Bringing the brute low would go a long way to settling the score and give me a measure of satisfaction. Sarah made up her mind in less than a minute. She looked at the duchess and then smiled. “I’ll do it!”
Two days later, Lady Anne invited Lady Sarah to a Court function at St. James’s Palace. “I’m so glad you accepted my invitation. My aunt is the widowed Duchess of Shrewsbury. Adelaide is Lady of the Bedchamber to the Princess of Wales. You will adore Princess Caroline. She loves to dance and gamble. She is the glittering sun of the Royal Court around which all the lesser stars circle.”
When the young beauties arrived at the palace, Anne introduced her to her aunt. Sarah made a graceful curtsy.
“Oh, la, save your curtsies for Princess Caroline, my dear.”
Sarah tried not to stare at the opulent breasts of the dowager duchess that threatened to overflow her décolletage.
Anne whispered behind her fan, “Adelaide is King George’s mistress.”
Sarah whispered back, “She has two outstanding qualifications for the post.”
They made their way to the ballroom where the Princess of Wales was dancing with her fifteen-year-old son, Frederick. When the dance ended, Caroline greeted Anne, who introduced her sister-in-law to the princess.
Prince Frederick bowed before Sarah. “Would you do me the honor, my lady?”
The princess laughed. “It seems you have made a conquest, Sarah. Since you are a married lady, I’m sure my son will be safe in your experienced hands.”
It was soon evident to Sarah, however, that she was not safe from Freddy’s hands. When the dance ended, Sarah found Anne in the company of a handsome male.
“Allow me to introduce the Earl of Albemarle. He is Lord of the Bedchamber to King George. This is my sister-in-law, the Countess of March.” Anne gave him a seductive glance. “I playfully call him William van, since so many gentlemen of my acquaintance are called William.”
Sarah greeted him warmly and guessed that the handsome male with the thick blond hair was the reason Anne had come to Court tonight.
After the dance Anne satisfied Sarah’s curiosity. “His name is William van Keppel. He was Baron Ashford in the County of Kent, but when his father died two years ago, he became the Earl of Albemarle.” She confided, “William van is very amorous, but I hold him at arm’s length.”
“Until he comes to heel?” Sarah asked with a wink. “That is a good strategy, to beckon him with one hand and hold him off with the other.” I shall remember that ploy when my beast of a husband returns.
Charles Lennox, Earl of March, had undergone his own metamorphosis during his three-year Grand Tour of Europe’s major cities. By the time he turned twenty-one, the earl’s physical changes had been dramatic. He was taller, his shoulders and chest broader. His face now had a sculpted, chiseled leanness about it, and the sun had burnished his skin.
Charles’s transformation on the inside had been even more dramatic. Sickness had taught him compassion, when his tutor Henry fell ill, and it had taught him gratitude when he had caught the virulent contagion that brought him close to death. Henry Grey, who had barely survived, in turn had nursed Charles back to health. Though it had been a slow and painful process for both, the experience brought with it much needed maturity and made Charles a far better man.
For years he had anticipated visiting Constantinople that had once been the capital city of the Roman Empire. Because of his royal connections, he was invited to Topkapi Palace. He marveled at its opulence and was intrigued by the Sultan’s seraglio. But later when he explored the Harbor of the Golden Horn he was horrified at the hordes of child beggars who swarmed the streets.
As his travels took him to the major cities of Europe, he began to notice more and more the insurmountable contrast between rich and poor. In the slums of Athens, Rome, and Madrid it was commonplace for starving children to die in the street. The six months that Charles and his tutor spent in Paris, living among the artists of the West Bank, gave him a true appreciation of painting. But the sheer numbers of child prostitutes of both sexes from the Parisian slums made him feel revulsion toward the French.
Charles realized how fortunate he was to have been born to privilege and wealth. He was appalled at the way he’d taken his parents’ indulgence for granted and, before he returned to England, wrote to his father and thanked him for providing him with an Oxford education that had culminated in a three years’ Grand Tour.
