by Mary Daheim
On that long-ago morning the future had suddenly unfolded with all the promise of spring. Yet before the day had run its course, Marlborough had landed in the Tower. And despite Eden’s best efforts, he had remained there ever since. As she watched her father stand with his usual cool detachment, she longed to leap from the gallery and race across the hall and fling herself in his arms. Instead she sat like stone, vaguely hearing Sarah’s heavy sigh and Barbara’s lusty curse.
The King was not on hand to deliver the sentence. Eden was somehow relieved, but as the assembly began to quiet down, she winced at the intimidating expression on the Lord Chancellor’s face. Across the way, she caught sight of Sidney Godolphin, accompanied by a young man whose resemblance suggested kinship. His son, thought Eden. Godolphin’s bloodlines, his own foal ….
Jarred, she sat up very straight and was about to speak to the Countess when the Lord Chancellor banged his staff on the stone floor. Eden barely heard the words that echoed off the ancient stone walls.
“John Churchill, first Earl of Marlborough, shall be taken four weeks hence to Tower Hill where he will be executed for high treason.”
She had to reach Sidney Godolphin. Staggering to her feet, Eden nudged Lady Castlemaine, then Sarah. But both women were leaning forward, their fingers gripping the rail in front of them. Tears welled up in the Countess’s eyes, and Barbara was using words Eden had never heard before.
“Please,” begged Eden, tugging at her mother’s sables, “let me pass. I must get to Lord Godolphin! I must talk to him about his horse!”
Barbara swung around, grabbing Eden by the wrist. “Stop it! You’re hysterical! Sit down!”
But Eden resisted, trying to pull away. “I tell you, I must see ….”
Her words were drowned out by the furor that erupted throughout the hall. A few of the onlookers were cheering, but most were shouting their protests or stomping their feet in objection. Several hats were tossed onto the floor, along with a few less savory items. Through it all, the Earl of Marlborough stood motionless, his face impassive, his bearing noble.
With one last glance at her father, Eden opened her mouth to scream in defiance. But no sound came out, for the great hall was spinning, the heavy beams seemed to be crashing down, and the crowd had turned into a clamorous blur. Eden felt herself sinking into a sea of sable and satin, and then she felt nothing at all.
From somewhere far away, Eden heard a voice calling out, “Hot chestnuts! A ha’penny apiece!” Church bells were ringing, and the aroma of roasting fowl made her nose tingle. The first image she saw when she opened her eyes was a green vase filled with holly. Everything was as it should be, she told herself hazily, for it was the yuletide season.
Then, slowly, reality dawned. The world was awry, and her father was going to the block. To make life even more worthless, Max was gone, perhaps forever. Putting a hand to her head, Eden groaned and tried to sit up. Somehow she must accomplish the task she’d started before she went to sleep. If only she could remember what it was ….
“Don’t try to move,” said Max, putting a hand on her arm. “You hit your head when you fainted.”
The ebony eyes widened with disbelief. But Eden didn’t need to pinch herself; her headache was sufficient to tell her she was conscious. “Oh!” she exclaimed, feeling the lump just above her temple. “Oh, Max! Thank God!” Her effort to embrace him fell short, and she collapsed against the pillows.
“Just rest, you’ll be all right,” he assured her, his hand on her shoulder, rubbing it gently. “You had a terrible shock.”
“Two, in fact.” She pushed the hair off her forehead. “One terrible, and the other miraculous.” Her eyes weren’t cooperating fully as she tried to scrutinize Max closely. Was the blurriness due to her headache, or was Max truly an apparition? After all the weeks of anguish, Eden had trouble accepting his reappearance. Yet she could feel his touch and hear his voice. She noted, too, that the sun-streaked hair seemed a little darker, the flesh over those high cheekbones a trifle tauter, and the shadows under his eyes more pronounced. “Max,” she demanded in a high, thin voice, “where have you been?”
“To France to visit the King,” he replied lightly, but the hazel eyes still showed his concern for Eden. “We’ll speak of that later. Now you must stay quiet.”
“But I can’t,” Eden protested, making another feeble attempt to sit up. “Jack is going to die! And I know how to save him!”
