Undone - Virginia Henley

by Virginia Henley

  "My baby--"

  "Your baby's delivered, Elizabeth. The midwife is cleansing it."

  "Please, let me see!"

  The midwife came back to the bed carrying a bundle swathed in a flannel blanket. When she looked at Elizabeth, she thrust the child at Bridget and spoke to Emma. "She's bleeding ... get some pillows ... prop her feet higher than her head."

  Elizabeth felt herself leaving them, as if she were dissolving as the ghost of Queen Mary had done earlier. "No ... wait!" As she opened her mouth, the midwife thrust in a spoonful of laudanum.

  "I already dosed her!" Bridget cried.

  "No harm done. She needs complete rest so the bleedin' will stop. There, she's already asleep. What's the time? Five o'clock? I think it would be prudent tae wait an hour before we rouse the duke from his bed."

  Elizabeth heard the bedchamber door crash open, and a cold finger of premonition touched her. Hamilton strode to the bed--his mottled skin told her that his anger was high. He needed to vent his spleen, and she was his target. _He suspects that the baby is not his_! She struggled to speak, but her lips felt numb and she could not form words.

  "I brought you to Holyrood Palace so that my son and heir could be born here in his rightful place, and what do you give me in return? A girl--a useless female like yourself! Even that wretched Charlotte Boyle gave her husband a son. I'll be a bloody laughingstock! All Edinburgh is waiting to celebrate, and all you can produce is a daughter. Well, if you know what's good for you, you'll keep the brat away from me. As soon as you're fit to travel, we'll go back to London and try all over again."

  Elizabeth closed her eyes in utter defeat and humiliation. _I want to die ... why didn't you let me die_? Her eyes flew open as she heard the door bang again, and she realized he was gone. She felt so ill, so tired, so hopeless. All she wanted was sleep. The atmosphere at Holyrood was so oppressive she longed to escape from it. Wearily, she thought of London and saw her future stretching before her, one unhappy day after another, and knew she would sell her soul to escape from Hamilton. Her eyelids were so heavy they began to close, then she saw the bottle of laudanum beside her bed. Here was her answer. She reached for the bottle, feeling euphoria wash over her. Hamilton would never bully her again.

  "Stop!"

  Elizabeth jumped, and the bottle slipped from her fingers to the floor. Her eyes widened at the regal vision at the foot of the bed. "What do you want?" she asked listlessly.

  "I want to give you courage! Don't let them do this to you, Elizabeth. Fight them! Fight them as I did!"

  "It's easy for you ... you are a queen."

  "You are a duchess! And a mother! You have a child who needs you to be strong and courageous. Fight them, Elizabeth."

  The vision dissolved, and she struggled to sit up.

  Emma came in from the adjoining room and hurried to the bed. "You're awake at last. Heaven be praised! You've slept through a day and a night. Are you feeling better, my lamb?"

  "Where's my baby?"

  "In the nursery with your mother and a battery of nursemaids." When Elizabeth threw back the covers, Emma said, "Oh, the doctor said you mustn't get up. He's been to see you three times, though I doubt you remember."

  "No, I don't recall seeing the doctor. All I remember is Hamilton's visit. His cruel words devastated me, Emma."

  "The duke hasn't been to see you, my lamb. You must have been dreaming. They gave you laudanum to make you sleep."

  "I wasn't dreaming ... Hamilton was as real as Mary--" Elizabeth realized what she had just said and shook her head, bewildered.

  "Mary?" Emma looked at her with concerned eyes.

  "The Queen of Scots. She must have been a vision. She came to give me courage and, by God, not before time. If they try to keep my baby from me, they won't find a rabbit--they'll find a wildcat!"

  Elizabeth touched her breast, ripe with milk. "My baby needs to be fed." She swung her feet to the carpet and into her slippers.

  "Don't fret. Your baby has a wet nurse, two nursemaids, and your mother. Let me change your night rail--that one is bloodstained."

  "Hurry." Elizabeth stood impatiently while Emma brought the white nigh trail. She stripped off the old one and donned the clean one then hurried through the door.

