White Rose Rebel (48 page)

As Aeneas took Elizabeth’s hand to shake it, she dipped a curtsey.

‘Oops,’ he said, catching her arms, then realized she hadn’t
tripped but was doing that strange thing women here did at such moments. They all laughed together.

‘I’ve asked them to stay and dine with us,’ Helen beamed. ‘You’ll want time to catch up with each other.’

Anne’s first concern was for news of her brother, now exiled in France.

‘Did you see James before he sailed?’

‘Went with him to the boat,’ Francis nodded. ‘That’s where I would have gone too, but for Elizabeth. It was you he thanked for his life. Didn’t he write to say so?’

‘Yes, of course, but you know how mean he is with words. Was he well?’

‘He has a slight limp, but his health is good. His heart is another matter.’

‘We’ll keep trying for a pardon,’ Aeneas promised, ‘to bring him home, and yourself.’

‘Francis talks all the time of his beloved Highlands,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I expect poor Helen feels a bit of that too, now her home is lost.’

‘Oh, it’s not the same,’ Helen said. ‘My brother offered me a home. At least I’ll still be in London. That doesn’t compare with banishment.’

‘Then you won’t stay here?’ Anne asked.

‘I can’t,’ Helen explained. ‘My father gave me this house but, of course, it became my husband’s when we married. Now it will pass to his nephew.’ From her time spent among them, she expected the shock among the Highlanders. ‘It’s not so bad,’ she added. ‘The homes of your chiefs also pass to the next heir.’

‘But no other woman would lose hers, wife or no,’ Aeneas said, ‘and a chief’s widow is given a new home of her own, with an income to keep her for life. I hope your nephew means to provide for you.’

‘That’s not the way of things here,’ Helen said. ‘But,’ she added, brightly, ‘I will probably marry again. I’m young enough and still have my looks.’

While that was undoubtedly true, an embarrassed silence struck
the three Highlanders. To criticize their host’s way of life was an affront to hospitality. But marriage which stripped women of their belongings was surely theft. As the solution for enforced poverty, it made whores of women, whoremongers of men.

‘Tell them about Lady Broughton,’ Elizabeth prompted her husband, tactfully changing the subject.

‘My wife should tell you this story herself,’ Francis chuckled, ‘since it fascinates her.’ But Elizabeth ducked her head, shy again, and so he continued. With the help of several friends, Greta Fergusson had hidden out in Edinburgh after Culloden. It was there she delivered her baby, but the child, born too soon, had died. Twice, her attempts to sail for France from Leith had failed, so she travelled south, trying at several points to gain passage overseas. Finally, she fetched up in London.

‘But there’s still a warrant out for her,’ Anne worried. ‘Is she captured?’

‘No,’ Elizabeth answered, forgetting her shyness. ‘But only because Francis persuaded her not to seek out her husband.’

‘John Murray would surely help his wife,’ Aeneas said. ‘He certainly proved capable of helping himself.’ Sir John had turned king’s evidence, betraying the despised Lord Lovat to save his own life.

‘I doubt it,’ Francis disagreed. ‘With his title and estates restored, he wouldn’t jeopardize them again, not for Greta. After his release, he took up with a Quaker schoolgirl and passes her off as the Lady Broughton.’

‘But the real Lady Broughton is safe,’ Elizabeth finished triumphantly. ‘My father knew a ship’s captain who’d help, and she sailed for France the very next day.’

‘How exciting!’ Helen exclaimed. ‘I really don’t know why they must still hound people. After all, it’s over. That’s what we’re celebrating tomorrow.’

‘It wasn’t an invitation we could refuse,’ Aeneas pointed out.

‘Not when your wife is the guest of honour,’ Elizabeth said, then she caught the look which passed between him and Anne. ‘Didn’t you know?’

Anne shook her head. The reminder that she faced the scrutiny of England’s courtiers the next night did nothing to lessen her anxiety. Knowing the attention would centre on her deepened it considerably.

‘I doubt the Duke of Cumberland had honouring me in mind.’

‘Forget him,’ Helen said. ‘He struts like a conquering hero, yet that victory was a fluke. He never won a battle before, and we’d all be very surprised if he ever does again.’

‘England is safe from invasion because of its navy,’ Francis said, ‘not because of its army. I doubt they’ll hold the New World territories against the French and Spanish.’

‘They will if the clans make up that army,’ Aeneas said, ‘and these prohibitions are designed to do that. It’s the only way our dress and martial skills can survive. This ball is probably the carrot to that stick.’

