He explains that he will be visiting Prince Charles Stuart, son of the exiled King James, as a few weeks ago the Duke of Newcastle, not knowing him to be a Jacobite spy, recruited him on behalf of the Hanoverians, to become acquainted with the prince and report back any useful information.
On the way to Rome, Angus (who has accompanied them as a servant) overhears a private conversation between two French courtiers, in which it is revealed that King Louis of France is secretly planning to invade England, and that one of the men (Henri), intends to give the plans to the British. Alex now decides he must do something to prevent this, but must first carry on to meet Charles and convey the news of the prospective invasion to him. He does, and Beth and Alex are married again in Rome under their real names.
After giving a misleading report of his meeting with Charles to Sir Horace Mann who is the Hanoverian envoy in Florence, Alex, Beth and Angus travel to France, where, at Versailles, Beth becomes acquainted with, and starts to like, the man Henri. Alex, as Sir Anthony, pretends jealousy and challenges Henri to a duel, during which he kills him, as though by accident.
Beth, having not been entrusted with his plans, and also having been kept in the dark about some other things, is very hurt and leaves suddenly, travelling back first to London and then Manchester, on her own, where she settles in with her ex-servants.
Alex's return is delayed as he is held in prison for duelling. He sends Angus to Rome to stop Prince Charles riding to Paris to join the invasion and thereby raising British suspicion and Louis' anger. Alex then returns home to London, where he is expecting Beth to be waiting for him. When he discovers she has left, he follows her to Manchester, where they are reconciled.
STUART/HANOVER FAMILY TREE
LIST OF CHARACTERS
Alexander MacGregor, Highland Chieftain/Sir Anthony Peters, Baronet
Elizabeth (Beth) MacGregor/Lady Elizabeth Peters, his wife
Duncan MacGregor, brother to Alex
Angus MacGregor, brother to Alex
Iain Gordon, liegeman to Alex
Margaret (Maggie) Gordon, his wife
Simon MacGregor, clansman to Alex
Kenneth MacGregor, clansman to Alex
Dougal MacGregor, clansman to Alex
Robbie MacGregor, Dougal's youngest brother
Alasdair MacGregor, clansman to Alex
Peigi MacGregor, Alasdair's wife
Morag MacGregor
Janet MacGregor
Lieutenant Richard Cunningham, a dragoon and brother to Beth
Lord Edward Cunningham, cousin to Richard and Beth
Isabella Cunningham, Edward's eldest sister
Clarissa Cunningham, Edward's middle sister
Charlotte Stanton, Edward's youngest sister, widow of Frederick
Sarah Browne, formerly lady's maid to Beth
Graeme Elliot, former gardener to Beth
Thomas Fletcher, her former steward
Grace Miller, former lady's maid to Beth
Mary Williamson, childhood friend of Beth's
Joseph, Mary's fiancé
Edwin Harlow, MP and friend of Sir Anthony and Beth
Caroline Harlow, his wife
Freddie Harlow, their infant son
Lady Philippa, cousin to Caroline
Lord Bartholomew Winter
Lady Wilhelmina Winter, his wife
Anne Maynard, an impoverished relative of Lord Winter
William, Earl of Highbury
Lord Daniel Barrington, his son
Thomas Fortesque, MP
Lydia Fortesque, his daughter
Lord Stanley Redburn, an elderly lord, desperate to marry
Gabriel Foley, leader of a band of smugglers
Helen, a beautiful young lady
Percy, a young gentleman
David, a young gentleman
Colonel Mark Hutchinson
John, a captain in the Horseguards
Sergeant Smith, a dragoon
King George II, King of Great Britain and Ireland, Elector of Hanover
Frederick, Prince of Wales, eldest son of King George II
Prince George, Frederick's eldest son
Prince Edward, Frederick's youngest son
Prince William Augustus, Duke of Cumberland, second son of King George.
