Island of the Swans (68 page)

“Once the election is over,” Jane ventured, “we’ll have all summer to spend together at Gordon Castle.” She sat beside him on the bed. “Pitt will win a majority, I’m sure, even if Fox survives the count in his home territory of Westminster. And we could stay north through the Fall Shoot…”

She fought the twinge of regret she felt momentarily, as she recalled the exhilarating success of her soiree the previous evening and her bold actions earlier at Covent Garden. But these were just the kinds of events that always seemed to come between Alex and her. She reflected on the evening’s conversation with Eglantine.

You married him and had six children by the man…

Well, not quite, Jane thought ruefully. But they had shared much history these tumultuous years. She reached toward Alex and lightly touched the nape of his neck with her scarred hand.

“My job is finished here,” she said, swallowing hard. “I’d like us to be together—
really
together.”

“Am I correct in assuming you’re unwilling to stay on during the winter in Fochabers?” he said, his lips pursed in a tight line. “After the life you’ve made for yourself in London, I suppose you’d be miserable rattling around in Gordon Castle.”

Alex was right, Jane thought morosely. A bleak, Highland winter with the likes of Marshall and the dour Mrs. Christie for company, and she’d go mad. Besides, she couldn’t shut up a sixteen-year-old like Charlotte, just when she should be going to parties and assemblies, to meet a man she could love—and marry. Jane wrinkled her forehead pensively. She stood up from the bed and walked over to the fire, poking the embers with a brass pike.

“What if the City Lass and the Country Lad struck a compromise, Alex?” she coaxed, setting the andiron in its metal holder with a decisive thrust. “What if we took a house for the winter season in Edinburgh? After this London whirl, ’twill seem like a small village to us both!”

“I doubt that—”

“God’s wounds, Alex!” she exploded. “I can’t be the
only
one to compromise!” she cried. “If I’m willing to give up London… please… at least let’s try life in Edinburgh this winter!”

Alex swiveled his body on the edge of the bed to scan her face. His gaze swept the length of her thinly clad form standing in front of the fire. Warily, he rose from the bed and walked toward her. She stared back at him, wondering, in that instant, what path her life would be taking from now on. An excruciating sense of relief enveloped her as Alex’s arms tightened around her back.

After a few moments, her shoulders began to tremble. She was astonished to find herself crying.

“Jane… shhh… ’tis all right, dearheart,” he soothed. “Edinburgh’s a lovely idea, darling… shh…”

“Please, Alex!” she whispered brokenly against his chest, “let us make peace with one another.” She drew away from him to look through a glaze of tears into his face. “’Tis a debt owed each of us that’s long past due.”

“Peace…” he murmured, as he took her in his arms.

Twenty-Five

J
ANUARY
1786

I
NTERMITTENT SNOW FLURRIES SCRATCHED AT THE WINDOWS OF THE
townhouse on George Square as the temperature outside continued to plummet. Snow-laden clouds scudded across a full moon whose radiance cast an eerie glow over Edinburgh’s rooftops. A piercing wind blew up from the port of Leith, promising the city even more frigid weather in the coming days.

Jane exited from her bedchamber and briskly headed down the hallway of their rented townhouse, tying the ribbons of her scarlet woolen cloak under her chin as she walked. The garment’s cowl-like hood settled on her shoulders with comforting warmth, thanks to fabric that had been double-milled to make it more weatherproof. A door opened into the passageway, and her five daughters rushed toward her excitedly.

“Ohh… Mama,” cried Charlotte, who took note of every thread of clothing her fashionable mother wore. “Your cloak is magnificent!”

“’Twas a lovely gift from your da,” Jane said with a smile, allowing herself to be pulled into her older girls’ suite of rooms situated across from the nursery. “Your brother Lord Huntly placed the order on his way back to Cambridge last fall. Now then,” she said with mock sternness, “have you all been studying your French? Monsieur Varney will be drilling you on your verbs this Monday, and I want you all to do splendidly.”

