Lord Rakehell

by Virginia Henley

  “No! Thank you, John Claud, I was just leaving.”

  The library door opened, and Anne could hear Abercorn’s and his son’s voices as they approached the drawing room. She knew she was trapped.

  “James, there’s someone here I especially want you to meet.” John Claud took Anne’s elbow and turned her toward his brother. “This is Lady Anne Curzon-Howe. I believe you know her older sister Emily.”

  James stiffened in shock. The red-gold curls and white fur hat dazzled his senses. His dark eyes filled with fury. “I’ve already had the pleasure. Lady Anne was masquerading under false pretenses last night.”

  “You attended Jane’s ball?” John Claud asked James in surprise.

  “Yes, much to my regret. I do not appreciate being made a fool of.” His tone was icy.

  “That’s why I never go to costume balls. They turn grown men into idiots.”

  James’s eyes narrowed. “Idiots indeed!”

  “It was lovely to meet you again, Lord Hamilton.” Anne licked her lips, which had suddenly gone dry. “I really must go.”

  “I’ll walk you home,” John Claud declared.

  “No, please. It’s only around the corner.”

  “I insist, Lady Anne. It would give me great pleasure.”

  She moved woodenly through the drawing room door toward the stairs, and John Claud followed her.

  Anne’s cheeks were so hot, the blast of cold air was a welcome relief.

  “You encountered my brother James at the ball last night?”

  Anne passed off John Claud’s question as lightly as she could. “When he asked me to dance, he had no idea I was a lady.”

  “Of course not. James doesn’t associate with ladies. He’s constantly on the prowl, after only one thing. He’s astonishingly handsome and gifted; women go mad over him. No matter how old or young, they flirt outrageously and throw themselves at him. His currency is seductiveness. He’s like a graceful panther, ruthlessly stalking one prey after another.”

  “I must go in—I’m freezing.” Anne bade John Claud a hasty good-bye. Inside, she ran straight upstairs to her bedchamber. She stood before her mirror and stared at her flaming cheeks. Slowly, hopelessly, she pulled off her fur hat. James looked at me so coldly. He believes that I deliberately humiliated him.

  • • •

  Back at Hampden House, James confronted his father with blazing eyes.

  Abercorn held up his hands. “Last night, I gave Anne my word that I wouldn’t let you know she was a debutante.”

  “A debutante? She’s only eighteen?” James demanded in disbelief.

  “I believe my friend Anne is only seventeen,” Frances said. “She fibs about her age.”

  James was stunned. He felt as if his world had been turned upside down. Nothing seemed real. It was like a nightmare from which he prayed he would soon awaken.

  Then suddenly he realized it didn’t matter that she was a lady, and her age had absolutely nothing to do with the way he felt about her. I must go after her. He grabbed his coat and took the stairs two at a time.

  He opened the front door and came face-to-face with John Claud.

  “James, I’m so glad you finally met Lady Anne. She’s the girl I’m going to marry!”

  Chapter Seven

  Windsor Castle

  I don’t believe it. Prince Albert crumpled the letter from Major General Bruce in his fist. The female his son had been consorting with had not returned to Ireland after all. Bertie had moved the strumpet to the hotel in Cambridge, and according to Bruce, the sordid affair was common knowledge. I assumed she’d be gone by Bertie’s birthday, but it’s now the end of November. Albert wiped the perspiration from his brow. If I want something done, I obviously have to do it myself, and by God, I shall!

  Prince Albert summoned his valet. “Pack me an overnight bag, and order my carriage.” The prince consort made his way to Victoria’s private sitting room and told the queen about the upsetting missive he had just received.

  “I shall put an end to the scandalous affair, once and for all. In no uncertain terms I shall tell our son that both of us will disown him if he does not reform his evil, shameless way of life.”

  “Thank you, Albert. It is beyond belief that the heir to the throne would besmirch the Royal House of Windsor in general, and his mother, the Queen of England, in particular. He is an unnatural son, devoid of either love or obedience.”

