She could hardly breathe as rebellion flared up in her. She knew she could not bear to comply if he demanded his marital rights. A small part of her wanted a knock-down, drag-out fight. Yet she dreaded a loud, angry confrontation in their friends' home. She bought time by sitting down before the mirror to brush her hair. She saw his reflection coming toward her, and she stiffened.
His spatulate fingers closed over hers and he removed the brush from her hand. "Elizabeth, I want you to undress for me. Now!"
She stared at him, frozen with indecision. _Yield or fight_?
"Damn you, I haven't got all night! I still have important business to discuss with Cavendish. Get your clothes off. I want to have a close look at your figure."
She experienced immediate relief that his goal was not sexual, yet she was outraged. The bastard wanted her to strip so he could assess the damage that having a child had done to her body. _Yield or fight_? She weighed the advantages of refusing with the disadvantages of a stinking row and chose to yield-- this time. The rebellion was coming, it was as inevitable as a Greek tragedy, but she wanted to be in her own territory when the appointed time came.
Fearing that if she did it slowly, it might tempt and arouse him, she stood and removed her clothes in a matter-of-fact manner.
When she was naked, he slowly circled her, observing her from every angle. Then he drew close and examined her minutely, missing no finest detail of her breasts, belly, or thighs. Elizabeth felt like a racing filly being assayed for flaws at a Tattersall's horse sale, but she refused to blush or lower her lashes.
"You are almost perfect. Perhaps a little more lush, but that could increase your admirers. Since bearing a child did no visual damage, I think I can go about the business of siring another son."
_Over my dead body!_
After he left, Elizabeth went to bed, but it took her a long time to fall asleep. _When he looked at my body, I was lucky he could not see where it had been or what it had been doing_. Guilty feelings surfaced, but again she tried her best to bury them. She must have finally slept, because she awakened with a jolt when the chamber door opened and she heard voices.
Hamilton, supported by Morton, his valet, entered. It was clear to Elizabeth that the duke was legless from drink. She arose, slipped on a bedrobe and approached them. "Can you manage him?"
"Always do, Your Grace. I'll soon have him abed. He'd still be drinking if Cavendish hadn't been summoned to his sick wife."
"Lady Charlotte? I'd better see if there's anything I can do."
When Elizabeth arrived in her friend's bedchamber, she found a disturbing scene. Charlie was vomiting into a chamber pot held by Jane, her ladies' maid. Will hovered over his wife, obviously racked with worry. Dorothy Boyle declared, "I shall send for the doctor, though I doubt the wretched man will come before morning."
Charlie saw Elizabeth and held out her hand. "My head is still pounding," she gasped out between retches.
_Oh, my God. I thought her headache was pretended_. Elizabeth reached for her hand and was immediately alarmed. Charlie was feverishly hot. Beth felt her friend's forehead. "She's burning hot... I'll get some cool water to bathe her."
"I'll get it," Will said quickly. "You stay with her."
In an amazingly short time Will was back with bowl and flannel cloth. He handed them to Beth. "I'll get her a clean night rail."
Jane removed Charlie's soiled night rail, and Elizabeth sponged her with the tepid water. The sick girl didn't seem any cooler, but she was at least fresher. They helped her up so that they could put fresh linen on the bed.
"My back aches too," Charlie said wearily.
"Darling, I think you got up too soon after the baby." Will's voice revealed his extreme concern. "The doctor will give you something for fever."
Elizabeth saw that Charlie was now a dull red, so she bathed her face once more. When Jane gave her mistress a sip of cool water and it came back up, Beth said, "Barley water is best for nausea."
"I'll get cook to make some." Will hurried from the chamber.
Dorothy Boyle returned. "I dispatched a footman for the doctor and gave him a note stressing how ill she is."
They all did their best for the patient until the doctor arrived at dawn. When he examined her, he prescribed a fever powder but looked grave. He asked Will to step outside for privacy.
When Will came back into the chamber his face was ashen. "The doctor said he will be back in a few hours."
"Is that all he said?" Dorothy demanded.
