Winsor, Kathleen (145 page)

For
a long moment they were silent, looking at each other. At last he said,
"I'm sorry you found out this way, Corinna. I should have told you long
ago."

He
was not flippant or gay about it as she had thought he might be, but serious
and troubled. But he showed no shame or embarrassment, not even any regret
except for the pain he had caused her. For several moments she sat watching
him, the opened book still in her lap, one side of her face lighted by the
candles on a nearby table.

"She's
Brace's mother, isn't she?" she said at last.

"Yes.
I should never have made up that clumsy lie—but I wanted you to love him and I
was afraid that if you knew the
truth you wouldn't. And now—how will you feel about
him now?"

Corinna
smiled faintly. "I'll love him just as much as I ever did. I'll love you
both as much as I ever did." Her voice was soft, gentle, feminine as a
painted fan or the fragrance of lilacs.

He
sat down on the bed facing her. "How long have you known about this?"

"I'm
not sure. It seems like forever, now. At first I tried to pretend that it was
only a flirtation and that I was being foolishly jealous. But the other women
dropped hints and I watched you together and once I saw you at the New
Exchange— Oh, what's the use going over it again? I've known about it for
weeks."

For
a time he was silent, sitting staring with a scowl down at his feet, shoulders
hunched over, elbows resting on his spread legs. "I hope you'll believe
me, Corinna—I didn't bring you to London for anything like this. I swear I
didn't expect it to happen."

"You
didn't think she'd be here?"

"I
knew she would. But I hadn't seen her for two years. I'd forgotten—well, I'd
forgotten a lot of things."

"Then
you saw her when you were here last—after we were married?"

"Yes.
She was staying here at Almsbury House."

"How
long have you known her?"

"Almost
ten years."

"Almost
ten years. Why, I'm practically a stranger to you." He smiled, looking at
her briefly, and then turned away again. "Do you love her, Bruce—"
she asked him at last. "Very much?" She held her breath as she waited
for him to answer.

"Love
her?" He frowned, as though puzzled himself. "If you mean do I wish
I'd married her, I don't. But in another sense— Well, yes, I suppose I do. It's
something I can't explain—something that's been there between us since the
first day I saw her. She's—well, to be perfectly honest with you, she's a woman
any man would like to have for a mistress— but not for a wife."

"But
how do you feel now—now that you've seen her again and can't give her up?
Perhaps you're sorry that you married me."

Bruce
looked at her swiftly, and then all at once his arms went about her, his mouth
pressed against her forehead. "Oh, my God, Corinna! Is that what you've
been thinking? Of course I'm not sorry! You're the only woman I ever wanted to
marry—believe me, darling. I never wanted to hurt you. I love you, Corinna—I
love you more than anything on earth."

Corinna
nudged her head against him, and once more she felt happy and secure. All the
doubts and fears of the past weeks were gone. He loves me, he doesn't want to
leave me. I'm not going to lose him after all. Nothing else mattered.

Her
life was so completely and wholly absorbed in him that she would have taken
whatever he was willing to give her, left over from one love-affair or ten. And
at least
she
was his wife. That was something the Duchess of Ravenspur
could never have—she could never even acknowledge the son she had borne him.

At
last Corinna said softly, her head resting just beneath his chin: "You
were right, Bruce, when you said that I belonged to a different world from this
one. I don't feel that I'm part of it at all—no Court lady, I suppose, would
dare admit she cared if her husband was in love with someone else. But I care
and I'm not ashamed of it." She tipped back her head and looked up at him.
"Oh, darling—I do care!"

His
green eyes watched her tenderly and at last he gave a faint rueful smile, his
mouth touching the crown of her head just where the glossy hair parted.
"It won't do any good for me to tell you I'm sorry I've hurt you. I am.
But if you read any more lampoons or hear any more gossip— Believe me, Corinna,
it's a lie."

In
Hyde Park there was a pretty half-timbered cottage set beside a tiny lake,
where all the fashionable world liked to stop for a syllabub or, if the weather
was cold, a mug of lambs'-wool or hot mulled wine. It was almost Christmas now
and too late in the year to ride, but there were several crested gilt coaches
waiting in the cold grey-and-scarlet sunset outside the Lodge. The drivers and
footmen smoked their pipes, sometimes stamped their feet to keep warm as they
stood about in groups, laughing and talking together—exchanging the newest
back-stairs gossip on the lords and ladies who had gone inside.

A
sea-coal fire was burning high in the oak-panelled great room. There was a
cluster of periwigged and beribboned young fops about the long bar, drinking
their ale or brandy, throwing dice and matching coins. Several ladies were
seated at tables with their gallants. Waiters with balanced trays moved about
among them and three or four fiddles were playing.

Amber—wearing
an ermine-lined hooded cloak of scarlet velvet and holding a syllabub glass in
one hand and her muff of dripping ermine tails in the other—stood near the
fireplace talking to Colonel Hamilton, the Earl of Arran and George Etherege.

She
chattered fluently and there was an ever-shifting, vivacious play of expression
over her face. She seemed to be engrossed in the three of them. But all the
while her eyes watched the door—it never opened that she did not know who came
in or went out. And then, at last, the languid golden Mrs. Middleton sauntered
in with Lord Almsbury at her elbow. Amber
did not hesitate an instant. Excusing
herself from the three men she wove her way across the room to where the
newcomers were standing, Jane still pausing just within the doorway to give the
crowd time to discover her.

Amber
gave Middleton only a vague nod as she came up. "Almsbury, I've got to
talk to you! I've been looking for you everywhere!"

The
Earl bowed to Mrs. Middleton. "Will you excuse me for a moment,
madame?"

