A Woman's Estate (37 page)

Abigail’s head agreed with what her friend said, but her
heart leapt with a fierce, if rather surprising, joy when she thought of the
American successes. Still, she answered calmly enough, “
You
may think it
nothing, but to the Americans, the death of Chief Tecumseh and the destruction
of his league, which now nearly eliminates any new fear of Indian attacks,
means a great deal. The use of the savages by the British is considered most
dishonorable by all Americans, even those who most bitterly oppose this war.”

“It is common British custom,” Roger pointed out. “The
British army has always used native troops, most successfully in India.”

“That is quite different,” Abigail replied rather sharply.
“Those troops are incorporated into the army and trained—and they are used
against rebellious native governments. In America the savages have simply been
armed and allowed to do as they like. There have been several cruel massacres
of prisoners, quite unnecessary and, to my simple mind at least, totally
inexcusable.”

Roger laughed. “There is nothing simple about your mind, my
dear, and I suspect there are others who feel uneasy about some of the actions
taken in this war. You must understand, however, that the small number of
troops stationed in Canada and the inability to send any reinforcements, owing
to the war in Spain and on the Continent, made necessary the use of whatever
weapons lay to hand.”

“Perhaps,” Abigail conceded, then shrugged. “As long as
there will be no further opportunity to use the Indians, I can see no purpose
in arguing about them.”

“No,” Arthur put in, “but having employed them in action
raises other problems. I do not know whether any treaty has been signed, but
the fact that they must be considered allies might make it necessary to include
them in any peace arrangement.”

“I do not think the American government will make any
concessions about the Indians,” Abigail said. “In the new states and the
western territories, feeling is very strong on that subject. Possibly if the
territory of Louisiana had not been purchased, the more moderate sentiments of
the original states could have prevailed, but so large an investment mandates
full use of the land.”

“What do you mean, full use of the land?” Arthur asked
heatedly, quite forgetting he was not arguing with a political opponent but
with his new-made bride. “The United States cannot simply seize Indian property
just because they purchased France’s claim to that territory.”

As unaware as her husband of the unsuitability of their
conversation, Abigail frowned thoughtfully. “I do not think it is fair to say
the government simply seizes Indian lands. I believe there is usually some
payment or exchange of goods. I admit, it is not a subject in which I was much
interested, living in New York as I did, but Albert would sometimes talk about
the problems of dealing with the Indians.” She smiled, and her expression
cleared. “And I cannot believe that any arrangement made by Albert would be
unjust. He is the fairest and most honest man in the world.”

What Arthur saw in his new wife’s face made his heart
contract. Abigail had not looked as warm and joyful when she took her vows at
the altar only a few hours before as she did now at the mention of this damned
Albert, whose name kept coming into her conversation. Arthur was struck so hard
by jealousy that he could not speak, but Alexander Baring saved him from making
an utter fool of himself.

“I agree that Albert Gallatin is a paragon of virtue,”
Baring said, half laughing, “but even if he has urged or made equitable
arrangements for the Indians in the past, this situation is different. If the
tribes are not protected by some mention in any peace treaty made with England,
the American government might claim that the Indians were vanquished enemies
and deprive them of their lands as reparations.”

“Come now,” Anne Baring exclaimed, turning away from her
conversation with Leonie and Violet and laying a hand on her husband’s arm, “I
have seldom heard a sillier argument. As far as I know, there is no immediate
plan for negotiations on any terms. Did you not tell me, my love, that the
Cabinet had refused for a fourth time Rumiantsev’s proposal to mediate?”

“True enough, Anne,” Baring replied, “but I have received
very favorable answers concerning direct talks from the American commissioners.
Unfortunately, they only have authority to act under Russian mediation, but
they hinted strongly that if Lord Castlereagh would suggest direct negotiations
to President Madison, the President would give his approval without delay.
Naturally, I passed the message to Castlereagh, and I have reason to believe
that he acted on it.”