Will gestured for Dorothy and Elizabeth to come away from the bed and Charlie's hearing. "He said the midwife who delivered our baby died of smallpox yesterday. There are other suspected cases in the village. But he cannot confirm Charlie has caught it."
"Dear God Almighty!" Dorothy crossed herself.
"As a precaution he advised me to get the children away from Rutland." He looked at Elizabeth. "You must take your son away."
The blood drained from Elizabeth's face as she and Will went back to the bed. Charlie's eyes were now closed, and she was murmuring incoherently. A lump came into Beth's throat as she watched Will tenderly stroke Charlie's fevered brow.
"I won't leave her," Will whispered. "Dorothy must take the children to London."
Elizabeth said softly, "I will get Nan to start packing Jamie's things." _I must get Mother and Emma out of here. James too_. She found Nan in the nursery feeding her baby daughter. Elizabeth did not approach her son's cradle. "Lady Charlotte is sick, and the doctor says there is something going around the village. I want you to pack up quickly and be ready to leave for London. I must awaken Mother and the others. We are going to need two carriages." When she knocked on Emma's door she found her already up and dressed. "Charlie is ill and it could very well be contagious. Please awaken Mother and help her pack. Nan is getting the babies ready to leave. Perhaps you could also get word to Mr. Burke?"
Elizabeth encountered Morton in the upstairs hall. "Come with me, Morton. We have to rouse His Grace."
They entered the bedchamber together and found James Hamilton still snoring. Morton shook him and repeated the process until the duke opened heavily pouched eyes and began to curse.
"James, I'm sorry to disturb you, but Lady Charlotte has come down with an ailment that could be contagious and the doctor has advised that we all leave for London immediately. I've told Jamie's nurse to pack everything."
Hamilton blinked his bloodshot eyes. "Contagious?"
"He thinks it might be chicken pox," Elizabeth lied. "Children are extremely susceptible to the infection."
Hamilton threw off the covers. "Pack my things, Morton!"
Within the hour three traveling coaches, piled with luggage, stood ready in the courtyard. Two Cavendish nursemaids, each holding a child, sat in the first waiting for Jane to help the Countess of Burlington. Dorothy was leaving under protest. "As soon as the children are safe in London, I shall return to my daughter!" Morton helped Nan put the two babies into one of the Hamilton coaches. The duke placed his hand under Elizabeth's elbow, urging her inside, his temper and nerves in tatters.
"I'll wait for Mother. You know how long it takes her to pack. Mr. Burke will take good care of us. Please get Jamie out of here quickly, James. Emma will help me hurry Mother along." She knew that her husband would call the doctor as soon as he arrived home to have both himself and his heir examined.
"Your mother is an officious bitch. If she isn't down in ten minutes you are to leave without her. Do you understand?"
"Yes, yes, just go! I shall see you in London, Your Grace."
Morton climbed up beside the coach driver just as Bridget and Emma emerged into the courtyard. Elizabeth waved goodbye as the first two coaches drove off, then she joined Mr. Burke who had just loaded some trunks. He helped the two women into the luggage-laden carriage and took Elizabeth's arm.
"I'm staying, Mr. Burke."
"That would not be wise, Your Grace. They suspect smallpox."
"Yes, I kno
w. That's why I must stay with her."
"_Smallpox_?" Bridget shrieked. "Elizabeth, either get in or stay, but make up your mind. We must tarry no longer!"
When Mr. Burke raised his eyebrows, Elizabeth shook her head.
"Someone will have my neck for this," he predicted grimly. He closed the coach door and climbed up beside the driver.
Elizabeth returned to the master bedchamber. "They've gone, Will. We can devote all our attention to Charlie now."
"You should have gone with them, but I thank you with all my heart for staying. You are truly a devoted friend, Elizabeth."
By the time the doctor returned in the late afternoon, Charlie's fever had begun to subside, but a rash of tiny red spots had appeared on her face. "Keep her cool and comfortable. Just as a precaution I advise you to keep the rest of the household away from this room. I shall come again in the morning."
Will brought a feather mattress from another chamber so that he and Elizabeth could take turns resting if they got the chance. Charlie spoke for the first time in hours after she had been bathed, and Beth withdrew a distance so Will could speak with his wife.
