The Enchantress (Book 1 of The Enchantress Saga) (33 page)

Stewart, who found it almost impossible to dissemble or conceal his true feelings, had expected this question from his cousin and knew that on this occasion it was essential to lie.

‘How can that be, George? His Highness as far as I know abides in Scotland.’

‘His
Highness
indeed! Scoundrel is what he is, with a price of £30,000 on his head.’

‘And I believe he put the same price on the Hanoverian Elector,’ Stewart said mildly. ‘You know, George, we differ ...’

‘Aye and a mighty difference it is,’ George said threateningly. ‘You realize you could be hanged for joining the rebels? Like your uncle in the ‘15. I’ll wager you are hell bent on the same path Stewart Allonby.’

‘You should not discuss this,’ a tired voice said in the background. ‘When families foregather it should be in friendship not enmity.’

Stewart turned to greet his aunt who, he thought, had aged in the past year. Her hair was now almost completely white and she walked with difficulty. He knew she was not old and her appearance distressed him.

‘Aunt Susan,’ he went up to her and kissed first her hand and then her cheek.

‘Do you bring news?’

She took a chair and gazed eagerly up at Stewart.

‘News?’ He was aghast, did she imagine they could openly discuss the Prince in this house? She saw his bewilderment and nodded understandingly.

‘Of Brent and Mary.’

‘Oh ... No. I have not seen them since the wedding.’

‘But have you heard how they are? Sarah must write, someone must keep in touch. Certainly Brent does not write to me, his own mother.’

‘I imagine he has a lot on his mind,’ George said darkly. ‘I hear he is working hard for his wife’s brother-in-law. A fishing hand!

Imagine, Henrietta, did you think to marry into a family where your brother-in-law worked on the deck of a fishing smack!’ Henrietta tittered at her husband.

‘Thank heaven you have your own pursuits dearest, or I wager I would not be received at court.’

Sir George and Lady Delamain giggled together, apparently unaware that those in the room were unamused by their derision of another member of the family.

Stewart however was relieved. This scorn of Brent seemed to indicate that George did not really know what Brent was up to. So far the secret had remained safe.

‘I daresay Brent would not distress you ma’am if you met him,’ Stewart said stiffly. ‘You would not find him unworthy as a brother-in-law.’

‘Well
that’s
as maybe,’ George said extending an arm. ‘Mother, shall we dine? Stewart would you give your arm to my wife? Emma, would you follow us?’

The little procession walked formally to the dining room where, as always, George Delamin kept a good board and Stewart ate well and appreciatively. His mind, however, was not so much on his food as to be indifferent to the glances over the table of his young cousin. Could it be that the gypsy’s spell had worked? No it was absurd; but there she was glancing at him under her lashes and every time he looked directly at her the smile she gave him was, at the very least, provocative.

Stewart began to feel a painful constriction in his chest. Was it possible that the beautiful, worldly Emma Delamain, surrounded as she was by eager young men with fortunes and fine manners, could be tilting her bonnet, so to speak, at him?

Stewart had always been aware of the irony that he and his sister loved their Delamain cousins and that that love was not returned by them, until Brent had had a change of heart and declared for Mary. Stewart’s thoughts grew sober. But
had
he made Mary happy? There had been nothing joyous about the couple after their wedding, and John had sworn that he’d heard tears from the room of the newly marrieds, not just once, but night after night until they left.

John had even gone so far as to draw Mary on one side and ask if she were happy, if aught was amiss? But, although seeming to him on the verge of tears, she had vigorously denied that she was anything but blissfully happy. Yet her pale face and lustreless air had not deceived John, or Stewart who more than likely knew the reason for it. He was glad to see them go. Brent was too valuable to the Cause for Stewart to want to have to carry out his threat.

George talked all the time at dinner about his role in the local militia of which he was commander and what they would do to the Jacobites should they so much as see the whites of their eyes. His wife listened to him with approval but the rest of the family were silent. Emma in particular had become contemptuous of George. She thought he took the attitude he did to curry favour with Lord Dacre and his cronies. She had seen too much of their activities in London to feel any admiration for them. To her, half Allonby that she was, there was something stirring about the stories told of Prince Charles. How he had landed with but seven old and ailing men and how, in a matter of weeks, he had captured the hearts of almost every man in Scotland – well maybe not every man, but certainly every woman. Stories had travelled to London about the charm of the Prince, his handsome looks and kingly bearing so different from the bumptious, overweight Hanoverians. All the women were in love with him, so much so that some even lured the allegiances of their husbands and forced them to declare for the Prince. There were even reports of husbands and wives being split and supporting different sides.

