The American Heiress (44 page)

‘Is it really Eleanor?’ he said, peering at the picture. ‘She’s quite something.’ Cora listened for a note of disapproval, but then he turned to her and smiled.

‘You’re a clever girl, Cora. I’ve walked past that picture all my life but I don’t think I have ever really seen it before. Thank you for making me look.’ He put his hand on her shoulder and she felt her body sag with relief. She didn’t want him to know how nervous she had been, so she said as brightly as she could, ‘Mr Fox says he believes this is by Van Dyck. The face certainly, even if the rest of the picture was finished off in the studio.’ She took his hand. ‘I would like to hang it in my bedroom, you don’t mind do you?’

‘Of course I don’t mind. Lucky Eleanor, you’ve turned her from a ghost into a beauty. I think we should have all the pictures cleaned, it’s time we saw things differently here.’ He swung her hand. ‘My new broom, that’s what you are. I want you to sweep away all the shadows, all the dust. You’re the only one brave enough to do it.’

‘Brave?’ said Cora, ‘It’s not so very frightening to have a few pictures cleaned.’ She put her face close to his, basking in his approval. He touched her cheek.

‘Not for you darling, which is why I am so glad that you are my wife.’

She remembered this scene every time she saw a raised eyebrow, or heard a sharp intake of breath from the servants when she suggested changes to the way the house was run. They might not like her ideas but none of that mattered if Ivo approved. If he wanted to make a break with the past then nothing would stop her. She was not going to be a grey lady languishing in corners. She would be the mistress of Lulworth.

She rang the bell for Mrs Softley. She wanted to make an inspection of the guest bedrooms to ensure that they were all as they should be, and that those awful photographs of the Duke and Duchess had been put away. But at that moment Ivo walked in. He had been riding and he was pulling off his jacket as he came towards her. He kissed her lightly on the mouth.

‘Good morning, Duchess. How are the battle plans?’ He looked over her shoulder at the placement. ‘And who am I sitting next to?’

‘Between my mother and Lady Tavistock.’

‘Scylla and Charybdis, eh? Well, at least my ordeal will be swift. His Highness doesn’t like to linger over dinner. Just promise I don’t have to play cards with him. He is such a lamentable player, it can be quite tricky sometimes to let him win.’ He stroked the inch of Cora’s neck that was visible above the high collar of her blouse with his finger. She took his other hand and kissed it.

‘I promise to spare you the cards. I am going to take the ladies to the long gallery.’

She could feel his finger tracing the knobs of her spine under the thin silk. He was always touching her now when he was with her. These last few weeks at Lulworth with Ivo and the baby had been the happiest in her marriage since their honeymoon. When she remembered how worried she had been before his return, she almost laughed. Ever since he had come back he had been everything she had hoped for. Even the presence of her parents and the Double Duchess had not spoilt things. The Double Duchess had shown unusual tact in inviting Mr and Mrs Cash to Conyers before the christening. Cora could not have been more surprised by the invitation, but Ivo had said, ‘The Double Duchess has clearly got over her aversion to Americans, or American men, I should say. I almost feel sorry for your mother.’

It had taken Cora a moment to catch his meaning, and then she had shaken her head in disbelief.

Ivo had laughed at her. ‘I’m sorry, Cora, have I offended your Puritan sensibilities?’ And then more seriously, ‘It’s the way she operates, I’m afraid.’

‘Do you think I should tell Mother?’

‘Lord, no. Let the situation develop. Besides, I want to be here alone with you.’

Cora could not refuse.

Now Ivo was pulling a strand of her hair out of its chignon. She put up her hand to stop him.

There was so much still to be done. She turned to him and said, ‘Come with me to the nursery. I want to show you something.’

He put his hands down in a show of mock surrender. ‘As you wish, my dear, as you wish.’

