The American Duchess (17 page)

The Duke then devoted himself to holding the hand of the American Minister. Mr. Forsyth wanted to go home. “This is a situation I find personally irksome and one in which, furthermore, I am useless to the United States,” he told the Duke. “I do not have the experience to handle this matter successfully.”

“Do not blame yourself, Mr. Forsyth,” the Duke soothed him. “A more experienced man than yourself would be driven to despair by trying to make sense of this Court. No diplomat, however brilliant, can divine a policy where no policy exists.”

The Duke also managed the heroic task of convincing Mr. Forsyth that the British government was
not
opposed to the Transcontinental Treaty.

The Duke wrote privately to Lord Castlereagh, “The Spanish government wants the United States to agree not to recognize the revolutionary governments in South America. They won’t ratify the treaty unless they get a guarantee of that, and the United States does not want to make that guarantee. There is nothing more Britain can do in the matter at present.”

Then, after doing what he could to bolster the American Minister’s spirits. and having demonstrated to Spain and to the rest of Europe that the British government supported the Transcontinental Treaty and did not want to annex Cuba, the Duke took ship for home. He was extremely anxious to see his wife once again.

Chapter 22

He of tall building and of goodly pride.

—Shakespeare

The Duke was not the only one who was anxious to see Tracy. He would have been profoundly disturbed if he had known that one of the ships he had passed on his uncomfortable journey to Spain carried Tracy’s “friend” from Salem whose letter had so ruffled him in December.

Adam Lancaster had been dealt a severe blow by the news that Tracy was to marry the Duke of Hastings. The only thing that had prevented him from setting sail immediately for England was the realization that he would be too late. By the time he arrived, she would be married.

As time went on he had not become reconciled to losing her. He could not get her out of his mind. Next to Tracy’s shining memory, every other girl he met seemed dull and lifeless.

He had had little doubt that William Bodmin was the architect of Tracy’s marriage. When Mr. Bodmin had returned to Salem, Adam had gone to see him, fire flashing in his hot brown eyes. But Tracy’s father had suddenly become a very sick man, and Adam left unsaid all of the things he had planned to say. Mr. Bodmin had been so clearly delighted by his daughter’s marriage. And then there had come another piece of news, news Adam had found as painful as her father had found it happy. Tracy was expecting a child.

Adam had determined to put her from his mind. He bought several ships from William Bodmin, and threw himself heart and soul into his business. Salem had been declining in importance as a port and Adam was looking seriously into the possibility of moving to New York.

At this time, Adam Lancaster was twenty-nine years of age. Though he had started his career as a cabin boy, he was now a multi-millionaire. During the late war with England, he had commanded the
Massachusetts,
the most successful privateering ship out of Salem. He had accounted for twenty-six British ships and had been a considerable embarrassment to the Royal Navy. His prizes of war had sold for over a million dollars, and his fortune had been rising ever since.

He had been too busy to think of marriage - until he met Teresa Bodmin. She had just come home from school when he first saw her in church on Sunday morning. He had called to see Mr. Bodmin that afternoon and gotten himself formally introduced. He had called frequently after that, and it soon became understood in Salem that Tracy Bodmin and Adam Lancaster would make a match of it.

Adam had certainly thought that Tracy would marry him. He had wanted to make the engagement formal before she left for England, but she had put him off. Nevertheless, he had comfortably assumed that when she returned home, they would marry.

It had not happened that way. Tracy had been coerced by her father into marrying a decadent English aristocrat—to Adam’s mind all aristocrats were decadent—and she had been irrevocably divided from him. However, as day succeeded day and her memory did not fade, Adam began to wonder how Tracy’s marriage was faring. He thought he would pay a visit to England and see for himself.

When Adam Lancaster arrived in London, he went first to see Richard Rush, who graciously insisted that Adam stay with him. From Rush he learned what he could about Tracy. To Adam’s dismay, the American Minister appeared to be an admirer of the Duke of Hastings.

“He is in Madrid at the moment,” Rush told Adam as they had a glass of Madeira together. “Forsyth was in a rare taking, and Lord Castlereagh asked the Duke to see what he could do to unravel the snarl over the ratification of the treaty. If it can be unsnarled at all, he is the man to do it.”

