by Joan Wolf
And it seemed that his patience was finally bearing fruit. Her responsiveness to him on the night of his return had been like manna in the desert. As they drove together up to London, he hoped that all their trouble was now over. He hoped, fervently, that he had got his wife back again.
Chapter 21
Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place.
—Shakespeare
The American political situation was once again about to create a disturbance in the lives of the Duke and Duchess of Hastings. The uproar over General Jackson’s executions of Ambrister and Arbuthnot had quite blown over, with the two victims being written off by the British government as a necessary debit in the balance sheet of Anglo-American affairs. This caused Spain, who finally realized that it could not count on aid from Britain, to get on with negotiations over the Floridas. So, on February 22, the Spanish Ambassador to the United States and Secretary of State John Quincy Adams had signed Adams’ masterpiece, the Transcontinental Treaty.
For the first time, the boundaries of the United States stretched from ocean to ocean. Two days later the Senate of the United States unanimously advised and consented to the treaty’s ratification.
The Duke and the Duchess entered into the affair at the point where the treaty was sent to Spain to be ratified by the King. To accomplish this task, the United States sent a new Minister to Madrid, John Forsyth of Georgia. Forsyth was a likable, intelligent fellow, who had no previous diplomatic experience, and who was further handicapped by the fact that he spoke no language but English. In the corrupt quagmire of the Spanish Court, he was like a bull that has blundered into a nest of gnats.
The King of Spain refused to ratify the treaty, saying it ceded too much land, and John Forsyth simply did not know what to do. In his confusion, he blamed the King’s intransigence on the British. His premise was that Ferdinand believed that the British government would support him in his annulment of the treaty in order to receive the gift of Cuba in return.
In order to allay American suspicions of a British intervention, Lord Castlereagh offered to send to Spain the Duke of Hastings, who spoke fluent Spanish and who had well-known American ties.
The Duke was not pleased when news of this assignment greeted his return to London with Tracy. He did not want to leave her at just this moment, when relations between them were happier than they had been in months, but his sense of duty would not allow him to refuse the mission.
Very possibly he would have refused, however, if he had realized that the ship’s captain who had brought John Forsyth from America to Spain was crossing from Spain to England at the very moment the Duke was planning to embark in the opposite direction carrying a very disturbing passenger.
* * * *
Tracy was not as disturbed about the Duke’s proposed trip as he was. Once she had decided to undertake her public role as Adrian’s wife, she had sworn to herself that she would make a success of it. After a great deal of hard thought, she decided to go to Lady Bridgewater and ask for assistance.
Adrian’s aunt had heretofore figured in her mind rather as a serpent in the garden of her private paradise, but she remembered something her father had once said about the advisability of turning enemies into friends. It sounded like a good idea. If she could convert Lady Bridgewater from critic to ally, her battle would be half won.
Lady Bridgewater was delighted when Tracy approached her for advice. She was by nature a managing woman, and the prospect of managing the young Duchess was irresistible. It was not that she had ever precisely disapproved of Tracy; it was simply that she was solicitous for her nephew’s position.
In fact, Tracy had been in Lady Bridgewater’s good graces before she had returned to London. Lady Bridgewater had heard the news of Mr. Bodmin’s death with discreet satisfaction. It was so nice to know that all those millions would come rolling into the ducal coffers. And then, Tracy had so promptly presented her husband with a son and heir. So when the Duchess turned up at Lady Bridgewater’s door, pretty and bright as a new gold guinea, anxious to assume her social duties and eager to be taught the proper way to carry them out, Lady Bridgewater was all gracious encouragement
The Duke’s aunt thought Tracy should plan a ball for July. “It isn’t really that onerous a task, my dear,” she said to Tracy kindly. “And I will assist you.”
