The Prince of Eden (44 page)

So engrossed was he in his thoughts and plans that he was unaware of the fast pace he had set, was unaware of her lagging behind.

Abruptly he stopped. 'Tm sorry," he murmured. "Let me carry you. It isn't much farther—"

But as he bent to scoop her in his arms, she protested vigorously. "No, please, don't. What a sight that would be," she smiled, "the fiancee of one brother returning in the arms of the other."

He wished she hadn't mentioned it. But of course she was right. In the eyes of the company, she did belong to James. But in his eyes, that was a possession which James would never claim.

She allowed him to approach, her face once again soft with love. "I shall never forget this day," she whispered, "or that spot."

"Nor I," he smiled. "Fifty years hence," he promised, "when we are old we shall have our anniversary dinner there in that glen, just the two of us."

She returned his smile. "And we shall mark the spot with a small commemorative stone, and on it shall be carved the words, 'The True Eden.'"

Her laugh, like music, reassured him, though still it reminded him that carved stones fifty years hence had nothing to do with the problems at hand. As he hurried her toward the castle wall and the low wooden door, he asked earnestly, "Do you understand?"

Before she stooped to pass through the door, she looked up at him. For a moment he thought she would never speak, but at last she nodded. "I understand everything," she said.

Maintaining silence, they moved rapidly toward the east door and with a mutual sense of relief slipped quickly into the safe darkness of the passage. He could hear her moving a step or two ahead of him, her sense of direction steady as now she led the way up the secret stairway until at last she stood before the door which opened out onto the third floor corridor and the ultimate safety of her chambers.

Here she stopped and leaned against this last barrier as though beyond this spot their separation would be unendurable. Secure in this last temporary isolation, he grasped her to him. And she responded as though all he had to do was suggest it and she would gladly retrace her steps and return with him to the glen. In the semi-darkness he could not see her face, but he knew that she was weeping again.

"No need," he soothed, kissing her eyes, tasting the salt of tears. "Do you have doubts?" he inquired softly.

She shook her head.

"Then no need for tears," he comforted. "In an hour, perhaps less, we'll be together again, never to be separated, I swear it."

She seemed to grow quiet, then without warning, she slipped from

his arms, threw open the door, and ran down the corridor toward her chambers. He started to call after her, but changed his mind. It would only further delay their departure. Yet he continued to watch her until she slipped into the privacy of her apartments and closed the door behind her.

With the sensation of her lips still on his, he closed the passage door and started slowly down the corridor, keeping his eye on her closed door. They were both safe now.

At the end of the corridor, just as he was in the process of turning the corner, he stopped, feeling a peculiar heat on the back of his neck. He fought it for a moment, then gave in to the sensation of eyes upon him. Looking rapidly over his shoulder, he spied a small figure clad in mussed dark brown standing by the door at the far end.

Her. From that distance he could not read her expression. He saw her merely clinging to the door. He stepped forward and with a broad gesture threw her a kiss the length of the vast hall. Whether she received it or not, he was unable to tell. But a moment later he saw her bow her head against the door, then she slipped from his sight.

In her inexplicable appearance, he felt all his senses as though wrapped in sleep. The only clear sensation was terror. He'd felt such bliss and now in her sudden absence, he felt only pain.

With resolve he dismissed his feelings. Their love was shared, of that he was certain. Even if they were not permitted to«leave gracefully, nonetheless they would leave. He dreaded a scene for her sake and would make every effort to avoid one. But no one would keep them apart. What healing powers they had discovered. He stood in a better world now.

Then hurry! There was so much to do. Silence his fears in movement. And he took the stairs running, as though to outrace the fiends which plagued him.

Something was amiss, of that Sir Claudius was certain.

Precisely what it was, he had no idea. But he was a man of keen sensitivity, and in spite of the elegantly decorated Banqueting Hall, the garlands of flowers, the crystal chandeliers ablaze with thousands of candles, the coiff'ured ladies and gentlemen, the black-coated stewards now filing past bearing silver trays laden with delicacies—there, a three-tiered game mousse, and there, a magnificent Galantine de Dinde a la Voliere, and there, a mounded lobster salad, and there, a chafing dish filled with truffles in champagne—in spite of all this prodigious elegance and plenty, something was amiss.

