by Stella Riley
Lydia’s colour rose. ‘For God’s sake, Venetia!’
‘Oh don’t look so shocked. You must have thought about it.’
Lydia started to laugh.
‘All right. I won’t pretend the idea hasn’t occurred to me. But it isn’t that simple. Aside from the fact that Col--’ She stopped, checking herself. ‘That Eden is dead set against marrying again and therefore likely to avoid potential risks, you didn’t see his former housekeeper.’
‘Housekeeper?’ Venetia blinked. ‘What does she have to do with anything?’
‘More than you’d suppose. More than I’d supposed until you told me his late wife was exactly the same type,’ replied Lydia gloomily. ‘I only saw them together once and then for just a few minutes but I’m fairly sure that Deborah Hart was his mistress.’
‘There are only two words of any significance there. Was and mistress.’
‘Only a woman who looks like you could believe that. I doubt there’s a man alive who wouldn’t come to heel if you snapped your fingers.’
‘There is one,’ admitted Venetia with a smile. ‘I married him.’ And then, catching Lydia’s expression, ‘Gabriel and I didn’t start out as you see us now, you know. But that’s a story for another day. I need to go home and make sure Rosie hasn’t set fire to the kitchen. Meantime, consider what I’ve said. I think you could make Eden happy. But you won’t do it without taking a few risks … so you’ll need to decide if you think them worth it.’
~ * * ~ * * ~
THREE
October drifted into November and the weather turned foggy and damp.
Lydia thought a great deal about her conversation with Venetia but failed to decide what, if anything, she wanted to do as a result of it … and would have been hard-pressed to do anything anyway since Colonel Maxwell’s visits had decreased in frequency.
Mr Wakefield, on the other hand, visited Bishopsgate every other day, finally giving Lydia the distinct impression that she was being slowly courted. He was young, charming and good-looking; he was also pleasant company and brother to a viscount. But beyond that, she realised that she knew very little about him … and when she tried asking questions, she emerged little wiser.
Eden, with time on his hands while he waited for either Ned Villiers or Will Compton to renew communications, bent his brain to the task of cracking Stephen Neville’s codes but disciplined himself to call on Lydia less often than he might have liked.
There were two reasons for this.
The first was that he was not only physically attracted to Lydia Neville; he actually liked her. He liked talking with her and listening to her. He enjoyed the sharpness of her mind and their occasional verbal sparring. And those things, combined with the fact that he was drawn to her on the most primal level, made a dangerous combination.
The other reason was that, having tripped over Gilbert Wakefield twice – first at the lorinery and then in Bishopsgate – he discovered another primal desire; that of planting his fist in the fellow’s face. This was largely to do with finding Wakefield very much at home in Lydia’s parlour at a time when he himself wanted to show her the progress he’d made with the first two of Stephen’s codes. Since he had no intention of revealing this in Wakefield’s presence, he was forced to leave his neatly transcribed sheets in his pocket and cut his visit short. He left feeling angry, confused and stupidly disappointed … at which point he started to realise that, unless he wanted to find himself in the kind of trouble he was determined to avoid, he ought to get the hell out of Mistress Neville’s life before it was too late.
Since his mood was decidedly uncertain, it was probably as well that both Tobias and Nicholas were supping elsewhere that evening … Tobias with his latest woman and Nicholas with the Brandons. Eden brooded over a glass of wine and decided he envied the ease with which his brother seemed to manage his numerous affairs. In his own experience, nothing was ever that straightforward.
The arrival of Colonel Brandon saved him from further depressing ruminations.
‘I’ve had a bloody awful day on top of a bloody awful week,’ said Gabriel, tossing his hat aside. ‘So I thought I’d come and share it with you.’
‘How thoughtful.’ Eden rose to pour wine for his unexpected guest. ‘But aren’t you supposed to be at home entertaining Nick?’
‘I sent Venetia a note. I’m sure she’ll manage.’ He accepted the glass and sat down on the far side of the hearth. ‘Unless I’m mistaken, you don’t look in the best of humours yourself.’
