Island of the Swans (65 page)

Alex’s tight features relaxed somewhat, and a mocking smile lit his face. Jane’s eyes widened slightly. She remained uncharacteristically silent.

“He’s found an American bride, you say?” the duke inquired softly.

“As of my last visit to Antrim Hall, they hadn’t tied the knot yet, but I surely expect they will.”

“Then Thomas is not coming home?” Eglantine asked, darting a glance at Jane, who stared straight ahead.

Hamilton hesitated. He considered lying about the fact that Thomas had landed with him at Plymouth less than a day earlier, and departed on the next coach north for Inverness. But, on quick consideration, Hamilton thought better of out-and-out subterfuge.

“Before Thomas marries, he must officially muster out of the 71st with the rest of us at Perth next month. And, of course, there’s the matter of that legal tangle concerning his godfather’s will, as, no doubt, you’ve heard. He’s gone straight to Struy. Simon Fraser was in the midst—”

“We
know
!” Jane interrupted shortly, cutting him off midsentence. “Simon’s servants were left unprovided for in the will. His Edinburgh townhouse is becoming derelict, and
all
affairs were left in disarray, including his attempt to buy Struy.”

“Typical of that self-centered wretch!” Eglantine commented acidly. “The Master of Lovat waited till ’twas too late to get his affairs in order,” she continued. “I suppose he was too busy purchasing favors from the War Ministry in the attempt to recover his title. Well, at least the scheming old goat never managed
that
!” She laughed with a hint of malice. “In the end, his black heart failed him, it seems!”

“The man couldn’t help dying,” Hamilton protested, coming to the late Simon’s defense.

Jane remained silent on the subject of visiting her old enemy on his deathbed, but faced Hamilton squarely, her chin raised.

“So you say Thomas may be in Scotland only a short time, and then back to a new life in America.” She turned to Alex, adding with a strange kind of determination, “We all certainly wish him well, don’t we, Alex?”

“But of course,” Alex replied grimly. “The man’s had many a disappointment. Perhaps his luck is changing if he seeks his fortune with the beauteous Widow Boyd.”

Alex and Hamilton fell into small talk about her brother’s voyage home. It was obvious to Jane that Alex was disturbed to learn that Thomas was back in Scotland. She attempted to still the pounding in her chest as she watched the two men converse. Well,
she
was just as unsettled as
he
was to hear the news. The problem was, her own distress concerning Thomas’s return emanated from the same source as Alex’s—and therein lay the perpetual difficulty between them. Despite their reconciliation four years earlier, Alex had never ceased to fear Thomas’s potent hold on her affections… and with good reason, she was forced to admit to herself. Jane could see that the mere
mention
of Thomas Fraser instantly disrupted the delicate balance they had maintained with reasonable success following the Gordon Riots.

The same tenuousness was true regarding Alex’s relationship with Louisa. As the child’s auburn curls had deepened over the years, taking on a rich, ruby hue so like Thomas’s distinctive mane, the duke had grown pensive and withdrawn whenever the youngster was in his presence. This happened seldom, of late, because of a mutual, but unarticulated pact between Jane and Alex that Louisa be kept in the background.

Yet, despite Jane’s best efforts and the bone-deep sweetness of Louisa, Alex had become moodier and more unapproachable the older Louisa became. Alex resented, too, the time Jane had devoted to William Pitt’s important Parliamentary effort. However, the election campaign had become a convenient and absorbing antidote to the lonely days and hours Alex habitually spent away from her.

The strikingly similar images of Thomas and his daughter Louisa suddenly crowded Jane’s mind like shafts of sunlight pouring through a tiny prison window. Would Thomas want to see his daughter, if he realized Louisa was his? Jane felt her resolve to sever all ties with even the memory of Thomas Fraser begin to weaken. The steady hum of chattering guests faded into the distance, and Jane was conscious only of Alex’s familiar, penetrating stare. Once again, she felt he could see through her soul.

“Alex,” she said, trying to keep the tone of resignation from her voice. “I see that our guests are leaving. Hamilton, do let us show you to your chamber. In the morning you’ll hear the breakfast gong at nine, but come down whenever you like. Eglantine, the lassies, and I will be off early to help with canvassing votes in Westminster tomorrow, but Alex will keep you company.”

“Egad!” Hamilton exclaimed with a horrified look on his face, as dark as the duke’s somber features. “You mean women of fashion now take to the hustings? With their
children
! Alex, man? You can’t be seriously considering letting your wife
do
such a thing!”

Alex’s eyes had a dangerous glint to them but he merely shrugged.

“’Tis long been Jane’s pleasure to mingle with the rabble, hasn’t it, my dear?” he said acidly. “Louisa, too, comes by it naturally, I suppose.” Jane flinched at the insult. “To date, Jane has avoided press censure,” the duke continued, “but not so, I fear, her rival, the Duchess of Devonshire, who was lampooned in this morning’s paper, riding a bushy, four-legged fox—backwards. Did you see it, my dear?”

“Of course… but never fear, Alex darling,” Jane replied, her eyes narrowing slightly as she tilted her head toward him in a gesture of mock obeisance. “I will, of course, have the protection of my good Gordon name, as that other duchess does not. As everyone well knows, Georgiana Cavendish shares her husband with her best friend, Lady Foster.” She nodded toward the handsome young William Pitt whose relationship with Jane had been the subject of some inevitable, but only mildly malicious, gossip lately. “I have absolutely no intention of falling into a similar…
pit.
”

Alex surveyed with blazing eyes the distinguished young gentleman’s well-cut coat and shiny black boots. Pitt had been waylaid by a garrulous old man in dreadfully dated attire, but the young minister inclined his head to listen graciously. Alex lowered his voice to a growl.