As Sir Claudius straightened his white dress shirt front and prepared himself for the gluttony ahead, he thought with a wave of concern that the something amiss might have to do with Lady Eden's red and swollen eyes. As Sir Claudius sat to her immediate left, he was in a perfect position to see. Although she was beautifully gowned in royal blue silk, she looked aggrieved somehow, her manner not at all that of the proud mother on the verge of welcoming a handsome and superbly qualified daughter-in-law to the bosom of the family.

In fact, though they had been seated at table for over a quarter of an hour, had already lifted their glasses in toast to the occasion, Lady Eden had not once lifted her eyes from her wine glass. He'd seldom seen her so subdued and sorrowful. And in spite of her recent rejection of him, he still was very fond of her. They'd been through far too much together to let one small rejection splinter their relationship. If he couldn't get into her bed, he'd have to be content with getting into her purse. But no matter. He'd do it with grace and dignity.

Now, midway down the enormous table, he saw Lord Carlisle stand, his bald head glittering under the illumination of the chandeliers. A pompous ass, really, Sir Claudius thought, a political charlatan who toyed with the Whigs as a cat toyed with a mouse, fashionable sport perhaps half a century ago, but no longer, not with the dangerous radicals afoot and gaining power.

What was the old man saying. Sir Claudius wondered, trying to hear over the chattering females to his right. Ah, there it was. A toast to— the Princess Victoria? Bad taste, that. Extremely bad taste with the old king still alive. Lord Carlisle was playing with fire.

The toast over, Sir Claudius sent his attention back to Lady Eden. Something was amiss. It broke his heart to see her so downcast and preoccupied. Even her half-sister. Miss Jane Locke, customarily a common talking machine, also seemed subdued, as though a glass jar had fallen over both of them.

As the chatter and laughter increased at the opposite end of the table, Sir Claudius sent his attention in that direction, determined to put together the clues of the something amiss.

James was there, presiding at the head, in his proper place as Lord Eden. He seemed to be in close conversation with Lord Powels, as close, that is, as the empty chair between them would permit.

Ah-ha! Had he hit upon something? The bride-to-be absent again and on the very night when her engagement was to be announced? Had something gone awry there? No, it was unthinkable. Lady Eden would not permit the festivities to go this far without being certain of

the dramatic climax, the union of two of England^s great families.

"Yes, please." Sir Claudius spoke aloud to the steward bending over with twin platters laden with poached turbot and salmon mayonnaise. Another steward, white-gloved, stepped forward and spooned two generous servings onto his plate. The gluttony was under way.

With his fork raised, Sir Claudius was about to plunge in when suddenly he thought of Edward. Discreetly he sent his eyes the length of the table, then back again.

Missing! Peculiar, yet not so peculiar. Edward set his own timetable and the rest of the world be damned. Still, out of courtesy for the occasion, the man might have put in an appearance.

Well, enough for now. The salmon mayonnaise looked delicious. Opposite him and about four seats down, he caught Sophia Cranford's eye. In a subtle gesture, he touched his hand to his forehead in salute, his way of paying compliment to the woman's prodigious efforts which were clearly displayed all about him.

Feeling a little envious now, Sir Claudius heard the laughter rise at the opposite end of the table, the company beginning to relax under the soothing influence of good food and wine. Only his end of the table still appeared sunk in gloom. My Lord, what a funeral here, he thought. A prenuptial feast at one end, a wake at the other.

Opposite him and midway down, seated between Caleb and Sophia Cranford, he noticed Jennifer. She looked, as always, like a hunted animal. Good heavens! Sir Claudius never thought' it possible for nature to be so capricious, three such lackluster offspring emerging from two people who in their heyday had literally dazzled all of England.

Well, certainly there were no answers, and as his plate was empty and he had no immediate occupation either for his mouth or his hands, he straightened himself in his chair, dabbed his linen against his lips, and decided to make an attempt to break the wall of Marianne's silence.

