Undone - Virginia Henley

by Virginia Henley

  She didn't open her eyes until three o'clock and chastised herself. She penned a note inquiring about Maria and gave it to a footman, then she went straight to the duke's rooms. She was surprised to find him still asleep. She put her hand on his shoulder and gave him a gentle shake. When he did not rouse, she became worried. "James, can you hear me? James?" Her hands lost their gentleness as she turned him over and shook him harder.

  She bent close to make sure he was breathing, and as he exhaled a miasma of whiskey fumes assaulted her nostrils. She stepped back in surprise. _He's not dead. He's dead drunk_!

  "Morton, Morton, where are you?" She opened the door angrily.

  He came up the staircase. "What's amiss, Your Grace?"

  "Hamilton is not asleep. He is unconscious from drink!"

  Morton followed her into the bedchamber, and when he tried to rouse his master, found it impossible. "Go and get Dr. Bower."

  Elizabeth was furious. _When Morton returns, I shall have it out with him_! Then another thought occurred: _What if it wasn't Morton but Mr. Burke? Someone supplied the whiskey. Someone who knew he would consume it if it were made available_!

  When Bower arrived he examined Hamilton and turned to Elizabeth. "Your husband is in a coma, I'm afraid. A coma induced by alcohol. He may or may not come out of it. There is little I can do, Your Grace. We will just have to wait and see. I shall come tomorrow."

  Hamilton's condition remained unchanged for a week. When Bridget returned to Grosvenor Place to pack for Florence, Italy, she brought the good news that Maria was immensely improved. Elizabeth minimized Hamilton's deteriorated health to her mother, reasoning that Bridget had enough to worry about.

  The day after the Coventrys set sail, James Douglas, Duke of Hamilton, drew his last breath. He died without regaining consciousness, and it threw Elizabeth's emotions into turmoil. Anger and guilt were inextricably coiled together. She had known for some time that Hamilton's years were numbered, but she had wanted him to die of natural causes so that she would be free of guilt for hating him. That night she told herself over and over that she wasn't the one who had provided the whiskey, but she believed in her heart that she was indirectly responsible because she'd stayed away overnight.

  Needing to vent her anger, she called Morton and Mr. Burke into the library. "Which one of you did it?" she demanded.

  Both men met her accusing stare with silence.

  "Such commendable male loyalty makes me want to spew! Since neither of you is willing to condemn the other, I am terminating your employment. Your services are no longer needed!"

  She left them standing there and slammed the library door. She swept past Emma and Nan, throwing them a look that warned they had better walk on eggshells around the Duchess of Hamilton. She retreated into her own bedchamber and firmly closed the door. She stood at the window, gazing into the darkness with unseeing eyes.

  An hour had ticked away when she heard a tap on her door.

  She wondered who would dare disturb her solitude. She strode to the door, threw it open, and found her father standing there.

  "May I come in, Beth?"

  "Of course." She walked to the middle of the room then turned.

  Jack Gunning touched a finger to the horoscope scroll on her bedside table. "You will see many changes in the coming year."

  _And a secret wish will come true. I'd like to make your wish come true, Beth_. "It was you!" She searched his face. "Why?"

  "I should have prevented the marriage. I could have saved you from unhappiness. It was my duty as your father to do so. Hamilton was responsible for his own ill health. You overcame your fear but went from obeisance to martyrdom. It's over, Beth."

  "No, it's _not_ over! I'm covered with guilt. I hated him, I loathed being a duchess, and now I'm glad! Oh, God, not glad that he's dead, but glad that I am no longer married to him-- glad that I no longer have a husband! Does that make any sense?"

  "It makes perfect sense, my beauty. Get some rest," Jack advised. "You'll need stamina to get through the next few days."

  She nodded. "Would you summon Morton and Mr. Burke?"

  After her father departed, the two men came to her door.

  "Come in, gentlemen." She lifted her chin and looked at them. "I want to humbly beg your pardon. There will always be a place in my home for you. I need loyal people around me."

  The next month was torturous for Elizabeth. She got through the funeral, which was attended by the king and all members of the Court, but not without feeling like a hypocrite regarding her mourning. She felt no grief, so instead she secretly mourned for her friend Charlie, for whose loss she experienced real sorrow.