  “Have no fear, my dearest Victoria, I shall bring him to heel.”

  • • •

  What the devil is my father doing here? Teddy was thankful he had returned to Cambridge. At all costs he was determined to keep silent about gallivanting off to Newmarket for his birthday. He regretted that James Hamilton had returned to London—his friend was a dab hand at appeasing the prince consort.

  “Let me help you off with your coat, sir.”

  “I shall keep it on.” Prince Albert frowned darkly at Charles Carrington, then glared at his son. “Get your overcoat. I have something to discuss that is for your ears alone.” He strode to the door and waited impatiently.

  Outside, it had begun to snow, and the wind was bitter cold. The pair walked some distance in stony silence, before Albert declared in an ominous tone, “Nellie Clifden.”

  Oh, Christ, I feared that’s why you came. What was it James advised me to do?

  “Under the circumstances you have only one option. You must apologize for your indiscretion, and vow it will never happen again.”

  “I apologize for my indiscretion, Father. The lady returned to Ireland before my birthday. I swear on my honor, it will never happen again.”

  “You have no honor! You are lying to me. I have it from an impeccable source that the female is registered at the Royal Cambridge Hotel as Mrs. Renfrew, a name you use for dishonorable purposes, I’ve been informed.”

  “Father, I swear the lady in question has returned to Ireland. If you do not believe me, you may make inquiries at the hotel.”

  The snow turned from thick flakes to sleet as the temperature began to plummet.

  “The life you have been leading is not only debauched and shameful; it is ungodly! The queen and I can never forgive you for this sordid behavior. I knew that you were thoughtless and weak, but I could not bring myself to believe you depraved, until now.”

  Teddy felt contrite, but at the same time he was also resentful. He was being honest, he had apologized, vowed it wouldn’t happen again, and he didn’t know what else to say. His father had a way of making him feel less than worthless. “You look ill, Father. I don’t think you should be outside in this wet, freezing weather.”

  “This journey to Cambridge was only necessary because of your grossly immoral behavior. Marriage is the only cure. I shall begin negotiations immediately.” Prince Albert turned and retraced his footsteps. When he got to the house, he strode toward his carriage.

  “You are soaking wet, Father. Come in and get dry.”

  Prince Albert ignored him and climbed into his carriage for the six-hour return journey to Windsor Castle.

  Teddy thrust his hands into his pockets. He didn’t even say good-bye.

  • • •

  Windsor Castle

  December 6, 1861

  “Dr. Clark, my husband has been abed for an entire week, yet he doesn’t seem to be improving. We would ask that you bring in another physician without delay.” Queen Victoria used the royal we whenever she wished to assert her authority.

  Dr. Clark bowed. “Your Gracious Majesty, I was about to suggest the very same thing. I will summon my colleague Dr. Henry Holland, with your permission, ma’am.”

  She nodded curtly and returned to the blue bedchamber, where Albert lay fevered. Victoria sat beside the bed and placed her hand over her husband’s. “Clark is bringing Henry Holland to have a look at you. You should never
have gone running off to Cambridge. Bertie is the cause of this!”

  “As soon as I am up and about, I shall start negotiations for his marriage. It was the solution for Vicky, and it is the answer for Bertie.” He raised his hand to his brow. “I’m so thirsty.”

  Victoria poured some barley water into a glass and offered it to him.

  “Could I have a drink with lemons?”

  Prince Albert’s equerry jumped to attention.

  The queen put up her hand. “I shall go to the kitchens and see to it myself.” She swept regally from the blue bedchamber. She loved her husband dearly, and intended to sit at his bedside all night, if necessary.

  The following day Dr. Clark and Dr. Holland stepped outside the blue bedroom to consult on a diagnosis. Clark thought Prince Albert had influenza, but Holland suspected typhoid and dosed him accordingly. In two days when there was no improvement, they brought in Dr. Thomas Watson, who was more concerned with breaking the patient’s fever than naming the ailment that was causing it.

