Island of the Swans (11 page)

The young duke rose from his chair and began to pace slowly in front of the fire. A look of barely concealed distress darkened his features.

“I recall that when I recovered somewhat from that infernal disease last year, you told me there might be some permanent disability from—”

Sir Algernon interrupted him.

“Your body endured prolonged fits of feverishness and chills. I said it was
possible
you might suffer some long-lasting side effects. However, I didn’t
promise
them,” he said reassuringly.

“Well… yes,” the young duke responded uncertainly.

He approached the older man and sat down again, leaning forward earnestly, his broad forehead creased with worry.

“One thing you warned me about has potentially a very important impact on my life at the moment,” he said, looking directly at Sir Algernon. “A young woman of whom I am quite fond… in fact she was assigned by Mother to nurse me at Gordon Castle when I returned there to recuperate in September a year ago… well, this young woman… her name is Bathia Largue… she tells me she is carrying my child.”

Alexander turned to stare once again into the fire, trying to avoid Sir Algernon’s piercing gaze. The old doctor noted the look of pain that had welled up in the young man’s eyes.

In an almost inaudible voice the duke continued, “You had told me there was a chance that the long duration of my fever could have affected my… could have made it impossible for me to father children.”

Ah, thought Sir Algernon, relaxing his grip on his port,
insanity
was not the question here, but rather,
virility.
The duke feared he was sterile and the lass was playing him for a fool.

“Do you have any reason to suspect you are not the only man to have been on intimate terms with this woman since your return to Fochabers?” Sir Algernon asked.

“I took her virginity,” the duke replied softly, “and I have been with her ever since.” His eyes locked on the thick pile of embers glowing beneath the enormous yule log burning in the fireplace. “I believe I am the only man who has lain with her, but of course, one has no way of being absolutely sure she has not also… kept company with someone else during this time.”

“Have you found that she has been truthful about other things since you have been… intimate?” Sir Algernon asked. Alexander nodded affirmatively.

“Sterility is always a possibility when one endures such a long and intense fever, and, as your physician, I felt it my duty then to inform you of potential aftereffects of your illness. However, ’tis a rather rare occurrence.” A kindly smile played across the old man’s bony face. Sir Algernon raised his glass in a rakish toast and laughed heartily. “Only the visage of the bairn itself will confirm my present theories to your complete satisfaction,” he added merrily. “However, I am willing to stake my medical reputation that, given your description of the lass, you’re certainly the lusty young buck you appear to be! Congratulations on your impending fatherhood, m’lord!”

Alexander raised his port in a mock salute, a look of incredulous relief shining from his hazel eyes.

“Does the dowager duchess know of the situation, Your Grace?” Sir Algernon asked bluntly.

“She does not know of Bathia’s present condition, but she has heard of our liaison and is displeased, of course,” he revealed stiffly. “As a consequence, she and my stepfather have insisted on accompanying me to Edinburgh for the season to look over this year’s ‘crop’ of debutantes.”

“Ah, a nurse does not meet your mother’s inclinations for your future married state, I surmise. Well, what do
you
think would be a sensible approach to the situation?” Sir Algernon asked.

“I realize, now that I’m reasonably confident I can produce heirs, that eventually I must marry someone of my station—but, for the first time ever, Sir Algernon, I find I am pleased with my life.”

He faltered, suddenly shy in the nakedness of his own frank admissions.

“It feels strange to say it, but I’m—happy—content, I think, is a better description. I have found since I’ve been back at Gordon Castle, having recovered my health, that I merely want to ride my lands, talk about sheep and husbandry with my factors, write a bit of verse… and be with Bathia.”

“And you feared suddenly the trust you’d placed in her affections was misbegotten?” Sir Algernon pressed.

“Aye… that I did,” Alex answered softly. “You see, so few people have ever seemed to like me for myself…”

His words drifted off. Sir Algernon could see the lad felt dreadfully self-conscious to have bared his soul, even to his own doctor.

“Well,” the older man said cheerfully, “your current course of activities sounds like just the prescription I would recommend for a lad recovering from a wicked foreign ailment,” Sir Algernon replied with a twinkle.

The doctor was pleased that the lad’s aversion and distrust of his mother had not distorted his appreciation of women in general, and one woman in particular. However, the physician grew uneasy at a sudden thought. ’
Twould be quite difficult for any future Duchess of Gordon, whoever she might turn out to be, if her husband truly loved his mistress even before the marriage vows were said.
Never mind, Sir Algernon reassured himself. This Bathia Largue was Alex’s first real passion. She probably represented mere lust masquerading as love—a condition notoriously short-lived in young men, in his experience.

“You’ve been terribly kind, Sir Algernon—” the duke began.

The doctor reached past the glasses poised on the table between them and lightly patted Alexander’s hand in fatherly fashion.

“Not at all, dear boy,” the old Jacobite said kindly. Sir Algernon had been one of the few partisans of Prince Charles not to suffer exile or have his property confiscated. Perhaps the Duke of Cumberland had simply not gotten wind of the clandestine meetings held within these very walls so many years before. “This weary country needs young lads like you to help bind her wounds,” the doctor added in a heavy voice. “The last twenty years have been trying for us all.”

An old order has passed away
, the elderly gentleman thought to himself,
and I am one of the few relics left.
Sir Algernon had accepted long ago that the Catholic Stuart Cause would never be revived, and with that failure Scotland had lost all chance to be a free and separate country from her neighbor to the south. The economy and an entire way of life were changing, and Sir Algernon Dick knew he would not live to see what this transformation would produce.

With a faint smile, the doctor raised a frail hand toward the sound of music permeating the library walls and stood up. The mood of sweet melancholy that hung in the air was broken.

