The Gathering Storm (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 3) (45 page)

“So you’re Sir Anthony’s wife, then,” a voice came from directly behind her, startling her out of her reverie. She turned to see a tall large-boned young woman standing directly behind her, leaning on the handle of a spade.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to frighten you. You were miles away. Just wanted to say hello. Heard of you but not seen you before.”

“Hello,” said Beth. “It’s Lady Philippa, isn’t it? I was supposed to be helping you with some digging.”

“That’s right,” affirmed the young woman, taking Beth’s proffered hand and shaking it vigorously. “Lucky bugger. Wish I was tiny. Raking’s much easier.”

“I’ll swap with you if you like,” Beth offered. “I’m stronger than I look.”

“God, no! Fred’d never stand for that. Works it out carefully. Those with the really dirty jobs he can’t stand at all.”

Beth looked around.

“He must really hate that poor fat man over there, then,” she said, pointing to an elderly, rather portly red-faced man in heavily soiled burgundy brocade, who was reluctantly spreading horse manure across one patch of soil.

“Exactly. Can’t stand him. Damn good judge of character, Fred. Toadying old fool, Papa.”

Although her staccato way of speaking was reminiscent of Edward, nothing else was. Beth liked Lady Philippa immediately. Even so, she was aware that she’d put her foot well and truly in her mouth.

“Oh God,” she said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise he was your father.”

“That’s all right,” grinned Lady Philippa, her hazel eyes sparkling. “Agree with Fred. Can’t stand him either. Can’t wait to be married and away from the old fool. Serve him right. Just wish I’d known, that’s all. You obviously did.” She looked down ruefully at her aqua-coloured velvet dress and delicate slippers, which had presumably also been aqua-coloured at one time, but were now dark brown.

“No, not really,” said Beth. “Anthony did. He told me what to wear, that’s all. I had no idea what to expect. This is the first time I’ve visited the Prince of Wales.”

“Sensible chap, Sir Anthony,” remarked Philippa to Beth’s surprise, who had heard Anthony called many things, but never sensible. “Told you enough, but not enough to spoil Fred’s fun, eh? Clever. Wish
I’d
known. Bloody idiot told me we were coming to see a play. Papa, that is, not Fred. Should have known you don’t see plays at two o’clock. Own fault. Enjoying yourself?”

It took Beth a moment to realise she’d been asked a question. It took some getting used to, this clipped manner of speaking.

“Yes,” she admitted. “I am actually. I’ve always enjoyed the outdoors.”

“Hmm. Thought so. Good hand with a rake. Ride? Hunt?”

“No,” said Beth. “That is, I ride, yes, but I’ve never enjoyed hunting much. When are you getting married?”

“Summer. June. Have to watch bloody Helen then. Bitch. Try to take him off me. Watch out tonight.”

“I’m sorry?” said Beth, who had not quite followed this.

“Watch out. You. Helen. Very pretty, yellow dress. Tries it with all the married men. Sir Anthony. Fine chap. Watch her. With him.”

“Ah. I see,” said Beth. “Thank you. I will.”

Lady Philippa wandered off, and Beth watched her go, bemused. There was something vaguely familiar about her, and yet she had never met the woman before, she was sure of that. She would not have forgotten meeting someone like her. She looked across the garden to where her husband was, amazingly, managing to move stones quickly and efficiently whilst maintaining a foppish, somewhat limp-wristed attitude. He was quite remarkable.
He would make a good living on the stage,
she thought. He could certainly give Garrick a run for his money. He looked up, saw her, and waved merrily. She waved back, smiled, and returned to her work.

At five o’clock Prince Frederick finally took pity on his guests, or perhaps it was simply that the light was failing. He called a halt to the day’s work, telling his grubby workforce that they had half an hour to freshen up before dinner was served.

“It had better be good, after all that,” grumbled one of the guests as they made their way up the stairs behind the footman, who showed each guest to a different room, where hot water, soap and towels had been provided.

“Well, this is very nice, at least,” said Beth gratefully, sitting on a well-padded chair and looking round the green and white room. The furniture was all made of walnut, and consisted of an old-fashioned carved four poster bed, a chest, dressing table, and the chair Beth was sitting on. An expensive Turkish carpet covered the floor and she sank her toes into it, wriggling them blissfully. “I thought we’d all have to wash under the pump in the yard. That’s what I used to do when I’d been gardening with Graeme.”