Max stroked her face and kissed her nose. “I’m sure you do. You’ll save everyone. Now go to sleep.”
“Will you stay with me?” Her voice ached with the fear of losing him again.
He lifted her hand and entwined her fingers in his. “I’ll nail my boots to the floor. Vrouw de Koch can bring food at four-hour intervals. I’ll prop my eyes open with hairpins.” His grin, off center and engaging as ever, spread across his chiseled face as he gently squeezed Eden’s fingers.
“You could sleep next to me,” Eden suggested in a small voice. Her free hand waved limply at the empty side of the bed.
Max inclined his head to one side. “I could do that,” he allowed. His gaze traveled slowly from her peaked face to the curve of her breast under the covers to the outline of her slim legs. “God knows, I’ve thought enough about it.” He took a deep breath as he let go of her fingers. “A lot. But I don’t want to disturb you while you’re recovering. I’ll keep watch right here, I promise.”
Reluctantly, Eden shut her eyes. But a moment later she was staring quizzically at Max again. “I still think I’ve gone mad. I hear singing.”
Cocking his head, Max listened. Out in the street a half dozen voices were raised in a chorus of ancient carols. Max smiled at her, his face touched with tenderness. “You do, indeed. And why not, Eden? It’s Christmas.”
For the next two days Eden slept much of the time. In bits and pieces, she discovered Max had been at Westminster, trying to conceal his height behind several onlookers who’d managed to climb on a riser for a better view. He had spotted Eden without difficulty, along with the Countess and Lady Castlemaine. After the grisly sentence was handed down, Max had planned to slip away. But he had noted Eden’s obvious agitation and her subsequent swoon. Scorning detection, he had climbed into the gallery and rushed to her side. When he found out that she had not only fainted but had struck her head on the rail, he’d insisted on bringing her to Clarges Street.
“Your mother put up no argument, being in a bit of a daze herself,” recounted Max as he and Eden sat in her chamber drinking hot coffee and nibbling Vrouw de Koch’s spicy Christmas speculaas biscuits. “As for the Countess, only her great strength of character kept her from attacking the Chief Justice. She went directly to Kensington, but William would not yield.” Max made a bitter face that had nothing to do with Vrouw de Koch’s strong coffee.
“But something can be done,” Eden insisted, adjusting the lavender dressing gown she had first worn upon her arrival the previous winter. Meeting Max’s skepticism with a level gaze, she wagged a finger in his direction. “You think I’m fanciful, but I’m not. With Lord Godolphin’s help, I can disprove Roark’s testimony. Then there is only the word of Fenwick—who also lied. And William will have to free Jack.”
Max did not look convinced as he placed a big hand on Eden’s cheek. “How can you and Sidney refute Roark’s charges? You hadn’t even met Jack then.”
“That’s not the point,” Eden said impatiently. “Somehow I remember what even Milord Godolphin forgot.” She leaned forward eagerly. “On the first day of February, Jack couldn’t have been at Cupid’s Garden. He was with Godolphin at Newmarket. It was on that day Lord Challenger was born, and even I know a thoroughbred such as that one would have to be registered immediately.” Her eyes danced and her breasts rose and fell just a trifle faster under the lavender silk. “Would you care to wager with me that along with Sidney, Jack also signed those papers?”
Max let out a soft, sharp whistle between his teeth. “I never thought
of that, either!” He put his hand under her chin and gave Eden an admiring look. “I wasn’t at Newmarket, but was paying court to Harriet at that time.” He grimaced at his former fiancée’s name. “But I know Jack was there. The date itself simply didn’t impress me.”
“I suppose it stuck in my mind because every detail about him was so important to me. I was hungry for every shred of knowledge I could glean about my father.” Eden rested her cheek against Max’s palm. “Strange, it was easier to fill in the portrait of Jack than of you. Even though we were here together for all that time, you were far more elusive.”