  Emma scurried after her, setting the sable cape onto her shoulders. "You could start to bleed again."

  "I don't care!"

  Elizabeth found the nursery a few doors from her mother's bedchamber. She swept in like an avenging angel.

  "Why aren't you in bed?" Bridget demanded.

  "Because I choose otherwise." Elizabeth met her mother's challenging look with one of her own. "I have come for my baby."

  Bridget spread her arms to block her way. "It is feeding time. Go back to bed this instant!"

  Elizabeth drew herself up to her full height and lifted a regal chin. "I am Her Grace, Duchess of Hamilton. Step aside, madam, or I shall shove you on your arse."

  Bridget's mouth gaped open, but she dropped her arms.

  Elizabeth took the child from the wet nurse. "Thank you for feeding my baby, but your services are no longer required."

  All the women stared after the regal figure of the duchess, draped in sable, as she departed cradling her newborn child. All knew that titled ladies did not feed their own babies.

  Elizabeth returned to her chamber, climbed into bed, and gazed down at the tiny miracle she had produced. The baby screwed up its face, ready to cry, and she quickly lifted her breast from the nigh trail and popped a nipple into the bright pink mouth. A look of ecstasy came into the child's eyes as it began to suckle. Elizabeth laughed with delight. "She is so beautiful!"

  "She is a _he_." Emma bent to pick up the cloak from the floor.

  "I had a boy?" Elizabeth asked uncertainly. Then she looked down into the brown eyes and watched, entranced, as dark-fringed lashes lowered in contentment. "I have a son!" she whispered.

  *Chapter Twenty-Seven*

  A Elizabeth lay in bed with her sleeping son in her arms, she felt empowered. She had finally found the courage to challenge her mother's authority and, to her amazement, Bridget had acquiesced. John Campbell's words floated to her from the past when she'd once asked him what it was like to fight in a war: _When you go into battle your greatest foe is not the enemy_ -- _it is fear. But if you face your fear and challenge it, it invariably surrenders, and you emerge victorious_. Elizabeth knew this was what she had done with her mother. She vowed to never let her gain the upper hand again. She reflected about her vision of Mary. The Scottish queen had prevented her from seeking eternal sleep, thank God. This wasn't a time to sleep. It was a time to awaken ... to wake up and live! _Mary made me promise to guard my secret with my life, but that was a manifestation of my own fear_. Elizabeth's thoughts drifted to Hamilton. Her nightmare about his rejection of her child also had been brought on by her own deep-seated fear. She wondered what his real reaction had been when he learned he had a son and heir. Elizabeth didn't have long to wait to find out.

  "There he is, there's my little prince!" Hamilton actually swaggered across the bedchamber. "I went to the nursery and found a gaggle of hissing geese accusing you of kidnapping my son!"

  "They are the kidnappers! They snatched him away so quickly I didn't know if I'd had a girl or a boy."

  Hamilton grinned fatuously down at her. "There was never any question that I'd have a _son_. I'm very pleased with you, Elizabeth. Let's have a good look at him." He pulled the blanket away and began to undo the tapes on the baby's flannel gown.

  "No!" Elizabeth snatched her child from him. _You must not see him naked_! "It's winter--he'll catch cold."

  Bridget, who had followed the duke into the chamber, said, "There's a roaring fire. Of course he won't catch cold."

  Elizabeth fixed her with a cool glance. "You are intruding. My husband and I would like a private visit with our baby son."

  "Your Grace," Bridget murmured stiffly then retreated.

  Hamilton chuckled. "You
are fierce as a lynx with her kit. Let me have my son ... I won't hurt him." He took the baby in the crook of his arm and rocked him gently. "He's very dark."

  "I believe his hair will be auburn, like yours." _You think no such thing_, her inner voice accused.

  "Most likely. 'Tis plain he won't have your golden curls." He lifted up the long folds of the nightgown to view the child's limbs and private parts. "He's a lusty male, all right!" When the baby started to cry, he handed him back to his mother.

  Elizabeth cradled her son against her heart and made soothing noises that quietened him almost instantly.