Actually, the plunge back into London society was very good for Tracy. The open admiration of so many great men was a needed boost to her self-esteem. For the first time in months she began to feel that she was pretty. Her old electric vitality returned. Mary had come to London with them, and the two girls shopped for clothes and drove in the park in the brilliant sunshine. Rather to her own surprise Tracy found she was enjoying herself.
One reason was that she had finally physically recovered from her postnatal fatigue and depression. And a great deal of the uneasiness that had plagued her previous London season had been dispelled.
She knew her husband better. She no longer worried that he would take to gambling - Mary’s revelations about his confrontations with his father on that failing had put to rest all her doubts on that score. Nor did she fear that he would be unfaithful to her. She was the mother of his son. And she thought that he did actually care for her.
She would bind him to her with hoops of steel, she determined. She would be a brilliant hostess for him. She would give him a whole army of children to carry on his name. After two weeks in London, encouraged by Lady Bridgewater and by the admiration of her glittering circle, she felt she could do it all.
Adrian’s departure for Spain came at a rather convenient time for Tracy. She was finding her feet and was determined to give the biggest, brightest, most successful ball of the whole Season. She was going to work like a laborer over it, but she did not want him to see how important it was to her. Adrian would expect his wife to be able to organize balls merely by waving a wand, she felt. It was just as well that he was going to be out of her way for a while.
So the face Tracy showed her husband on his departure was more cheerful than it had been for some time. Unfortunately, Adrian would have been happier if she had been less so. It seemed to him that she was glad to get rid of him.
He had a very trying time in Spain, which was not helped by his misgivings about Tracy. First of all, he had to sail from Southampton down through the Bay of Biscay to Santander, and traveling by water always made him sick. Secondly, the situation in Madrid was enough to drive any rational man insane.
He tried first to convince some members of the Spanish Council of State tha,t according to international law, an absolute monarch was bound to ratify a treaty signed by a minister with full powers. But the Council of State, smarting from some extremely honest remarks by the American Minister, advised the King not to ratify the treaty. International law be damned, they felt.
The Duke then devoted himself to holding the hand of the American Minister. Mr. Forsyth wanted to go home. “This is a situation I find personally irksome and one in which, furthermore, I am useless to the United States,” he told the Duke. “I do not have the experience to handle this matter successfully.”
“Do not blame yourself, Mr. Forsyth,” the Duke soothed him. “A more experienced man than yourself would be driven to despair by trying to make sense of this Court. No diplomat, however brilliant, can divine a policy where no policy exists.”
The Duke also managed the heroic task of convincing Mr. Forsyth that the British government was not opposed to the Transcontinental Treaty.
The Duke wrote privately to Lord Castlereagh, “The Spanish government wants the United States to agree not to recognize the revolutionary governments in South America. They won’t ratify the treaty unless they get a guarantee of that, and the United States does not want to make that guarantee. There is nothing more Britain can do in the matter at present.”
Then, after doing what he could to bolster the American Minister’s spirits. and having demonstrated to Spain and to the rest of Europe that the Bri
tish government supported the Transcontinental Treaty and did not want to annex Cuba, the Duke took ship for home. He was extremely anxious to see his wife once again.
Chapter 22
He of tall building and of goodly pride.
—Shakespeare
The Duke was not the only one who was anxious to see Tracy. He would have been profoundly disturbed if he had known that one of the ships he had passed on his uncomfortable journey to Spain carried Tracy’s “friend” from Salem whose letter had so ruffled him in December.
Adam Lancaster had been dealt a severe blow by the news that Tracy was to marry the Duke of Hastings. The only thing that had prevented him from setting sail immediately for England was the realization that he would be too late. By the time he arrived, she would be married.
As time went on he had not become reconciled to losing her. He could not get her out of his mind. Next to Tracy’s shining memory, every other girl he met seemed dull and lifeless.