“Don’t mention that to Fred, for God’s sake,” said Alex, taking off his shoes and throwing himself on the bed. He patted the space next to him and she went to lie beside him, her head on his shoulder. “Are you enjoying yourself, then?”

“Yes, immensely. It was very amusing, watching people try to use tools they’ve never seen before, avoid getting their ridiculous clothes muddy and still remember to smile when the prince walked past. Although I feel a bit guilty getting pleasure out of watching the discomfort of others.”

“Don’t. They all deserve it. Or nearly all, anyway. They spend most of their time with their noses in the air, thinking everyone else beneath contempt. They treat their servants appallingly. So Fred does the same to them, because he can. They won’t learn from it, though.”

“Lady Philippa seemed pretty down to earth,” Beth commented.

“Ah, yes. Saw you talking. Bloody fine woman. Like her,” Alex said. Beth punched him playfully.

“Don’t you start,” she said. “It was quite hard to understand her at first. She fillets every sentence back to the bone. She doesn’t seem to like her father much. Or Helen. She warned me to keep an eye on her with you.”

“Really? Will you be jealous if she tries to seduce me?” he asked, smiling.

“No,” said Beth. “I’ll be angry, with her if she tries it, and with you if you let her.”

“Oh dear. I was hoping to flirt with her a little, to make you jealous. I thought it might make you realise what a desirable man you married.”

“I know exactly which man I married, thank you,” said Beth. “And it wasn’t Angus. So if you start behaving like him, I’ll castrate you.”

“But you’re not jealous.”

“No. Tell me about Philippa. She looks vaguely familiar.”

“That’s because she’s Caroline’s cousin. They’ve got the same eyes.”

“Is she?” said Beth, surprised, sitting up.

“Yes. Her father is Caroline’s great-uncle Francis. She mentioned him the other night, remember?”

“The friend of General Hawley,” Beth said. “She doesn’t seem like the sort of woman who’d disapprove of Caroline marrying Edwin.”

“She didn’t. But her father did so she’s not allowed to mention Caroline, or visit her. They still see each other occasionally, though. Philippa spends a lot of time at Harriet’s.”

“Is she Caroline’s mad old aunt?”

“That’s the one. She’s not so much mad though, as deeply eccentric. And forgetful, now she’s old. But she virtually brought Philippa up after her mother died. They speak the same way, very staccato. I haven’t seen Philippa for ages, but I suppose Caroline’s mentioned me.”

“Yes. She knew you were married. And she said you were sensible.”

“Did she? Well, I suppose if I’m sensible I’d better try to brush this mud off before we go down to dinner. I want to look my best, for Helen.”

Dinner was not at all what Beth had expected, although she was fast learning not to expect anything normal. Obviously from the incredulous looks on the faces of the guests, it was not what they had expected, either. There was no damask tablecloth, polished silver, crystal glasses or delicate porcelain. Instead on entering the dining room the guests were greeted with a large scrubbed oak table, in the centre of which were a quantity of large loaves of bread and several platters of cheese and cold meats. Jugs of red wine were dotted about the table.

“Help yourselves!” said Prince Frederick as they entered and took their seats uncertainly. “There’s plenty for everyone! It is so pleasant to eat good simple but hearty fare after a day of hard work, isn’t it?” He was still dressed in his working clothes, and Beth watched him as he merrily tore open a loaf of bread with his fingers before spreading it liberally with butter. He was a small man with the neat physique of his father. But there the similarity ended. If she hadn’t known better, Beth would have thought him to be of near Eastern origin, with his thick lips, heavy nose and sallow complexion. How this man could be the brother of the podgy, fair-skinned Cumberland, she had no idea. He didn’t look in the least Germanic like the rest of his family did.

He looked up and smiled at her.

“You’ve stayed remarkably clean, Lady Elizabeth,” he remarked. “And you’ve used a rake before, I noticed.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” she replied, reaching over for a piece of bread. “I don’t think I’m any cleaner than anyone else, though. It’s just that this dress doesn’t show the dirt.”

“It’s delightful to have Anthony back in the fold, as it were. I suppose you know that visiting me will probably put you out of favour with my father. Does that bother you?”

The question was casual, but she was not fooled. What had Alex said? That George hated his son. But he had not said that the reverse was true.

