Unconquered (22 page)

“Jared!” she cried in her low, husky voice. He turned. “Jared, darling! You’re back!” She flung herself into his arms, pulling his head down for a passionate kiss. There! He would be publicly committed! she thought triumphantly.

With a suddenness she hadn’t anticipated, Gillian Abbott found herself removed from the embrace she had so carefully engineered, and pushed firmly away. Jared Dunham was looking at her with that damned sardonic look she’d always hated.

“Gillian, my dear,” he said. “Do try and behave yourself.”

“Aren’t you happy to see me?” she pouted. Gillian’s pouts had been known to drive men wild.

“I am delighted to see you,
Lady
Abbott,” he said. “May I present my wife, Miranda? Miranda, my dear, Lady Abbott.”

Gillian felt a chill begin. He couldn’t have married, she shrieked silently to herself, she had plans! She glowered at the tall beautiful woman in black by Jared’s side. Unimpressed, the beauty dared to glower back! Lady Abbott struggled to get hold of herself for it seemed that the entire room was watching the exchange. Damn Emily Cowper and Dariya de Lieven for the two bitches they were.

“I wish you happy, Lady Dunham,” she managed to choke.

“I’m quite sure you do,” was the clear reply. A subdued titter ran through the room.

Gillian felt a red-black rage well up inside her. What right had this smug-faced Yankee chit to speak to her in such a fashion! “What on earth ever possessed you to marry an
American
, Jared?” Her voice dripped acid.

The room grew hushed. Though the English and the Americans were feuding again, neither side felt a true animosity toward the other. It was simply another round in the seemingly never-ending battle between parent and child. The insult was, therefore, only the frustration of an embittered woman, yet the ton gathered at Almack’s that evening knew that unless young
Lady Dunham met the challenge flung down by Gillian Abbott, she would be socially damaged.

Miranda drew herself up to her full five feet eight, and looked down her aristocratic nose at Lady Abbott. “Perhaps my husband married me,” she said with devastating sweetness, “because he felt the need of a
real
woman.”

Gillian Abbott gasped as the barb hit its mark. “You … you … you …” she sputtered furiously.

“American?” supplied Miranda cheerfully. Then she turned to her husband. “Did you not promise me this dance, sir?” As if on cue, the orchestra struck up a sprightly country tune.

“Well, well, well,” chuckled Lady Cowper, grinning at her dearest friend, Princess de Lieven. “It appears the last of the season shall not be dull after all.”

“It was really quite awful of you not to tell Gillian Abbott of Lord Dunham’s marriage, Emily,” the princess scolded. Then she laughed and added, “The young American is quite an elegant fighter, isn’t she? A really perfect match for Jared.”

“You knew him in Berlin, didn’t you, Dariya?”

“And St. Petersburg, too.” She lowered her voice. On several occasions he’s acted for certain interests in his government as an unofficial ambassador-courier-spy.”

“I knew.”

“I wonder why he’s in London.”

“His sister-in-law’s wedding, of course. She is to be married at the end of June.”

“Perhaps,” said Princess de Lieven. “But I’d wager there is more to this visit. England and America are again close to war thanks to Napoleon’s meddling, and President Monroe’s innocence of European politics. Jared has always sided with those in his government who want peace with honor, and economic prosperity. That is how America will thrive. It’s a vast, rich country, and one day it will be a power to be reckoned with, Emily.”

“I will ask Palmerston,” said Lady Cowper. “He will know.”

The dance was ending and the dancers moved off the floor, finding refreshment before sitting down. Amanda, though soon to be Lady Swynford, was surrounded by admirers to whom she parceled out dances with a twinkling charm, while Adrian stood adoringly by. On gilt and velvet chairs the dowager Lady Swynford
and Dorothea conversed busily as they planned the wedding and exchanged gossip.

In the dimness of a secluded box Miranda sipped at the warm lemonade and nibbled at the stale cake that constituted Almack’s effort at refreshments. She was furious, and his cool, amused attitude outraged her. Finally she could no longer bear the thick silence between them, and burst out, “Was she your mistress?”

“For a time.”

“Why did you not tell me?”

“My dear wildcat, no gentlemen discusses his mistress with his wife.”

“Did she expect you to marry her?”

“That would be quite impossible for several reasons. The lady is already married, and I never offered her the hope of anything other than a brief friendship. That friendship ended when I left London last year.”

“She certainly didn’t seem to think so,” muttered Miranda.

“Are you jealous, wildcat?” he teased.

“Yes, dammit. I am! If that yellow-eyed cat comes near you again, I’ll claw her eyes out!”

“Be careful, m’lady. You’re behaving most unfashionably. Showing affection for one’s husband is considered very bad form.”

“Let’s go home,” she said softly.

“We’ve only danced one dance. I fear we’ll cause a minor scandal,” he replied.

“Good!”

“I am putty in your hands, m’lady,” he replied. His green eyes narrowed. The dimness of the box hid them as he pulled her against him. “
Say it!
” he commanded, brushing his lips against hers.

“I love you!” she murmured.

His arms tightened about her.

“I will never tire of hearing you say that, wildcat,” he muttered roughly.

“Say it!” she now demanded.

“I love you,” he replied unhesitatingly. “I love you the way I have never loved anyone. I loved you from the moment I first saw you and I shall always love you, even if you are the most unpredictable, impossible creature I’ve ever known.”

“O Fiend! You spoiled it!” She hammered against his chest, and his body rocked with laughter.

“Now, wildcat, it wouldn’t do for you to become overconfident,” he chided mockingly. “Oh, no, that wouldn’t do at all.”

