Island of the Swans (64 page)

Reaching a decision, Hamilton Maxwell rose to assist his hostess.

“Ah, Mrs. Boyd… Arabella,” he said gallantly, “do let me help you with that. I was just telling Thomas some domestic intelligence about my sister Jane.”

“Really, Captain?” Arabella said, with a peculiar glance in Thomas’s direction. “All is well with the duchess, I hope,” she added, handing him a glass.

“Capital!” he exclaimed, taking a long draught of his drink to give himself time to think clearly. “Thomas may have told you, the Duke and Duchess of Gordon have children hanging from the chandeliers. I must say,” he said with a confidential wink at his hostess, “I’m not one for these marriages promoted by ambitious matrons, but Gordon’s a first-rate chap, and, over the years, Jenny and he have become absolutely devoted to one another—especially of late. So rare in these kinds of situations, don’t you think?” he continued heartily. “If you need proof of that, just count the bairns!” he laughed uproariously, slapping his thigh. “Little Georgina makes six… and she’s barely two. My guess is, at the rate they’re going, they’ll keep having ’em till the babes have babes, eh Thomas?”

Thomas nodded polite agreement, but stood up abruptly. Ignoring the light refreshment Arabella had brought on the silver tray, he stalked over to a side table and poured himself a tumblerful of brandy, then downed a third of it in one gulp. He quickly finished the rest of it, not even attempting to feign interest in the banter being exchanged between Hamilton and the mistress of Antrim Hall.

“Pray, forgive me,” Thomas interrupted suddenly, pouring himself another stiff drink, “but I must answer Archibald’s letter immediately and send it to Annapolis with a runner before sundown. I shall see you both when we sup.”

And without waiting for their response, Thomas withdrew from the library, leaving Hamilton and Arabella to share a long moment of embarrassed silence.

Twenty-Four

A
PRIL
1784

H
AMILTON
M
AXWELL WEARILY CLIMBED DOWN FROM HIS HIRED
London livery, paid the driver, and directed the footman to deposit his heavy campaign trunk around the back of the house at the servants’ entrance.

Even from the roadway, he could hear crystal glasses tinkling softly in the mild evening air, providing a lively counterpoint to the convivial conversation drifting through the open windows of the elegant Pall Mall townhouse. The gray stone residence was situated in London’s most fashionable neighborhood, hard by the apartments of the Duke of York and the Prince of Wales.

Bursts of laughter exploded from the crowded sitting room of his sister’s newly rented abode. Feeling travel-worn and out of sorts, Hamilton lifted the heavy door-knocker and pounded it against its matching brass plate. The last thing Captain Maxwell was in the mood for was talking politics or coping with hordes of people he didn’t know. After eight years away from home, he wondered if he’d even recognize his own kin!

Idly, he gazed to his left through the square-paned window while waiting for someone to open the door. He easily identified the Duke of Gordon standing in a corner of the well-appointed drawing room. Hamilton’s forty-one-year-old brother-in-law stood silent among a group of well-dressed, talkative men lounging on the far side of the chamber. His companions were no doubt debating the hotly contested upcoming Parliamentary elections, but Alex looked a trifle bored.

Jane, in contrast to her taciturn husband, was conversing animatedly with a good-looking, intense young man in his mid-twenties. His elegant linen cravat and well-cut, bottle green coat bespoke a gentleman of power and influence, despite his youth.

Could that be William Pitt, the upstart son of the elder William Pitt, Lord Chatham?
Hamilton wondered.

Ham had to admit that his sister still looked ravishing at age thirty-four in a spring frock the color of French lavender. He marveled that with her tiny waist and full, high bosom, she could be the mother of so many children. From the look of her circle of friends, she was also a powerful behind-the-scenes player in London’s contentious political arena.

Hamilton stared through Jane’s drawing room window in momentary confusion at the figures of four young people clustered together on the far side of a table laden with refreshments. Captain Maxwell realized, with a start, that this quartet must be his own nieces and nephews—and wondered which one was Alex’s legitimate heir, Lord Huntly, just graduated from Eton and about to enter Cambridge.