“I’m not convinced your admirer, the audacious young minister, will benefit from such feminine interference as you plan at the polls tomorrow,” he said. “To many men, including your own brother, such forwardness and meddling on your part could actually do harm to your cause. We’ve had one Gordon too many stirring the masses to riot.” His brother Lord George, after miraculously gaining acquittal, had converted to Judaism and fled to the Continent.

“As you may remember,” Jane retorted archly, glancing testily toward Hamilton, “my ‘forwardness’ and ‘meddling’ produced excellent results at Court, despite the crazed activities of your unfortunate brother. As for ‘mixing with the rabble,’ as you call it,” she added between clenched teeth, “the shop-worn second sons of the aristocracy don’t seem to win many votes these days
without
a lady’s smile to encourage the electorate. I’ll wager, such feminine
forwardness
on my part will be
most
welcome this election!”

Before Alex could reply, she extended her hands graciously to the approaching William Pitt, who was oblivious to the sparks of dissension flying between his hosts.

“Ah, my dear Mr. Pitt… are you departing? I’m glad to see you’ll be rested for the morrow,” Jane said brightly.

“Duchess…” he murmured as his lips brushed lingeringly against her hand. “Till tomorrow, then…”

The Duchess of Gordon linked arms with the attractive, dark-haired minister, and left Hamilton and the Duke to follow them into the foyer. Alex’s anger was palpable, growing in intensity as Jane continued to bid good night to her departing guests who were filing out of the Pall Mall residence into the April evening air.

As the last visitor murmured thanks to his hosts at the front door, the Duke of Gordon whirled abruptly on his heel and departed for his study. The door was slammed shut. Jane stared at it for an instant, then wearily led Hamilton upstairs and, without further discussion, directed him toward his chamber.

Hesitating only a moment, she continued on along the hallway to the children’s rooms.

“Good night, darlings,” she said from the doorway.

“Good night, Mama,” came a chorus of voices from the collection of beds positioned around the large room.

“’Twas a lovely party, Mama,” Charlotte volunteered.

“Wasn’t Mr. Pitt handsome in his green coat?” sighed Susan, who, along with her younger sister, Louisa, had peeked down at the arriving guests from between the newel posts on the staircase landing.

Two-year-old Georgina whimpered in her cot in the small room adjacent.

Jane smiled. “Shh… you’ll wake the bairn.”

“Mama, you look so pretty,” Louisa whispered sleepily, also awakened by the chatter.

“Thank you, dearest,” Jane said, trying to keep the sadness out of her smile.

What a sweet, loving child she was, Jane thought, bending over the bed to kiss Louisa gently on the forehead. So much like her father in temperament, as well as looks. She smoothed the tangle of dark red hair away from her daughter’s cheek.

“Charlotte said Uncle Ham came back.”

“Aye… he asked after you, sweetheart.”

“He did?” Louisa asked happily.

The little girl reacted to kindness like a flower soaking up sunshine. She bloomed in the warmth of the slightest attention. If only Alex would show her the same genuine affection, Jane sighed. She snuffed out the candle near the door and bid them all good night. “Now, all of you, off to sleep. We have an exciting day tomorrow, helping Mr. Pitt’s men garner the votes.”

In the library, Alex filled a tumbler with brandy far more potent than even the remnants of the famous Gordon punch, which languished in scores of crystal glasses abandoned in the sitting room. He tossed his head back and drank the amber liquid to the dregs. Resting his boot on the brass fender that guarded the hearth and its low-burning fire, he glanced above the mantelpiece to the Reynolds portrait of Jane in her burgundy velvet coronation gown. The painting’s vibrant colors mocked the bleakness invading his soul. After some minutes, he averted his eyes from the remarkable likeness of his wife and stared at the coals crumbling into molten powder on the iron grate.

Suddenly, the duke pounded his clenched fist sharply against the mantelpiece. Then, he cradled his forehead in the palm of his hand.

Thomas Fraser has come back… again!

He listened distractedly to the sounds of the staff clearing up the debris in the next room. His thoughts drifted to the lass with the russet curls who lay asleep upstairs with her sisters.
Her half-sisters
, Alex reminded himself bitterly. A part of him adored the child he had delivered into the world, literally with his own hands. But riddling his conscience was the overwhelming desire to banish Louisa from his life. Sometimes it was ail he could do to keep from visiting on this sweet, innocent child the barely controlled fury he felt toward her father. And now her damnable sire had come back to Britain!

Alex stared moodily into the fire. At length, the house on Pall Mall settled into silence, and everyone but the Duke of Gordon drifted off to sleep.

Thousands of bystanders packed themselves tightly around the platforms hastily raised in honor of the candidates stumping the hustings near Covent Garden in the shadow of the parish church. Jane peered through her carriage window at a blue banner proclaiming ’Fox and Liberty’ that hung on one side of the square. She was pleased to note that the other party was well represented with another banner that proclaimed ‘Pitt and Constitution’. She pointed it out proudly to Eglantine, Charlotte, Susan, Madelina, and Louisa, all of whom she had brought with her to enjoy the spectacle.

The banners said it all: this election of 1784 could be distilled to a question of balancing the rights of a few great and powerful governing families in Parliament, embodied in the candidacy of Charles Fox, against the age-old rights of the Crown
in consultation
with Parliament, a philosophy embraced by William Pitt, the Younger, and his famous father, the late Lord Chatham—not to mention King George III.