Jane
looked bored. "Oh, lord, sir,
you
must excuse
me!
There's
Colonel Hamilton beckoning me now—I just recalled he asked me this morning to
meet him here and I'd all but forgot, let me die." With an airy wave of one
small gloved hand she drifted
off, not even glancing at Amber who seemed unaware
she had ever been there.

"Come
over here—I don't want a dozen big ears listening to us." They crossed the
room to a quiet little corner near the windows. "Tell me what's happened!"
she cried without an instant's hesitation. "I haven't seen him alone for
fourteen days! I write
to
him and he doesn't answer! I talk to him in the Drawing-Room and he looks at me
as if I'm a stranger! I ask him to visit me and he doesn't come! Tell me what's
happened, Almsbury! I'm going stark staring mad!"

Almsbury
gave a sigh. "My Lady Castlemaine showed his wife the satire that
Rochester wrote about you—"

"Oh,
I know
that!"
cried Amber scornfully, cutting him off. "But
what's happened to make him treat me like this!"

"That's
what's happened."

She
stared
at
him. "I don't believe you." Both of them were silent, looking at each
other, for a long moment and then Amber said: "But that can't be the only
reason. Just because his wife found out. It must be more than that."

"It
isn't."

"Do
you mean to tell me, John Randolph, that he's been using me like this because
his
wife
told him to!"

"She
didn
't
tell him to. He decided it for himself. I may as well tell you the truth,
Amber—he doesn't intend to see you alone any more."

"Did
he tell you that?" Her voice spoke to him, just above a whisper.

"Yes.
And he meant it."

Amber
stood helplessly. She put her drink down on the broad sill of the casemented
window and stood staring out at the bare-branched trees. Then she looked up at
him again. "Do you know where he is now?"

"No."

Her
eyes narrowed. "You're lying. You do know! And

you've
got to tell me! Oh, Almsbury—
please
tell me! You know how much I love
him! If only I can see him again and talk to him I can make him see how foolish
this is! Please, Almsbury—please,
please!
He's going away soon and then
I
might
never see him again! I've
got
to see him while he's here!"

For
a long moment he hesitated, looking at her shrewdly, and then finally he gave a
jerk of his head. "Come along."

As
they passed Jane Middleton he stopped to speak to her but she tossed her curls
and turned him a haughty shoulder. Almsbury shrugged.

The
afternoon was cold and the mud hard and slippery with a thin layer of ice.
Together they got into Amber's enormous crested gilt coach which was drawn by
eight tawny horses, their manes and streaming tails braided with gold and green
ribbons. The coachman and eight running footmen wore her emerald-velvet livery
and there was another dressed all in white and carrying a white wand with an
orange fastened to one end for his refreshment, who ran ahead to proclaim her
coming. Some of the footmen hung onto the sides, while others jogged along in
back or went ahead to order the rabble out of the way. Inside, the coach was
upholstered with emerald velvet, deep-tufted on seat and sides and roof,
festooned with gold swags and tassels.

Almsbury
gave the coachman his directions and then climbed in beside Amber. "He's
at his stationer's in Ave Maria Lane, I think, buying some books." He
looked around him, whistling softly. "Jesus Christ! When did you get
this?"

"Last
year. You've seen it before."

She
answered him abruptly and without paying much attention for she was absorbed in
her own thoughts, trying to plan what she would say to Bruce, how she would
convince him that he was wrong. It was several minutes before Almsbury spoke
again.

Then
he said: "You've never been sorry, have you?"

"Sorry
for what?"

"Sorry
that you left the country and came to London."

"Why
should I be sorry? Look where I am!"

"And
look how you got here. 'All rising to great places is by a winding stair.' Have
you ever heard that?"

"No."

"You've
come by a winding stair, haven't you?"

"What
if I have! I've done some things I hated, but that's over now and I'm where I
want to be. I'm
somebody,
Almsbury! If I'd stayed in Marygreen and
married some lout of a farmer and bred his brats and cooked his food and spun
his linen—what would I be? Just another farmer's wife and nobody would ever
know I'd been alive. But now look at me— I'm rich and a duchess and one day my
son will be a duke— Sorry!" she finished with scornful positiveness.
"My God, Almsbury!"

He
grinned. "Amber, my darling, I love you— But you're an unprincipled
calculating adventuress."

"Well,"
retorted Amber, "I didn't have anything to start with—"

"But
beauty and desirability."

"There
are other women aplenty who had that—but they aren't all duchesses today, I'll
warrant you."

"No,
sweetheart, they aren't. The difference is that you were willing to make use of
both to get what you wanted— and didn't care too much what happened to you on
your way."

"Lord!"
she cried impatiently. "You're in a scurvy humour today!" Abruptly
she leaned forward and rapped on the front wall, shouting at her coachman:
"Drive faster!"

Ave
Maria Lane was one of the tiny streets which formed a maze about the great
burned pile of old St. Paul's. When at last they arrived, Almsbury took her to
the entrance of a new-built brick courtyard and pointed to one of the signs.
"He should be in there—the 'Three Bibles and Three Bottles of Ink.' "
Too excited even to thank him, she picked up her skirts and ran into the court;
he watched her go and, when she had disappeared into the building, turned about
and left.

It
was now dark outside and the shop was dim-lit; there was a thick dusty smell of
ink, paper, leather and frying tallow. The walls were lined with book-shelves,
all of them crowded, and piles of brown- or green- or red-bound volumes were
stacked on the floor. In one corner, reading by a flickering light in the
wall-sconce, stood a short plump young man. He had a pair of thick green
spectacles on his nose, a hat on his head, and though it was close and too-warm
in there he wore his cloak. No one else was in the room.

Amber
looked about and was on the point of going through the door beyond when an old
man came out, smiling, and inquired if he might help her. She crossed to him
and asked, very softly so that if Bruce were there he would not hear her:
"Is my Lord Carlton in there?"