He had had little doubt that William Bodmin was the architect of Tracy’s marriage. When Mr. Bodmin had returned to Salem, Adam had gone to see him, fire flashing in his hot brown eyes. But Tracy’s father had suddenly become a very sick man, and Adam left unsaid all of the things he had planned to say. Mr. Bodmin had been so clearly delighted by his daughter’s marriage. And then there had come another piece of news, news Adam had found as painful as her father had found it happy. Tracy was expecting a child.
Adam had determined to put her from his mind. He bought several ships from William Bodmin, and threw himself heart and soul into his business. Salem had been declining in importance as a port and Adam was looking seriously into the possibility of moving to New York.
At this time, Adam Lancaster was twenty-nine years of age. Though he had started his career as a cabin boy, he was now a multi-millionaire. During the late war with England, he had commanded the Massachusetts, the most successful privateering ship out of Salem. He had accounted for twenty-six British ships and had been a considerable embarrassment to the Royal Navy. His prizes of war had sold for over a million dollars, and his fortune had been rising ever since.
He had been too busy to think of marriage - until he met Teresa Bodmin. She had just come home from school when he first saw her in church on Sunday morning. He had called to see Mr. Bodmin that afternoon and gotten himself formally introduced. He had called frequently after that, and it soon became understood in Salem that Tracy Bodmin and Adam Lancaster would make a match of it.
Adam had certainly thought that Tracy would marry him. He had wanted to make the engagement formal before she left for England, but she had put him off. Nevertheless, he had comfortably assumed that when she returned home, they would marry.
It had not happened that way. Tracy had been coerced by her father into marrying a decadent English aristocrat—to Adam’s mind all aristocrats were decadent—and she had been irrevocably divided from him. However, as day succeeded day and her memory did not fade, Adam began to wonder how Tracy’s marriage was faring. He thought he would pay a visit to England and see for himself.
When Adam Lancaster arrived in London, he went first to see Richard Rush, who graciously insisted that Adam stay with him. From Rush he learned what he could about Tracy. To Adam’s dismay, the American Minister appeared to be an admirer of the Duke of Hastings.
“He is in Madrid at the moment,” Rush told Adam as they had a glass of Madeira together. “Forsyth was in a rare taking, and Lord Castlereagh asked the Duke to see what he could do to unravel the snarl over the ratification of the treaty. If it can be unsnarled at all, he is the man to do it.”
Adam gave a cynical bark of laughter. “I doubt if it can be,” he said briefly. “I never saw a sorrier collection of scoundrels in my life than the idiots that run the Spanish government. Poor Forsyth. He hasn’t the stomach to deal with them. No American would have.”
The emphasis was slight, but Rush found himself moving to the Duke’s defense. “Hastings is a highly honorable man, I assure you, but he has the subtlety of mind one usually finds in Europeans rather than Americans. He will understand better how to deal with rascals.”
Adam’s lip curled slightly, but he refrained from answering. Clearly this husband of Tracy’s was a serpent, he thought, as he rose to his impressive height. “Tracy and I are old friends from Salem,” he said instead. “I think I’ll go round to see her now that I’m here.”
Richard Rush surveyed the splendid masculine figure in front of him; it was not difficult to believe that Adam Lancaster had amassed a fortune before the age of thirty. “If I might make a suggestion?” Rush said hesitantly.
“Well? What is it, man?”
“Your clothes, Captain Lancaster.”
Adam looked astonished. “My clothes? What about them?”
“They won’t do for London. They won’t do for the Duchess.” Adam began to glower and Rush continued hastily, “I don’t mean to suggest that Her Grace would not be pleased to receive an old friend, no matter what his attire, but if you are to be here for a while she will doubtless want to introduce you about. You owe it to her to make a creditable appearance, Captain Lancaster. You owe it,” concluded Richard Rush rather grandly, “to your country.”
Adam’s sense of humor got the better of him. “Oh,” he said gravely, “if it is a matter of my country.”
Richard Rush grinned a little sheepishly. “Well, they do place an inordinate amount of emphasis on the proper clothing over here.”