Anne laughed. “Very well,” she conceded, “you are not quite
as silly as I assumed, but still this is no time to be discussing such matters.
This is Abigail’s wedding.”

“But Anne,” Abigail protested, smiling, “I could not have a
better wedding gift than Alex’s news. I am so glad to learn that direct
negotiations between England and the United States are possible. I have been
very worried about the failure of any chance of peace. You must realize
yourself that once Bonaparte is beaten—”

“Let Arthur and Alex worry about what will happen when
Bonaparte is beaten,” Anne said, her pleasant voice unusually sharp. “It is not
a suitable topic for women.”

Alexander Baring put his arm around his wife in a comforting
gesture. “Talk of the war makes her a little nervous,” he said.

Abigail felt dreadfully guilty, realizing that Anne must be
far more worried than she. Anne had family as well as friends in America, but
before Abigail could think of any easy way to change the topic, Arthur said
aggressively, “I cannot see why you think that Bonaparte is at his last gasp,
Abigail. One of his problems in the past has been the lack of reliability of
his foreign troops, but his new army—”

Leonie and Violet, who had now also joined their group,
combined to cut him off and forbid any more talk about so grim a topic, but
Abigail squeezed his hand gratefully, aware that what he had said had been just
an oblique, and therefore more convincing, device to reassure Anne. But even
after politics had been declared out-of-bounds, there was little to mark the
occasion as special.

Later the men rode out for a while, and the women talked of
their children and grandchildren and of the coming Season in London. After
dinner, Roger and Leonie left. The evening passed quietly and pleasantly.
Bertram played, and after a few whispered words from him, Griselda sang.
Abigail was amazed by her voice, it was slight but beautifully pure and sweet.
And when Griselda was tired, they all sang—rather discordantly but with much
pleasure and laughter. Finally, the Barings reminded their hosts that they must
be up early to travel home the next day. Bertram escorted Violet back to Stonar
Magna, and Arthur and Abigail went up to bed.

Abigail had warned him when he proposed staying at Rutupiae
that he would be inconvenienced by the lack of a dressing room because she was
still using the countess’s bedchamber and Victor was in the earl’s suite. The
door between Victor’s rooms and hers could be locked, and Daphne now had her
own bedchamber so that Abigail herself had a dressing room, but it was not
suitable for Arthur. He had smiled at her, his eyes half-closed, and said, “I
think I might just survive such an inconvenience,” but there was such sensual
promise in his indolent murmur that Abigail had felt herself flush.

Now, as they entered the room, Abigail automatically reached
for the bell to summon her maid, but Arthur caught her hand. “My valet is not
here,” he reminded her, “and I am not the self-mortifying type that likes to
suffer alone. No valet for me, no maid for you.”

Ridiculous as it was, considering that she and Arthur had
been lovers, the tension dissipated by the pleasant day had rebuilt in Abigail
as they came up the stairs, but she could not help laughing at the injured
indignation in Arthur’s voice. “You should have gone onto the stage,” she said.
“I cannot think where else adequate use could be made of your talent for
projecting utterly false emotions with such conviction.”

“Don’t be silly,” he replied, laughing also. “I have a far
more interesting and difficult audience in the Commons. If I can convince
them—” He stopped abruptly, shook his head, and took her gently into his arms.
“Have you become so spoiled by being a countess that you can no longer undress
yourself? You have come down in the world today, I am afraid. You are only a
baronet’s wife now, so you must be content with somewhat less elegance. Will
you take me for substitute, my love? I will gladly play maid.”

He was speaking playfully. Abigail now knew that in wealth
and influence the St. Eyres far outstripped the Lyddens, title or no title.
Nonetheless she wondered whether there was not a thread of uncertainty in his
voice under the teasing. If there was, it was her fault. She felt guilty, and
she put her arms around his neck and kissed him lightly. “Then just to show you
that I am quite content with my reduced state, I will play valet.”