He followed her down the corridor to the nursery. This was not the room where he had stayed as a child, that was on the north side of the house on a higher floor. Cora had chosen to put little Guy and his attendants in the rooms adjacent to hers; she could not bear to think of him being so far away. The nanny had grumbled at first about losing her sanctum which had its own staircase down to the servants’ hall, but Cora had raised her wages by ten pounds a year and her objections had vanished.

The baby was lying in the great gilded bassinet that Mrs Cash had bought from Venice. Ivo had laughed when he saw it and said it must have been made from pieces of the True Cross at the very least. Ignoring the flusterings of the nurse, Cora went straight to the cradle and picked up her baby. His body was heavy against her shoulder and his fingers went straight to her hair, just as his father’s had done a few minutes before.

‘He smiled me this morning, Ivo! Open your eyes wide and see if he’ll smile at you too.’

Ivo put out his arms to take his son.

‘Were you smiling at your beautiful mother, young man? I see you have taste.’ Cora felt herself beaming with pride and happiness. When Ivo was with the baby, she could see that his eyes, usually so dark, were in fact tawny, flecked through with gold. She knew that Ivo had wanted an heir but she had not imagined that he would be so delighted to be a father. Nanny Snowden had said to her, with disapproval in her voice, that she had never known a man to spend so much time in the nursery.

She stood beside him and smiled at the baby lying in his arms. She was rewarded with a flash of gums and sparkling eyes. ‘There it is, Ivo, he smiled at us.’ And she looked up at her husband’s face and saw that it was taut with emotion, his mouth set in a code she could not decipher.

Cora said, ‘I think he is going to be a happy boy.’

‘Happiness is a talent,’ Ivo said slowly and then he kissed the top of the baby’s head and gave him to Nanny Snowden who was hovering in the doorway, only just concealing her irritation at their presence.

‘Thank you, Nanny,’ said Ivo. ‘Guy must have his rest for tomorrow.’

‘Don’t worry, Your Grace, His Lordship will be quite prepared.’ Cora felt the same wriggle of surprise every time she heard her baby called ‘His Lordship’. Ivo might laugh at her mother’s idea of a cradle but surely there was something equally absurd about giving a tiny scrap of a baby a title? She stopped to look at the christening gown which was laid out on a table. The gown had been in the family for generations, Ivo and his father before him had worn it. The silk was yellowed with age and the lace was covered with brown spots, like an old lady’s hands. But Cora knew better now than to suggest a replacement.

Ivo was waiting for her in the passage. He took her hand and pulled her into his bedroom. This room had remained untouched during Cora’s renovations of Lulworth. The magnificent blue brocade on the tester was dusty and tattered and the curtains hung in limp folds, faded where the sun had touched them.

‘Now I have something to show
you
, darling.’ He made her sit down in one of the heavily carved wooden chairs. Ivo walked over to the bureau and unlocked a drawer from which he took a velvet pouch. He came over to her and, kneeling in front of her, he emptied it on to her lap. The sun falling in through the window hit the gems as they lay across her skirt, dazzling them both. It took her a moment to realise that she was looking at a necklace that had at its centre an emerald the size of a quail’s egg.

‘I bought it in Hyderabad. I think it might just be magnificent enough for you.’ Cora put her hands to her neck, she was as usual wearing her pearls. ‘Take them off and try this on.’

Obediently Cora unclasped the pearls and he put the necklace round her neck. It felt heavy and spiky after the smooth weight of the pearls. He took her hand and stood her in front of the cheval glass. The mirror was foxed with age and her reflection rippled slightly but there was no disguising the splendour of the necklace. The emerald fell just above her breasts; the teardrop facets allowed it to glow like a mossy pool with limitless depths, and the diamond sprays above it looked like a waterfall. It was quite the most spectacular thing she had ever seen, nothing even in her mother’s glittering collection could match this.

‘It is quite unbelievable, Ivo.’ She turned her head from side to side admiring the green rays from the gem. He stood behind her and put his arms on her shoulders. ‘Even the Nizam was impressed. He offered to buy it from me for twice what I paid for it. But I said that it could only belong to you, as you were the only woman in the world who wouldn’t be outshone by it.’