Prince Charles Edward Stuart, eldest son of James Stuart (the Pretender), exiled King of Britain
Donald MacDonald, of Glencoe, a clansman
Ealasaid MacDonald, Beth's grandmother
Joan MacDonald, cousin to Beth
Meg MacDonald, Joan's twin sister
Robert MacDonald, their younger brother
Allan MacDonald, eldest brother of Joan, Meg and Robert
Nathan Sennet, a Redcoat soldier
John Murray of Broughton
Donald Cameron of Lochiel, Chief of Clan Cameron
PROLOGUE
France, February 1744
The tall, straight-backed figure stood alone on the beach gazing out to sea, the wind toying playfully with his hair and fingering the folds of his heavy winter coat. He had ridden out from the fortified town of Gravelines in the early morning, so early that even the servants had still been abed, and no one had seen the young man with the shock of red-brown hair as he had quietly left the house and made his way to the stables. He had ridden out into the darkness, the cold bite of the wind dispersing the alcoholic haze from the previous evening's revels, leaving him clear-headed and exhilarated.
Tearing his gaze from the sea, he walked aimlessly for a time, the pebbles crunching softly beneath the soles of his fine leather boots, his mind soothed by the soft susurration of the waves. He waited until the sky turned from black to dark grey, then to a lighter pearl-grey, which transformed the sea into a restless sheet of rolling burnished silver.
He turned a pebble over with his toe, marvelling at its smoothness, evidence of the relentless, patient power of the sea, which in time subdued all things, and which could, at a whim, scatter whole navies, driving kings to ruin and despair. A frown etched the fine aristocratic brow briefly, as he thought of the famed ill-luck of his family which had brought so many of his forebears to disaster and a brutal early death.
It would not be so this time, he thought, his brow clearing, the optimism of youth outweighing the legendary superstition of centuries. It was his destiny to change the luck of the Stuarts. He had known that since he was a small child and had first heard the stories, whispered to him by his nurse, that at the exact time of his birth a new star had been seen in the sky, whilst a storm had simultaneously wreaked havoc in Hanover, the home of his despised enemy. The enemy which now sat so smugly and complacently on his father's throne, across that stretch of silver sea.
But not for long. For the time had come at last, the time he had been waiting for, for over twenty long years. It was what he had prepared himself for, putting his body through a punishing regime of diet and exercise, honing his muscles, practising with sword and pistol, with bow and arrow until no one could match his accuracy. He had driven his aching muscles beyond the boundaries of exhaustion and fatigue until his pampered aristocratic companions had whispered in awe that the young prince must indeed be superhuman. Had he not been born on the very eve of the new year, when the old was swept aside and in the depths of winter new hope was born?
He was that new hope, and as he stood on the shore, gazing out across the sea towards his father's kingdom, his kingdom to be, a surge of exhilaration bore him up and over the waves to England. He saw himself, so clearly that it must be a premonition, at the head of an army, riding into London, the cheers of the people resounding in his ears, rose petals falling like velvet rain upon him as the people, his people, went wild with joy at the return of the Stuarts to their rightful place.
A seagull called mournfully and the spell was broken; he was once again standing on the windswept shore, the only sound the gentle shushing of waves on pebbles.
He turned his gaze towards the north-east, where all his hopes were even now being brought to fruition, as the provisions, cannon and the barrels of gunpowder were loaded onto the multitude of ships that would bear the French army and himself to England and to victory. Last night he had disguised himself, and had ridden into Dunkirk, although King Louis, fearful of British spies, had expressly forbidden him to go there. He had gazed in wonder at the multitude of ships, their masts tall and bare like a forest of trees in winter. It was not possible that such a fleet could fail. He had spent the evening in the taverns, drinking with the sailors and soldiers who were now pouring into the town, enriching the pockets of the whores and innkeepers. They had flocked round the charming, generous young Frenchman from Paris, eager to tell him tales of their bravery in combat, which grew ever more extravagant as the alcohol flowed. It had been a good evening, one to amuse his courtiers with from the comfort of St James's Palace, from the throne where his grandfather had sat, where his father would sit, and where he too would be enthroned, when the time came.
He was Charles Edward Stuart, eldest son and heir to King James the Eighth of Scotland and Third of England. He would use his looks, his strength and above all his enormous charismatic powers of persuasion to regain the throne for the Stuarts. He had friends, many friends in England, and even more in Scotland. The clans were loyal to him. He was, after all, one of them, a Scot by blood if not birth, and they did not cast aside the bonds of kinship lightly. If this French invasion failed, which it would not, could not, then he would call on the allegiance of his kinsmen.