Winsor, Kathleen (149 page)

Corinna
did not turn her head to look at Amber, but for several seconds she sat
quietly, as if surprised or embarrassed. The auctioneer was setting up a lively
chatter, sensing that these two ladies were rivals who might be persuaded to
bid against each other. Amber, fully expecting that Corinna would retire meekly
and let her have the cloth, was astonished when her voice, soft but determined,
spoke again.

"Eight
pound."

Damn
her! thought Amber. I'll get it now if it costs me my last farthing!

The
flame was burning close to the pin. In just a few moments the pin would fall
out and whoever had made the last bid took the prize. Amber waited until the
auctioneer was once more announcing that the cloth went to Lady Carlton and
then she interrupted him.

"Twenty
pound!"

The
room had grown quiet now and at last they were taking an interest in the
auction, for the Duchess of Ravenspur's affair with Lord Carlton was known to
all of them. They understood why she was so anxious to get the cloth, and they
hoped
to see her beaten and embarrassed. Their sympathy for Corinna was not great,
but their resentment against Amber was. She had got too much, been too
successful, and now even her sycophants and pretended friends hoped secretly
for her unhappiness. No defeat of hers could be too small to give them
satisfaction.

Corinna
hesitated, wondering if it was not absurd to haggle with a woman who had
neither the breeding nor the manners to appreciate that both of them were being
made conspicuous in the worst possible way. Amber had no such misgivings. She
sat tensely forward in her chair, her eyes wide and shining with excitement,
fists clenched inside her muff.

I've
got to beat her! she was thinking. I've got to! It seemed that nothing else in
her life had ever been so important.

And
while Corinna hesitated the flame burned closer to the pin, melting the wax,
and slowly it began to droop. Amber was breathing faster, her nostrils flared a
little and her muscles held taut. There! It's sliding out! I've got it! I've
won!

"Fifty
pounds!" called a masculine voice, as the pin fell from the candle onto
the table.

The
auctioneer was holding the cloth in his hands, grinning. "Sold, for fifty
pound, to my Lord Carlton."

For
a moment Amber sat, unable to move, while every other head in the room turned
curiously to watch him making his way through the crowd. Then, as though her
neck operated on a creaky hinge, Amber forced herself to turn her head, and
just as she did so she looked up into his face. His green eyes met hers for a
moment and there was a faint smile on his mouth; he nodded at her, and went on.
She saw other smiles too, all around her, mocking jeering faces that seemed to
close in upon her, to swim and dance all about her head.

Oh,
my God! she thought wretchedly. Why did he do that to me?
Why
did he do
it?

Lord
Carlton now stood beside his wife and she was getting to her feet; her
waiting-woman had gone to take the piece of cloth and she held it in her arms,
triumphantly. Chairs scraped and moved, gentlemen stepped aside as Bruce and
Corinna walked out. The room was murmurous as a bee-hive, and not every smirk
was covered with a polite fan.

"Lord!"
said a nearby baroness. "How'll we shift if it should become the fashion
for a man to prefer his wife to his whore?"

Amber
sat there, feeling as though she were imprisoned where she could neither see nor
breathe, and that if she did not somehow break her way out she would explode.
Lord and Lady Carlton were gone now and the auctioneer was measuring down
another inch on his candle, but no one paid him any attention.

"What
d'ye know!" cried Middleton, ruffling her fan and showing her teeth in a
simulated smile. "Aren't men the most provoking creatures?"

All
of a sudden Amber ground her heel on the other
woman's toe. Middleton let out a
yelp of pain and reached one hand down to massage her injured foot. Threateningly
she glared back up at Amber, but Amber ignored her. She was sipping her tea,
eyes cast into the bowl, and she did not so much as give a surreptitious glance
around the room to see who was watching her, for she knew that they all were.

But
later at home she was so sick that she vomited and went to bed and wished she
would die. She contemplated suicide— or at least some spectacular try at
suicide to rouse his sympathy and bring him back to her. But she was afraid
that even that might not succeed. Something in the expression of his eyes, seen
for just that moment as he passed, had convinced her at last that he was done
with her. She knew—but she would not accept it.

Somehow,
somehow, she told herself, I can win him back again. I know I can. I've
got
to!
If only I can talk to him again I can make him see how foolish this is—

But
now he did not even answer her notes. The messengers she sent came back
empty-handed. She tried to meet him herself. Once she dressed in boy's clothes
and went to Almsbury House. She waited more than an hour in the rain by the
door he was supposed to leave by, but did not see him. She had her informers
posted everywhere, to let her know the moment he entered the Palace grounds,
but apparently he never came to Whitehall any more. At last she sent him a
challenge to a duel —the one infallible means she knew to make him see her
again.

"For
some months, sir," it read, "I have suffered the embarrassment of
being your cuckold. This has damaged the repute of my family, as well as of myself,
and to repair the honour of my house I do hereby challenge your person to mine,
by whatever arms you may choose, and do request your attendance at five of the
clock tomorrow morning on the twenty-eighth day of May in Tothill Fields where
the three great oaks stand by the river. Pray, sir, do me the favour of keeping
our rendezvous a secret, and come to it unattended. Your humble servant, sir,
Gerald, Duke of Ravenspur."

Amber
thought it had the ring of authenticity and sent Nan to an amanuensis to have
it copied in a hand like Gerald's, for though she knew it was unlikely Bruce
had ever seen his writing, she intended to take no chances. If this failed— But
it couldn't fail! He had to come—no gentleman dared refuse a cartel.

But
Nan protested. "If your husband had been going to fight 'im at all, he
wouldn't have waited till now."

Amber
would hear no objections. "Why not? Look how long it took the Earl of
Shrewsbury to challenge Buckingham!

