NINETEEN
The press of Maddie’s duties forced Jack to recuperate in the city, where Nelson’s death was subsumed in a spirit of jubilation. Among the naval officers, however, was an awareness of how dear that victory was. Every day, Jack was called on to analyze reports while managing an endless string of requests and transfers. He juggled men and materiel on a regular basis, trying to please his colleagues but keep an eye on the seniority list. With so much on his mind, it was little wonder that he paid scant attention to the showers of royal favors that fell upon those who had brought the French Navy, and the fear of invasion, to an end. He cared little for his new title, especially after he received word that remnants of the French navy had been seen in the West Indies. Partial success was little better than failure in his mind. Bad leg, weak arm and all, he intended to raise his pendant on Intrepid and finish the job he had begun near Tenerife. While the nation’s gratitude towards him was boundless, he wanted only a posting back to the Caribbean and a battle-ready crew to take him there.
Friends in the right places manipulated the appreciation of the Crown so that Jack could witness his daughter’s triumph and still return to sea in a timely manner. The Queen’s schedule was adjusted so that the daughter of the freshly minted Viscount Beaulieu could make her debut two months earlier than expected, the time being most convenient for his lordship.
On the appointed day in mid-December, the atmosphere turned sour when Maddie donned her court dress and took one look at her reflection in the glass. She refused to leave the house looking like a dinner bell on legs, and Jack did nothing to ease her temper when he burst out laughing at the ridiculous rig required by Queen Charlotte. As if the aged ruler thought she could create a suitable compromise between old and new, she permitted the high-waisted styles made popular by Madame Bonaparte, but refused to let go of the hoops so popular in her long-gone youth. Added to the ensemble were the required ostrich feathers, meant to indicate which lady was being presented to a woman whose sight was not what it once was, and Maddie’s overall appearance was horrendous.
“The old fat cow,” Maddie hissed after Lady Jane demanded respect for custom. ”Just because she and her cabbage-brained daughters are ugly they will make us all their equal and therefore none may shine brightly.”
“Can you expect an English queen to yield to the taste of a French woman of questionable morals?” Jack asked. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop another round of guffaws. “And we are at war, my dear, which would make la mode Française that much more unpalatable.”
“Be grateful you are not made to wear panniers in which we had to shuffle sideways like crabs,” Lady Jane said. “And Her Majesty is German. Not English. We all know what passes for fashion among the Germans.”
“Die fette alte Kuh Deutsch,” Maddie said. Jack heard the faint note of a brewing rebellion, but he was powerless to stop it. The drawing room was populated by women and he was not invited.
Until the Ashfords arrived for the dinner party that would celebrate Maddie’s introduction at court, Jack finalized postings for the most junior lieutenants, sending Edmond Powell to a frigate in the West Indies. He dashed off a request to Tony in regard to a new assignment for George Ashford, who had done nothing to distinguish himself beyond surviving two years. The boy needed to see action if he were to advance in a manner befitting an Ashford, a family long connected to the sea. Jack was in the middle of writing a letter to a friend when a great clatter disturbed the peace of the house.
“Set me free,” Maddie screeched as she mounted the stairs. “Release me from this cage.”
He stuck his head out of the door of his library to see his daughter flying down the corridor with Lucy on her heels, the two of them laughing themselves silly. Before he could reach her to ask about the day, the feathered bell was in her dressing room and the door was shut against his intrusion. He would interview Lady Jane, in that case, and receive more accurate news.
“A curtsy in name only.” Lady Jane was beside herself, arms waving as if she could create a breeze and blow away the errors she was doubtless tabulating. She took a sip of the brandy and water that Lawrence offered before continuing. “Not bending the knee to royalty. Who put such ideas in her head, my lord, who, I ask you?”
“Her mother, I suppose,” Jack said.
“A bit stiff, was she?” Joseph asked. “Other than that, did my niece comport herself in a manner befitting an English lady, or as a partisan in petticoats?”
“This is no joke,” Lawrence said. “An insult to Her Majesty can be repaid in unpleasant ways that would hurt us all.”
“Did she turn her back on the queen?” Marie Elise asked. “Was she rude, or did she suffer from nervousness?”
Too distraught to speak, Lady Jane waggled a hand as if to cast off the memories. Another drop of brandy and she found the strength to carry on, only to cringe when the high-spirited squealing of carefree young women drifted down through the walls and rattled the plaster. The conversation paused while a footman handed around refreshments, giving Jack a moment to consider his sister-in-law’s tendency to exaggerate versus Maddie’s periodic flares of temper. The girl was, of course, upset that he was leaving again, but it was not likely that she would attempt to sabotage his career to gain her wish that he remain with her through the season.
