"There is nothing to forgive, John. I love you."
As they finished the wine, she leaned against him, gazing into the fire. Its warmth mingled with her wine-heated blood and the heat of John's body made her languid and drowsy. Her eyelids closed, and she drifted into sleep--happy, content, and safer than she had felt in years.
John held her secure, feeling extremely protective toward her, then as they lay curled together, he too drifted into sleep.
Many hours later, when a log in the fireplace fell into ash, Elizabeth awoke with a start. She became instantly aware that it was full dark. "John, John, what time is it?"
He roused beside her and stretched. "Late ... long past midnight, I warrant. Let me light a lamp."
"Oh, my God, you shouldn't have let me fall asleep! I should have been back at Oxted Hall hours ago!"
The lamp illuminated the chamber, and the clock on the wall indicated that it was almost four o'clock in the morning.
Elizabeth clutched his arm. "John, it _cannot_ be that time. Whatever am I going to do?"
"Sweetheart, you're trembling. It will be all right. I'll take you back now. We couldn't ride back earlier; it was pouring rain."
"You don't understand. My mother will fly into a rage ... her punishment will be terrible!"
"Are you afraid of your mother?" he asked, incredulous.
"Afraid?" she whispered. "I am terrified." Though she tried valiantly, she could not stop trembling.
"Beth, sweet, your mother won't find out." He squeezed her hands to reassure her.
"Of course she will!"
"Your maid, Emma, won't say a word. I'll make sure of it."
"My sister, Maria, will make sure Mother learns of what I've done." Her face was filled with panic, her eyes desperate.
"Elizabeth, I'll get you back into Oxted Hall without anyone knowing," he pledged. "Only Charlie will know what time you returned, and you know you can trust her. Hurry and get dressed."
John was as good as his word. After they stabled Demon and Cavalier, he smuggled Elizabeth up to her room without encountering any of Oxted Hall's staff or guests. Then he returned to the stable to tend the horses. He had dressed in riding clothes and, since it was around five in the morning, a claim that he had arisen early for a morning canter would be perfectly believable.
As Elizabeth closed the door of the chamber she shared with Charlie, she was panting with apprehension. When her friend sat up in bed, Beth murmured, "I'm so sorry to disturb you."
"You're not disturbing me," Charlie whispered. "Will only just left. I'll keep your secret, if you'll keep mine!"
Five hours later, as the weekend guests enjoyed a leisurely, late breakfast, William Cavendish was unpleasantly surprised by the arrival of his mother, the Duchess of Devonshire. He had known she would rush to London the moment she heard of Orford's proposal to his sister Rachel, but why the devil had she come running to Oxted? He immediately suspected someone had tipped her off to the cozy arrangement the young couples had planned for themselves, and his suspicion settled on his brother Charles's wife, Margaret.
"A dozen young people at a weekend house party without a _chaperon_ is highly irregular." The duchess looked pointedly at the females as if detecting an unsavory smell. "An explanation is in order."
A muscle ticked in William's jaw. "Mother, you are mistaken. We have a married couple to _chaperon_ us."
Her eyes hardened as they flicked to Will and the small female sitting beside him. "Charles is younger than you are. I hold you responsible for this, William."
John Campbell saw his friend flush with embarrassment. He was a man grown, being castigated by his mother before his guests. John rose to his feet immediately. "Your Grace, how lovely to see you again. Please join us for breakfast... take my seat." He bowed gallantly and brought another chair to the table for himself.
Slightly mollified, she accepted his offer. "Lord Sundridge, John, I trust your family is well?"
"Very well, thank you. I shall convey your felicitations when I arrive in Scotland next week."
Rachel Cavendish spoke up quickly. "I'm so glad you are here, Mother. I can safely place the arrangements for our engagement party in your hands."
The duchess looked at the man now standing beside her daughter. "Orford, congratulations seem to be in order." Her glance traveled to her other daughter, Cat, and the man sitting beside her. "And this gentleman is ..."
"May I present John Ponsonby, and his sister Harriet?" Cat said quickly, almost defiantly.
She lifted her lorgnette to examine him. "_Lord_ Ponsonby?"