“Aye, Mama,” nine-year-old Louisa said sincerely. “
Je t’aime, Mama!
”

Madelina, thirteen, and Susan, almost twelve, giggled and poked their younger sister in the ribs.

“
Nous aimerons Papa?
”

“Where
is
Papa?” demanded four-year-old Georgina. “I want to see Papa!”

“He’s with little Alexander, I expect,’” Jane said soothingly. Her youngest daughter had not taken kindly to the male rival who had made his appearance at seven pounds in the nursery the previous November.

“He’s
always
with baby Alex,” Georgina pouted. “He likes him better than us.”

“Why, nonsense!” Jane said, taken aback by the child’s brutal frankness.

“He does, Mama,” said Louisa quietly. “’Tis the truth.”

“Now, I will not have you say such things!” Jane admonished sharply. “Of course your Papa loves you lassies… ’tis just that he’s so delighted with a second son. Now, let’s not hear another word of such trumpery!” She turned toward her eldest child. “Charlotte, I think this blustery night calls for hot chocolate and some cake, don’t you? Have Nancy tell Cook you can all have your own little fete while Papa and I are at our party. Would you like that?”

“Yes… oh, yes!” came the chorus, except for Louisa, who remained silent and stepped closer to Jane.

“I must just look in on the bairn,” Jane said, trying to appear more cheerful than she felt. “Good night, my darlings,” she added, squeezing Louisa’s hand lovingly, to show her she was not really angry for her daughter’s honest words. The lass had grown four inches in a single year and was going to be tall, like the father she had never met. Forcing a smile to her lips, Jane blew them all a kiss. “I’ll tell you all about the dancing on the morrow.”

Approaching the nursery door, Jane paused to listen to the sounds of a baby’s gurgle, overridden by a deep male voice speaking in childish, singsong tones.

“There, there, laddie… ’tis time for wee ones to be asleep… there, there…”

Nancy Christie, who had grown into a scrawny but kindly version of her mother, the formidable housekeeper, smiled knowingly at Jane as she entered the chamber, as if to say,
Have you ever seen the likes of it? The Duke’s besotted with this babe!

“Alex, we’ll be late,” Jane whispered loudly. Her husband cut an elegant figure in a new, grape-colored coat studded with large onyx buttons. Nevertheless, he was holding a tiny bundle swaddled in a thin woolen blanket against his broad shoulder. “If you put Alexander in his cradle, he’ll go right off to sleep… I’m sure he will. If we tarry much longer, there won’t be an oyster left!”

“He seemed a bit fussy after you fed him,” Alex replied, as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. Gently, he patted the tiny back of the two-month-old. “I wonder—”

A loud belch interrupted his words. The adults, including Nancy, the nursemaid, laughed at the infant’s indiscretion.

“There’s your answer,” Jane smiled. “Now put him down, and let’s be off! ’Tis my first evening out since the babe was born, and I intend eating at least three dozen of Lucky Middlemass’s
best
, before I’m through!”

Within ten minutes, the Duke of Gordon’s gold-crested black carriage was bumping along Nicholson Road in the direction of Edinburgh’s most popular oyster cellar. Oyster parties were held in a variety of Edinburgh taverns that specialized in serving raw oysters from the Firth of Forth, and hearty porter or ale with which to wash them down. Jane had missed many such convivial gatherings this past winter, due to her recent lying-in.

There had been times during the past two years when Jane had longed to be in London once again, but she loved the special flavor of Edinburgh social life at watering holes such as the oyster houses, where ladies took part in the revelry without restraint. She was especially fond of the custom afterward of clearing out the tables at these unique taverns for some spirited country dancing.

The coach began to rock alarmingly as the two of them continued up Nicholson Road. Jane held on even more tightly to the leather strap as the carriage swayed and dipped among gigantic potholes. The thoroughfare was in a sorry state, due to the construction in progress on the new South Bridge, which crossed the High Street. In the last year, Jane had been struck by the significant changes in the old town that had taken place since her girlhood in Edinburgh. North Loch, the scene of poor Matilda Sinclair’s drowning, had been completely drained and a park laid out where the old tannery had once stood. North Bridge, along the lake’s former banks, now led off the High Street to the New Town, where speculators had been building row after row of townhouses according to the designs of Robert Adam. Even their own house, on George Square, south of the Royal Mile, was in one of the new residential areas that had been developed outside the old city walls.