“I am enjoying myself a great deal today, Your Highness. I will pray for a reconciliation between you and your father so that I may enjoy the hospitality of your whole family.”

He eyed her shrewdly.

“Hmm,” he said after a moment. “What do you think of the wine?”

She said that she thought the wine was strong and rough, but well suited to the hearty peasant fare, and then his attention moved on to the next guest, and she had time to look around. She had never met any of the guests before, although she had seen some of them at a distance, at the theatre or pleasure gardens. It could not be more clear that the king and his eldest son moved in completely different circles, and she wondered what had happened to make George hate his heir so utterly. Now was not the time to ask, though, even though the prince had just excused himself and left the room.

There was a general sigh of relief.

“Next time I’m invited for dinner I shall borrow my gardener’s clothes,” said one young man in grubby blue velvet.

“If you do that, Percy, you’ll find yourself in the middle of an high class ball, with people expecting you to open doors for them and take their coats. You know how unpredictable Fred is. He likes his little joke,” replied an elegant man next to him. He took a sip of the wine and shuddered delicately. “I don’t know how anyone can drink this stuff, I really don’t. It’s disgusting.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I am becoming quite accustomed to it,” trilled Sir Anthony. “I feel quite the country rustic!”

“I see being married has sobered you somewhat, Anthony,” said Percy, eyeing the baronet’s sombre clothes.

Sir Anthony cast a rueful glance over his attire.

“I know, utterly dreadful, is it not? But no, my exquisite taste has not been at all dulled by marriage. Surely you only have to look at the woman I chose for my bride to see that!”

Everyone looked at the woman he chose for his bride, and Beth tried not to blush.

“Beautiful,” observed the elegant young man, lifting his spectacles to his snub nose and eyeing her lasciviously with long-lashed brown eyes. “Quite a morsel. What on earth did you see in Anthony, my love? You could have had your pick of society, a beauty like you.”

By that he obviously meant ‘you could have had me,’ and she was suddenly reminded of Daniel. These were the sort of people he would associate with.

Beth looked him up and down slowly, then smiled.

“True. But looks, money and an empty head are not enough to satisfy me, my lord. I require a man who possesses a modicum of intelligence and who knows how to behave courteously towards a lady as well.”

The young lord flushed.

“She’s got the measure of you, David,” laughed Percy. “No hope of a conquest there. Speaking of ladies though, where’s Helen? There’ll be nothing left for her if she doesn’t hurry up.”

There was a general titter at the linking of the word ‘lady’ with Helen.

“She’s brought a change of dress,” said Caroline’s great-uncle. “I saw one of the footmen taking a bag up to her room.”

“Trust her to think of that, bloody cow,” mumbled Philippa through a mouthful of bread. “Play afterwards though. Macbeth. Damn good. Lots of blood.”

“There will be lots of blood if it consists of a recitation by the children, like it was last time,” threatened her father. “I’ll shoot the little buggers rather than endure that again. Awful, it was. And it went on for hours.”

“They’re not here,” said Philippa more distinctly, having emptied her mouth. She reached for the wine. “Off with Augusta to Chelsea. Shame. Nice children.”

“Nice children?” said Percy. “Stupid, more like. Little George can’t even…”

He stopped speaking hurriedly as the door opened, expecting it to be the prince returning. Instead a lovely young woman entered the room in a flurry of scarlet satin. Rubies glowed at her throat and ears, and her glossy black hair was beautifully arranged in a becoming style. She smiled at the company, her blue eyes travelling round the room until they alighted on Sir Anthony. The smile grew wider.

There were four other women in the room, and all of them immediately felt dowdy. Beth surreptitiously tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“Ah, Helen,” said David. “We were wondering where you were. You’re just in time to enjoy the last of the repast our prince has kindly thought to provide.” He waved his slender hand at a nearby empty chair. She smiled at him, ignored the chair, and went to sit next to Sir Anthony instead.

“Like Shakespeare?” barked Philippa.

“Yes,” said Beth, one eye on the scarlet vision, who had laid her small white hand on the baronet’s arm. “Although I haven’t seen Macbeth. Isn’t it unlucky to call it that, though?” Sir Anthony leaned across the table, carefully choosing a slice of meat, which he placed on a plate in front of Helen. He addressed a remark to Percy, and then Helen was commanding his attention again, leaning close to his ear to murmur something obviously confidential to him. She smiled seductively. Beth tried to ignore her and concentrate on Philippa.