‘Nothing that a night’s sleep and some mature reflection won’t cure,’ said Eden evasively. ‘So … what is it now? Surely the House can’t still be nit-picking its way through the Instrument?’
‘Yes and no. The current bone of contention is the size of the Army.’
‘Ah. Let me guess. Your esteemed colleagues want it reduced – Cromwell and the Army chiefs don’t.’
‘That’s part of it.’
‘And the rest?’
‘Is all to do with money,’ said Gabriel wearily. ‘The Instrument specifies a standing army of twenty thousand Foot and ten thousand Horse to be funded by a level of taxation mutually agreed between the Protector and the Council without involvement from Parliament. But additional forces necessitated by war are to be paid for with money raised by consent of Parliament and not otherwise. It’s the ‘not otherwise’ bit that’s causing the problem.’
Eden frowned a little. ‘Go on.’
‘The fleets under Admirals Blake and Penn are sailing with some twenty-seven thousand soldiers between them. Those additional forces necessitated by war, I just mentioned … if, that is, one regards these Naval missions as being necessary at all.’
There was a long silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire.
‘You’re saying,’ remarked Eden at length, ‘that the Army currently has a fighting strength of fifty-seven thousand men?’
‘Yes.’
‘That can’t be allowed to last.’
‘Quite. At present, the monthly assessment stands at £90,000. Parliament feels it should be reduced by a third. But the Army is nearly twice the size anticipated in the Instrument … and the House is baulking at authorising the extra cost – not least because it’s fair to assume that Penn’s activities in the West Indies will almost certainly result in war with Spain, thus occasioning even more expense.’
‘So what is the solution?’
‘As yet, there isn’t one. A committee has been holding discussions with Army officers personally selected by Cromwell but all that’s come out of that so far is a suggestion to discharge half a dozen garrisons – which would be a mere drop in the ocean. But with twenty-seven thousand troopers sailing the seven seas for God alone knows how long, it’s hard to see how to make any substantial reduction in numbers here at home without leaving the country insufficiently-defended.’
‘Not to mention that the common troopers aren’t going to take disbandment lying down.’
Gabriel nodded and drained his glass.
‘Shades of ’47 all over again … and my feelings on the matter are no different. I accept that some disbandment is necessary on financial grounds. Cromwell doesn’t. He’s against losing even one man, while the House wants to shed roughly ten thousand. If Cromwell has his way, nobody is going to get paid. If the House has theirs, we’ll see men just tossed away indiscriminately – probably without their back-pay. Either one is a disaster.’
‘And you’ll fight against both in the hope of finding some middle ground.’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, this should be one battle you won’t have to fight alone.’
‘I certainly hope not.’ He paused, staring into his empty glass. ‘And there’s more.’
‘Really?’ Eden rose, reached for the bottle. ‘It’s good to know that the nation’s representatives are keeping busy.’
Gabriel gave him a sour look.
‘Their mouths are exceptionally busy,’ he said acidly. ‘It’s exa
ctly what I expected and exactly why I didn’t want to stand. In the eleven weeks we’ve been in session, I can count on one hand the number of times anything has got as far as a vote and if you don’t know how bloody frustrating that is --’
‘All right, all right!’ Having re-filled their glasses and set the bottle aside, Eden held up one hand in a gesture of surrender. ‘I take it back. So what else?’
‘As you’re aware, Oliver’s friends – the so-called Court Party – are outnumbered by the rest; radicals, republicans, Presbyterians, Royalist sympathisers and God knows who else. So the House wants to limit the Protector’s power and has been talking about assuming total control of matters relating to taxation by removing his right to veto. It’s also considering a recommendation that control of the military be limited to the lifetime of the present Protector. And I think, from where Cromwell’s sitting, these two things will look like the thin end of a wedge which will eventually lead to Parliament relieving him of any control over anything.’ The dark grey eyes fixed Eden with dispassionate clarity. ‘If I’m right, it’s also the wedge that will drive Parliament and Protector asunder. And you know where that will end.’