Hamilton’s gaze swept the rest of the assembled guests. He speculated apprehensively about his other niece—the flame-haired Louisa. Neither she nor his niece Susan, who must be nearly ten now, nor little Georgina, still a toddler, were to be seen among the glittering assemblage. Just as well to keep Louisa in the background, he thought. If a bastard’s to be flaunted in the Pall Mall drawing room, he thought crossly, better for all concerned it should be the Duke of Gordon’s, rather than his sister’s.

Hamilton’s eyes were drawn to the figure of a female of about thirty, aimlessly plucking the strings of a harp positioned near the window.

Locking glances with the woman suddenly, Hamilton flinched as his sister, Eglantine, emitted an unladylike shriek, nearly toppling the harp onto its side. Despite his fatigue, a smile creased his features as he watched her run out the door of the salon, leaving a line of surprised guests in her wake. She dashed across the parquet foyer, almost knocking over the Gordons’ sedate butler, Mr. Marshall, whose imperious expression reflected his displeasure at her lack of decorum when he opened the front door.

“Ham!” Eglantine cried unrestrainedly, stepping in front of the servant to throw her arms around her brother’s neck. “You’re back!”

“Sink me, if it isn’t my long lost brother!” Jane cried delightedly, coming up behind her sister to kiss him soundly on the cheek as he received Eglantine’s effusive affections.

A general hubbub ensued, and, as Hamilton had feared, Jane linked her arm through his and drew him into the salon to be introduced to the guests crowding around them.

“Uncle Ham! Uncle Ham!” his nieces cried excitedly, flinging themselves around his neck while the boys commenced pumping both his hands simultaneously.

Jane shushed her youngsters good-naturedly and pulled him into the center of the room where the young man in the green coat was standing, a pleasantly expectant look on his youthful face.

“Mr. Pitt,” Jane said formally, though with a broad smile illuminating her fine features, “May I present my brother, Captain Hamilton Maxwell, 71st Fraser Highlanders and late of the unfortunate conflict in America.”

William Pitt, at twenty-five, was England’s youngest-ever First Lord of the Treasury, Chancellor of the Exchequer, and, as of December 19, 1783, Prime Minister. For all intents and purposes, the slim, attractive young bachelor ran the entire country. Pitt nodded cordially and shook Hamilton’s hand, apparently pleased to make the acquaintance of a man whose sister had so ably functioned as his hostess these last crucial weeks of the 1784 campaign.

“Delighted that a brother of such a sensible patriot as the Duchess of Gordon has returned safely home, Captain,” Pitt said. “Welcome back, my good man. I am pleased no more British blood is to be spilt in such senseless folly.”

Before Hamilton could reply that he would have welcomed another chance to have at those American upstarts, Jane introduced him to the rest of the company who all seemed, in one way or another, to be key figures in Pitt’s current election effort. The hope was to whip the Foxites soundly and return to Parliament with a healthy majority those candidates loyal to King and Constitution.

“With the loss of the Colonies, political life in London has been in a rather fluid state,” Jane murmured confidentially. She led Hamilton, with Eglantine draped on his other arm, across the room toward the refreshment table and the infamous Gordon punch. “Last December, the king asked Mr. Pitt to form a government, and he’s been leader of the minority only three months now.” Jane pulled gently on his arm and whispered into his ear. “Minister Pitt requested King George dissolve Parliament and call for new elections just this month. This little soiree is to assure him of the support of a few… uh… uncertain votes.” She turned toward her sister with a satisfied smile, adding in a normal voice, “‘Mr. Pitt’s sure to return with an overwhelming majority, don’t you think, Eglantine? ’Tis the perfect time to turn out that impudent Charles Fox and all his hangers-on!”

“Including the Duchess of Devonshire?” Eglantine replied teasingly. “Jane and the Duchess of D are quite the rivals these days, Hamilton. Mr. Pitt even credits our dear sister as his most effective ’whipper-in.’ She delivers the votes of wavering members by virtue of the potent punch served in her sitting room—
and
promises of wealth and honors to come!”