  Ironically, he had never allowed her to own a black gown, so she had taken the white dress in which she'd been forced to marry him and could never bear to wear afterward and dyed it black for the burial. She felt the small act of revenge was justified, and it put a symbolic end to her unhappy marriage.

  For weeks after the funeral she received condolence visits from every prominent family in Society, as well as solemn visits from all members of the government and those who had sat with Hamilton in the House. She learned that her title as the widow of a duke was Lady Elizabeth Hamilton and that Society expected her mourning period of one year to be strictly formal.

  _Deaths come in threes_. Elizabeth, brought up in Ireland, could not rid herself of superstition. _The first to die was Charlie, the second James. Who will be the third? God forbid it be Maria_! After she said prayers for her sister, her thoughts always turned to John Campbell who was fighting on the front lines in the war. She quickly revised her counting and told herself firmly that the first death had been her grandfather in St. Ives. _Don't die, John. Don't you dare die_!

  She did not miss the entertainments where she had been on display as the beauteous Duchess of Hamilton. Nor did she miss the frantic Christmas balls and parties where everyone tried to outdo one another. She was also extremely relieved that she was not invited to attend the New Year functions at Court where perfection had always been expected in her clothes, looks, and demeanor. Elizabeth longed to escape to Scotland, but since the harsh winter weather dictated that she must wait until spring, she spent the time with Hamilton secretaries and solicitors, making sure that her son's title and properties inherited from James Douglas were legally transferred. Jamie was now Seventh Duke of Hamilton, Fifth Duke of Brandon, and the Marquis of Clydesdale.

  Spring finally arrived, and while the _ton_ rushed back to London to prepare for the all-important Season that officially began on May Day, Elizabeth packed up her entire household for the journey to Cadzow Castle, at Hamilton in the Scottish Borders.

  Elizabeth knew that Nan was every bit as happy as she that they had returned to Cadzow; they shared the feeling of coming home. When members of the Hamilton clan offered condolences, she thanked them politely and reminded them that her son was now the Duke of Hamilton and they could best serve by giving him the allegiance and fierce loyalty they had shown his father.

  "Queenie! Oh, how I missed you. Come, take us to see the donkeys. Later, when I take you into the castle, you must promise not to savage my little dog, Dandy."

  As the Border collie jumped up to lick Elizabeth's face, the dog was careful not to scratch the child she was holding. Queenie danced round in circles, barking her joy at the reunion.

  "Thistle! I can't believe you are grown big as your mother." She set her eighteen-month-old son on his feet. "Jamie, this is Thistle, your very own donkey. Be gentle."

  "Donkey!" he squealed, stroking its long, wooly coat. Their noses were on a level, and when Thistle licked him, Jamie laughed with delight. Before Beth and her son left the stables, both of them disheveled and a little dirty, she felt her heart fill with joy. She took a deep appreciative breath as if the miasma of the stables were the elixir of life. She realized that it was freedom that brought her happiness, and she reveled in it. Never again would she allow anyone to control her life. She vowed that no one would ever agai
n make decisions for her. _Freedom is the most precious thing on earth. I shall never risk losing it again_.

  Spring gave way to long summer days and before the autumn arrived, Elizabeth had taught her son how to swim in the river and to sit on a docile pony while she held its leading rein. Jamie played with Nan's little girl and the other children of Cadzow. Whenever the bairns wandered off too far, Queenie's instincts kicked in, and she rounded them up and herded them back as if they were sheep gone astray. Queenie allowed Dandy to rule the roost inside the castle but outside was strictly her territory, and she rounded up the little terrier along with the children.

  Elizabeth grew to love Scotland as much as Ireland. She was unbelievably happy here and shuddered whenever she thought of London. The tight corsets, extravagant gowns, and hideous wigs were things of the past for her. She now donned simple dresses or smocks and wore her hair loose about her shoulders. When she laughed, she was free to throw back her head, open her mouth, and let her mirth bubble forth from her throat--a far cry from the serene, false smile she had perfected for Court functions. She had accepted only one invitation, to the upcoming formal opening of what was now known as the Calderpark Wildlife Preserve. She would cut the ribbon in the afternoon and attend the evening gala in Glasgow. Her days were filled with things she enjoyed teaching her child. They swam, fished, picked flowers, sang, went for pony rides, made themselves at home in the vast kitchens, talked to the animals in the stable, and walked their dogs.