‘Dissolution?’
‘Dissolution. After which I shall wash my hands of the whole sorry mess and go back to normal life.’ Gabriel leaned back in his chair, his mouth curling in a half-smile. ‘And upon that happy note, perhaps we might have supper and talk of other things.’
They sat down to a substantial meal of Dutch pudding with mustard sauce and Scotch collops fried in butter, accompanied by a dish of mixed parsnip and carrots. Gabriel, whose stomach had been rumbling, groaned appreciatively over the beef pudding and said, ‘If your cook wants new employment, tell her I’ll pay her double.’
‘Firstly,’ laughed Eden, ‘my cook is the female whose bounteous pulchritude embarrasses the hell out of you. And secondly, if you tried to lure her away Toby would come for you with a hatchet.’
‘Oh. Well, in that case …’ He took another bite. ‘Where is Toby, by the way?’
‘God knows. In bed with somebody, I should imagine.’
‘Somebody? You don’t know who?’
‘No. He has so many offers that I stopped trying to keep track some time ago.’
Gabriel looked up, grinning. ‘Jealous?’
‘In the sense that he manages to keep it all so uncomplicated – yes.’ Eden fell silent for a while, toying with his food. Then he said, ‘Nick wasn’t the only refugee I acquired at Worcester. The other was the woman a foul little magistrate was trying for witch-craft. I removed her and she was my house-keeper until she married in May of this year.’
The dark brows rose.
‘I’m assuming that she wasn’t a witch?’
‘No.’ She was … something. But I never wanted to know quite what. ‘Actually, she was … more than my house-keeper. But things grew complicated in the ways Toby manages to avoid. Deborah knew I’d never re-marry but she still fell in love with me.’ He shrugged. ‘She deserved more out of life than that. And I’m hoping that she has it now.’
Gabriel reached for another collop and a helping of vegetables. His expression perfectly bland, he said, ‘And you? Are you really determined not to marry again?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’ And when Eden didn’t immediately reply, ‘You don’t have to answer. It’s simply that one would think you’d have got over Celia by now.’
‘Of course I’ve bloody got over her,’ snapped Eden, tossing down his knife. ‘It’s not that.’
‘Well, if you’re not nursing a broken heart --’
‘I’m not. But after the debacle of my first marriage I’m not sure I trust my judgement to make a better job of it next time. Neither do I place any great reliance on the lasting qualities of the kind of grand passion that stops your brain working.’
‘Oh my God. A cynic.’
‘Yes. Once bitten, twice shy has that effect.’
‘That merely sounds craven. It also suggests that you never look around you,’ said Gabriel calmly. ‘How many examples of a good marriage do you need? Your parents? Kate and her Italian? Myself and Venetia? Love can last, Eden – for you, as much as for anyone else. But you have to let go of the past and give it a chance.’
It was a long time before Eden spoke but finally he said, ‘I don’t know if I can.’
‘The place to start is wanting to. And from the way I saw you looking at Lydia Neville the other night, I thought you’d finally found the right incentive.’
A hint of colour touched Eden’s cheekbones.
‘I like her,’ he admitted reluctantly.
‘So do I,’ came the amused reply. ‘But in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t look at her as if I’d like to throw her over my shoulder and carry her off to bed.’
‘Neither do I, damn it!’
‘You’ve no idea, have you?’ Gabriel shook his head sadly. ‘Tragic, really.’
‘Oh – for God’s sake!’ Feeling in serious need of a drink, Eden rose from the table and crossed the room in search of a bottle of brandy. ‘All right. I more than like her. And yes – I’d happily bed her. But I won’t because she’s not a light-skirt. And unlike Toby, I don’t have a compulsion to bed every woman who engages my body’s attention.’
‘Does she?’
‘I’m not answering that.’ He slapped two glasses on the table and half-filled them with amber liquid. Then, downing a hefty mouthful, ‘There’s a limit to what I’ll discuss – even with you.’