Cat's defiance fled. "No ... just... John Ponsonby."
Will jumped to his feet, determined to deflect his mother's censure from his sister Cat. "Mother, may I present Lady Charlotte Boyle? I don't believe you've had the pleasure."
"Boyle?" She peered through her lorgnette at the creature and her face went stiff. "Not the Earl and Countess of Burlington's offspring?" The duchess looked in danger of apoplexy.
"I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Your Grace," Charlie said faintly.
Sensing impending disaster, Coventry got to his feet and reintroduced himself. "I hope you remember me, Your Grace. May I present Mistress Maria Gunning and her sister, Elizabeth?"
Up went the lorgnette. She hated them on sight because of their flawless beauty. "I shall speak to your mother. A word to the wise would seem to be in order." Her eyes flicked to Coventry. "Politicians have rather tawdry reputations."
"With the exception of my friend George Coventry." John Campbell smiled pleasantly, and the Duchess of Devonshire smiled back. He had seen Elizabeth's hands begin to tremble the moment the duchess said she'd have a word with her mother. He silently cursed the ugly old bitch and wondered how in God's name Will's father put up with her.
After breakfast, the duchess made a point of speaking with all the ladies' maids, so that she could give them a tongue-lashing for being derelict in their duties to their young mistresses.
Most of the male guests took the opportunity to retire to their rooms and instruct their valets to pack their bags. John touched Elizabeth's hand and murmured, "Meet me in the stables."
After a few discreet minutes had passed, Elizabeth made her way to the stables where John was saddling his horse. When he took her hand, she opened her palm to show him that it held the button from his uniform. He kissed her brow tenderly, then she went on her toes and offered up her mouth in a lingering good-bye kiss.
"_Ne obliviscaris_, Beth."
She shook her head. "I won't." _My heart already whispers your name. Do not forget me, John_.
*Chapter Fourteen*
The following day, John Campbell began packing for his journey to Scotland. He'd spent the morning with his steward making sure the hops were on their way to the breweries with which he had contracts, and all loose business ends were dealt with until his return. After lunch, he returned to the library to write a letter to his parents, advising them when he would arrive at Inveraray and was much relieved to see his secretary walk through the door.
"Robert, thank heaven you are back today! King George has finally given me consent to recruit in the Highlands. After months of indecision and procrastination he has ordered me to leave immediately. I hate to spring this on you the moment you return, but do you think we could be ready to travel tomorrow?"
"Of course, Lord Sundridge. As soon as I deliver my report on Ireland, I'll gather the files and papers pertaining to Scotland."
"Ah, yes, Ireland." John leaned back in his chair, not wanting Hay to learn that he now believed the trip had been unnecessary. He reached for a decanter of port on the side table and filled two glasses. "Sit--wash the dust of the road from your throat."
Hay drained the glass and shuffled his papers. "First, as you suggested, my lord, I traveled to County Mayo to inquire about Theobald, Viscount Mayo, and his daughter, Bridget. I have to report that the viscount has no such daughter, unless of course she is illegitimate. 'Tis rumored
he has a number of by-blows."
"I see." John steepled his fingers.
"In Roscommon I had a little difficulty finding Castle Coote, mainly because it isn't a castle at all. _Castlecoote_ is a small manor house in need of repair. John Gunning, more suited to gambling than farming, recently sold the house and land to a nearby farm. The family had no social connections whatsoever, but the unusual beauty of their two daughters was spoken of by everyone in the district. The family reportedly moved to Dublin so that the Gunning sisters could earn their living as stage actresses."
"Thank you, Robert," John said calmly. "We'll leave at first light if you can be ready."
When Robert Hay left the library, John Campbell sat quietly for a full minute. Then he picked up the decanter and hurled it across the room with a foul oath. He strode to the stables, saddled Demon, and rode from the valley as if the devil were on his tail.
After a bruising gallop, he finally drew rein. _What the hell is the matter with you? Did you have some ridiculous plan in the back of your mind to make Elizabeth Gunning your wife? Christ Almighty, man, even if she were from minor nobility, your family would never accept her_! Suddenly, Elizabeth's scent filled his nostrils and he knew that the things Robert Hay had told him made no difference to his feelings for her. Familial duty made marriage out of the question, but she enchanted him and he intended to have her. John laughed mockingly at his own foolishness. _Surely, even secretly, you never dreamed of making her your wife_?