“Eglantine!” Jane reproved heatedly, glancing around her to see if any of her guests overheard her sister’s outrageous comments.

“’Tis absolutely true, Ham,” Eglantine laughed. “Mr. Pitt says he’s counting on Jane’s support to win him this coming election!”

“Women have not become so forward in my absence,” Hamilton said sourly, “that they, too, now stand for Parliament?”

“Not yet,” shot back Jane tartly, “but we
do
wield some power in the salons, I believe.”

“Well, you seem to have become uncommonly fond of politics. ’Tis not a normal female pursuit—or have those popular sensibilities changed as well?”

“She’s the talk of the town, to be sure,” Eglantine agreed admiringly.

“You’ve not enough to do as the wife of a duke and the mother of all those bairns?” he asked disagreeably.

“Alex has his own pursuits,” she said enigmatically. “Ah, here he is now,” she added, as the Duke of Gordon approached to welcome his brother-in-law home from the war. “I bid you greet the conquering hero, Alex,” she added with adequate sarcasm to pay back her older brother for his criticism.

The duke shook hands and motioned for the liveried servant to offer Hamilton a crystal cup of punch from a heavy silver tray. Hamilton’s flagging spirits revived considerably as he sipped the brandy-laced concoction, inhaling its heady, spicy aroma.

“The other children are perishing to see you,” Jane said by way of steering the conversation into safer waters. “They’ve been all agog since we heard you’d be home in time for little Georgina’s third birthday in July.”

“What’s the grand total of my Gordon nephews and nieces these days?” Hamilton replied, smiling at the two Georges, who looked remarkably alike, and at Charlotte and Madelina. “Five girls and the Marquess of Huntly… plus the Duke’s George? To think I’ve been away so long, I’ve never seen Georgina…”

“Or Louisa,” Eglantine prompted.

Jane darted a glance at Alex, whose friendly countenance was suddenly transformed into a stone mask. The air seemed charged and oppressive, as if a summer storm were about to break.

“Louisa’s not so little,” Alex said stiffly. “She’ll be eight years old this September.”

“Wait till you see those copper tresses, Ham!” Eglantine enthused, unmindful of the current of tension crackling between Alex and her elder sister. “They flow all the way to the lass’s waist like a rippling red flag!”

“Both Louisa and Georgina are extremely comely, if I do say so myself,” Jane interposed quickly, “though I fear the first thing they’ll ask ye, Ham, is if you brought them some frippery from the Indians, or some such nonsense.”

“Tell me, Ham,” Alex said with slow deliberation, the angry edge to his voice barely concealed, “what news have you of Jane’s old friend, Thomas Fraser? Has
he
returned the conquering hero since his imprisonment?”

Hamilton surreptitiously studied Alex’s clenched jaw and Jane’s tight-lipped countenance. His sister’s high color had paled somewhat, and he noticed her twisting the handkerchief she constantly clutched in her hand to disguise her injured finger. His suspicions were finally confirmed. He knew, without question now, the role Thomas Fraser had played in the Gordon family drama over the years. Well, many an aristocratic family had a similar tale to tell, if the truth were known. But the truth could be damaging now, not only to Jane and Alex, but to anyone with ambitions, such as he held, for advancement in a peacetime army. Thomas Fraser stirring up this volatile mix by intruding in all their lives again could be dangerous. Hamilton wondered what he could do to keep a tight lid on this treacherous brew.

He allowed himself a lecherous smile in response to the reference by Alex to Captain Fraser.

“I would have to say, Alex m’lad, that our old neighbor Thomas has found himself the perfect solution to his impecunious dilemma in one Arabella O’Brien Delaney Boyd—a buxom, beautiful,
bountiful
lady who not only became his keeper after the war, but apparently shares her Maryland plantation with him,
and
her… ah… profits as well.”

There!
he thought to himself.
That should do something to stifle any plans Jane might have to renew her relationship with her lover.