‘Point taken.’ Gabriel took a sip of brandy and eyed Eden reflectively over the rim of his glass. ‘Of course, there’s no saying the little widow would have you even if you did feel inclined to --’
‘Take the bloody hint, can’t you?’
The dark eyes filled with laughter. ‘Or what? No – don’t answer that either. Very well, then. Let’s talk about Nicholas Austin.’
Eden blinked. ‘What about him?’
‘Unless I’m mistaken, Phoebe’s falling in love with him. I want to know if that should worry me.’
‘If you’re asking whether Nick feels the same, I’ve no idea.’
‘He hasn’t said anything to you?’
‘No. And I haven’t asked. We’re not all as fond of prying as you are.’
‘This isn’t prying. This is me protecting Phoebe,’ said Gabriel flatly. ‘She and Nicholas have been spending a lot of time together. But if he’s no more interested in her than he was in that child in Shoreditch, I’ll put a stop to it before any more damage is done.’
‘Phoebe might have something to say about that. Also, to be fair to Nick, Verity’s expectations weren’t his fault.’
‘So Annis has said. She’s also said that he’s dealt with the situation. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s serious about Phoebe. And then there’s the other side of the coin. He is – or was – a Royalist. He’s also Catholic. Aside from that, I know nothing about him.’
‘If you’re talking about family and whether or not he can lay claim to money of his own, I don’t know either. I’ve assumed he inherited his baronetcy but he rarely uses the title that goes with it. For the rest, he prefers not to talk about himself and I respect his wishes. Everyone’s entitled to some privacy, after all,’ remarked Eden with a sly glance. ‘But I’m more than willing to speak for his character. He’s loyal, trustworthy and too soft-hearted for his own good. He’s also not stupid enough to make the same mistake twice and has too much integrity to court Phoebe for her money. Does that set your mind at rest?’
‘It certainly helps.’
‘Good. And here’s something else you might consider. He and Phoebe have known each other for less than two months. She may be capable of falling in love between the game pie and the syllabub … but most people take longer. At least,’ he finished bitterly, ‘they do if they don’t want to end up with a marriage like mine.’
* * *
Much of what Gabriel had said with regard to Lydia preye
d on Eden’s mind. It left him feeling restless and confused. The only thing he was sure of was that he had to guard his expression when Lydia was around since it wouldn’t do for anyone else to guess what was uppermost in his mind when he looked at her. This new need for caution was ultimately responsible for him staying away from Bishopsgate for almost a week. And because he found this more difficult than it ought to have been, it was fortunate that a handful of events served as a distraction.
Having been arrested, the three colonels involved in the Humble Petition had now to face the music. One confessed and was grudgingly restored to his command; one was forced to resign; and the third – also accused of encouraging the Irish army to mutiny – was cashiered and imprisoned.
The whole episode might have been of little consequence had not copies of the damned petition been all over London and being read by every Tom, Dick or Harry both inside the Army and out. The prospect of further unrest in the ranks coupled with Parliament’s unceasing attempts to alter the Instrument of Government spawned two meetings in which the senior officers swore to live and die to maintain the government as it is now settled.
Although summoned to attend, Eden avoided both of them and hoped that no one noticed.
* * *
He finally allowed himself to visit Lydia on the last day of the month but this time took the precaution of asking Henry whether Mistress Neville had other company.
‘No, Colonel. And though I believe she plans to visit her sewing women this morning, she is at present in the back parlour attending to some correspondence. In your case, sir, I feel sure that Madam would have no objection if you went straight in.’
Eden looked Henry in the eye but could detect no hint of anything untoward if one discounted that vaguely avuncular expression. Handing over his hat and sword, he said, ‘If you say so – and on your head be it.’
With her back to the door and her head bent over the letter she was writing, Lydia murmured, ‘Yes, Henry? Who is it?’
‘Not Henry,’ said Eden, strolling towards her and seeing surprise cause her pen to splutter ink across the hitherto neatly written page in front of her. ‘I’m sorry. That was my fault. Next time Henry gives me permission to walk in unannounced, I’ll obey the same rules as everyone else.’