‘I think my mother will be jealous,’ said Cora.

‘And mine,’ said Ivo with a smile. ‘It’s the perfect present.’

That evening Cora wore a dress of gold brocade overlaid with silver lace. The glowing material brought out the bronze lights in her hair and the emerald hanging round her neck nudged her eyes from grey to green. She was standing by the window in the long gallery talking to her father, and every so often she would move so that the low rays of the setting sun would catch the gems round her neck and scatter their reflections over the vaulted roof. She was standing under this, her own constellation, when Teddy walked into the room. He stood still for a moment, dazzled. The restless girl he remembered had turned into a magnificent force. She seemed taller than he had pictured her. There was a definiteness about her that was new. He sensed that she had taken on her final shape. He was relieved that she had changed so much. This new, grand personage would finally shake the memory of the girl asking him to kiss her that night in Newport.

The footman announced his name and Cora swept up to him, her arms outstretched.

‘Dearest Teddy, I can’t believe you’re actually here.’ She leant forward to kiss his cheek and he smelt the foxy scent of her hair that he remembered from the terrace at Sans Souci. He knew then that nothing had changed – Cora could be as grand and as duchessy as she liked but she was still the woman he wanted to hold in his arms.

Still clasping his hands, she smiled at him conspiratorially. ‘I guess we are kissing cousins now, us both being Americans abroad.’

‘Indeed, Duchess.’ Teddy gave her title its full weight.

‘Oh please, you of all people have to call me Cora. I am still the same girl.’ She was laughing but Teddy thought he heard a shard of anxiety in her voice.

‘If you’re sure that’s allowed.’

He was smiling as he said this but it was a real question. He was not sure what he wanted the answer to be. He noticed the small scar on the underside of her wrist that he had once kissed and wondered, not by any means for the first time, what she had done with the letter he had written her before her wedding. Had she kept it as a memento – folded carefully in the secret compartment of a jewellery box or tucked away into a volume of poetry? Or had she torn it up, or thrown it into the fire? She had not replied, of course, he had not really expected her to, but he wondered about the expression on her face as she had read his letter. Cora met his eyes for a moment and Teddy wanted to kiss her so much that he had to clasp his hands behind his back so that he would not reach out and take hold of her. Perhaps Cora sensed this because she pulled back a fraction and said firmly, ‘Come and meet my husband before the Prince comes down.’

Teddy followed her to the fireplace where the Duke was talking to another man and the red-haired girl he remembered from the boat. He wondered for a moment if the Duke would remember his face, but as he came closer he thought that dukes were probably not in the habit of noticing strangers.

Cora fluttered between them, making the introduction. Teddy could see that she was nervous, which pleased him. He wanted some acknowledgement of their past, to see a hairline crack in her aristocratic composure.

‘Welcome to Lulworth, Mr Van Der Leyden. Is this your first visit to England?’ The Duke’s face was politely curious, Teddy saw no flicker of recognition. The Duke looked somehow different to the man he had seen pacing the deck of the SS
Berengaria
. He looked looser now, as the French said: he looked happy in his skin.

‘No, I was here about eighteen months ago, on my way back to America. I believe we may have travelled on the same boat. I remember your name from the manifest.’

Ivo tilted his head to observe Teddy properly. ‘What a pity we were not introduced, you could have told me all Cora’s secrets. I know remarkably little about her American life.’ His gaze met Teddy’s and Teddy forced himself not to blink. The Duke was looking at him closely as if he knew just how Teddy felt about his wife. Teddy found himself squaring off against his rival; the Duke was perhaps an inch taller but Teddy felt that he was the stronger.

Cora, who had been following this exchange closely, broke in, her hand closing round Teddy’s wrist.

‘If I had any secrets, I know that Teddy would never have told! We Americans are the soul of discretion.’