  Queen Victoria was livid that the most professional doctors in London argued about a diagnosis rather than curing whatever was ailing her beloved Albert. It was obvious that he was growing weaker by the day; he could no longer eat; he did not sleep. He spoke seldom, and only in monosyllables.

  Windsor Castle was awash in rumors. Both the queen’s household staff and the prince consort’s whispered that Albert’s life was in grave danger. The queen’s temper was short and none dared to approach her.

  On Thursday, the Duke of Abercorn bearded the lioness in her den. “Your Majesty, I’ve seen the doctors arriving and departing the castle. Prince Albert must be ill indeed, since he hasn’t been to his office for some time. Is there anything I can do to ease your burden, ma’am?”

  “Oh, James, his doctors are useless! Do come upstairs and have a look at him. You must advise me what to do.”

  The duke had known Victoria for many years. Rather than have her lead the way, he took her arm and helped her up the stairs. When he saw Albert, he felt great alarm, although he did not allow the queen to see his dismay. “I recommend my own physician, William Jenner. In this case I believe many opinions will be better than one. Have you told your children how ill he is, ma’am? I would advise you to send word to Germany to Princess Vicky. Albert may rally if he sees his family surrounding him.”

  “I wanted to nurse him myself, but perhaps that’s selfish of me.”

  “Not selfish, ma’am. But your children should be sharing your burden.”

  “Thank you, James. I pray your Dr. Jenner can help my poor darling Albert.”

  The following day, Dr. Jenner needed only a few minutes with the patient to know what the consort was suffering from. Prince Albert’s lungs were filling, and his breathing was extremely labored. “Typhoid fever, complicated by pneumonia.”

  “My dear fellow, we dare not suggest to the queen that her husband has pneumonia. She will lose all hope,” Dr. Clark declared. The other two physicians nodded sagely.

  “Her Royal Majesty would be right to lose hope. In my opinion, Prince Albert’s pneumonia, left too long without treatment, has allowed the typhoid to debilitate him to such a degree that he may not recover.”

  The three physicians who had attended the queen’s consort for twelve days were filled with fear, and with dread of Victoria’s reaction to the diagnosis, which they were beginning to believe, now that it had been pointed out to them in plain language.

  The four medical men consulted, and Jenner declared, “I shall inform the queen.”

  Jenner thought Victoria took the news stoically, though she could very well be in denial or in shock.

  The queen relayed the dire situation to Abercorn, who was Albert’s groom of the stole. “James, would you handle the business of informing our children that their father is gravely ill, and tell them they should come to Windsor Castle without delay?”

  “I will take care of it, ma’am.”

  Abercorn immediately dispatched a cable to Germany to the Princess Royal. Then he sent messengers to Madingley Hall summoning Princess Alice and Princess Helena.

  Since Abercorn’s son James usually came to dinner with the family on Friday night, he did not send a message to the Prince of Wales. He knew James would prefer to take the news to Cambridge himself.

  • • •

  It had been two whole weeks since the masked ball, yet to James Hamilton it seemed like only last night. He could not get the image of the Russian princess out of his mind. By day, she consumed his every waking thought, and by night his dreams were filled with her. Lady Anne Howe, why am I obsessed with you?

  James knew the answer. Men always wanted the unobtainable. They desired it, craved it, longed for it, and without a doubt Lady Anne was unobtainable. If any other male had spoken for her, he would have laughed in his face and taken the prize. But it was John Claud, the brother he had protected all his life.

  James was the privileged heir, who’d inherited the title Lord Hamilton at birth, along with the Scottish landholdings, and the wealth they produced. Because his father had been the lord lieutenant of County Donegal, Ireland, James had easily won the election to become the member of Parliament for Donegal. And shortly after, on top of everything else, he’d been appointed royal attendant to the Prince of Wales.

  Since they were boys, John Claud had striven to emulate his older brother in every way, but his achievements in scholarship, athletics, and social skills always fell short. James knew if he pursued Lady Anne, it would be like rubbing John Claud’s face in the dirt. His code of honor would not allow him to hurt his brother.