"You have a rash, darling. I think it may be measles."
"Keep the children away from me," Charlie whispered.
"Of course, but I can't keep Beth away. She refuses to leave."
"She is the sister I never had. I'll soon be well again." Exhausted from speaking, Charlie closed her eyes.
By morning, the red rash had spread to Charlotte's body, and by evening, spots appeared on her arms and legs. Will convinced himself that it was indeed the measles, but the doctor looked at Elizabeth and shook his head.
By the third day the spots turned to blisters that looked watery; by nightfall they became puss-filled pustules. Charlie's fever returned, and she became delirious. Will no longer deluded himself. "I cannot bear to see her suffer." Yet he sat beside his wife, hour after hour, holding her hand and telling her how much he loved her.
Beth was afraid to wash her; burst pustules would leave ugly, disfiguring scars. Around midnight of the fourth day, Charlie became lucid. She smiled sweetly. "I love you both so much." She sighed deeply, closed her eyes, and stopped breathing.
Will looked at Elizabeth, despair and disbelief written all over his face. The choking lump in Beth's throat made it impossible for her to speak. She walked quietly back to her own room and vomited into the chamber pot. _This is how Charlie's illness started_. Her inner voice said calmly, _You are not ill_ -- _you are grief stricken_.
Elizabeth, with leaden heart, waited patiently for Will to emerge from the bedchamber. Tears streamed from his deep blue eyes down his cheeks. He held up a tiny tapestry purse that held her favorite comb. "This is all I have of her."
Elizabeth placed her hand on his arm in a comforting gesture, though she knew it was futile at the moment. "No, Will. You have her children."
Her words made him sob. He hurried on, seeking to be alone.
Elizabeth informed the household staff that Lady Charlotte had passed away. Then she straightened her spine, filled a porcelain bowl with warm water, and went to say good-bye to her dearest friend.
She washed Charlie and, as she dressed her in a white night rail, sadly realized that her friend's small body was already stiffening.
"It's not fair, Charlie. You were supposed to become the next Duchess of Devonshire." After a few quiet moments, she went to the dressing table and picked up a pair of nail scissors, then she cut a dark curl of Charlie's hair.
Elizabeth found Will in the library, staring into space, looking more lost than any man ever deserved. "Here's a love token for you, Will. It's a part of her you may keep forever."
He held the dark curl reverently. Then seemed to come out of his trance and began thinking of the ordeals ahead. "It will be a private funeral. Dear God, how am I to comfort Dorothy when she arrives? She lost two children before Charlie, you know."
"We'll tell her together."
"James will run mad when he learns you have deliberately exposed yourself to smallpox. You must return to your family immediately."
"Yes, I know, Will. I shall leave after Dorothy gets here."
*Chapter Thirty-One*
Elizabeth put her feet up on the seat of the coach that Hamilton had sent. The driver had been instructed to use force if necessary to bring the duchess back to London immediately. She had asked the doctor if she might be carrying the contagion home to her child, but he had assured her that if she hadn't come down with smallpox by now, the incubation period had passed.
Elizabeth, physically exhausted and emotionally bereft, curled up beneath the carriage rug and tried to sleep. She found it difficult because her conscience was riding her relentlessly. Her sorrow mingled with her guilt until they became inextricably bound together. She somehow felt that because she had broken God's law, Charlie's death was her punishment. She told herself she was being ridiculous; the tragic loss was to Charlie's husband and children. Surely God would not punish them for a sin she had committed? Shakespeare's condemning words about Lady Macbeth ran through her mind: _Not all the perfumes of Arabia will sweeten the stench of her name and of her adulterous relationship_. Elizabeth pressed her face against the squabs and the floodgates opened. Fate was such a cruel bitch, to deprive Lady Charlotte of becoming a duchess when she was so suited to the rank, yet had bestowed the position of duchess upon Elizabeth Gunning, when she hated and detested it.
