracy, her eyes wide with horror and sympathy. “I’m so sorry. I did not know.”

He turned and took her in his arms. “I don’t want you to ride,
ma mie
,
”
he murmured into her hair. “Not now.”

She rested her head against his shoulder with a movement that indicated to them both that she would not resist. “I won’t,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

They stayed so for several long minutes. Then he said, “After the baby is born, if you still want to learn,
I
will teach you.”

Reluctantly she raised her head. “I’ll hold you to that,” she promised.

He backed the horses expertly, turned them and started once again toward the house. The sun suddenly came out and she glanced up in surprise. There was a patch of clear sky right above them. They drove in silence for a minute and then he said, “Shall I tell you something?”

She turned to look at him and found him watching her. His eyes were a much darker blue than the sky. “What?” she asked curiously.

He looked back at the road. His profile was regally calm, but to the knowledgeable eye, amusement lurked in the curve of his mouth. “I get seasick,” he said softly.

“No!” Tracy’s infectious laugh rippled out. “Do you really, Adrian?”

“I do.  Badly.”

“That’s marvelous.” Tracy continued to laugh. “That restores my faith in human fallibility.”

“I thought it might,” he agreed serenely, and Tracy laughed again.

“Seasick!”

He looked at her, a smile glimmering in those remarkable eyes of his, and she smiled back, restored by his infinite tact and generosity to her old equilibrium and self-esteem.

Chapter 16

He was indeed the Duke.

—Shakespeare

The letters Tracy received from her father told her nothing about his health. That they came regularly, on almost every ship from America, led her to believe that he must still be fairly strong. So when Adrian asked if she wished to go to the Bridgewaters’ chief estate, Matching Castle, for a house party in late October, she assented.

She was feeling very well, having none of the uncomfortable side effects of pregnancy. And, aside from his interdiction about riding, the Duke made no attempts to hamper any of her activities. She was grateful for his lack of fussiness, particularly since she knew how important the coming child was to him. It would have driven her wild to be treated as an invalid.

Matching Castle was very grand, and Lady Bridgewater had collected a party every bit as grand as its surroundings. There was the Prime Minister, four Cabinet ministers, four government ministers and half a dozen other members of Parliament as well as a few assorted lords who were high placed enough not to be required to do anything to account for their existences. These gentlemen had all brought their wives and daughters, a collection of some of the most brilliant and beautiful ladies to be found in English society.

Their first day at Matching Castle had passed rather auspiciously for both the Duke and the Duchess. Lord Bridgewater had been clearly delighted to see Tracy. The Duke’s uncle-by-marriage was a fussy, clever, popular, conscientious man, who had been born into the semi-purple of ministerial influence. He had formed a part of the government ever since Lord Liverpool had taken office, and he would undoubtedly continue to be one of its mainstays until that far distant occasion when the Tories went out of power.

When Tracy came into the drawing room with Adrian before dinner. Lord Bridgewater had instantly moved to greet her. In a few minutes she was part of a group of elderly nobles, all of who were beaming at her in great pleasure. Lord Bridgewater took her into dinner, where she sat at his right and next to Lord Liverpool. Both of those gentlemen appeared to hang on her every word.

The truth was that Tracy was extremely popular with the male segment of society, a fact her husband had long recognized. He watched her now, when he had a minute to spare from his own dinner partners, and there was a smile in his eyes. Her political opinions didn’t matter a particle. What people responded to was her vitality, her positiveness, her whole-hearted approach to life. She was like a fresh sea breeze blowing into a stuffy, enclosed place, he thought now, watching her treat Lord Liverpool to what one of the Duke’s more highly placed diplomatic colleagues had once called the prettiest smile in Europe. Adrian’s own smile spread from his eyes to his lips.

Everything seemed clearer and brighter and freer when Tracy was present, he thought. No one cared at all that she was in favor of abolishing the House of Lords.

Lady Bridgewater was more critical of the new young Duchess than either her husband or her nephew. She had been responsible for marrying Adrian, and she felt herself responsible for the success of that marriage. And when she talked of successful marriages. Lady Bridgewater did not talk in terms of affection. A successful marriage to her mind was one that adhered to convention and furthered family prosperity and prestige. Tracy had certainly contributed to family prosperity; Lady Bridgewater wished to ensure that she also exhibited the other necessary virtues.