‘You’re very suspicious, Aeneas,’ Helen chided. ‘It’s a celebration, of peace.’

‘To which the enemy is invited?’

‘The defeated enemy,’ Anne added.

‘It’s not like that,’ Elizabeth said. ‘People clamoured for your presence. Now that they feel safe, everyone wants to meet the fierce warrior woman they were so afraid of.’

Anne glanced down at the table. That woman was long gone. Whatever they expected, she couldn’t provide it.

‘Do they hope a show of wealth and power will pass for courage and keep us cowed?’ Aeneas asked.

‘Some do,’ Francis replied. ‘Others feel amends are due for the purges. But most are just curious.’ He looked thoughtfully at Anne. ‘You’ve nothing to prove. They’ve invested you with an exotic glamour, that’s all. And I’m thankful for it,’ he grinned. ‘It means I can wear proper clothes again.’

A long, convivial evening followed, the inevitable sorrows tempered by more immediate joys. As it wore on, Anne lapsed into silence. Despite Helen’s dismissal of him, Cumberland still had control of her and, through her, Aeneas, their home and people.
It was his response tomorrow night that mattered, not the gossiping crowd.

The palace buzzed with lords, ladies and excitement. Powdered periwigs were primped. Embroidered satin skirts were draped with finest silk. French lace and fans were in abundance. Even the government ministers wore new frock coats and matching breeches. Everyone who was anyone was there, grasping their sought-after invitations.

Anne and Aeneas stood in line, waiting for their introduction before they could descend the broad, curving stairs to the ballroom. The few Highlanders available in London made up the final pairs. As guests of honour, the M
^c
Intoshes would be last.

‘It will be fine,’ Aeneas said in Anne’s ear.

‘Tha mi an dòchas,’
she said. ‘I hope so.’

‘We should speak English.’

She bowed her head, stung.

‘I know when to hold my tongue,’ she muttered.

He could have bitten his own. The proscriptions only applied north of Stirling.

‘There will be a lot of that.’ He cast a nod at her outfit. ‘But your dress speaks for you.’

She wore the rebel white, a sweeping low-cut gown of silk and lawn, with a blue sash at her waist. In her dark, coiled hair was one perfect white rose. Not the Jacobite rose, it was the wrong time of year, but the closest to it she could get in mid-September London. A white lace fan and dance card dangled at her wrist.

‘I’m giving them what they expect,’ she said. ‘As you are.’

He stood beside her in his full kilted chief’s attire, complete with feathers, bonnet and silver brooch and, with official permission sought and granted, his silver-handled broadsword. That dispensation was due to his military status and loyalty during the conflict. Francis had already escorted Elizabeth down to the ballroom, equally resplendent but, as a constrained enemy, with his scabbard empty.

Anne’s stomach churned. They were there as curiosities, wild
rebel Highlanders from a land that had now been safely pacified. Though Aeneas seemed as quietly dignified as she strove to appear, she knew he, too, was nervous. Whatever else happened, they had to win Nan’s reprieve from the Duke.

Down below, England’s chattering, courtly crowd nudged each other, whispered and stared, trying to glimpse them behind the few in front still waiting to descend. At the wide doors, the major-domo thumped his cane twice on the floor.

‘Sir John Murray of Broughton, and Lady Broughton.’

Anne studied the plain young girl beside the erstwhile Prince’s secretary. Greta would have loved this. Glamorous always, feathers flouncing in her hair, she would have swept elegantly down the stairs on her husband’s arm, head high. Defeat or subjection would not have entered her mind or her soul. She would do well in France. Aeneas grabbed the pencil from Anne’s dance card and scribbled on their invitation.

‘What are you doing?’ she hissed.

‘You’ll see,’ he winked.

Thump, thump went the cane.

‘The Right Honourable, the Lord Boyd.’

James glanced round briefly at Anne and nodded good luck, his face colouring as it always did in her company, then he, too, set off down the sweeping stairs. For all his loyalty to this government, three of the four titles he would have inherited were forfeit and his father executed. She wondered if he flushed now from shyness or from shame. Aeneas handed their invitation to the major-domo, then turned to her.

‘If it’s to be the last time,’ he said, ‘they should get it right.’

Thump, thump, the cane went again.

‘The Much Honoured, Captain Aeneas M
^c
Intosh of M
^c
Intosh, Chief of Clan Chattan and –’ there was the tiniest of hesitations ‘– Colonel Anne Farquharson, the Lady M
^c
Intosh.’

