The American Duchess (4 page)

She was different from any girl he had ever met. She looked at him frankly, her sunny head not tilted in coquetry when she spoke or listened, but serenely upright. He liked looking at her, at her eyes, so brilliantly hazel, the whites so ultra white, at her short straight nose, her glowing skin, her wide, full mouth. There was passion in that mouth, he thought, and intelligence in her eyes. He did not think it would be difficult for her to learn the things she had not been bred to.

At the end of two weeks, the Duke invited Mr. and Miss Bodmin to visit his estate, Steyning Castle, in Sussex. The only other persons included in the invitation were Lord and Lady Bridgewater. It was as good as a proposal of marriage, and Mr. Bodmin knew it even if Tracy did not.

William Bodmin had, by this time, managed to find out a great deal about the Duke of Hastings. At first it had not seemed possible to the American that such a personage as the Duke could be seriously interested in Tracy. Mr. Bodmin had looked into the history of the Deincourt family. He had seen for himself the dignity of the Duke’s position. That his daughter should be a duchess! In his wildest dreams, Mr. Bodmin had not hoped for so much.

But he had had a very interesting conversation with Lady Bridgewater, in which it had become apparent that the state of the ducal finances left a great deal to be desired. Mr. Bodmin had told her ladyship when first they met that he wanted the best product on the market for his girl, and it now appeared that that was what he was being offered. He would never dream of forcing a match on Tracy that she would not like, but Mr. Bodmin was certain that she did like the Duke of Hastings.

The Bodmins accepted the Duke’s gracious invitation and planned to go down to Steyning Castle at the end of May.

Chapter 5

For nobleness of birth is, as it were, a clear lamp that sheweth forth and bringeth into light works both good and bad.

—The Book of the Courtier

Three days before they left for Steyning Castle something happened that would radically affect the outcome of that visit. Tracy was arranging flowers in the small breakfast room that was really an alcove off the drawing room of their suite when the door opened and her father and Richard Rush came in. Tracy did not immediately make her presence known but went on putting the finishing touches to her arrangement. She had no intention of eavesdropping, but when she realized what the two men were talking about, that is exactly what she did.

The beginning of their conversation was harmless. “Congress has closed American ports to all British vessels arriving from a colony that is legally closed to American ships,” said Mr. Rush. “I just received notice from Mr. Adams. It won’t go down well with the English.”

“It is Britain’s fault for not allowing America to export to the West Indies. The West Indian planters are as angry as we are about the present situation. England must be made to realize that she cannot monopolize the trade; she must be made to realize that her Navigation Laws are archaic.”

“Mr. Adams writes me that he sees our action as a test, a contest between American nationalism and British mercantilism.” There was a pause. “I wonder, Mr. Bodmin, if you would care to speak to the British government on this issue? As the single largest ship owner in America, your words would have some weight.”

“I would be glad to speak to Lord Castlereagh, but you must not count on me, Rush. I will be going home very shortly now.”

This was when Tracy’s head jerked up and she really began to listen.

“I did not know that,” said Richard Rush. “Perhaps I might ask you to be my ambassador to Mr. Adams in Washington?”

“I cannot promise to go to Washington, Rush,” said Mr. Bodmin heavily. “I shall be glad to make it just to Salem.” He paused, then said quite kindly, “I am dying, you see.”

“What!”

“Yes, I am dying. The doctor gave me six months when I left home.”

“My dear Bodmin,” said Richard Rush, clearly distressed. “I had no idea.”

“No one has, not even my daughter. I only tell you because I want to ask a favor of you.”

“Anything, my dear fellow.”

“I will be going home, but I rather think Tracy will be staying. The Duke of Hastings has invited us to visit his home in Sussex and I expect a proposal of marriage to be forthcoming.”

“The Duke of Hastings!” Mr. Rush was clearly overwhelmed.

“Yes. Tracy knows nothing of my illness and I don’t want her to know. It may be selfish of me, but I want her to remember me as a man of strength and vigor, not as a rasping, coughing husk of a thing. I will not tell her.” He leaned forward. “I will no longer be here, but I should like to think that Tracy has a friend in you, Rush.”