“Would you like to join me for the buffet and take a quick look at this year’s female offerings?’” he asked. “I’d be more than happy to make you officially acquainted with the stunning Mistress Maxwell,” he added, wondering almost immediately if such a suggestion were wise.

“Thank you very much. Sir Algernon,” Alexander responded, “I could do with a bite of food.”

Sir Algernon’s second wife, to whom he had been married two-and-a-half years, poked her head through the open door, extending a welcoming hand.

“Algernon, darling, do come for supper.” Recognizing the duke, she added delightedly, “And I pray our distinguished visitor will join us for the buffet and a cup of Het Pint.”

Kettles of the Hogmanay wassail were dispensed traditionally at such Scottish New Year’s gatherings, along with rich food and savories.

“Aye, Lady Mary,” the young duke said, brushing his lips to her hand gallantly, “and you’re too kind to let me monopolize your husband like this.”

“Your Grace is always welcome at Prestonfield,” Lady Mary replied with a warm smile, “and I’m pleased to see you’re beginning the new year in such good health.”

Offering her his arm, Sir Algernon led his wife out of the library. They were followed closely by the Duke of Gordon, who strolled with a light step through the hall.

He was going to be a father!

He could hardly wait to see Bathia again. He was ashamed, now, of the cancerous doubts he’d secretly harbored that she had been unfaithful to him. That dark fear, and the gnawing thought he might be sterile, had driven him to seek this interview, but how glorious had been its outcome!

His eyes narrowed with interest as he spotted a strikingly handsome young couple slip, surreptitiously, into the library that he and Sir Algernon had just vacated. Jane Maxwell, looking ravishing in a gown whose square-cut neckline did nothing to still the imagination, clung to the arm of that young rogue who had served as Master of the Swine Course the autumn before his Grand Tour of the Continent. What a lifetime away that seemed! True, the memory of the redheaded lad’s insulting and insolent manner still rankled after five years. Obviously, Alexander thought to himself, the lass and Thomas Fraser had continued their childhood friendship, which now looked to be blossoming into a more mature attachment. The duke’s eyes darkened. That Fraser chap deserved a little healthy, if feigned, competition.

The host and hostess of Prestonfield House had been swallowed up by the crowd of guests milling around the buffet sumptuously set before them. The Fourth Duke of Gordon hesitated only a moment. Then, with a devilish grin, he retraced his steps toward Sir Algernon’s book-lined library.

Six

O
DDS FISH, YOU ARE A WICKED WENCH
!” T
HOMAS DECLARED
, closing the library door and taking Jane in his arms. “
Finally
I’ve gotten rid of the confounded competition,” he laughed.

“You didn’t seem to mind talking to Simon and Uncle James about the army,” she said tartly. Then she smiled mischievously, putting her arms around his neck and kissing him firmly on the mouth.

“Ahem…”

A polite cough and discreet knock at the partially opened door disrupted their embrace and the pair leapt apart, hearts racing.

“Would you be so kind as to allow me to retrieve a pair of white gloves I left on the side table over there?” inquired a muffled voice from behind the door.

“Why, yes, of course,” replied Thomas a bit hoarsely. He attempted to regain his composure as Jane dashed over to the other side of the room to fetch the gloves.

“Good evening,” the Duke of Gordon said, addressing Jane through the six-inch crack in the door.

“Good evening, sir,” replied Jane stiffly, at a loss for anything else to say as she handed him his gloves.

“Aha! I
thought
I beheld the daring Mistress Maxwell,” he teased, pushing the door slightly more ajar.

“Aye,” Jane repeated shortly, embarrassed that she should be discovered during such an intimate moment.

“May I present my compliments for the New Year,” the duke persisted, his eyes filled with good cheer, “and my congratulations, Mistress Maxwell, upon your debut?”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Jane answered, her demure words cloaking her curiosity about the young aristocrat she’d seen so fleetingly on that fateful day of her accident, five years before.

“I hope to claim a dance—” he said, smiling, his hazel eyes reflecting an appreciative glint, “perhaps later in the evening. That is, if your escort will permit it.”

Jane cast a quick glance behind her. Thomas was glowering at the partially opened door that separated her from the duke. She turned back to Alexander, hoping to send him on his way before Thomas did anything foolish.

“I’m most honored by your invitation, Your Grace,” she murmured noncommittally.

“Very good,” the duke replied, with the barest hint of a wink. “Enjoy yourself, lassie!”

And with that, he departed.

“You’d actually
dance
with that peacock?” Thomas exploded, crossing to her side in a few brief strides.

“I didn’t promise,” she protested. “’Twas just a ploy to send him on his way.”

“I’d like to call out that Anglicized fop!” Thomas retorted, pacing before the fire. “I hope to claim a
dance…
” he said, mimicking the duke mincingly. Then, changing his tone, he declared, “I swear I’ll claim some Gordon
land
in return for that blackguard’s treachery.”

Jane rested her hand on Thomas’s arm and said soothingly, “You must not blame the duke for the shortcomings of his da. ’Tis true, the Third duke played spaniel to the Crown,” she added gently, “but the uncle, Lewis Gordon, came out in the Forty-five as everyone knows. You’ve told me yourself of his brave deeds at Culloden!”

Thomas remained silent, staring moodily into the embers smoldering on the hearth. Then in a low voice, laden with the bitterness of the life he had known as an orphan, he said, “If all the Gordons had been as loyal as Lewis, the tables would be turned, and I, a
Fraser
, would have the wealth and honors due my name. Instead, many of my clan face starvation or extinction. This arrogant young
duke
feels he is entitled to anything he chooses, by virtue of his position. ’Twas plain by the way he spoke to you.”