Once she had cried herself out, Elizabeth did fall asleep. When she awoke her sorrow came rushing back, but she saw that the coach had reached London and knew she would have more trouble to face. She felt sad and weary beyond belief. All she wanted was to see her baby son, take a bath, and go to bed. The last thing she wanted was a confrontation with Hamilton. She climbed from the coach on shaky legs and went up the steps of the Grosvenor Place house. Servants rushed out for her luggage and the majordomo announced His Grace awaited her in the library.
"You are a sly, manipulative little bitch! You led me to believe you would accompany your mother in the coach behind mine. That was a deliberate lie, and I demand an explanation!" Needing to assert his control, the duke sat behind his massive mahogany desk, knowing it added to his intimidating authority.
Elizabeth met his eyes. "Charlie is dead."
"Dead?" Shocked, he rose to his feet, staring hard to see if this was some ploy. "What did she die from?"
"Smallpox."
"_Smallpox_?" He recoiled so violently that his chair crashed over. "Christ Almighty, you knowingly stayed with her, recklessly exposing yourself to a deadly contagion? Are you insane, madam? I could have you committed to the madhouse for such behavior!"
"She was my dearest friend."
"Some friend, to expose you to smallpox!" He felt sweat beading on his forehead and reached for his handkerchief to wipe it off. "Now you have thoughtlessly brought it home to me and to my son!"
"The doctor assured me the incubation period was over," Elizabeth replied wearily.
"Do you not have enough sense to realize that you risked dying? Or worse, having your beauty destroyed by disfiguring pockmarks?"
"The loss of a wife's beauty is indeed greater than the loss of a wife, but try telling that to your friend, William Cavendish."
"How dare you be insolent to me, you defiant little baggage?" He took threatening steps toward her then thought better of having contact with her just yet. "I forbid you to see Jamie for the next week. We must be certain that you do not contaminate him." He looked at her with distaste. "You look abominable! Have you forgotten you are the Duchess of Hamilton? I advise you to spend your days restoring your delicate beauty in time for the Season."
"I am in mourning, Your Grace. May I retire?" He waved a dismissive hand. "Get out of my sight." After his wife left the library, James sat down, rested his elbows on the desk, and steepled his fingers. _Will in mourning might give me the advantage_. James had lobbied the king for old Devonshire's post of Lord Steward of the Royal Househol
d but suspected the king would bestow it upon Devonshire's son, William. Now, with Cavendish in deep mourning and old Devonshire tottering to the grave, it put a different complexion on matters. _I stand a damn good chance of this appointment, if I press my advantage. Surely it should follow, as night follows day, that since I am Hereditary Keeper of Holyrood, I should qualify for the post of Lord Steward of the Royal Household_.
Elizabeth encountered Bridget hovering at the top of the stairs. "Mother, will you come to my room and bring Emma and Nan? Ask Nan to leave Jamie in the nursery," she added reluctantly.
When the three women entered her chamber, they found a dejected Elizabeth sitting on her bed. "How are the babies, Nan? I pray they show no signs of fever or rashes?"
"The bairns are both thriving, ma'am."
Elizabeth nodded her gratitude. "My friend Lady Charlotte has died of smallpox. Her husband and her mother are grief stricken."
"I am offended that Dorothy Boyle didn't see fit to tell me!"
"Dorothy didn't learn her daughter was gone until she returned to Uppingham. She is devastated. Charlie was her sole surviving child. She and the earl doted on their daughter. I don't know the details, but the funeral will be private. We must arrange to send flowers. White roses and snowdrops, I think. I shall write letters of condolence, of course."
"You look ready to drop," Emma said, turning down the bed.
"I'd like a bath first, please. Nan, I am aching to hold Jamie, but my husband, and I too, think it best that I keep my distance for a few days. The doctor said the incubation period had passed, but it's better to be safe than sorry."
Two days' rest was all Elizabeth needed to restore her looks and vitality. Her emotions were another thing entirely. She knew instinctively that her sadness would not lift until she had mourned Charlie. There would always be a tender place in her heart for the girl who had befriended her without reserve. She had just finished writing a letter to the Earl and Countess of Burlington when she heard a tap on her door. Curious, she called, "Come in."
Undone - Virginia Henley Page 36