The Gathering Storm (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 3)(49)

"You do me too much honour, Your Highness," she said. "But I regret most deeply that I cannot accept. I am acting as companion to Lady Redburn this evening. As I am sure you know, she was tragically widowed only a month ago, and this is her first outing since Lord Redburn's death. I have promised to escort her home."

"Oh, I am sure you need not concern yourself unduly," said Prince William dismissively. "After all, she is with friends. I have no doubt that any one of them will see her safely home."

The warmth of his hand was seeping through the silk of her dress.

"I am sure you are right," she said, sounding distressed without any effort at all. "But I also undertook to stay the night with her. She misses her husband so. The others will of course be going back to Lord Edward's house for liqueurs after the performance, but Anne does not feel capable, in her delicate state, of staying out so late. I must honour my promise, Your Highness. You, being a prince and a soldier of the highest calibre, will understand better than anybody the concept of honouring one's obligations, I am sure."

The hand was lifted from her knee.

"Of course. I understand," he said stiffly.

He had understood, that was clear. More than she wanted him to. She had offended him, and could not afford to. She needed to retain his favour, and his father's. They were an important source of information.

Act Three began, and she hardly heard any of it. She had to regain his regard, let him know she found him attractive, without encouraging him to think she was going to leap into bed with him at the first opportunity. He found her desirable, but he wanted no more than a fling, with no commitment. No commitment. That was the key.

"Oh, Your Royal Highness!" she cried suddenly, reaching across and seizing his hand, to his surprise. "Please do not be angry with me! I must fulfil my duty to Anne! Yet I am distraught that you might think I have anything other than the greatest regard for you!"

The hubbub of voices in the audience rose noticeably. It would be all over London tomorrow.

The duke, as she had hoped, was stunned by this outpouring of feminine distress, which, in common with many men of his nature, flummoxed him completely.

"I do assure you, my dear Elizabeth … " he began.

"Indeed, I am sure you know only too well how I feel for you," she continued, praying to God he didn't. "If only I were not married, things could be so different … "

She gazed pleadingly, adoringly into his eyes, seeing the instant alarm at her hint that she loved rather than lusted after him, followed by pride that she wanted him after all. She breathed a sigh of relief, which he misinterpreted as distress.

"I understand entirely," he said, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "Please do not distress yourself. I hold you in great esteem. Your consideration for your friend only raises you in my estimation. There will be other opportunities, I am sure."



Not if I have my way, thought Beth later, as the carriage made its way to the Redburn mansion.

"It's very kind of you to bring me home," Anne said from the other corner of the carriage. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather be having liqueurs with your cousins? I am after all not very good company at the moment."                       
       
           



       

"I had intended all along to accompany you home, Anne," said Beth. "And I far prefer your company to that of my family."

Anne blushed, not realising what a slight compliment it was.

"I had no idea it was the latest thing at the Court to take liqueurs after an evening out," said Anne.

"Neither did I," replied her friend. "But the duke assured me that the king always insists on enjoying a liqueur with friends before bed, if he has been to the theatre. It relaxes one after the excitement of the evening, he feels."

Beth had shot back to the Cunningham box after the performance to reveal this invented royal custom, knowing that it would be immediately adopted by Edward and Isabella, who were always at pains to emulate royalty. Within a week everyone in London would be downing liqueurs by the bottle.

Details, she thought, Alex's voice echoing in her head. She would not put it past the duke having her and her family followed to make sure she had told him the truth. Maybe she was being over-cautious. Still …

"I don't need to relax," Anne said. "I am quite tired. I had forgotten how fatiguing a social occasion can be."

She still had to work out a way of getting into the Redburn house and staying there for a time. They drew up outside. Beth looked out. She didn't think they had been followed, but there were several carriages in the street. It was impossible to be sure.

"This will be the hardest part of the evening, I think," said Anne sadly. "It will be so strange to go in and not find Stanley there waiting for me. The house feels so empty without him. You must think me ridiculous," she finished, looking apprehensively out of the coach window at the front door.

"No, not at all," said Beth. "I understand exactly how you feel. After my father died I always felt his loss most keenly when I came into the salon where he used to sit. For months I half-expected to find him there, smiling at me. Sometimes when I came up the drive, I used to imagine I could see him at the window, waiting for me. It gets easier with time but even now, after over two years, I think it would still feel strange to enter his room and find it empty."

"Oh, you do understand!" cried Anne.

"Would you like me to come in with you for a while?" Beth asked, seizing the opportunity.

"Would you mind terribly?" said Anne. "Only it is the first time I have been out since Stanley … ah … I am sure it will be easier next time."

"I would be delighted," said Beth honestly.



In the end she managed to stay for several hours. Anne, reluctant to wake the servants, went to the kitchen and prepared tea herself, and the two women sat long into the night talking, of loss, of their childhoods, which had been so different, Beth's free and wild, Anne's restricted and dull, and of Anne's hopes for the future and for the child that she had now accepted she was carrying, and to which she was already starting to give her love.

It was three in the morning before Beth finally arrived home, opening the door very quietly so as not to disturb the household, who would all be asleep. She tiptoed into the hall, which was in darkness, and felt for the stair rail.

The library door opened suddenly, and a tall figure stepped into the hall, carrying a candle.

"Where the hell have you been?" said Alex.





CHAPTER TEN


Beth jumped violently.

"Jesus Christ, Alex," she said, clutching at her heart. "You frightened me to death. I thought you'd be in bed. How did your meeting with Sir Double-U go?"

"Where have you been?" he repeated. "Are you all right?" His voice managed to sound both angry and frightened at the same time. His face was in shadow, and she couldn't see his expression.

"Yes, of course I am. I've been at the opera. Had you forgotten I was going?" she asked, puzzled. Alex never forgot anything.

"The opera finished at eleven o'clock," he said, his voice cold now. "Where have you been since then?"

"At Anne's," said Beth. "She didn't want to go in the house alone, so I went in with her and we had some tea and talked for a while. What's going on?"

Alex closed his eyes and breathed out through his mouth.

"Anne's," he said, with utter relief. "Oh thank God for that."

"Why, where did you think I was?" she said.

"With Cumberland."

"What?!" Her voice rose, and he held up a hand.

"I'm no' angry wi' you," he said. "I didna think ye'd go wi' him willingly. But I knew he'd invited you into his box, and when ye didna come home I thought he'd invited ye somewhere else afterwards, and ye didna ken how to refuse him." He moved back into the library, putting the candle down on a small table, and she followed him.                       
       
           



       

"I find ‘No' is usually pretty effective," she said.

"Aye, but I knew ye'd no' want to offend him. I've been sitting here for hours, tearing my hair out, because I wanted to find you and kill him, but I didna ken where he might have taken ye."

His hair was indeed sticking out in all directions, and she softened.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I could have sent word, if I'd known. I thought you'd just assume I'd gone back to Edward's."

"I would have done, if I hadna known about Cumberland."

"How did you know about him, anyway?" she asked, amazed. "I thought it'd be tomorrow at the earliest before that got round town."

"After I'd had my meeting, I went off wi' Barrymore to his club for a wee drink. Some of the other members had been tae the opera and were already blethering on about the beautiful blonde who the duke had invited intae his box. They said that ye'd thrown yourself at him and then gone off wi' him in his carriage afterwards. Well, I knew the first part couldna be true, but when ye didna come home, I thought the second part was, and …  I was worried," he finished.