Act Two began. Beth leaned forward, making it as clear as she could that she wished to give the performance her complete attention. The champagne arrived and was poured, and the duke handed her a glass, thereby forcing her to look away from the stage for a moment.
“My father tells me you travelled to Edinburgh recently,” Cumberland said immediately, before she could feign absorption in the opera again. “How did you find the mood of the town?”
She knew exactly to what he was referring. Jacobite or Hanoverian?
“Very merry,” she replied, being deliberately obtuse. “It is quite a unique city. I think it is because people live in such close proximity to each other, that they have no pretensions. A lord may live in the same building as a haberdasher. People are most unaffected. It is quite amazing. I thought that it would seem quite provincial, but there are entertainments every night. And many taverns and coffee houses, just as in London.”
The duke pursed his wet red lips slightly.
“And where do the loyalties of the populace stand?” he asked a little impatiently.
“Oh, with the king, of course,” said Beth. “There are a great many toasts drunk to his health every night. I joined in more than one myself.” She smiled, and raised her glass to him. There was a chink of crystal as he touched his glass to hers and drank, looking deep into her eyes as he did so.
There was one advantage of having nearly two thousand people watching your every move. He would not be able to force his attentions on her. All she had to do was to ensure he did not get her alone. Not difficult in itself, but she had to do it without offending him.
“You have the most beautiful eyes, Elizabeth,” said Cumberland. “They are almost violet in this light.”
And you have the eyes of a pig, she thought, noting he had dropped her title, indicating an intimacy she had not allowed him and did not feel, but at the same time could not object to.
“Why, thank you, Your Highness. My husband often makes the same remark,” she said innocently, enjoying his fleeting expression of anger at Sir Anthony being brought into the conversation. “Indeed, that is one of the reasons I enjoy this opera so much,” she continued. “Ginevra and Ariodante remind me of myself and Anthony, in more than one way.”
“Really?” said Cumberland.
“Indeed. Our love has survived many trials. The unfortunate duelling accident in France, for example.”
She wondered if Cumberland would pick up on the fact that the other way in which Ginevra reminded Beth of herself was in her hatred of the duke who fancied her.
“Yet you do not seem…particularly well-suited,” Cumberland ventured.
Oh well, it was probably better that he had not picked up on the allusion. Alex would have done, but Cumberland was not renowned for his quick-wittedness.
“In what way, my lord?” she asked, giving up on the opera. Act Two was almost over. Only one to go and then she could rejoin the others to go home.
“You are so…feminine, Elizabeth, yet display quite an interest in military matters. I would have thought you to have preferred a more masculine and martial man.”
Like myself. Though unspoken, the letters formed themselves in vivid colours over his head. He smiled and replenished her champagne, taking care to ensure his fingers brushed hers as he handed her the glass. She managed not to recoil, and sipped her drink slowly, using the applause as Ginevra took the stage for the final scene as an excuse not to respond to his statement.
The Act was over, the audience applauded and the interval began. Beth looked across to the other side of the stage. The Cunninghams were all looking her way, Edward and Richard radiating pride and approval. All of a sudden I am in favour, she thought disgustedly, because the fat, repulsive son of a usurper to the throne is lavishing attention on me. Lady Winter was bursting with questions already. Anne looked pale, but contented enough. Clarissa seemed a little disappointed. She, of all the family, was the only one truly interested in music. She must be disappointed that the company had talked all the way through the performance. It is really inconsiderate of them, Beth thought. It is her birthday, after all. Inspiration struck.
“It is my cousin Clarissa’s birthday today, Your Highness,” said Beth.
“Is it?” he said politely. “I will send her a bottle of champagne, with my compliments.”
“That would be very kind of you,” Beth replied, smiling winningly. “She does so love the opera, but my family have a habit of conversing throughout every performance. It would make her birthday unforgettable if you were to invite her to join us for the final Act.”
“No,” said Cumberland shortly, with such authority and finality that Beth was shocked into silence.
It is a warning, she thought. I may think of him as a usurping slug, but he thinks himself a prince. He has the authority and power of a prince. For now, he is a prince. Do not forget it. She looked at her lap, mulling over these thoughts, and he misunderstood her gesture.
“I am sorry,” he said. “I did not wish to seem rude. But I have long hoped to have a little time alone with you.” He placed his hand on her knee. “I had hoped,” he said, his voice soft, “that you would join me for a little private supper after the performance.”
Her heart banged against her ribs as adrenaline raced through her veins. The urge to hit him as hard as she could in his fat face was almost overpowering. She looked at the podgy hand resting on her knee, the short, fat beringed fingers curling proprietorially round the curve of her leg, and compared it with the broad muscular hand of her husband, the long, strong fingers. How dare he insult her and Alex in this way? She forced her temper and revulsion down by an enormous effort of will, looked up at him, smiled.
“You do me too much honour, Your Highness,” she said. “But I regret most deeply that I cannot accept. I am acting as companion to Lady Redburn this evening. As I am sure you know, she was tragically widowed only a month ago, and this is her first outing since Lord Redburn’s death. I have promised to escort her home.”