“Graceful, I grant her that,” Lady Jane said. “but not as deep as we would find appropriate for the situation. And after we rehearsed and practiced for days on end.”
“Was any offense taken?” Lawrence asked.
“What say you, my lord, to your daughter conversing in German with our queen?” Lady Jane asked. “And do you know why? Because she could not understand Her Majesty’s English. How can I judge if the topic were appropriate or not? As it is, any conversation with the Queen at a drawing room is practically unheard of.”
“A lengthy conversation?” Jack asked. Brilliant girl. Wonderful girl. Her name would be passed around Court, spoken with awe and respect and who could say but one of the princes might take an interest and there would be no limit to the heights that Maddie would reach.
“Certainly of longer duration than that directed towards Lucy,” Lady Jane said.
Joseph’s lips parted, a witty retort on his tongue, but all conversation ceased with the arrival of two young ladies, color high, sweeping into the drawing room in new gowns. Both Maddie and Lucy carried themselves with the knowledge that all eyes were on them, and would be on them until they married and fell into insignificance. Jack wished that a portrait artist were there, at that very second, to capture the radiance and pleasure, the knowledge of one’s beauty and the intent to wield it like a weapon in the female battle for the perfect husband. So like her mother, Jack realized, and he had to pretend to a mote in his eye to explain away the tear.
The cream colored silk was a perfect compliment to Maddie’s hair, with its copper glints shining in the candlelight. As suited her new status, the cut was much changed from the gowns she had worn the day before, and she felt the difference as well, judging by the way in which she floated across the room to her stepfather’s side. The embroidery on the hem of the skirt rippled like a field of flowers with every step.
“Oh my, but it was dreadful,” she said, drawing a laugh from Lucy. “We had to wait forever to be called and it was so cold, father, I don’t wonder that my poor aunt nearly froze half to death.”
“I told you, did I not,” Lucy said. “The coldest hallway in the entire palace.”
“What did Her Majesty say to you?” Lady Jane asked.
Maddie wrapped her arms around Jack’s neck and kissed the top of his head. “We spoke of the Admiral,” she said. “And about leaving our childhood homes, the things we remember and all that we do not. I felt so ugly and cold and all I could think about was my new dress and the party. Exactly what she said, I cannot recall. Then she kissed me on my forehead and I walked backwards and never once did I stumble on my train.”
“She had rat
her a great deal to say to you,” Lady Jane said.
“Did she? I thought it was all rather abrupt,” Maddie said. “How fascinating it would have been if she could have told me more about the way in which she created a new life in England.”
Guests began to arrive, all chosen by Lady Jane for the benefit that might befall the Ashford family by particular connections and potential matches. The drawing room filled with sparkle, with the ripple of silk and the scratch of navy blue wool, a sea of color in which Maddie stood out like a bright beacon. Jack watched her, admired her, but in the back of his mind he could not let go of Lady Jane’s criticism of the curtsy. Had Maddie acted as she did because she had not forgotten where she came from and what her family stood for? He wanted her to keep that part of her spirit, and so it was for the best. On the other hand, if she held that memory close to her heart, did it indicate that she was also recalling a promise that she return to South Carolina in two short years? Was it possible for one notion to exist while the other died, and if so, how did a father nurture one and suffocate the other?
The mob drifted towards the door once dinner was announced, milling about as they waited to be told in what order to proceed. As part of Maddie’s training, Lady Jane had drilled her on protocol, instilled in her the fear that a single mistake could cost a hostess dearly. Jack felt a tug on his sleeve, turned, and found Maddie at his side. “You should take me down to dinner,” she said, but she was soon swallowed up in the shifting mass. When Jack next saw her, she was on the arm of some young man whose mother would be in Lady Jane’s debt for a favor granted.
A week later, after a mad whirl of dinners, dances and theater parties, Jack found it difficult to bid Maddie good-bye. He would not be present to hear her analysis of each soiree, to laugh over the foibles of a clumsy suitor or grumble over a cold shoulder aimed at a girl of colonial origins who was not an Ashford by birth. Beyond such joys were the deep-seated fears, with only Lawrence and his less-than-trustworthy wife acting as guardians at the gate. It was unlikely that orders to limit Maddie’s engagements in her first season would stick, not once she and Lucy formed an alliance of cajolery, whining and pleading. Even that was not the worst Jack could envision, not when the long shadow of Lord Sunderland darkened the horizon. While Maddie was intelligent, she was also naïve, capable of eluding Lady Jane’s watch if a clever soldier encouraged her to slip away. Slip away to the north, to Gretna Green and a Scottish minister who asked no questions, and from there but a short distance to the Sunderland estate in Durham. A father’s worst nightmare, and Jack was powerless to stop it from his post in the West Indies.
The Second War of Rebellion Page 26