  Hamilton gazed down at the lovely woman in the bed. The pristine white night rail and halo of golden hair gave her a gentle, Madonna-like quality that made him feel blessed by the gods. He sought to indulge her. "You deserve something special for the priceless gift you have given me. What do you desire, Elizabeth? Diamonds? Emeralds?"

  She raised her eyes from her child. "I desire that his cradle be brought to my chamber. I desire to be at Cadzow Castle in Hamilton. Holyrood has a dark, foreboding atmosphere."

  "Aye, well, it has a dark history," he admitted. "Holy Rood Abbey lies in ruins, so he can't be baptized here. I've been up on the rock at Edinburgh Castle celebrating my son's birth with the provost. We could have him baptized up there. I could send word to John Campbell that we want him to be godfather."

  "No!" She stared at Hamilton aghast. _Does he suspect? Is he playing cat and mouse with me_? "The Highlands are a hundred miles away, and Christmas is coming. He'll want to be with his family."

  Hamilton nodded. "Why have a Campbell when we can have a Douglas for godfather? As soon as you're strong enough, we'll go back to Cadzow and have him baptized on New Year's Day."

  Elizabeth felt overwhelmed with relief. Not only was he proudly possessive of the child; he was taking them back to the castle she loved. She kissed her baby's brow and said in gratitude, "I think he should have your name ... James George Douglas." _If he has your name, there can be no question that he is your son_. Her inner voice taunted, _You 're not being generous, Elizabeth_ -- _you're being expedient. Shut up_! she warned her inner voice.

  "I still intend to gift my duchess with jewels."

  She looked into his pouched eyes and saw the whites were permanently yellowed from his excessive drinking bouts. She realized that though she had overcome her timidity and stood up to her mother, it would take a great deal more courage to overcome her fear of Hamilton. She also feared herself: One day her resentment and anger might flare and explode so violently she could be consumed by the conflagration. She reined in her emotions and vowed to take one small step at a time. "Then I would ask that you buy me some turquoise ... I've always fancied the blue-green stones. They are an ancient symbol of protection and good luck."

  "If turquoise pleases you, so be it."

  She lowered her lashes. Today, because he was exultant over the birth of a son, he had conceded to all her wishes. She silently vowed that this would not be the last time.

  The next day when the nursery was moved into Elizabeth's suite of rooms, Bridget's resentment at having her authority usurped knew no bounds. She refused to speak to her daughter but filled Emma's ears with bitter recriminations about her sacrificing London's festivities to spend Christmas in dreary Scotland for her daughter's lying-in. Her thanklessness added insult to injury!

  "You shouldn't be out of bed. It's only been three days since you gave birth. Even Lady Charlotte stayed abed ten days."

  Elizabeth smiled at Emma from the rocking chair as she fed baby James. "You are beginning to sound like Mother."

  "Heaven forbid! Your mother's catalogue of grievances grows longer by the hour."

  "She's homesick for London, and I know she misses Maria. The blame for a quiet Christmas is mine. The duke can take himself off to Edinburgh Castle to be feted and congratulated, but Mother is stuck here, with only herself for company. She'll be no happier when we return to Cadzow, but I know I shall."

  On the twentieth of December, James Douglas kept his word and took Elizabeth and his son back to Hamilton, with a strict warning to the coach driver to exercise caution on the icy roads. At Cadzow the entire household celebrated the arrival of his son and heir, and the maids vied with one another to serve the new mother and child. Hamilton appointed two Douglas cousins to stand godfather to his heir, and the baby was baptized James George Douglas in the castle chapel on New Year's Day, followed by a great celebration.

  When the duke sobered up on the third day of January, his secretary opened his business mail and handed Hamilton his personal letters from London. One from George Coventry caught the duke's attention. "Poor George hasn't gotten his mare in foal yet. Wonder if I should do the job for him?"

  His secretary, used to Hamilton's coarse remarks, laughed on cue.

  James suddenly stopped laughing as he read the second part of the letter.

  Rumor has it that the old Duke of Devonshire will resign his appointment as Lord Steward of the Royal Household. On the journey back from his grandson's christening at Chatsworth he came down with pneumonia and has never regained his health. Since this particular appointment is not heritable, I can only imagine the arse-kissing that will go on at the king's next levee. Despite the fact that our friend Will Cavendish deserves to take over from his father, the appointment will be up for grabs.