“Oh, I am sure you need not concern yourself unduly,” said Prince William dismissively. “After all, she is with friends. I have no doubt that any one of them will see her safely home.”
The warmth of his hand was seeping through the silk of her dress.
“I am sure you are right,” she said, sounding distressed without any effort at all. “But I also undertook to stay the night with her. She misses her husband so. The others will of course be going back to Lord Edward’s house for liqueurs after the performance, but Anne does not feel capable, in her delicate state, of staying out so late. I must honour my promise, Your Highness. You, being a prince and a soldier of the highest calibre, will understand better than anybody the concept of honouring one’s obligations, I am sure.”
The hand was lifted from her knee.
“Of course. I understand,” he said stiffly.
He had understood, that was clear. More than she wanted him to. She had offended him, and could not afford to. She needed to retain his favour, and his father’s. They were an important source of information.
Act Three began, and she hardly heard any of it. She had to regain his regard, let him know she found him attractive, without encouraging him to think she was going to leap into bed with him at the first opportunity. He found her desirable, but he wanted no more than a fling, with no commitment. No commitment. That was the key.
“Oh, Your Royal Highness!” she cried suddenly, reaching across and seizing his hand, to his surprise. “Please do not be angry with me! I must fulfil my duty to Anne! Yet I am distraught that you might think I have anything other than the greatest regard for you!”
The hubbub of voices in the audience rose noticeably. It would be all over London tomorrow.
The duke, as she had hoped, was stunned by this outpouring of feminine distress, which, in common with many men of his nature, flummoxed him completely.
“I do assure you, my dear Elizabeth…” he began.
“Indee
d, I am sure you know only too well how I feel for you,” she continued, praying to God he didn’t. “If only I were not married, things could be so different…”
She gazed pleadingly, adoringly into his eyes, seeing the instant alarm at her hint that she loved rather than lusted after him, followed by pride that she wanted him after all. She breathed a sigh of relief, which he misinterpreted as distress.
“I understand entirely,” he said, squeezing her hand reassuringly. “Please do not distress yourself. I hold you in great esteem. Your consideration for your friend only raises you in my estimation. There will be other opportunities, I am sure.”
Not if I have my way, thought Beth later, as the carriage made its way to the Redburn mansion.
“It’s very kind of you to bring me home,” Anne said from the other corner of the carriage. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be having liqueurs with your cousins? I am after all not very good company at the moment.”
“I had intended all along to accompany you home, Anne,” said Beth. “And I far prefer your company to that of my family.”
Anne blushed, not realising what a slight compliment it was.
“I had no idea it was the latest thing at the Court to take liqueurs after an evening out,” said Anne.
“Neither did I,” replied her friend. “But the duke assured me that the king always insists on enjoying a liqueur with friends before bed, if he has been to the theatre. It relaxes one after the excitement of the evening, he feels.”
Beth had shot back to the Cunningham box after the performance to reveal this invented royal custom, knowing that it would be immediately adopted by Edward and Isabella, who were always at pains to emulate royalty. Within a week everyone in London would be downing liqueurs by the bottle.
Details, she thought, Alex’s voice echoing in her head. She would not put it past the duke having her and her family followed to make sure she had told him the truth. Maybe she was being over-cautious. Still…
“I don’t need to relax,” Anne said. “I am quite tired. I had forgotten how fatiguing a social occasion can be.”
She still had to work out a way of getting into the Redburn house and staying there for a time. They drew up outside. Beth looked out. She didn’t think they had been followed, but there were several carriages in the street. It was impossible to be sure.
“This will be the hardest part of the evening, I think,” said Anne sadly. “It will be so strange to go in and not find Stanley there waiting for me. The house feels so empty without him. You must think me ridiculous,” she finished, looking apprehensively out of the coach window at the front door.
“No, not at all,” said Beth. “I understand exactly how you feel. After my father died I always felt his loss most keenly when I came into the salon where he used to sit. For months I half-expected to find him there, smiling at me. Sometimes when I came up the drive, I used to imagine I could see him at the window, waiting for me. It gets easier with time but even now, after over two years, I think it would still feel strange to enter his room and find it empty.”
“Oh, you do understand!” cried Anne.
“Would you like me to come in with you for a while?” Beth asked, seizing the opportunity.
“Would you mind terribly?” said Anne. “Only it is the first time I have been out since Stanley…ah…I am sure it will be easier next time.”
“I would be delighted,” said Beth honestly.
In the end she managed to stay for several hours. Anne, reluctant to wake the servants, went to the kitchen and prepared tea herself, and the two women sat long into the night talking, of loss, of their childhoods, which had been so different, Beth’s free and wild, Anne’s restricted and dull, and of Anne’s hopes for the future and for the child that she had now accepted she was carrying, and to which she was already starting to give her love.
It was three in the morning before Beth finally arrived home, opening the door very quietly so as not to disturb the household, who would all be asleep. She tiptoed into the hall, which was in darkness, and felt for the stair rail.
The library door opened suddenly, and a tall figure stepped into the hall, carrying a candle.
“Where the hell have you been?” said Alex.
CHAPTER TEN
Beth jumped violently.