Early
the next morning while the Palace was still asleep, she set out on horseback,
attended only by Big John Waterman. She wore a riding-habit of sage-green
velvet embroidered in gold, and the brim of her Cavalier's hat was loaded with
garnet-coloured ostrich-plumes. Though she had scarcely slept at all
excitement kept
her from feeling or looking tired. They clattered down King Street and through
the narrow dirty little village of Westminster into the green fields beyond,
past the Horse Ferry and out to the three great oaks. There Amber dismounted
and Big John went on with her horse; he was to keep out of sight and not to
return until she gave him a signal.

It
was just beginning to grow light and she stood there alone for several moments,
surrounded by quiet familiar country sounds: the river washing its banks, the
"tick-tick" of a stone-chat, the unseen scurrying of many little
creatures. All about her the fog moved gently, like breath blown on a cold
morning. She watched a Polly Dishwasher dragging at a worm, cocking its head in
bewilderment when the captive slipped away and disappeared into the earth
again. She laughed nervously aloud at that and then started suddenly, glancing
around her. Quickly she darted back behind the tree, out of sight, for he was
riding toward her across the meadow.

She
did not dare to peek for fear he would see her, wheel about and go back, but
she could hear the sound of hoofs coming over the soggy ground and her heart
sped with relief and apprehension. Now that he was here—what would he do? She
had never had less confidence in her ability to coerce and charm him.

She
could hear the horse, heaving and panting, and she heard him talking to it as
he swung down and stood there beside it. Trying to screw up the courage to show
herself she hesitated several moments longer. At last he gave a short impatient
shout.

"Hey!
Are you ready?"

Her
throat was too dry and tight for her to answer, but she stepped out from behind
the tree and confronted him. Her head was lowered a little, like a child who
expects a beating, but her eyes darted up quickly to his face. He did not look
very much surprised but gave her a faint one-sided smile.

"So
it is you," he said slowly. "I didn't think your husband was an
ardent duellist. Well—" He had been holding his cloak in his hand and now
he swung it on again, turned and walked back to where his horse was grazing.

"Bruce!"
She ran toward him. "You're not going! Not yet! I've got to talk to
you!" She reached for him, seizing his forearms, and he paused, looking
down at her.

"What
about? Everything there is to be said between us has been said a thousand
times."

There
was no smile on his face now, but seriousness and the impatience and simmering
anger she had come to recognize and to dread.

"No
it hasn't! I've got to tell you how sorry I am! I don't know what happened to
me that day—I must have been crazy! Oh, Bruce—you can't do this to me! It's
killing me, I swear it is! Please, darling,
please
—I'll do anything,
anything
in the world if only I can see you again!" Her voice was intense and
passionate,
pleading with wild desperation. She felt that she had to convince him somehow,
or die.

But
he looked skeptical, as he always had at her extravagant promises and threats.
"I'll be damned if I know what you want. But one thing I do know, and
that's that we're done meeting. I'm not going to cause my wife any more
unpleasantness when her confinement is so near."

"But
she'd never know!" protested Amber, frantic at the uncompromising hardness
she saw on his face.

"Less
than a week ago she got a letter telling her that we were still seeing each
other."

Amber
looked at him in momentary surprise, for she had not sent it herself and had
not known of it, and then a pleased secret smile came to her lips.

"What
did she say?"

A
look of disgust flickered across his face. "She didn't believe it."

"Didn't
believe it! She must be an awful fool!"

Suddenly
she stopped, one hand clapped to her mouth, staring at him and wishing that she
could bite off her own treacherous tongue. Her eyes fell and all her spirit
crumpled.

"Oh,"
she murmured, "forgive me for that!"

After
a long moment she looked up again to find him watching her, some strange
expression of mingled tenderness and anger in his eyes. They stood there while
several moments passed, eyes locked. And then all at once she gave a little
sobbing cry and flung herself against him, her arms about his back, her body
pressed close to his. For a moment he stood perfectly still and then his hands
took hold of her shoulders, his fingers pressed hard into her flesh. With a
wild exultant sense of triumph she saw the expression on his face shift and
change.

Her
eyes closed and her head tipped back. She felt almost delirious with the
violence of her desire. Everything else had been swept away but a longing for
union with him. Her mouth, moist and parted, formed his name.

"Bruce—"

He
gave her a sudden rude hard shake. "Amber!"

Her
head snapped and her eyes opened, looking up at him dizzily. Slowly he bent and
kissed her mouth, but his hands held her forearms so that she could not move.
Then all at once he released her and before she had recovered her senses he
walked swiftly to his horse, mounted, and set out at a gallop back toward the
city. Amber stood there alone beneath the trees, still too stunned to move or
cry out, and helplessly watched him go. The pale white light of daybreak was
beginning to sift down through the leaves upon her uncovered head.

Minette
was coming to England again. It would be the first time she had seen her two
brothers since the joyous days just after the Restoration when, a gay
sixteen-year-old, she had come visiting with her mother. That had been the
beginning of a new life for all of them—a life which promised to repay the long
dark years of wandering and hopelessness. Ten years had passed since then. Now
there were only three of all the nine children still living—Charles, James, and
Henriette Annie. The Queen Mother had died eight months before.

The
visit had been planned for more than two years, but each time it had had to be
postponed—usually through the jealous malice of her husband. At last, however,
Charles had a pretext of such importance that Monsieur and his objections were
thrust aside. England and France were to form a secret alliance and when
Charles demanded that this sister be allowed to visit him before he would
conclude it, Louis told his younger brother that state interests came first.
But he did allow Monsieur to refuse her permission to go beyond Dover.