    Chapter 7    

T
HE HIGHLIGHT OF THE SEASON’S END IN 1812 WAS THE CELEBRATION
of the marriage between Adrian, Baron Swynford, and the American heiress, Miss Amanda Dunham. Not only did the bride rank among the year’s “incomparables,” but she was rumored to have an income of three thousand pounds a year. Small wonder, said the wags and wits, that her unfortunate nationality had been overlooked by the Swynfords.

The young couple had been fêted for several weeks prior to their wedding day, the largest party—a ball—given by Jared and Miranda two nights before the nuptials. Invitations had been at a premium, but the greatest honor done the young people was the attendance of George, the Prince Regent, himself.

The virtual ruler of England now that his father, George III, had been declared mad, the Prince Regent—or Prinny, as he was known by all—was not as popular as he had once been. Confirmed by Parliament to rule in his father’s place, he had asked the Tories to form the government, thus alienating the Whigs, who had supported him for years and had expected to ride to power on his coattails. The Tories had no love for Prinny either, and the common people saw only his excesses. To their minds he ate too much when many starved. He squandered money on women, paintings, furnishings, houses, and horses. His marriage was an open scandal although he partly redeemed himself by his adoration of his only child, the Princess Charlotte. Only among his peers was the Prince Regent at ease for, whether they
liked him or not, being in favor with the prince was the pinnacle of social success.

He arrived at Dunham House at precisely eleven o’clock the evening of the ball, accompanied by Lady Jersey. He was a tall, full-figured man with carefully coiffed dark brown hair and watery blue eyes. The eyes swept approvingly over Amanda, for the Prince Regent liked his women dimpled and buxom. Still, he was strangely taken by his willow-slim hostess, whose sea-green eyes matched her gown. The Prince Regent, who had expected to stay only half an hour, had such a good time that he stayed for almost the entire ball, thereby guaranteeing its success.

The family had expected to spend the next day recovering from their evening and resting for the wedding, which would take place the following day; but a visitor at ten o’clock in the morning brought the four Dunhams to the main drawing room in various states of dishabille.

“Pieter!” shrieked Dorothea, joyously flinging herself into the arms of a big, tall, red-cheeked gentleman.

“Then you still love me?” whispered the gentleman anxiously.

“Of course I do, you foolish man,” replied Dorothea, blushing prettily.

“Good! I have obtained a special license for us to marry, and I intend we use it today!” he cried.

“Oh, Pieter!”

Jared stepped forward. “Mr. Van Notelman, I presume? I am Jared Dunham, lord of Wyndsong. This is my wife, Miranda, and my ward, Amanda.”

Pieter Van Notelman took the outstretched hand and shook it. “Mr. Dunham, you’ll forgive my unorthodox behavior but I received a note from Dorothea saying that she must, despite the hostilities between England and America, go to London and see to her daughter’s wedding. Frankly, I became worried, so I arranged to have a cousin look after my children, and I found a ship sailing from New York to Holland. From Holland I managed to get a fishing boat to bring me to England.”

“And once here, you immediately managed to obtain a special wedding license,” said Jared drily, his eyes twinkling as he rang for the butler.

“I have friends here too, m’lord.”

“But, Pieter, tomorrow is Amanda’s wedding! We can’t be married today.”

“Why not?” chorused the twins.

“We must marry today, Dorothea. I have booked us passage on a West Indiaman sailing tomorrow night for Barbados. From there we will connect with an American ship, and be home before summer’s end. I cannot leave the children long, and I should not have left Highlands to be managed by others.”

The drawing-room door opened, and the butler entered. “Sir?” he inquired of Jared.

“Send a footman around to Reverand Mr. Blake at St. Mark’s. Tell him we’ll need him to perform a wedding ceremony at half after eleven. Then beg Mrs. Poultney’s indulgence, and say we should like a festive luncheon at one to celebrate the wedding of my mother-in-law and her new husband.”

“Very good, m’lord,” murmured Simpson impassively, his face betraying neither surprise nor disapproval. He turned and left the room.

“Jared!” squeaked Dorothea.

“Now, Doro, my dear, you have told us of your intention to marry Mr. Van Notelman. Have you changed your mind? I certainly won’t force you into a distasteful marriage.”

“No! I love Pieter!”

“Then go upstairs and get ready for your wedding. You have heard Mr. Van Notelman’s explanation for the haste. It is quite reasonable. And just think, Doro! You will have both your girls with you on this happy day. If you had waited, neither of them would have been with you.”

Lord Swynford was hastily summoned, and at eleven-thirty that morning Dorothea Dumham became the wife of Pieter Van Notelman in the presence of her two daughters, her son-in-law, her about-to-be-son-in-law, and the personal secretary of the Dutch ambassador, who happened to be a Van Notelman cousin, and had been the one responsible for obtaining the special license.

They returned to the house to find that Mrs. Poultney, though she was deep in preparations for Amanda’s wedding feast, had prepared an admirable luncheon. Laid out upon the sideboard in the dining room were a turkey stuffed with chestnut and oyster
dressing, a juicy loin of beef, a pink ham and a large whole Scots salmon
en gelée
. There were bowls of vegetables, whole green beans with almonds, carrots and celery in a dilled cream sauce, a cauliflower with a cheese sauce, Brussels sprouts; little whole new potatoes, potato soufflés, and a marrow pudding. There were tiny roast larks, pigeon pâté, and rabbit pie, as well as a large salad of young lettuce, small radishes, and little green scallions. At the end of the sideboard were an apricot tart, a small wheel of Stilton, and a bowl containing peaches, cherries, oranges, and green grapes. To everyone’s amazement and delight, there was even a small two-layer wedding cake.