The Prince of Eden (34 page)

Clearly appalled, James withdrew another step. "Daniel Spade?" he repeated. "Surely you're not suggesting that Jenny—"

Although Marianne was certain that no one was overhearing the conversation but herself, she took steps to end it. Moving between her two sons, she counseled quietly, "Jenny is quite capable of plotting her own future." To Edward she smiled, "The piano is lovely, a welcome gift." To James she suggested, "Why don't you have Caleb select several good wines for dinner tonight. I think we should have a family celebration before the other guests descend next week."

With both men momentarily defused, she lifted her voice and spoke

now to those waiting on the steps. "Sophia, would you be so kind as to see Jennifer to her chambers. I know she must be tired. And Jane, please escort Sir Claudius to the library for a glass of sherry before lunch. There's absolutely no need for us to stand about in this heat."

As the company made tentative motions to disperse, she looked again at Edward and James, took both their arms, and drew them close. "I can't tell you," she began softly, "how much it means to me to have you both home. The coming days will be busy and filled with duties, but for now, we are all together and at peace, and for that, I'm grateful."

Her mood seemed to spread to her two sons. Edward kissed her lightly on the cheek. Then to James, he said with great warmth, "Forgive my rudeness. I haven't yet congratulated you. I look forward to meeting your future wife."

James smiled. "She'll be a good addition to the family, and Fm certain she will produce sons." Then hastily he added, "If you'll excuse me now, I must finish in the stables.'*

With that he was gone. Edward continued to stare after him. "Were we just then talking about a wife or a brood sow?" he asked softly.

Rising partially to James's defense, Marianne said, "He seems to feel his duty keenly to produce an heir."

"Do you know the lady?" Edward asked, still watching his brother.

"I know the family, of course," Marianne said. "I've never met Harriet."

"I hope she Is fully aware of the purpose behind her entry into this family," Edward commented as though feeling pity for the young woman whose first duty would be to reproduce.

"I'm sure she is," Marianne smiled. Again she took Edward's arm and tried to turn him from the diminishing figure at the end of the path. "Come, let me take you to your chambers. If you like, we can lunch there alone. I must speak with you."

He detected the tension behind her words. "How long has Sir Claudius been here?" he asked pointedly.

"Long enough."

"Then, in that case, I plead guilty to everything."

"Come, Edward," she urged. "The heat is dreadful. Let's retire."

Gently but steadily she guided him up the steps. On his brow she noticed beads of perspiration in which his hair had gotten caught and now lay plastered on his forehead. His face appeared suddenly to have gone white.

As they entered the cool shadows of the Great Hall, she saw three curious serving girls peering out, excited at the increased traffic passing

through the castle. As she drew near, they started to retreat. She called sharply, "Bring a pitcher of lavender water and clean linens to my third-floor chambers. And be quick."

As the girls disappeared, she turned her attention back to Edward. He appeared to be breathing heavily now, and his weight upon her had increased as though his legs were giving way. "Edward, what is it?" she whispered in concern.

At that moment Sophia Cranford appeared in the far corridor door. On seeing his colorless face, she stepped forward, a mask of concern imperfectly hiding her curiosity. "Is he ill?" she asked. "He seemed well enough when we left him."

"He's merely fatigued," Marianne replied, trying to walk erect and thus conceal the full extent of Edward's mysterious weakness.

"Shall I call for Caleb?" Sophia asked primly.

"No!" Marianne's reply was sharp. "He'll be fine. He simply needs a moment to rest." As she guided Edward past the gaping woman, she called back, "We'll lunch alone in my chambers. I'm certain the others will understand. Please send Mrs. Greenbell with a tray."

Although Marianne had dreaded the three flights of stairs, she was relieved to see that Edward apparently had recovered a portion of his strength. He grasped the handrailing and laboriously pulled himself up.

Breathing heavily from exertion and undone with concern, she led him slowly to the third-floor corridor, the stone walls of the castle now serving as his support. As they drew near his customary chambers, only a short distance from hers, he pulled free of her support. "Leave me, please," he begged in a hoarse whisper. "You were right. I—need a moment—alone."

She started to protest, but changed her mind. As she pushed open the door which led into his chambers, she stepped back. "I'll be down the hall if you need me," she reminded him.

Quietly she closed the door. As she stood alone in the corridor, her mind turned. She'd seen the ravages of the Dreaded Disease, and knew that Edward exercised no discrimination in his choice of companions. But surely not that. Oh God, please not that. What a trump card for the Cranfords, to drag a diseased Edward into court.

But it wasn't that. She was certain. Then what?

^^^/SJ^'

At dawn on the morning of June 29, an entourage of five carriages left Hadley Park outside Shrewsbury heading in a southwesterly direction toward Eden Castle on the North Devonshire coast. Now with the first rosy signs of sun creeping over the Shropshire hills, Harriet sat well over on her side of the carriage and gazed bleakly out the window. So! The dreaded journey was under way at last.

Beyond the carriage window, Harriet took careful and loving note of the Shropshire landscape, the rolling green meadows dotted with sheep, a soft morning fog just burning off, leaving tints of primrose pink where the sun poked through. She shivered slightly in the morning chill.

Seated opposite her was her mother, who apparently had seen the trembling. "Draw your cloak about you, Harriet," she commanded. "It will serve no purpose to arrive sniffling."

Harriet did as she was told and wondered sadly if it would serve any purpose to arrive at all. Not that she had anything against James Eden. At recent country house parties, they had passed fairly enjoyable intervals together. In the past he had required nothing of her but a ready ear, or at least the pretense of a ready ear.