‘Aeneas!’ Anne protested. Her rank and the Scottish form of naming might be construed as confrontation.

‘Be who you are,’ he said, placing her hand on his arm.

Every head in the ballroom had turned at the announcement.
A whisper like the sea rushing to the shore swelled round the room, rising to meet them.

‘That’s her.’

‘She’s here.’

‘It’s them.’

‘Pretty little thing.’

‘So slender.’

‘That girl, I don’t believe it.’

‘Hardly savage.’

‘So that’s the heavenly Lady M
^c
Intosh.’

The comments multiplied, washing back and forth, behind fans or hands or openly, as Aeneas led Anne down the flight of steps. Behind them the cane thumped again, ignored, announcing latecomers. All eyes watched the Highland couple come down and walk the length of the room to pay their respects to the host, the Duke of Cumberland. Anne’s fingers dug into Aeneas’s arm.

‘I feel like a freak,’ she muttered.

‘There’s one over there.’ He nodded in the direction of a foppish courtier.

Anne spluttered with laughter.

‘In fact,’ Aeneas added, leaning down to speak in her ear, ‘we’re surrounded. Take your pick. I’ll deal with those you leave.’

She flipped her fan up, giggling and snorting behind it.

‘Oh dear,’ a woman they were passing said, ‘I think she’s overcome.’

A man stepped out in front of them. ‘M
^c
Intosh.’ He nodded the greeting. ‘Is it true this genteel little wife of yours led those savages into battle?’

‘Aye,’ Aeneas said, ‘and ate the dead afterwards.’

Annoyed, the man stepped back to join his friends, all clamouring to know what the Highlander had said.

‘Anne!’ A woman dressed in black waved. It was Helen, fanning herself excitedly. She was announced as Mistress Helen Ray, her first name restored to indicate her widowhood.

Watching them come down the hall, Cumberland was quietly
pleased. He turned to General Hawley, who stood behind him, simmering still at being thwarted.

‘You see? Tonight they’ll meet a reformed, submissive woman. One so amenable and boring that, tomorrow, they’ll move on to other tittle-tattle. She’ll be forgotten.’

Henrietta Howard, the Countess of Suffolk, swept up to his other side.

‘William, my dear,’ she said, ‘you must introduce me to your little rebel. I’m told she’s bedded more men than I have. We could compare notes.’

Cumberland’s distaste for the countess equalled his feelings for Hawley. His bulbous eyes glinted. It seemed the evening offered many rewards.

‘I think you’ll find, Henrietta,’ his jowl quivered, ‘that she does it for pleasure.’

‘Really?’

‘I gather these Scotswomen do.’

Lady Suffolk turned from appraising the approaching couple to consider him. ‘What a waste of currency,’ she said coolly.

Arriving in front of the Duke, Aeneas nodded curtly. Anne did as Helen had taught she must and sank into a deep, elegant curtsey.

‘M
^c
Intosh,’ Cumberland nodded. ‘Lady M
^c
Intosh.’ He waved a hand towards the woman at his side. ‘Allow me to present the Countess of Suffolk.’

‘Well, M
^c
Intosh,’ Lady Suffolk smiled. ‘You certainly look the part. And your wife –’ she glanced at Anne ‘– is extremely charming.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, as smoothly as if he always spoke for his wife and wincing as Anne’s nails dug into his arm, a wince he quickly covered with a smile. Helen’s education of them at least prevented surprise. They could never have guessed that people would address a husband about his wife as if she were absent while present, nor that Anne should not speak unless spoken to. The countess was a powerful woman, the king’s eyes and ears. She’d
gained that power the only way Englishwomen could, through powerful men. Now she was the king’s mistress, having worked her way up.

‘Rather boringly,’ Cumberland said, ‘it falls to me to begin the dancing.’ He turned to Aeneas. ‘As my guest of honour, I’m sure you won’t mind if I ask your lady wife.’

‘Not at all,’ Aeneas said, covering the wince quicker this time. If Anne kept this up, his arm would be scarred for life.

The Duke escorted Anne to the middle of the floor. When he was happy with their position, at arm’s length, he turned to face her. As if on cue, the band struck up.

‘A very suitable start, I think,’ he said, smiling.

The tune was his Scottish war song, ‘Ye Jacobites by Name’, written to sing his praises and laud their defeat. An audible gasp ran round the hall. Aeneas stiffened.