  "Will Cavendish doesn't deserve any such thing! He has had far too many honors handed to him on a silver platter."

  "I beg your pardon, Your Grace?"

  "Prepare a report on Holyrood Palace. Make sure it shows my administration as Hereditary Keeper in the best possible light."

  James took a piece of parchment stamped with his ducal crest and dipped a quill into the inkwell on his desk. He proceeded to write a letter to King George, announcing the birth of his son and informing him that he had named his heir after His Royal Highness. He sent a special greeting from his duchess, Elizabeth, hinting how much she missed Court. He also mentioned that he had left his head steward at the king's official residence in the capital to make sure that the palace was run efficiently and economically, without waste. He made no mention of Devonshire's Lord Stewardship in the letter but asked for an appointment with the king upon his return. "Send this posthaste, along with your report. Then start packing for London," he ordered his secretary.

  A short time later he spoke to Morton, his valet, and told him to pack his things for London. Then he had a word with the Douglas steward in charge of the inside staff. He promoted him to land steward and told him to employ a new household steward.

  Before Morton began to pack, he sought out the duchess. "Your Grace, I thought you might like to know that the duke has ordered me to pack for London."

  Elizabeth's heart flew into her mouth at the news. "Thank you, Morton. I appreciate your confidence." The last thing in the world she wanted was to return to London. Apart from the fact that such a long journey in winter might be harmful to her baby, she loved Cadzow and the beautiful wild country that surrounded it. She found Emma upstairs, rocking her sleeping son's cradle, and confided her fears.

  "Surely he won't expect you to accompany him? But just in case, why don't you get into bed and I'll tell him you are feeling overtired and that you need to rest more?"

  Elizabeth felt both relieved and worried. "Emma, if he ever learns that we are conspirators, he will dismiss you on the spot."

  Emma winked. "I could always go back to the stage."

  "Do you miss it?" Elizabeth asked anxiously.

  "Miss lining up every day of my life with a score of other starving actresses and getting passed over nine times out of ten?"

  "I'm glad you don't miss it. I confess that I've often yearned to be an actress rather than a duchess the past year."

  Emma helped her into a night rail and turned back the bedcovers. "Look at it this way--you get to be both."

  "What in the name of Christ do you think you are doing?" Hamilton stopped dead as he stared at
his duchess propped up against the pillows in the carved bed, holding his son in her arms.

  Elizabeth went icy cold and drew her baby closer, shrinking down into the covers as if they would provide protection.

  "When your mother informed me _you_ were breast-feeding him, I thought the woman was deranged, but now I see with my own eyes that you are behaving like a peasant girl. I arranged for a wet nurse. Where is she?" he demanded.

  "In Edinburgh. I don't need her services," Elizabeth said low. _I should have known Mother would take her revenge. I've been feeding him for weeks; it's a wonder she didn't tell him sooner_.

  "This is preposterous! You are the Duchess of Hamilton, not some little drab in a slum! By Christ, I said you were like a lynx with her kit, and it's true--you are behaving like an animal."

  "I want to feed my own baby," she said quietly, trying to control the rage that was building inside her.

  "You may _not_, for the simple reason that it will ruin the shape and size of your perfect breasts. The London Season starts in the spring, and when it does I want you beside me with your famous beauty unimpaired."

  _Elizabeth, don't lash out at him now. You are at a disadvantage, and he is leaving soon. Deal with this swine from a position of strength, not weakness. Wait... wait... all things come at their appointed time._

  "I've given Bridget orders to employ a wet nurse today. This is the last time you will feed him. Is that understood?"

  "I understand, Your Grace." _I understand that you need to be in control and that Mother has the same sick affliction_.

  "That's better. I must return to London. I have an appointment with the king. 'Tis no wonder you are not well enough to return home with me--the child has sapped all your strength. Get your health back, Elizabeth. I want you in London by spring. Baby James needs a brother."

  She repressed a shudder. _I never want you in my bed again_!