Chapter Three
Richmond House, Whitehall, London, England
June 1722
“I’ll unpack my own clothes, Henry. You have enough to do emptying your own trunks.” Charles Lennox had given the servants instructions to have the crates and boxes that would soon be arriving brought upstairs to his wing of the house.
“I intend to keep them packed, my lord. With your leave, I’ll be returning to Oxfordshire tomorrow.”
“Henry, since we have shared our lives on a daily basis for the past three years, it is preposterous to call me my lord simply because we’ve returned to London. I hope you consider yourself my friend.”
“Then speaking as a friend, I’ve had enough of cities for a while. I’d like to return to Oxford. I shall need to find scholars to tutor.”
“How thoughtless of me. Of course you will want to go home. But, if you are willing, I’d like you to return. I shall need a business secretary to handle my affairs, and I can think of none who would measure up to your standards,
Henry.”
“Thank you, Charles. I am honored to accept your generous offer. I’ll return to London in a fortnight, if that is convenient.”
“Perfectly convenient. Tonight, we’ll go out on the town and celebrate our homecoming.”
The majordomo arrived. “I’m sure some of your clothes will need pressing, my lord. And if you intend to stay in London, perhaps you’d like to choose one of the footmen to be your valet.”
“Excellent idea, Soames. Both Henry and I will need our evening clothes pressed. We are off to the Kit Cat Club.”
“That will be rather difficult, my lord. It closed two years ago.”
“Really? Then I warrant it will have to be the Star and Garter on Pall Mall. I assume my parents are at Goodwood?” The Sussex house was the seat of the Dukes of Richmond.
“Her Grace was here recently but returned to Goodwood to care for the duke. Lady Anne is in residence, however,” Soames informed him.
“My sister is residing here alone?” Charles drew his brows together. “She didn’t by any chance marry recently,
did she?”
“No, my lord. Though Lady Anne is much in demand.”
“She’s out and about at the moment, I take it?”
“She is, my lord. She accepted an invitation from the Princess of Wales.”
“An invitation to St. James’s Palace, no less? My sister is apparently moving in Court circles these days.”
“Yes, and no, my lord.” Soames took the black evening clothes from Charles.
“Prince George and Princess Caroline have moved from St. James’s Palace and taken up residence at Leicester House, which is now the center of social life in London. King George and his son are not on the most convivial of terms.”
Charles laughed. “You are a master of understatement, Soames.”
“Thank you, my lord. I’ll have these pressed right away.”
* * *
“Are you enjoying Leicester House, Highness?” Sarah set down her dessert fork and placed her linen napkin, embroidered with a gold crown, beside it.
“Yes indeed. St. James’s is like a mausoleum these days. I love having my own household where I am free to do whatever I wish.” Caroline signaled a footman.
“Leicester House is far more luxurious than the old palace,” Anne Lennox remarked.
“Exactly,” Caroline agreed. “And the Prince of Wales is free to have his own courtiers here, without the king raving that anyone paying us court will no longer be considered a frien
d of his.” She told the footman that they would take their wine to the card room.
Prince Frederick jumped up immediately to hold Lady Sarah’s chair while she stood up from the table.
The Princess of Wales glanced impatiently at her eldest son. “Why don’t you go and join the gentlemen?”
“While they drink each other supine? I much prefer the company of the ladies.”
“I think you mean the company of the Countess of March, to be specific.” Princess Caroline glanced at Sarah. “You have made quite a conquest, I warrant. Would you mind if Frederick joins us for a game of Faro?”
“I would be delighted if His Highness would join us,” Sarah replied.
Flattered that Sarah always called him Highness, he followed her like a lap dog.
The prince offered to be banker and dealt the cards from the dealing box. Princess Caroline, Anne, and her aunt Adelaide were experienced gamblers compared with Sarah, who had never played cards before she came to London; yet Sarah began to win. Finally Prince Frederick was accused of cheating on Sarah’s behalf, and amid laughing protestations and denials, the ladies decided they had had enough gaming.