The ebony eyes were wistful, and the lashes dipped artlessly against the pale skin. She could hardly believe that less than a year ago she had not known either Max or Marlborough. Except for Gerard, the Berengers had dimmed into a faceless montage of acrimony and spite. Conversely, Marlborough was fixed vividly in her mind’s eye, his inner strength never more apparent than when he had been condemned to die. As for Max, he was where she had always sensed he should be—at her side, sharing an intimacy she had once considered impossible. “Oh, Max,” breathed Eden, “I never thought I’d see you again. I was sure you were dead!”
Moved by her fervor, Max nudged Eden’s cheek with his fist. “I could hardly let you down by getting myself killed, could I?” He grinned at her, then grew serious. “Do you want me to speak to Sidney on your behalf?”
Eden shook her head vigorously. “I must do it myself,” she asserted. “Saving Jack has been my responsibility from the start. Until now, I’ve felt like a failure. I shall go to Lord Godolphin at once.”
“He went to the country for Christmas,” said Max, putting an arm around her shoulders. “In any event, you must stay abed until tomorrow. This time I’m the doctor.”
Eden tried to put aside her disappointment at the delay in rescuing her father. Dejected, she leaned against Max. “A day or two will make no difference, I suppose. But Jack must be devastated.”
Max gave her a little hug. “He has enormous equanimity. He also believes in luck.”
“Perhaps he does.” But Eden was dubious. Certainly the Countess and their children must be suffering dreadfully. At least she felt some sense of reassurance in Max’s arms, and as the warmth and strength of his body flowed into hers, she felt those stirrings of desire that were never far from the surface. “Seeing as how I’m already in bed,” she said with a pert glance, “what treatment do you prescribe, Dr. Max?”
Max flicked her nose with his finger. “Nothing strenuous. A caress,” he said, running his hands down her back. “A squeeze,” he continued, spanning her waist. “A kiss,” he added, brushing her mouth with his.
Eden nestled closer, planting little kisses under his chin. “Your cure is most efficacious. You, too, must have a gift for healing. I feel better already.” She traced a path from his lower lip to the mat of dark blond hair exposed by his open shirt. It was almost three months since they had made love under a harvest moon in the farmhouse near Lille. Now the snow was falling in big soft flakes over London’s rooftops, while sleigh bells jingled on the winter air. Eden shifted in Max’s embrace, her hair cascading over his arm, her eyes shining with anticipation.
“Max, why me?” she asked, a plaintive note in her voice.
Caught in the draft, the candle flame wavered, casting shadows across the planes and angles of Max’s face. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “There are many lovely women in the world, and even a pauper prince can cut a wide swath among them.” He felt Eden bridle, and his eyes twinkled. “So to speak, I mean. But I was never one for indiscriminate lovemaking. Maybe it’s because I’m a private sort of person. Any attachments I’ve formed have had some sort of meaning for me.” He was speaking more slowly, the twinkle gone, the words carefully chosen, as if he’d never thought them through till now. “You brought joy into my life. You made me feel alive again. There’s no pretense in you, Eden.” He paused to lightly touch her breast. “Your heart is honest—and open. I couldn’t help but walk straight into it.”
Almost shyly, Eden studied the vulnerable side he was exposing to her. “You make me feel humble. And powerful, too.” She sighed and pulled his head down to kiss his mouth. “Oh, Max, I love you!”
“I …” he said between kisses, “love … you.” Their breath and tongues mingled, making Eden feel dizzy all over again. Max laid her down among the pillows, then stretched out beside her. The fire was dying and the snow was coming down faster. “How do you really feel?” he asked, gingerly touching the place where she’d hit her head.
Eden glowed in the candlelight. “Wonderful.” She clasped him to her, tugging at his shirt. “Superb.” Her fingers plied at the muscled strength of his back and shoulders. “Healthy as Godolphin’s horse.” She tipped her head back, letting Max tantalize her throat and breast with slow, languid kisses. Every small aggression was made with deliberate care, each new exploration carried out with delectable restraint. Eden wriggled with delight, yet wanted to urge Max to bring them to completion.
“Are you coddling me or taunting me?” she gasped as his fingers leisurely stroked the flesh between her thighs.
“Both.” Max flashed a wicked grin, then poised himself above her. “Taunting is well and good, up to a point. We’ve both waited too long, Eden.”