"Milady," he began softly, lightly touching her right hand, which lay limp upon white linen. "Forgive me for intruding, but I fear your mood does not match the occasion."

Sweet God, was it his imagination or had the entire company fallen silent, all eyes and ears now focused on his end of the table?

Slowly Marianne looked up, her eyes still red as though recently she had shed tears.

Just when the silence and the waiting were on the verge of becoming embarrassing, she spoke, a faint smile warming her cold features. "You're not intruding, Sir Claudius," she murmured, "and if my

expression alarmed you, I apologize." Now she raised her voice as though addressing the entire company. "In truth, I was merely enjoying a moment of private contemplation. You must forgive me if I lapse into brooding. Quite naturally my mind and heart go out to those— missing—"

For an instant Sir Claudius thought she'd made reference to the two empty chairs. But then he knew she was referring to another, to Thomas.

Sensing the tribute, the entire company fell silent. "To Thomas," she toasted intimately, "to—my Lord." Solemnly the company rose, glasses in hand, to join the toast.

While it was touching, it couldn't go on or else the entire evening would simply drown in old grief. Now in the far corner of the hall next to the stairs. Sir Claudius saw the musicians entering. Just in time, he thought.

But before they started, he had a toast of his own. "Your attention a moment longer," he announced, appalled at how high and womanlike his voice sounded. "For this glorious fortnight on a spot of earth aptly named," he commenced, "I lift my glass to the Countess Dowager, to that ray of sunshine which has warmed all our lives, to Lady Eden, to Marianne—"

A welcoming shout of "Hear! Hear!" rose about him, though as he lifted his glass to his lips, he noted several of the company who did not—Jennifer for one, who simply stood before her place. And Sophia Cranford, who took one rapid sip, then left the table and hurried toward the gathering musicians.

Well, so be it. He couldn't mend all bridges at once. The others responded warmly and the look of pleasure on Marianne's face was reward enough. Perhaps now she would have done with her ghosts and play her role properly.

As Sir Claudius settled back into his chair, she leaned over. "How thoughtful of you," she whispered.

"Thoughtfulness had nothing to do with it, milady," he countered gallantly. "I meant every word." He took her hand and kissed it, pleased to hear voices around him rise again, everyone talking, helping themselves to the intermediate course of cheese, butter, raw celery, the stewards moving about the table in a blur now, trying to remove the first plates and reset with fresh china and glasses. From the far corner he heard the first strains from the musicians, a gentle selection, unidentifiable and a perfect aid to good digestion.

Sir Claudius felt satisfied with himself. Single-handedly he had moved the party forward, though not cured it of course. It still lay

about him like an invalid, something amiss, something terribly amiss. But at least death had been stayed for a while.

He noticed Marianne taking a generous portion of cheese onto her plate and two leafy spears of celery. And of course he couldn't help but notice the warmth of her smile as she asked him a direct and thoughtful question.

"And your reading. Sir Claudius?" she inquired. "How did your reading go this morning?"

Before he could answer. Lady Carlisle at mid-table answered for him. "Simply splendid. Lady Eden," she smiled, leaning forward in an attempt to project her voice over the distance. "I really think Sir Claudius missed his calling. He should have been an actor on the stage. He positively brought Mr. Dickens to life."

Modestly Sir Claudius shook his head and raised a hand.

From the company came a peculiar crunching sound as all munched on the cleansing second course. Then, at mid-table, Sir Claudius saw the craning neck of Sophia Cranford. She seemed to be rigidly focused on the massive arched doorway which led out to the corridor beyond. Clearly the absence of someone was beginning to weigh on her.

Through the clutter of stewards he saw her lean across the ever-silent Jennifer and whisper something to Caleb. He watched Caleb's stern eyes move toward the empty doorway, then saw the man nod as though in agreement. A moment later, he saw Sophia leave her chair, and move down the long line of chairs until she stood directly behind Lady Powels.

Sir Claudius watched the whole little drama with a keen eye trained for such things. He'd not passed a lifetime in the law for nothing. And a few moments later, he saw Sophia assist Lady Powels to her feet, withdraw her chair, and walk with her to the doorway, their two heads bent in close conversation.