  George and Maria had returned from Italy in midsummer and, according to a letter she received from Bridget, Maria seemed to have recovered her health. Elizabeth contemplated returning to London before the harsh winter set in, but kept pushing the thought away because she could not bear to leave her Scottish haven.

  "I'm twenty today!" Elizabeth swept back the drapes of her bedchamber window and saw that it would be a glorious September day, where the sun shone brilliantly in a last burst of exuberance before its warmth was extinguished by the approaching winter.

  Jamie, with Emma on his heels, ran to his mother. "Happy bird day, Mamma!" He laughed with glee as she scooped him up for a kiss.

  "The birds are indeed happy today," she said, laughing. "See?" She pointed through the window. "They're eating the rowan berries."

  "Come ... blow candles!" Jamie urged.

  Emma rolled her eyes.

  Elizabeth set his feet to the carpet. "I think the cake and candles were supposed to be a secret, m'lad. That's for tonight."

  He ran to Emma, grabbed the small parcel she held, and thrust it at his mother. "Present... open it."

  With surprised delight Elizabeth opened the package. "Why, thank you, Jamie. It's exactly what I wanted!" She held the little wooden duck in the palm of her hand. It was a toy that Mr. Burke had carved for him. "After breakfast we'll let him swim in the pond." Burke, whom she had appointed head steward at Cadzow, had made them a carp pond where Elizabeth had planted bulrushes and yellow king cups from the river.

  "It's a good thing you're wearing green. The grass stains won't show." Emma didn't really approve of the simple cotton dresses she wore. In her opinion, a duchess should dress like a duchess.

  Elizabeth hid her smile. "Oh, please, let me romp about, Emma. It's my birthday!"

  "Ha! As if you didn't romp about every day of your life, and as if you give a fiddler's fart what anyone thinks."

  Jamie climbed on the bed and jumped up and down. "Fart... fart."

  "Hush! That's a bad word, Jamie!" Emma chastised.

  "No, it isn't, Emma." She climbed on the bed with Jamie. "Let's all shout it. One, two, three: fart... fart!" Mother and son rolled on the bed, and Dandy, deciding to join in the fun, jumped up with them, while Emma rolled her eyes heavenward and gave up trying for any semblance of decorum.

  Later that morning, Elizabeth and Jamie, their arms filled with wooden boats, ducks, turtles, and a carved loch serpent, descended upon the fishpond for water games. "If you allow your monster to eat my duck, I shall be devastated," she said dramatically.

  "You'll be tated," he threatened, his dark eyes glittering with mischief. He plopped his bum on the grass and pulled off his shoes and stockings, clearly showing his intent to wade.

  With an exaggerated sigh of resignation, Elizabeth took off her shoes, removed her stockings and garters, then tucked up her skirts. Intent on the serious business of eluding the terrifying loch monster, Elizabeth was soaked to the waist within half an hour.

  "Happy birthday, Beth."

  The deep masculine voice sent a shiver slithering down her spine. She turned in disbelief, then a smile of purest joy transformed her radiant face. "John!" She waded from the pond and ran into his waiting arms. "John. I don't believe it!"

  He picked her up and swung her round. "Believe it."

  Her heart thudded wildly as his powerful arms enfolded her. His intoxicating male scent made her dizzy. She lifted her mouth and received the kiss of life for which she'd never stopped hungering.

  Suddenly, they were jarred as something barreled into John's thigh. Her eyes flew open in time to see a black-browed Jamie.

  "_My mamma_!" he shouted possessively, and he determinedly squeezed between their bodies to separate them.

  "Jamie, sweetheart, it's all right." All at once she was terrified and knew that it wasn't all right. Her son looked too much like the man he had attacked. "John is my friend."