Emma Delamain had returned north a dissatisfied girl, aware that there was more to life than pretty manners and dancing feet. The scorn heaped upon the Stuarts by her young friends and admirers had angered her. Had not Robert Allonby perished on the scaffold? Guy Delamain, her own father, had cared enough to live abroad as a wearied impoverished exile and die for the Cause. And there were her Allonby cousins, her own brothers Brent and Tom ... all hardy, robust supporters of the Stuarts. Beside them her friends looked foppish, their ideas superficial and their hopes frankly mercenary and self-centred.

Henrietta Dacre, her sister-in-law, typified everything that Emma had grown to dislike about London society and the Hanoverian court. She considered her empty-headed, mean-minded and selfish. She and Emma shared not the slightest thing in common and here she was casting derogatory glances at Stewart, eyeing him with contempt.

Stewart had unexpectedly appeared to Emma, meeting him again after a year, in an entirely new light. She could see how angry he was as George and Henrietta between them dominated the talk with their hatred of the Stuarts, their scorn for the Cause; how the muscles of his jaw worked and his eyes smouldered. Suddenly Emma was afraid for Stewart. What was his purpose in Penrith?

She drew him aside afterwards in the drawing-room as Henrietta prepared to play the piano for them and entertain them with some of her excruciating songs, boringly rendered in a monotonous voice. George sat beside his mother eyeing indulgently the talented little wife of whom he was growing so unexpectedly fond. True she was not comely and had apparently little to offer in the way of charm, but in the dark between the sheets she was just another woman’s body and a surprisingly accommodating one at that. Although George still kept a mistress in London he had begun to see less of her, and even to prefer the physical comforts provided by his own enterprising wife.

‘Do you really go to buy wood?’ Emma whispered to Stewart who sat next to her some distance away from her mother.

 ‘Why, do you think I do not?’

Stewart was intrigued by, his cousin’s question. Could it be ... He turned and looked at her and his heart missed a beat. Could it be that she
pretended
to be attracted by him, to have changed her mind so as to draw information from him? George and Emma had always been considered by the Allonbys to have much in common, certainly as far as Hanoverian sympathies were concerned.

On the other hand Emma had always been close to her mother. Would she really betray her mother’s family? As though wanting to prise the truth from her he leaned his face closer to hers and his eyes met hers, daring her to flinch. Emma regarded him steadily, aware of his warm breath close to her face, the hard rugged masculinity of his sun-bronzed face.

‘I am not of the mind of my brother George in case you thought it.
Or
my
sister-in-law. A season in London would have changed me if I ever had been. They think of nothing but trivialities. Besides I hear the Prince is so handsome.’ As she dimpled flirtatiously Stewart realized that he loved Emma Delamain, truly and deeply. It was not something that was just occasioned by her youth or beauty; it would not pass.

‘Aye, that’s what’s won you is it?’

Emma clasped her hands, her shining eyes reflecting the attitude of half if not more of the women in the kingdom.

‘Oh, is he not
remarkable
?
He is so young, about your age Stewart, and yet he controls an army. He must succeed must he not?’

‘Aye, if I have aught to do wi’ it.’

‘Then you are going to join him?’

‘You knew it already?’

‘I guessed it. I guessed you would not pass this way merely to purchase wood! I know you, Stewart Allonby. You know our brother Tom is part of the entourage of the Prince?’

‘Yes, I have heard from Tom directly.’

‘That is why my mother is so worn, so pale. She thinks of Brent and Tom, and you and John. She expects you all to be killed.’

‘But why should
we
fail? Why not George?’

Emma looked over to where George sat lounging beside their mother, his legs stretched before him, one arm draped across the back of the sofa.

‘There is something about George that is indestructible, don’t you think?’

Stewart smiled. Looking at George, Emma’s words seemed very apt.

‘George maybe, but not what he stands for.’

‘Can I come with you?’