They played in more ways than assuming roles, removing one
article of clothing at a time and using the slow revelation of each body as an
excuse for a lingering form of foreplay that Abigail had not expected. On both
earlier “first times”—in the house in London and in Scotland—Arthur had been
sudden, even violent, in his lovemaking. This time, although it was plain
enough that he was extremely excited, he was in no hurry to bring their sensual
play to its natural culmination. He caressed each part of her body as it was
exposed, her arms and legs, her back, her breasts and belly, breaking off from
time to time to come back to her lips. But each time their heads were close
enough, he whispered in her ear, “For the rest of our lives, Abigail. For the
rest of our lives.”

At the moment, Arthur could have been reciting the
multiplication tables or uttering curses in Chinese. His voice was an
additional caress, the faint breath in her ear as he whispered sent thrills
over her body, but the words themselves were meaningless. Her brain recorded
without comprehending. All she understood then was the need to draw him into
her and to give and receive the ultimate pledge of love.

In the morning, however, the words came back to Abigail with
an oddly dichotomous effect. One part of her could not help being enchanted by
her husband’s joy in their permanent union, but in the back of her mind was the
knowledge that no woman had been able to hold Arthur for very long. In that
sense, “for the rest of our lives” could almost be a threat—although she knew
very well that Arthur had not meant it that way. There was no sense in worrying
that bone, she told herself. Only time could prove the case one way or the
other.

It was easy enough to dismiss that problem, for Abigail had
a more immediate worry. She realized that in London and Scotland, she had not
truly shared Arthur’s life. There was little in common, she suspected, between
Arthur’s normal activities and the pleasant make-busy days of sightseeing and
amusement-seeking in London or the lazy country occupations with which they had
filled their time in Scotland.
What a selfish beast I am
, she thought,
all
wound up in whether I will be satisfied. Poor Arthur, I’ve never considered him
at all
.

Without realizing it, she patted his hand lovingly and then
was startled by a low chuckle. Arthur’s bare arm slid behind her neck and
pulled her onto his chest. The worried expression alone might have hurt him,
but combined with the tender touch it soothed him. Although he was not certain
what had brought the faint frown to Abigail’s brow and the slight, sad downturn
to her lips, he knew the concern was on his account.

“Not to worry, love,” he said. “I’m not at all regretting
throwing my cap over the windmill.”

“I wasn’t thinking that,” she replied, smiling. “It just
came to me that I may not be at all a
suitable
wife for you. I am not
the most tactful creature in the world, and that cannot be a good
characteristic for a political hostess.”

“You picked a fine time to think of it.” Arthur laughed out
loud.
Could
that have been the reason for his odd feeling that Abigail
had been looking for a way out? If so, he had been a great fool, for the fact
that she had never raised the point was proof of her desire to marry him. He
hugged her tightly again and bit her ear. “It’s too late now,” he pointed out.
“All you can do is pave hell with energy and hope for the best.”

“Pave hell with energy?” Abigail echoed.

“Have good intentions, my love,” Arthur explained, first
stretching luxuriously and then lifting himself on one elbow to better see his
bride and pick the best target for his mouth. “Have you never heard that the
road to hell is paved with good intentions?” He chuckled again and began to run
his tongue around her ear. “But you will get plenty of chance to practice tact
over the next two weeks.” His speech was becoming slurred and absent as Abigail
responded to his invitation by sliding her hands down his body, but he managed
to finish. “You will find my family can be extremely unrestrained. They will
all jump on you with both feet if they disagree with you.”

The threat did not much alarm Abigail, and when they moved
to Stonar on the twenty-fourth to welcome their guests, she found her
confidence was justified. It was true that the St. Eyres were outspoken and
opinionated, but most of them were also intelligent and kind. Arthur endured
the jokes and teasing with a combination of easy good humor and smug
satisfaction that delighted Abigail by making very clear his contentment with
his marriage. The two weeks they spent as a family party passed in a whirl of
friendly argument and energetic amusements, and Abigail knew when they
dispersed that the St. Eyres had taken her to their hearts.