“I don’t know whether to think of tonight’s party at Lucky’s as a celebration or a wake,” Jane mused aloud, staring at the snow swirling outside the coach. “’Tis hard to believe, after all these years, that they’ll soon be tearing down Lucky Middlemass’s Tavern to build South Bridge. Tis a shame, really.’

“Never fear, Jane, darling, there are lots of oyster houses still in the town,” Alex teased her. “I shall be sure you never want for them. They always seem to work such potent magic upon your affections…” He leaned toward her, brushing his lips on the sensitive skin below her ear lobe.

“’Tis the porter
you
drink with them, you impertinent wretch!” she retorted with feigned indignation. “It makes you feel you’re a randy lad of eighteen again.”

Alex slipped his hands inside her scarlet hood and cupped his wife’s face. He kissed her slowly, inserting his tongue between her lips in a not-so-subtle attempt to arouse her ardor.

“We’re not doing too badly for middle-aged lovers, are we, Jane?” he whispered. One hand had drifted down to her engorged breasts, which strained against the bodice of her claret-colored velvet gown. She was nursing little Alexander, and felt that if Alex didn’t curtail his actions, his mere touch would summon milk to her bosom in a moment. As it was, a familiar throbbing sensation coursed through her.

“Imagine… a baby at our age,” she murmured mockingly. Despite her better judgment, she welcomed the pulsing stimulation suddenly resonating through her highly sensitive nipples.

“I’m sure people thought ’twas most unseemly,” Alex mumbled, nibbling at her ear.

“It
was
unseemly,” she laughed, pushing him away from her halfheartedly.

“That’s what made it all so wonderful,” Alex said, suddenly serious. He stared at her with an intensity that made her unaccountably ill-at-ease. “I want another bairn… as many as we can have! You’ve never looked more beautiful, Jane.”

“Nor so exhausted,” she chided lightly. “I haven’t done a thing for two months but sleep, nurse, and tend to little Alexander.”

“But isn’t that why you’re such a capital mum?” he said with a wary smile.

Jane glanced at him briefly, and then stared out the coach window. The snow was falling more heavily now as the carriage drew to a halt in front of Lucky Middlemass’s Tavern. The veil of white all but obscured the brilliant full moon overhead.

“Alex,” she said gently, taking his hand. “I love the babe very much, and I’m very glad we had him, but I’m thirty-seven and ’twas a difficult birth…” Her chin rose in a small sign of defiance. “I have borne
seven
children, Alex… and I love them
all.
But there is more to my life than the world of the nursery…”

“I thought you were pleased, as I was…” he said slowly, averting his eyes.

“I
am
,” she said quietly. “But the doctor says there’s likely to be no more bairns… you know that.”

“’Tis not impossible—” he began.

“’Tis
unlikely
, though,” she overrode him. “And, to tell you the truth, I’m not sorry about it.” She took his right hand in hers and forced him to look at her. “’Tis useless to think we’ll be happy together only if I am occupied solely with the children. We must share more than that, as the years go on. I have a
mind
, as
you
have, and I need the diversions of books and music and good conversation, just as
you
do.”

The carriage door was snapped open by a footman dressed in the Gordons’ red and white livery, but Alex didn’t stir from his seat. He stared moodily past the velvet curtains at the snow swirling at the window.

“Come now, m’lord,” Jane said with as much cheer as she could muster. “Let us repair to our friends—and our oysters.”

The footman assisted Jane down from the coach. The snow stung her cheeks and she drew her cloak tightly to her. Still subdued, Alex stared straight ahead as he took her arm and they proceeded down the steps to the smoke-filled oyster cellar. A familiar figure, slightly more stooped than in years past, approached them jovially, his arms outstretched.