‘To Carlisle?’

‘To wherever you are going to meet the Prince.’

‘Of course not dear girl! It is fraught with danger at this instant.’

‘But in Perth and Edinburgh he gave balls and soirees.’

‘Not in Carlisle or Lancaster. Here it will be business until he reaches London.’

‘Oh, is it possible Stewart?’

‘Of course, it’s possible. It will happen.’

Suddenly Henrietta’s singing was interrupted by the arrival of a liveried servant who whispered into her ear. She got up closing the music with a flutter and hurried over to her husband.

‘George! It is my cousin who has arrived unexpectedly. George go quickly to welcome him; he awaits in the hall.’

But before George had time to move the door was again thrown open hurriedly by a servant and a tall well-built man resplendent in his military uniform strode into the room, his hands extended.

‘Henrietta!’

‘Angus.’

The small woman was scooped up by the stranger who embraced her and then turned to survey the room with a quizzing glass.

‘George, dearest, may I present my cousin the Marquess of Falconer.’ George bowed and shook the proffered hand.

‘Delighted, my lord. Lord Dacre was only telling me recently of your exploits in France with his Grace the Duke of Cumberland.’

‘And it is on the Duke’s business that I am here, Sir George. I am part of an advance party to meet the rebels at the border, if they do not take us by surprise and get there before we are ready. His Grace will stop with Lord Lonsdale at Lowther Castle, but I sought leave to find my quarters with you, dear cousin, if you so permit it.’ He bowed towards Henrietta.

‘Oh Angus, ‘tis an honour. May I present my sister-in-law Emma and my husband’s first cousin Stewart Allonby.’

Lord Falconer strode across and kissed Emma’s hand, pausing as he raised his head to stare boldly into her eyes. What she saw did not displease her. The Marquess was a man in the Allonby mould, tall and broad but, unlike them, very dark and swarthy with a long rather beaked nose, a firm broad mouth and a deeply cleft chin which jutted at a determined angle – a man used to commanding and being obeyed. He wore no periwig and his thick black hair was tied by a ribbon at the nape of his neck, some straying curls falling over his high forehead to give him an air of brooding authority.

His eyes were of a curious brown-green, like those of his cousin Henrietta, but otherwise he did not resemble her at all, being so startlingly handsome, whereas she was small and very plain. He wore the red uniform of a Colonel with a row of medals, and a long sword at his waist touched the top of his shining black boots.

She liked everything about him except that he was a member of the Duke of Cumberland’s army.

‘Ma’am,’ Lord Falconer rose and turned to Stewart, bowed and took his hand.

‘Mr?’

‘Allonby,’ Stewart said clearly. ‘Allonby of Furness.’

‘Ah. I think I recall the name,’ the Marquess’s eyes narrowed.‘’Tis well known I believe, in
certain
circles Mr Allonby.’

‘Indeed, sir. I believe it is.’

‘But in this house you are obviously of the same opinion as your cousin.’

‘It is so my lord,’ George said angrily, strolling over. ‘In this house my cousin is a gentleman, a farmer and noises no political opinions abroad at all.’

‘And has Mr Allonby any
purpose
in being here?’ his lordship said swinging his quizzing glass and looking appreciatively at Emma again.

‘What purpose other than to see my cousin?’

‘I hear the Pretender is not far from the border. Know you aught about this?’

‘Nothing, my lord.’

‘Ah, ‘tis well.’ The Marquess turned to Henrietta and smiled. ‘I know you would not harbour traitors under your roof, my dear. Is there anything for me to eat?’

‘Oh, Angus, of course. It will be ordered already.’

‘I have ridden hard all day. My men are downstairs being attended to, I believe, in the kitchen. Tomorrow I must ride on, and pray where do you go to Mr Allonby?’

‘Penrith,’ Stewart said slowly. ‘I am buying wood saplings for my forests around Lake Derwentwater.’

‘Ah, I shall be in the opposite direction I fear. I have completed my reconnoitre of the border and go back to His Grace who has been recalled from the south to take his position up here. I saw naught to alert me on the Scottish border yet, and Carlisle is very solidly for His Majesty. I have my home on the border,’ Lord Falconer explained to Emma who was clearly bedazzled by this splendid creature in his gleaming uniform.