“Why don’t we go to the theater?” the Princess of Wales suggested. “I would love to see Fletcher’s comedy, The Woman Hater.”
“Oh, that sounds wonderful. I’ve never sat in the Royal Box before,” Sarah declared.
“I have.” Anne rolled her eyes. “Everyone in the audience watches the box more than they watch the actors onstage. It is absolutely divine!”
“Hello, William.” Charles greeted his old college friend and glanced at Henry. “No sooner do I walk through the door of the Star and Garter than I meet Viscount Rialton. I don’t know if you remember my tutor, Henry Grey? We’ve just returned from the Continent.”
“Hello, Charles. I never would have recognized you. Three years is a long time, and things change. I’m no longer Viscount Rialton … I’m now Marquis of Blandford.”
“My condolences on the loss of your grandfather, William. I take it that since Marlborough had no son to inherit his title, Parliament has given it to his daughter.”
“Yes, strange as it seems, my mother Henrietta is now the Duke of Marlborough, and I am Marquis of Blandford through her.” William raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be spending your first night back in London with your wife?”
The warmth left Charles’s face. “Bite your tongue, Blandford. It’s a marriage in name only. My wife is a child and likely residing at Caversham, where she belongs.”
“Sorry.” Blandford ordered them drinks, and the three men moved to one of the gaming rooms. “Here’s Hartington. I swear the Star and Garter would collapse if William wasn’t here to prop it up.”
“Hello, March, how the devil are you?” When the three friends were together they used their titles, because Bland-ford and Lord Hartington were both named William.
Charles introduced Henry Grey to Hartington. “We’re just home from the Grand Tour and, to be perfectly honest, damned glad to be back in London.”
“It’s great to see you again. Sit down. Perhaps you’ll bring me luck.” Hartington glanced ruefully at his dwindling pile of counters.
“Your pockets are to let, as usual.” Blandford stated the obvious.
“My pockets and everything else. I’m in debt over my head to my cousin, the Duke of Bedford. He keeps telling me the only way out is marriage.”
“Since you’re heir to the Dukedom of Devonshire, you should be able to attract a wealthy heiress,” Charles remarked.
“Bedford’s financial adviser, who’s rolling in it, has an unwed daughter. Tell me, March, you have a marriage of convenience. How do you stomach it?”
“I don’t. The marriage took place three years ago, and that’s the last I saw of her, thank God. She has my name, and that’s all she’ll ever get.”
Hartington and Blandford exchanged a speaking look.
For the next hour the friends played baccarat. The first dealer was Hartington, who lost everything to Blandford. Charles offered to be the next dealer, and he, too, lost to Blandford. Thankfully Henry Grey broke even.
“If it’s true what they say, that gambling is the wine of life, you should be pissing drunk by now, Blandford.” Charles pushed the counters toward his friend.
“I’ve had enough,” Hartington declared in disgust. “Marriage is becoming inevitable, I’m afraid. Let’s get out of here.”
“Where shall we go? I promised Grey here an evening’s entertainment.”
“How about seeing a play?” Henry suggested, hoping for a smattering of culture.
“Just the ticket,” Hartington agreed. “I won’t lose a fortune at the theater.”
Blandford laughed. “The Woman Hater is playing at the King’s Theatre in the Haymarket. How bloody apt is that for all of us?”
“We should form a club,” Hartington suggested.
Charles shook his head. “There’d be too many vying for membership!”
When the quartet arrived at the theater, the curtain had already gone up, and in the darkness they managed to find four seats together in one row. The comedy dealt with the gender question and tried to fathom which was the morally weaker sex. It was a farce, laced with bawdy wit, and the four men found it hilarious. They found the Chastity Test, which produced hoops of laughter, particularly entertaining.
At the intermission when the curtain came down and the lights went up, they, along with the other members of the audience, gazed about to see whom they knew. The Princess of Wales and her elegantly dressed friends occupied the Royal Box, and all eyes were upon them.