  Campbell knelt down so he was on a level with the child. "Hello, Jamie. My name is John." He held out his hand.

  "No!" Jamie spat into his proffered palm.

  Elizabeth was momentarily aghast, but then her nerves made her burst into laughter. Jamie's mouth turned up at the corners, and he joined in his mother's mirth.

  "Your protector is so earnest, so gallant--a little Spawn of Satan who needs his arse tanned."

  "Yes, I know," Elizabeth said with great pride.

  The air was filled with barks as two dogs came running across the lawn. Both had recognized John from afar, but Queenie soon loped past Dandy to greet him with lolling tongue and wagging tail.

  Elizabeth was glad of the distraction. She saw Emma watching them and spoke urgently to Jamie. "You have to get dry clothes on for lunch. Go to Emma." When he looked reluctant she bribed him.

  "We'll blow out the candles."

  Jamie nodded excitedly and ran to the castle.

  John watched him go. "He's a fine boy. I envy you your son."

  She changed the subject. "George told me you are now a colonel. How are you able to be here? Is the war over?"

  "No such luck," he said ruefully. "As a colonel, I no longer lead men into battle as I did when I was a major. I work behind the scenes ... I administrate, among other things."

  She stood on tiptoe and kissed him swiftly. "Thank you for not getting yourself killed, John."

  Possessive arms went around her and refused to release her. "I cannot stay here at Cadzow tonight--it would compromise you. I'll go to Chatelherault. Will you come to me there?"

  "You know I will. This is such a wonderful birthday present."

  He kissed her nose. "You have no idea, my beauty."

  "I'll come when I can. We are having a small celebration here. Oh, John, I have so much to tell you."

  Reluctantly, he released her. He watched her pick up her son's shoes and stockings and bent to retrieve hers. He lifted her pretty garters to his lips then stuffed them into his pocket. "I'll keep these until I can put them on you."

  She blushed profusely and realized she hadn't blushed since the last time she'd seen him. It had been at Chatelherault. As she hurried after Jamie, her pulsebeat was so rapid she could feel it in her throat, and her heart whispered his name over and over. How on earth would she be able to wait until they could be alone together? She knew time would slow down in an agony of torment. Nighttime was hours away. _How will I endure them?_

  *Chapter Thirty-Four*

  John stood in the lingering twilight waiting for the first glimpse of his belo
ved. When she finally arrived astride her Border pony, he lifted her from the saddle and squeezed her tightly before setting her feet to the ground. "I thought you'd never come."

  She gazed up at him with loving eyes. "You are the moon, and I am the tide. You knew I would come. You draw me irresistibly."

  He took the reins, then hand clasped they led the pony to the stables. John removed the saddle and harness and put the pony in a box stall with plenty of hay, next to one he'd given Demon. His eager arms gathered her close as if he could not bear any distance between their bodies. Then his mouth came down on hers in a kiss that almost devoured her. "God, you smell of autumn roses and sunshine and woman."

  "Mmm, and you smell of leather, horses, and hay." She lifted her mouth for another kiss.

  "The smell of hay is from the loft. It's very tempting-- would you like to go up there?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  She brushed against his hard length, glanced at the ladder, and whispered breathlessly, "I don't think we could make it that far."

  With a whoop he swept her up into his arms, snatched another quick kiss, then began to run. He didn't stop until they were inside the hunting lodge. He kicked the door shut with a booted foot. He did not put her down but moved toward the bedroom.

  She lifted her arms from around his neck and threaded her fingers into his black, wavy hair. It was longer than fashion dictated and she realized he'd come straight from the war where there was little time for haircuts. "You're uncivilized."

  "Guilty as charged."

  She glanced at the bed. "And you expect me to be uncivilized."

  "Oh, God, yes!" He squeezed her bum cheeks.

  She turned in his arms, wrapped her legs about him, and bit him on the neck. "Like an Irish wildcat?"

  "Like an Irish wildcat in heat." He knelt on the bed and lowered their bodies, still entwined, onto the soft eiderdown. He gazed into her eyes. "Beth, I've thought about you or dreamed of you every night since we were here last--a lifetime ago."