“Jesus Christ, Alex,” she said, clutching at her heart. “You frightened me to death. I thought you’d be in bed. How did your meeting with Sir Double-U go?”
“Where have you been?” he repeated. “Are you all right?” His voice managed to sound both angry and frightened at the same time. His face was in shadow, and she couldn’t see his expression.
“Yes, of course I am. I’ve been at the opera. Had you forgotten I was going?” she asked, puzzled. Alex never forgot anything.
“The opera finished at eleven o’clock,” he said, his voice cold now. “Where have you been since then?”
“At Anne’s,” said Beth. “She didn’t want to go in the house alone, so I went in with her and we had some tea and talked for a while. What’s going on?”
Alex closed his eyes and breathed out through his mouth.
“Anne’s,” he said, with utter relief. “Oh thank God for that.”
“Why, where did you think I was?” she said.
“With Cumberland.”
“What?!” Her voice rose, and he held up a hand.
“I’m no’ angry wi’ you,” he said. “I didna think ye’d go wi’ him willingly. But I knew he’d invited you into his box, and when ye didna come home I thought he’d invited ye somewhere else afterwards, and ye didna ken how to refuse him.” He moved back into the library, putting the candle down on a small table, and she followed him.
“I find ‘No’ is usually pretty effective,” she said.
“Aye, but I knew ye’d no’ want to offend him. I’ve been sitting here for hours, tearing my hair out, because I wanted to find you and kill him, but I didna ken where he might have taken ye.”
His hair was indeed sticking out in all directions, and she softened.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I could have sent word, if I’d known. I thought you’d just assume I’d gone back to Edward’s.”
“I would have done, if I hadna known about Cumberland.”
“How did you know about him, anyway?” she asked, amazed. “I thought it’d be tomorrow at the earliest before that got round town.”
“After I’d had my meeting, I went off wi’ Barrymore to his club for a wee drink. Some of the other members had been tae the opera and were already blethering on about the beautiful blonde who the duke had invited intae his box. They said that ye’d thrown yourself at him and then gone off wi’ him in his carriage afterwards. Well, I knew the first part couldna be true, but when ye didna come home, I thought the second part was, and… I was worried,” he finished.
Beth looked around for signs of Alex’s ‘worry’. Smashed ornaments, fists crashed through furniture, Angus lying bloody in a corner, having provoked his brother into violence, as he was so good at doing…no. Alex had restrained himself well.
“Er, you actually got that the wrong way round,” she admitted, emboldened by the lack of destruction in the room. “He did invite me to a private supper, which I refused, so I didn’t go off in his carriage with him. I..er…did throw myself at him, though. A bit. I can explain,” she added hurriedly, seeing the anger flare in his eyes instantly.
She sat down and explained, quickly.
“It was really difficult,” she said. “I can’t stand even being near the man, let alone touching him. But I thought that if I made him think I hoped for more than a brief fling, it might put him off altogether. It appeased him for now, anyway, which was the main thing.”
“I see your point, and ye did well, taking all those precautions in case he followed ye, but I dinna think it’ll put him off for long, Beth. After all, if he had an affair wi’ you, and you fell completely in love wi’ him, he could still discard ye whenever it suited h
im. He’s a prince. Ye couldna do anything to hurt him, no matter how scorned ye felt. You must avoid being alone wi’ him, Beth, at all costs.”
“I know that already,” said Beth. “I’m sorry, though. It seems as though the rumours already have me in bed with him. I hadn’t expected that. It won’t do your reputation any good.” Or mine either, she thought. Although it seemed that giving your favours to royalty or the nobility was commendable as far as society was concerned, whereas giving them to anyone else made you a whore. It was ridiculous.
“Oh, Sir Anthony willna mind that at all,” Alex said, cutting into Beth’s thoughts. “No one’ll say anything directly to him anyway, and he’s awfu’ good at ignoring broad hints and suggestions. I, on the other hand, would mind a great deal. I’ll tell ye this now, Beth, so ye know it. If ever Cumberland manages to get you alone and propositions you, if it comes to it you say no directly, in whatever way ye have to, and tae hell wi’ offending him.”
“But we can’t afford to offend…”
“Aye, we can, if the alternative is that bastard laying his hands on you. Christ!” he said through gritted teeth, clenching his fists at the thought of it. “You say no,” he ordered, his face hard. “And if he doesna take no for an answer, ye hit him, or scream. I dinna think it’d come to that, though. He’d no’ force a woman against her will, I’m sure. But ye dinna ever think ye’re doing me or the Stuart cause a favour by taking him or any other man to your bed, Beth, because an ye do, I swear to ye now, I’ll kill him. Do ye understand me?”
She looked at him, wide-eyed. He meant it. A shiver of fear ran down her spine, but it was overwhelmed by the realisation that his love for her outweighed his passion for the Jacobite cause and the consequent need to keep the Elector as a friend. He would risk it all rather than have her compromise herself.
She dismissed the fear. She would never be unfaithful to him. Neither with Cumberland nor anyone else, for any reason.
“Yes, I understand you. I will never go with any other man willingly, for the Stuart cause or not. You know that already, I think,” she said.
The Gathering Storm (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 3) Page 25