Bridget Gunning paid another visit to the Drury Lane
casting hall and distributed sixpences to the out-of-work actors, then she penned anonymous notes to the fashionable newspapers, tipping them off about where the Gorgeous Gunnings could be seen. The day before they were to attend the royal drawing room at St. James's Palace, Bridget insisted that she and her daughters take an afternoon walk in Hyde Park, before the weather turned cold.
Accompanied by their maid, the Gunning ladies took a carriage to Park Lane
. When they arrived, Bridget instructed the cabman to wait for them. Elizabeth and Maria no sooner opened their parasols and began their stroll when a crowd began to gather, shouting and pointing at them. The crowd quickly became unruly, and it turned into a mob scene. Emma valiantly struck out with her umbrella at the men who were trying to touch the girls, and a throng of genteel ladies gathered to defend the Gunnings. By the time the police were summoned, Bridget had ushered her daughters back into the carriage, and the culprits vanished.
On the drive back to Great Marlborough Street
, Bridget pressed her lips together in outrage. "The king shall hear about this!" she declared, much to Maria's delight and Elizabeth's horror.
The crush at the royal drawing room at St. James's Palace was a testament to the unwritten law that such invitations could not be declined. Though it was fashionable for Society's matriarchs to complain in public, in private they were prideful as peacocks to parade themselves and their pubescent daughters at Court.
Maria Gunning, in her new powdered wig, preened by fingering the white roses that Beth had sewn onto her gown. Elizabeth followed with tentative steps, wearing the gold tissue ball gown. She wore her own hair, which garnered stares and prompted one matron to gush, "Do tell where you bought the glittering gold hair powder!"
Receiving the lion's share of attention from King George and Augusta, Princess of Wales, was the Duchess of Devonshire and her two daughters, Rachel and Cat. In point of fact, it looked as if the duchess were the one holding court, even though her gown was as nondescript as her face, and her wig was an old-fashioned gray.
Elizabeth dreaded the moment when the duchess and her mother were introduced, for God alone knew what accusations the Devonshire Dragon would make about the Gunning sisters. She was greatly relieved when Charlie arrived. "You look so pretty in your pale peach gown." They had chosen it to complement Charlotte's dark hair, but this evening she wore the requisite wig.
Dorothy Boyle greeted Bridget and immediately whispered behind her fan, "The fellow coming this way in the puce satin is Orford's cousin, Horace Walpole. He's the greatest gossip in Society, with a rapier wit and a tongue that can cut glass. Show the cynical swine deference, unless you wish to be eviscerated." Dorothy lowered her fan. "Horace, darling, do allow me to introduce the honorable Bridget Gunning and her daughters, Maria and Elizabeth."
"Lady Burlington, you have anticipated my desire, but then you've had so much practice." He raised his quizzing glass and examined the sisters. "The Beauties!" He swept Bridget with a glance. "Undoubtedly take after their father."
When Bridget laughed at his audacious remark, he was flattered. "Allow me to present your beautiful daughter to the king, madam. My cousin Orford has strutted before him long enough. Once he is wed to a Devonshire, he'll think himself a Prince of the Realm."
Maria simpered, placed her hand on Walpole's puce sleeve, and glided forward to meet her monarch.
Elizabeth stepped back, hoping to make herself inconspicuous yet feeling slightly rebuffed. She jumped nervously at a voice from behind her and turned to face the Duke of Hamilton.
He bowed formally before Elizabeth. "May I have the honor of presenting you to the king, Mistress Gunning?" Garbed in pewter-gray silk, he made Walpole look garish.
"Your Grace ... there is no need." She lowered her lashes demurely, wondering why he had come to her rescue yet again.
"There is every need for the most beautiful lady at Court to. be presented to His Royal Highness," he said gravely. "Come, my dear." His words sounded avuncular, and because of dissipation he looked much older than his twenty-nine years.