“Of course I will be her friend,” Richard Rush said warmly.

“Thank you.  It will perhaps be a little difficult for her at first, accustoming herself to English ways. She will feel better if there is another American she can look to.”

Shortly after that, the American Minister left and Mr. Bodmin walked slowly to his bedroom. Tracy stayed in the breakfast room for twenty more minutes, her body rigid with shock, her knuckles white with tension as they grasped the back of a chair.

She had known something was wrong with her father, but she had had no idea of its seriousness. He was dying! And he did not want her to know. He wanted her to marry an English duke and let him go home to die alone.

Everything in Tracy rebelled at the thought. If he was to die, she must be there to comfort him and nurse him in his final hours. She would not let him leave alone.

But as she stood, rigid, staring blindly at the flowers she had just been arranging so carefully, her father’s words seemed to sound again in the room. He did not want her to know. He did not want her to hold his hand, to nurse him and care for him. It came to her as she stood there, fighting a great battle within herself, that the greatest comfort she could give him was to pretend ignorance and let him go. He was a very proud man; she had always known that. He had never yet been beaten at anything. He would not want her to watch his final defeat.

But to marry the Duke of Hastings! Such a thought had never crossed Tracy’s mind. She did not know if, even to please her father, she could bring herself to do that. If he were anxious to see her married and taken care of, why would Adam Lancaster not do as well?

The visit to Steyning Castle was consequently fraught with tension and emotion beneath its surface pleasantness. The house was enormous, with two battlemented towers, a royal gateway and vestiges of a moat as evidence that it had at one time been a fortified castle indeed. A multitude of additions over the years had somewhat softened its martial look, however, and today, with the Duke’s flag flying, it looked merely grand and impressive, not martial.

The Duke had offered to show the Bodmins around and Mr. Bodmin had accepted with alacrity. It was plain to see, as they paraded from room to room, that he was enjoying himself enormously. He could not hear enough of how the Castle had been held by the Deincourts since the thirteenth century, of how the royal coat of arms over the gate and the inscription
Dom Rex Henricus Octov
had been put there for a welcome to King Henry VIII on one of his visits, of how Henry, his daughter Elizabeth and Kings James I and Charles I had all slept in the state bedroom, of how Cromwell’s soldiers had stolen the royal gilt bed . . . The Duke remarked several times that he hoped he was not boring his guests with all this family history, but it was clearly obvious that Mr. Bodmin, at any rate, was hanging on his every word.

Tracy was more interested in the house than in the Duke’s ancestors. She had thought Samuel McIntire had built the Bodmins a grand house on Chestnut Street in Salem, but she had never in her life seen anything like Steyning Castle.

It had a fifteenth-century Great Hall with a hammer beam ceiling, a great seventeenth-century fireplace and a magnificent stone minstrels’ gallery. The drawing room had an Elizabethan plaster-work ceiling and elaborate wood paneling.

“My grandfather had Robert Adam rearrange and redo the house,” the Duke said as they passed along a stunning marble-floored gallery that ran for fully eighty feet. “He added this wing, which also contains the library, and a wing for the servants.” As he finished speaking he led the way into the library and Tracy involuntarily gasped.

“How many books do you have, my lord?” she asked reverently, her eyes going over the shelves and shelves of tooled-leather volumes.

“About ten thousand,” he replied and Tracy felt her jaw drop.

After dinner they all strolled outdoors on the lush, smooth lawn that was punctuated by ponds and copses of trees. The fishpond was what was left of the moat, the Duke told them. “The first duke and his sons fought strenuously for the king during the Civil War and Cromwell only let them return to the house on the condition that the moat was filled in and the battlements made useless.”

Mr. Bodmin was content as he went to bed that first night. He had got what he wanted for his girl.  Success was sweet in his heart as he thought of the ancient, valuable house he was sleeping in. The thought of his girl living in a house like this; of his grandchildren—his blood—growing up here, belonging here, made him feel that he—William Bodmin, a cottage boy from Cornwall—had done very well indeed.

Tracy had met the Duke’s young sister and brother at tea the day before, but they had not been at dinner. When she came downstairs for breakfast in the morning, she found both brothers addressing themselves heartily to a substantial meal. They both wore riding clothes.