She would have agreed with him, but he was already claiming her as his own, no longer patient and premeditated but full of fire and intensity. Eden cried out with joy, welcoming him with a surge of passion that rocked them both. Their union was sweet as a spring meadow yet wild as the winter wind as they transported each other to a place apart. Max and Eden, alone together, soared above the snow, beyond the clouds, and could have sworn they heard the angels sing.
Even as he searched his paneled library, Sidney Godolphin roundly berated himself. He could not believe that he hadn’t connected Roark’s perjury with the date of his Arabian’s birth. Eden soothed him, expressed her gratitude for his meticulous record keeping, then headed out through a light snow flurry for Kensington Palace. To her elation, the Earl of Marlborough’s signature was inscribed, along with the date, below that of Lord Godolphin’s. No man could have been at Newmarket and Cupid’s Garden at the same time.
Her sense of triumph faded when a somber Keppel informed her that His Majesty was in solitude at Kensington. “It’s the twenty-eighth day of December,” he said in hushed tones. “The anniversary of Queen Mary’s death. He sees no one. Not,” he added with a little shrug, “even me. Did you know he always wears a lock of her hair around his neck?”
Several of Lady Castlemaine’s favorite oaths leaped to Eden’s mind. But patience was required; she announced that she would wait until the morrow. Could Joost put her up for the night?
Keppel looked uncertain. “Well, mayhap. It’s that important?”
Eden assured him that it was. She was tempted to take him into her confidence, but before she could decide if that would be a prudent idea, Keppel inquired after Max. “I feared he was dead. What happened to him during all these weeks?”
Eden hedged. “He went abroad.” She’d learned that much, but the truth was, she still didn’t have all the facts. The only thing she was sure of was that Max no longer had any qualms about being recognized in London.
It was this question that Keppel next addressed. “I’m most relieved that he’s alive and well,” he said. “But isn’t he afraid that the King will have him arrested?’
“It seems not,” Eden said dubiously. “Yet I must confess, I fear for him. Surely Bentinck will be hot on his heels again.”
But Keppel demurred. “My sympathy is scant, as well you know, but poor old Wilhem has plenty of other problems these days. His scramble to retain any kind of power preoccupies him, thank God.”
Keppel’s assessment should have given Eden a sense of relief, yet she remained uneasy. Following Keppel down the elegantly decorated corridor of Kensington Palace, Eden could not shake off the feeling that she was still walking unde
r a sinister shadow.
William of Orange stared for a long time at the piece of paper bearing the signatures of Sidney Godolphin, the Earl of Marlborough and three unimpeachable Newmarket racing officials. The King’s color was somewhat improved since Eden had last seen him at St. James’s, but he was haggard after his day of mourning, and his mood was irascible.
“Are you accusing Major Roark of perjury?” he demanded in a gruff voice that always seemed to tax his weak lungs.
Eden didn’t flinch. “I am. It’s quite plain, Roark was bribed. He used to work for Count Rudolf of Hohenstaufen.”
William’s dark eyes turned sad. “We once regarded Rudolf highly. Perhaps God punished him for his betrayal. Yet Prince Maximilian had no right to take justice into his own hands.”
“He didn’t. Rudolf was shot by a French mercenary.” Noting the King’s rising skepticism, Eden waved an impatient hand. “I was there, Your Majesty, at Zijswijk. Rudolf kidnapped me.”
Passing a hand over his forehead, William set the registry form on his inlaid desk. He had received Eden in the King’s Gallery, his favorite refuge for private conversations. “What you say sounds quite incredible. We feel your imagination has gotten out of bounds.”
Eden tried to check her exasperation. “What happened to me—and to Rudolf—has no bearing on this document,” she asserted, tapping at the paper with her index finger. “I have come on behalf of my father. He is going to die because two men have not told the truth. You, Sire, are known as a fair-minded man. You told me so yourself.”
William’s scowl was fearsome. He shifted just enough in his chair to indicate that Eden had put him on the defensive. “Why would Sir John Fenwick, who is about to die, persist in his lies?”