  In a dilemma, James checked his watch. It was Friday night and he was expected at Hampden House for dinner. He hadn’t shown up last week; the thought of sitting at the table with John Claud had been anathema under the circumstances. Tonight his gut knotted, at the knowledge that he must force himself to mask his emotions and dine with his family.

  James Hamilton didn’t arrive for dinner until nine o’clock. “So sorry I’m late, Mother. You should have started without me.” He could sense the atmosphere at Green Street was fraught with silent despair. His own problem was forgotten. “Whatever is wrong?”

  “Prince Albert is gravely ill, James. Her Majesty has asked me to summon their children to Windsor.”

  James looked from his father to his mother. “Albert is only forty-two. Surely he’s not in danger of dying?”

  Abercorn solemnly shook his head. “I’ve spoken with Dr. Jenner. The prince has typhoid, complicated by pneumonia. He is slowly sinking, I’m afraid.”

  Lord Hamilton immediately realized that if Prince Albert died, the Royal House of Windsor would never be the same. Even his own family would be affected by the death. His father would lose his post, and the entire country would be thrown into deepest mourning.

  “I feel certain Prince Albert must recover, but as a precaution I shall take my carriage to Cambridge and escort the Prince of Wales to Windsor.”

  “Thank you, James. Though I hope for the best, I fear the worst. Time is of the essence. Take my closed carriage and use post-horses rather than your own. It’s a journey of sixty miles each way.”

  “I insist that you eat dinner before you set out,” his mother said firmly. “It is such a bitter cold night, I don’t want you coming down with pneumonia.”

  • • •

  James drove with all the speed that the winter conditions allowed. His only stop was in Hertford to change the post-horses. Because the roads were empty after midnight, he made the journey in five hours. It was three in the morning when a sleepy manservant opened the front door of the Cambridge residence leased for the prince.

  “This is an ungodly hour to come calling, Lord Hamilton,” the elderly servant admonished. “I cannot awaken his Royal Highness without a good reason.”

  “The reason is confidentia
l. I shall awaken him myself.” James strode inside and headed for the stairs. Over his shoulder, he said, “Please light the lamps, and kindly rouse someone in the kitchen to make some coffee.”

  James gave the bedchamber door a perfunctory knock, walked straight in, and shook the prince’s shoulder. “Teddy! Wake up, Teddy.”

  “James? Is that you, old man?”

  James turned up the oil lamps and a golden light flooded the chamber.

  Teddy sat up in bed. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

  “I don’t want to unnecessarily alarm you, but your father is ill and Her Majesty feels Prince Albert will benefit if his children come to Windsor.”

  “He wouldn’t want me at his bedside.” Teddy told James about his father’s headlong rush to Cambridge to chastise him about Nellie Clifden. “He refused to believe that she had gone back to Ireland. My father and I are not even on speaking terms.”

  “That’s irrelevant, Teddy. Your mother, the queen, has issued a summons to all of you. My father sent a cable to Vicky, your sisters Alice and Helena are on their way from Madingley Hall, and your brothers are being brought home from school as a precaution.”

  “But surely they should be kept away as a precaution against catching his influenza, or whatever is ailing him?”

  A knock on the door brought the manservant with coffee. James took the tray from him and carried it to the bed. “Drink some of this. It’s cold out there.”

  “James, I assure you, he won’t want to see me.”

  James hesitated for a heartbeat, then made a decision. “Your father may be dying.”

  “Dying?” The prince jumped out of bed. “Why the devil didn’t you say so? I should have realized. You drove all night to get here!”

  James went down the hall to rouse Charles Carrington. He detected whiskey fumes and shook him until he knew he was cognizant before he explained the situation. “We must return the prince to Windsor without delay. Pack his bags. He may not be back for some time, if ever.”

  When he returned to the Prince of Wales, James saw that he was already dressed, and pacing up and down in distress. “What do the doctors say?”