“Hah!” snorted Adam. “They would.” Richard Rush looked a little unhappy; he genuinely liked the English. “Don’t worry, Rush,” Adam said, misreading his expression. “I won’t disgrace you. Where do I have to go to get rigged out?”
The figure that presented itself at Hastings House two days later looked the very model of an English gentleman. From his well-cut blue coat to his fawn pantaloons and gleaming Hessians, Adam was a perfect advertisement for Weston’s excellent tailoring. The only startling thing about him was his size.
The door was opened by a frosty-looking butler, who took Adam’s name and said he would see whether Her Grace was at home. He then showed Adam into an extremely elegant anteroom and disappeared, closing the door behind him. Adam paced about, finding his heart was bearing uncomfortably fast, and strained his ears for the sound of steps. They came and almost instantly the door opened.
“Adam!” Tracy said, surprise, pleasure and a hint of wariness in her voice. “What brings you to London? How lovely to see you.” She crossed the room to give him her hand. He took it and held it and for a minute they both remembered vividly the more intimate gesture of their last meeting. Tracy took her hand back from his strong grasp, her color heightened.
“You look wonderful. Trace,” he said, his deep voice unmistakably sincere.
“And so do you!” She stepped back and regarded him with admiration. “Weston,” she said.
He grinned. “Rush told me I owed it to my country to buy myself some new clothes. I wouldn’t have minded so much if my old ones had been even a little worn.”
Tracy chuckled appreciatively. “What a lovely New England attitude, Adam. I hope you saved them?”
“Of course I did!” He looked so surprised that her chuckle turned to a laugh.
“Come along with me to the morning parlor,” she said. “It’s more comfortable than this room and we can have some tea and a nice long chat.” She put her fingers lightly on his arm to guide him, and it seemed to him that he could feel her touch right through Mr. Weston’s elegant blue superfine coat. He glanced down at her brown-blonde head as she walked him along, talking gaily.
He had forgotten how beautiful her hair was, he thought as he replied automatically to a question. He had thought he remembered her smile, but memory had not done it justice. He followed her into a larger room that looked as elegant to his eyes as the one they had just left—and just as uncomfortable. The butler came into the room after them.
“Do you desire any refreshment, Your
Grace?”
“Oh, yes, Wilton, thank you. Tea, please. And some cakes, perhaps.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The man left and Tracy turned to find Adam staring at her in perturbation.
“Is that what they call you over here? ‘Your Grace?’“
Tracy’s eyes danced. “Yes.”
“Everybody?”
Tracy leaned forward, serious now. “You wouldn’t believe it, Adam. There are probably only eight people in the whole of England who call me Tracy. They just love titles over here. I think they positively enjoy your-gracing and my-lording people to death. I still haven’t gotten used to it.”
This was very promising news and Adam felt himself relax a little. “I understand from Rush that your husband is in Spain,” he said cautiously.
“Yes, he went over to try to rescue Mr. Forsyth. Isn’t it funny? You must have crossed each other somewhere along the way.”
“I guess so,” said Adam. “He is quite a diplomat, then, the Duke?”
“There is no one who is more diplomatic than Adrian,” Tracy said positively. “Lord Castlereagh utterly relies on him. If anyone can sort the Spanish put, Adrian will.” Adam, to whom diplomacy was a synonym for duplicity, looked pleased.
The tea came, brought by another manservant whom Tracy called Robert. Tracy poured Adam a cup and said in a constricted voice, “Did you see much of Papa, Adam, before he died?”
“Yes,” he said gently.
“How—how was he?”
Adam told her. “He was a very brave man, Trace,” he concluded. “I hope, when it’s my turn to go, I can do it with as much grace.”
Tracy had been staring steadily out the window during his recital, but now she turned to him. “Thank you, Adam. I needed to know. I felt so helpless over here, so cut off. Wondering every day if he were in pain, if he wanted me...”