Elizabeth suffered the pinch her mother delivered without flinching, then she placed her hand on the duke's silk sleeve.
As he led her forward, he was aware that every eye was upon them. "Never hide your beauty," he murmured. "Lift your chin."
Used to obeying authority, Elizabeth immediately complied. They arrived at the king's side just as Walpole introduced Maria. Beth almost gasped at the words that came from her sister's mouth.
As she arose from her curtsy, Maria said, "Your Royal Highness, I've always longed to see a coronation!"
A blanket of silence fell as everyone realized she could not see a coronation unless the king died. Suddenly, Walpole tittered at the _gauche_ remark, then King George's bulbous eyes popped back into his head, and he laughed at the beautiful girl's social blunder.
Hamilton stepped forward. "Your Majesty, it gives me great pleasure to present to you Mistress Elizabeth Gunning."
As Elizabeth sank into a graceful curtsy, King George's appreciation for female beauty was visible to everyone. He gazed at the golden goddess then stared hard at Hamilton, misliking the duke's proprietary attitude. "We are indeed pleased. Mistress Gunning shall remain at our side."
Hamilton bowed and stepped aside to join his friend Will Cavendish. "I don't dismiss so easily," he drawled. "The lady is far too innocent for the king's lechery."
Will's eyebrows rose in astonishment. "Since when did you consider innocence a virtue, James?"
"Since I met Mistress Gunning." He turned and saw the look of jealousy on Maria Gunning's face because her sister was receiving attention from the king. He tucked the information away in hope that he could make use of the rivalry. The Earl of Coventry joined Hamilton, and he too was consumed with jealousy.
"Why the devil has Horace Walpole attached himself to Maria? Not even a title, yet he insinuates himself into royal circles!"
"Your precious Maria is safe with Walpole, George. The inveterate gossip's wrist is too limp to even masturbate."
The fourteen-year-old heir to the throne approached Maria Gunning and lifted her hand to his lips. When she bobbed him a curtsy, he stared down her rose-strewn bodice.
Maria spied her opportunity and told the impressionable youth about how she had been accosted yesterday while walking in the park. As she hoped, the outraged Prince of Wales immediately reported the incident to the king. Wi
thin minutes, Maria and her mother were summoned to the king's side.
Elizabeth wished the floor would open up and swallow her as her mother answered the monarch's questions, displaying histrionic outrage as if she were acting the lead role in a drama, which of course she was. Elizabeth stood mute, unable to control the blush that suffused her cheeks. Inwardly, she shrank even farther at the solution King George proposed.
"By order of the king, you shall have an armed guard of a dozen soldiers with halberds each and every Sunday afternoon, so that you may walk in our Hyde Park unmolested, what!"
Since Bridget Gunning had received royal attention, the Duchess of Devonshire condescended to acknowledge her. Dorothy Boyle, however, was not so fortunate. The duchess cut the countess dead.
"I don't believe it," Lady Burlington declared to the assembly at large. "When I spoke to Catherine Hoskyns," Dorothy used her maiden name, "she looked through me as if I were invisible!"
"I've always found the Duchess of Devonshire delightfully vulgar," Horace Walpole drawled. "Far be it from me to repeat gossip, but I believe I overheard her call your delightful daughter, Lady Charlotte, a _baby face_."
"Baby face?" Usually shrewd, Dorothy Boyle was at a loss.
"Well, she is little more than a child, after all. Perhaps she fears Will is in danger of robbing the cradle," Walpole supplied.
The Countess of Burlington flew into a rage. "Since when did robbing the cradle ever stand in the way of the Devonshires when it came to marrying wealth? She's apparently oblivious to the number of _baby faces_ the Devonshires have married in their time!" She saw that Walpole was drinking in every word and gave him something he could repeat. "Middle-class! That's what the Hoskyns were. She'll never be an aristocrat if she lives to be a hundred, which is precisely the age both she and her clothes look these days!"
The royal drawing room was talked about for months. Not only had it introduced the Gorgeous Gunnings to the Court of St. James, it also had been the setting where the deadly, virulent feud began between the Duchess of Devonshire and the Countess of Burlington.
Undone - Virginia Henley Page 17