Adam gave a cynical bark of laughter. “I doubt if it can be,” he said briefly. “I never saw a sorrier collection of scoundrels in my life than the idiots that run the Spanish government. Poor Forsyth.
He
hasn’t the stomach
to deal with them. No American would have.”

The emphasis was slight, but Rush found himself moving to the Duke’s defense. “Hastings is a highly honorable man, I assure you, but he has the subtlety of mind one usually finds in Europeans rather than Americans. He will understand better how to deal with rascals.”

Adam’s lip curled slightly, but he refrained from answering. Clearly this husband of Tracy’s was a serpent, he thought, as he rose to his impressive height. “Tracy and I are old friends from Salem,” he said instead. “I think I’ll go round to see her now that I’m here.”

Richard Rush surveyed the splendid masculine figure in front of him; it was not difficult to believe that Adam Lancaster had amassed a fortune before the age of thirty. “If I might make a suggestion?” Rush said hesitantly.

“Well? What is it, man?”

“Your clothes, Captain Lancaster.”

Adam looked astonished. “My clothes? What about them?”

“They won’t do for London. They won’t do for the Duchess.” Adam began to glower and Rush continued hastily, “I don’t mean to suggest that Her Grace would not be pleased to receive an old friend, no matter what his attire, but if you are to be here for a while she will doubtless want to introduce you about. You owe it to her to make a creditable appearance, Captain Lancaster. You owe it,” concluded Richard Rush rather grandly, “to your country.”

Adam’s sense of humor got the better of him. “Oh,” he said gravely, “if it is a matter of my
country.”

Richard Rush grinned a little sheepishly. “Well, they do place an inordinate amount of emphasis on the proper clothing over here.”

“Hah!” snorted Adam. “They would.” Richard Rush looked a little unhappy; he genuinely liked the English. “Don’t worry
,
Rush,” Adam said, misreading his expression. “I won’t disgrace you. Where do I have to go to get rigged out?”

The figure that presented itself at Hastings House two days later looked the very model of an English gentleman. From his well-cut blue coat to his fawn pantaloons and gleaming Hessians, Adam was a perfect advertisement for Weston’s excellent tailoring. The only startling thing about him was his size.

The door was opened by a frosty-looking butler, who took Adam’s name and said he would see whether Her Grace was at home. He then showed Adam into an extremely elegant anteroom and disappeared, closing the door behind him. Adam paced about, finding his heart was bearing uncomfortably fast, and strained his ears for the sound of steps. They came and almost instantly the door opened.

“Adam!” Tracy said, surprise, pleasure and a hint of wariness in her voice. “What brings you to London? How lovely to see you.” She crossed the room to give him her hand. He took it and held it and for a minute they both remembered vividly the more intimate gesture of their last meeting. Tracy took her hand back from his strong grasp, her color heightened.

“You look wonderful. Trace,” he said, his deep voice unmistakably sincere.

“And so do you!” She stepped back and regarded him with admiration. “Weston,” she said.

He grinned. “Rush told me I owed it to my country to buy myself some new clothes. I wouldn’t have minded so much if my old ones had been even a
little
worn.”

Tracy chuckled appreciatively. “What a lovely New England attitude, Adam. I hope you saved them?”

“Of course I did!” He looked so surprised that her chuckle turned to a laugh.

“Come along with me to the morning parlor,” she said. “It’s more comfortable than this room and we can have some tea and a nice long chat.” She put her fingers lightly on his arm to guide him, and it seemed to him that he could feel her touch right through Mr. Weston’s elegant blue superfine coat. He glanced down at her brown-blonde head as she walked him along, talking gaily.

He had forgotten how beautiful her hair was, he thought as he replied automatically to a question. He had thought he remembered her smile, but memory had not done it justice. He followed her into a larger room that looked as elegant to his eyes as the one they had just left—and just as uncomfortable. The butler came into the room after them.

“Do you desire any refreshment, Your Grace?”

“Oh, yes, Wilton, thank you. Tea, please. And some cakes, perhaps.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” The man left and Tracy turned to find Adam staring at her in perturbation.