She knew all too well, however, what had drawn them together, had led their families into tentative discussions concerning a union. Both she and James were leftovers. Everyone else in their circle had been spoken for long ago.

So they were to be joined like two machines, the male machine

penetrating the female machine and leaving a seed, and out of her womb the future would emerge, and her only purpose for drawing breath would have been fulfilled.

The thought hurt. It was like being born to nothing, her father eyeing her even now as though she were one of his prize ewes on her way to the breeding sheds.

Beyond her window, she saw the end of the parkland, the narrow turnpike and, across the road, the Mermaid Inn. She thought of Humphrey Hills, the little boy with whom she had played as a child. Humphrey had loved her. She might have married him if custom had permitted. The wife of an innkeeper? Why not? How would it differ from being the wife of a lord? But of course custom had not permitted it.

Opposite her in the rocking carriage her parents' faces bobbed back and forth before her vision. She loved them both ver)' much and was only sorry that she had so vastly disappointed them.

She looked away and closed her eyes, recalling the conversation she'd overheard between her parents recently concerning her ability to breed. "A fine full figure," her father had said. She had blushed then and blushed now, surprised that he had noticed. She was too tall, her mother had said, men preferring them small and dainty. But her breasts were good, they both had agreed, and her hips sturdy. She had never known an illness, another plus.

Thus Harriet had overheard them outside the morning room, discussing and cataloguing her various attributes, expressing in the end complete bafflement at her persistent single status. "She simply does nothing to encourage them," her mother had despaired. "She treats them one and all like—idiots," and the word had come out an obscenity. Her mother had concluded the discussion with her customary scolding, blaming her father for not permitting them, years ago, to take a London house where "the girl" might have learned a woman's wiles, blaming him too for that continuous line of German tutors who had filled her head with Greek and Latin and mathematics, all totally useless in the marriage race.

As they turned the corner heading toward the turnpike to Worcester, she saw the trailing entourage of the other four carriages, the second filled with servants, the third and fourth given over entirely to trunks, the fifth filled with her father's sturdiest guardsmen to look after the horses, repair the carriages, and watch out for highwaymen. Their itinerary consisted of Worcester, Cheltenham, Gloucester, a night's rest with their good friends the Berkeleys at Berkeley Castle, then Bristol, Cheddar, Taunton, Barnstaple, and Eden. If all went well, they were

scheduled to arrive early in the evening on the following night.

If all went well-As they passed through the village of Much Wenlock, the carriages resumed speed, the wheels of the rough terrain beating out a curious tune. Why did her mother persist in looking at her like that, as though she were an object of consummate pity? She wished now that she'd taken her private carriage and ridden behind. It had been discussed in the event that Harriet had wanted to extend her visit with the Edens.

But her father had said no, said they all could learn as much as they needed to know about the Edens in the official visit. She knew, although her father had never expressed this openly to her, that he had reservations about the union. The Eden blood was slightly tainted with the influx of common blood, the present Lady Eden having been the object of much scandal before she had married Lord Thomas Eden. The younger Eden son had been mentioned as a possible suitor years ago, but her father had discounted it then. Only desperation had now driven him back to the Edens. The girl must bear fruit.

If Harriet remembered correctly, there was an elder son as well. A bastard. James had mentioned him once in passing, the man apparently an embarrassment to the entire family, living scandalously in London.

The sky overhead was a blue endlessness. She sent her eyes there now and wished with all her heart that she was back riding Falstaflf to their secret meadow, or reading by her little rounded turret window which gave such a splendid view of the Shropshire Hills. But to what end? She couldn't very well become a recluse at twenty-five, although that was her natural inclination.

If only she were capable of defining love. There had been Humphrey Hills, but that had been companionship more than love. And she had known one infatuation, safely platonic and from a distance, a fourteen-year-old schoolgirl infatuation with her German tutor, Herr Swartz. He'd been thrice her age, but she'd felt an unprecedented stirring in his presence as he'd read to her from Homer. She'd written a love poem to him and had carelessly left it about on her dressing table. Apparently someone had found it, and a short time after that, Herr Swartz had been dismissed.

Now in the cold light of growing older, she did not look forward to life without a definition of love. But as her mother had sternly pointed out, love had little to do with it.

Across the way, she heard her father speaking. He was listing as

usual his projections of possible catastrophes. It was a sport with him, quite probably because it upset her mother so.

"Not an easy journey, this," he muttered, "particularly dangerous in early summer after spring thaw. My God, when I think on it. Two rivers to ford, the current capable of washing us away. That axle on the second carriage is weak, might break at any moment and send the horses down upon us. Did I tell you, there's a lame horse in the fourth team? Sorely lame. Could unbalance the others and cause a collision. And that stretch of road between Berkeley and Taunton? Particularly bad, or so I've heard, ruts as high as the carriage floor. We could be ripped in half—"

With her eyes closed, Harriet listened. Dear God, she prayed, just let any one of them happen ...

But nothing happened.

In fact, to the contrary, the journey was placid and uneventful. And in the late afternoon of the following day, after a pleasant interval at Berkeley Castle during which time the Berkeleys had more than filled her parents' ears concerning the Edens, she caught her first glimpse of the stark outline of Eden Castle, black in silhouette against the red sunset. She sat up, resolved to meet her responsibilities.

During the journey, something had passed from her, something which was above both happiness and grief, that something being her girlhood vision of romantic love. She had only duty ahead of her now and she divined without fear that she would become yet more lonely, that from now on she was a force enclosed within herself.