The Duke rose as soon as he saw her, and Harry followed suit quickly. “What a nice surprise,” the Duke said, with a charming smile.

Tracy seated herself. “Why a surprise? Have I done the wrong thing by coming down?”

“Not at all,” he assured her. “It is just that we males very rarely see a woman at the breakfast table. Most ladies prefer
to breakfast upstairs in bed.”

“In bed?” Tracy looked astonished. The only time she had ever eaten in bed was when she was sick. Privately, she thought the whole practice sounded decadent. “Well, I hope you won’t mind if I join you?”

“We are delighted,” said the Duke and put aside the paper he had been reading.

“Do go on with your paper,” she said. Harry went to pick up his, and the Duke frowned slightly. Harry put it back down. “As a matter of fact,” Tracy said as she helped herself to a plate of food, “I’d enjoy a look at a paper myself.”

“You can have part of mine. Miss Bodmin,” Harry said generously. “I only read the parts about horses anyway.”

Tracy gave him a friendly smile and accepted his offer. Silence fell as the three of them sipped their coffee and perused their papers. “Ah ha,” said the Duke after about ten minutes, “I see where your country has closed its ports to British vessels.”

Tracy put down her paper. “What does your article say?” He read it to her and Tracy’s lips curved in disdain. “Really, my lord, why is your government so indignant? What did they expect? There is a natural exchange between American tobacco, rice, grain, beans and flour and West Indian rum, molasses and coffee. What Britain has said is that there is to be no trade between the West Indies and the United States unless it is done through Britain. That is unacceptable to us. So we have responded: if you will not allow us to trade with the West Indies, we will not allow
you
to trade with us.”

“You did something like that to us before, if I remember correctly,” he said slowly.

“Yes. The Embargo of 1807. And according to my father, the embargo wreaked havoc on the British economy.”

“Did it indeed?” he asked thoughtfully.

“Yes, it did.” She smiled a little ruefully. “To be frank, it didn’t do our economy any good, either.”

He looked at her levelly. “All this is very interesting. I freely confess that I am abysmally ignorant of the international trading picture, but I am also willing to learn. Being a good British citizen, I do realize that trade is what makes the world revolve.”

At that she grinned. “Good heavens, my lord, you sound like Papa!”

He sipped his coffee. “I consider that a compliment,” he said tranquilly. “Your father is a very astute man.”

There was a pause and into it Harry spoke cautiously, “Are you riding over to Winchelsea this morning, Adrian?”

“Yes. Should you care to accompany me
,
Miss Bodmin?”

Tracy shook her head. “I think, if you don’t mind, I will spend the morning in your library.”

“You must do whatever you please,” he responded. “I hope, however, that it will please you to drive out with me for a little this afternoon?”

“That would be lovely,” said Tracy.

“May I go with you to Winchelsea, Adrian?” Harry asked eagerly.

His brother looked at him dampeningly. “I thought you worked with your tutor in the morning?”

“I will work twice as hard this afternoon,” Harry assured him earnestly.

The Duke sighed. “Oh, very well
.
Will you excuse us
,
Miss Bodmin?”

“Certainly. Enjoy your ride.” She went back to her paper and, out of the comer of her eye, watched the brothers leave the room. Harry did not greatly resemble the Duke. He had red-blond hair, light blue eyes and freckles. He was also, at fourteen, an inch or so taller than his elder brother. But he did not have the Duke’s character. Tracy was quite certain that, at age fourteen, the Duke had already had the air of regal distinction that was so much a part of his personality today. It was an air that one could not but find impressive, no matter how much one might disapprove of it in theory.

Chapter 6

What say you? Can you love the gentleman? —Shakespeare

The Duke looked with obvious pleasure at his guest when she joined him that afternoon for their appointed drive. Tracy deserved the appreciation; she was looking lovely in a dress of lime-green cambric with a little jacket and a hat that perched dashingly on the side of her brown-blonde head. The skirt was cut close to her body and showed off her elegant slenderness to admiration. As the Duke watched her walk toward him, he thought to himself that he had always liked best a long-legged woman.