“Is that what they call you over here? ‘Your Grace?’“

Tracy’s
eyes danced. “Yes.”

“Everybody?”

Tracy leaned forward, serious now. “You wouldn’t believe it, Adam. There are probably only eight people in the whole of England who call me Tracy. They just
love
titles over here. I think they positively enjoy your-gracing and my-lording people to death. I still haven’t gotten used to it.”

This was very promising news and Adam felt himself relax a little. “I understand from Rush that your husband is in Spain,” he said cautiously.

“Yes, he went over to try to rescue Mr. Forsyth. Isn’t it funny? You must have crossed each other somewhere along the way.”

“I guess so,” said Adam. “He is quite a diplomat, then, the Duke?”

“There is no one who is more diplomatic than Adrian,” Tracy said positively. “Lord Castlereagh utterly relies on him. If anyone can sort the Spanish put, Adrian will.” Adam, to whom diplomacy was a synonym for duplicity, looked pleased.

The tea came, brought by another manservant whom Tracy called Robert. Tracy poured Adam a cup and said in a constricted voice, “Did you see much of Papa, Adam, before he died?”

“Yes,” he said gently.

“How—how was he?”

Adam told her. “He was a very brave man, Trace,” he concluded. “I hope, when it’s my turn to go, I can do it with as much grace.”

Tracy had been staring steadily out the window during his recital, but now she turned to him. “Thank you, Adam. I needed to know. I felt so helpless over here, so cut off. Wondering every day if he were in pain, if he wanted me...”

“But you didn’t know,” Adam said in bewilderment.

“Yes,” she said simply, her mouth set in an unaccustomedly severe line. “I knew. It was his wish that I didn’t, and so I went along with the pretense. But I knew.”

“I see,” said Adam very slowly. It seemed to him a blinding light had just been shed on the reason for Tracy’s marriage. “When someone you love is dying, naturally you would do anything he wanted.”

“Naturally,” said Tracy in return.

Chapter 23

Thou dost love her, because thou know’st

 I love her.

—Shakespeare

Tracy found that she was indeed very glad to see Adam Lancaster. The initial embarrassment she had felt at their first meeting quickly disappeared; and since he made no attempt to bring up their previous relationship, she soon felt very comfortable with him.

It was so good to hear her own language again! Richard Rush was the only other American she saw with any frequency, and he was becoming more British with every passing day. Adam was New England. He was Salem—natural, real, with American humor, American understanding, American openness. Tracy found his company both comforting and exhilarating.

She was proud to introduce him to her new friends and relatives. He was so manly, so strong and good looking, that he was bound to make a good impression. And he did. The Duchess’ American friend, Captain Lancaster, enjoyed a popularity among the
ton
that would have surprised a more knowledgeable socialite than himself. Part of the good will extended to him was a desire to please Tracy; it had become very clear to those in the know that the new Duchess of Hastings was going to
count
seriously in London society. And part of Adam’s welcome was due to himself; the ladies found him fascinating.

Tracy was extremely busy planning her ball, which was set for July 18. Adrian had fully expected to be home at least a week earlier than the date she had chosen, and so she went forward with her plans in his absence. Lady Bridgewater was proving to be invaluable. She and Tracy spent one or two hours together every day, during which time the Countess answered Tracy’s many questions and discoursed in detail about the minutiae of the great London world.

Tracy confided to Adam her nervousness over the coming affair. “It will be the first party I have thrown, Adam, and it must be right. No. It must be more than right. It must be
memorable”

“Really, Trace,” he said with a frown, “a party can’t be all that important.”

“It is,” she insisted tensely. “It is important for Adrian that his wife do things properly, that she do them with style. He has a very high position in this country, you see, and they all set great store by things like entertaining properly.”

Adam’s brown eyes looked at her with an unreadable expression in their darkness. “It’s very different from Salem,” he said noncommittally.

“It certainly is,” she replied fervently. “A summer party in Salem would be a fishing expedition on the bay followed by chowder cooked in an iron pot on Baker’s island.” She closed her eyes. “Chowder,” she said reverently.