“Charles, there’s your sister, Lady Anne.” When Bland-ford looked at his friend, he saw that he was staring up at the Royal Box as if mesmerized.
Blandford looked at Hartington and surreptitiously pointed to the box and then to their friend. The two cleared their throats, which brought Charles out of his trance.
“Whomever is that lovely creature sitting next to Princess Caroline?” he murmured.
Blandford and Hartington exchanged an amused glance, and when it dawned on them that the Earl of March had no idea that the lady was his wife, they made a silent pact to keep quiet in hopes of milking the devilishly amusing situation for all it was worth.
“No idea,” Blandford said, “but isn’t that your sister,
Lady Anne?”
Charles glanced briefly at his sister and nodded impatiently, then his eyes were drawn back to the beauty with honey-blond curls whose porcelain complexion was like cream and roses. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said absently, and arose from his seat.
He went upstairs and made his way to the Royal Box. A servant dressed in royal livery stood guard outside the door.
“Excuse me.” Charles reached out toward the door, and the guard blocked him.
“I’m sorry, my lord, the Princess of Wales is occupying the box tonight.” The royal servant looked into the dark face of the tall, imposing gentleman with the saber-sharp cheekbones and gathered his courage to stand his ground.
“Step aside,” came the curt command.
“My lord, I dare not disobey my orders. The princess does not wish to be disturbed. I’m sure you understand.”
“Rubbish! My sister, Lady Anne Lennox, is attending Princess Caroline. Allow me to pass.”
“The interval is over—the second act is about to start.”
Charles took a threatening step toward the guard and saw a pleading look come into his eyes. “If I let you pass, I would be dismissed immediately, my lord.”
The Earl of March stepped back. “Of course. I understand your predicament.” He turned and went back downstairs to his friends. Though the curtain had gone up, Charles never glanced at the stage. The theater was once more shrouded in darkness, yet he focused his full attention on the Royal Box. Who is she?
The lady had an innocent beauty that called out to all his senses. Yet he had seen her wipe tears of mirth from her cheeks at the droll e
ntertainment presented onstage. This only added to the lady’s allure. What man doesn’t desire a laughing female in his arms? In the shadows, his imagination took flight. He became fixated with a deep need to possess this perfect English rose.
When the play ended and the actors were taking their curtain call, Charles excused himself again and made his way upstairs. He did not approach the Royal Box but stationed himself at the top of the stairs, knowing the royal party must pass this way.
In a short time, he heard the laughter of the ladies as they emerged from the box. First came Princess Caroline and her lady-in-waiting, who was his aunt Adelaide. They were chattering about the play and didn’t even look at him.
Behind them came a tall youth with Charles’s sister Anne on one arm and the unknown beauty on the other. Anne didn’t seem to recognize him, and he simply stood and gazed at the lovely young lady who was even more beautiful close up. For one moment she focused on him, and her sapphire blue eyes looked into his, then she spoke to her companions and moved on.
Charles followed them at a distance as they went downstairs into the theater lobby.
The fashionable beauty attracted as much attention as the Princess of Wales, and was greeted familiarly by numerous gentlemen as well as older ladies. She seems to be the toast of London. Who the devil can she be?
Blandford, Hartington, and Henry Grey joined him. “Did you learn the identity of the captivating creature?” William asked.
“Not yet,” the earl declared, “but I intend to rectify that within the next five minutes.” When he looked up, the royal party had disappeared. “Bloody hell, I’ve lost them. Thanks for nothing!”
“What are friends for?” Blandford drawled.
“With friends like you, I don’t need sodding enemies.” Charles saw the amusement in his companions’ faces and knew he was the cause of it. They thought it hilarious that a female had taken his fancy to such a marked degree. “Come on, Henry, let’s go home. Sufficient unto the day is the snickering thereof.”
Blandford called after him, “There’s a reception at Marlborough House tomorrow night. We’ll see you there.”
Lords of Passion Page 3
