Undone - Virginia Henley

by Undone (Signet) (lit)

  Her mother caught up with her in the first anteroom. "Stop this defiance immediately, Elizabeth!" She took her by the shoulders and shook her. "We have promised your hand in marriage to the Duke of Hamilton, and the ceremony is to take place tonight."

  "_I won't marry him_!"

  "You are the most willful creature God ever made! I have sacrificed my entire life for you and done my utmost to find you a noble husband. My reward is ingratitude! Our lease is up, our money is gone, and we will be out on the street. You will ruin your sister's chance of becoming Countess of Coventry! If you refuse to marry His Grace, your father will be thrown in Fleet Prison for debt. You are an unnatural daughter to allow this to happen."

  Elizabeth wrenched free and ran through the next room to her father. "She says you'll be thrown in the Fleet if I don't marry him. Is this true, Father?" she cried wildly.

  Jack took Elizabeth's hands and squeezed them, then he raised his eyes to Bridget. "Leave us alone for a few minutes." When he and his daughter were alone he said, "I won't lie to you, my beauty. I have enormous gambling debts, which Hamilton has most generously offered to settle. But we shall put that aside for a moment and consider only you. I want what is best for you, Elizabeth. Trust me, child. This is your destiny. Once you become Her Grace, Duchess of Hamilton, your future and ours too will be secure. To climb to such a height is beyond my wildest dreams for you. Do this for me, Elizabeth, and you won't ever regret it."

  "Dearly beloved, we are gathered together to join this man and this woman in matrimony. James George Douglas, will you take this woman to be your wedded wife?" Dr. Keith inquired.

  "I will." Hamilton's voice was emphatic.

  "Elizabeth Gunning, will you take this man to be your wedded husband, to love, honor, and obey so long as you both shall live?"

  Elizabeth stood apart, detached, watching Dr. Keith marry the couple who stood at the altar. She saw the girl in the white gown, her golden head bowed, and heard her whisper, _I will_. Vaguely, she realized that the girl was her, yet not her. She was merely a silent observer watching the ceremony. She heard the vows, but they did not touch her heart, nor touch her soul. She remembered Charlotte's wedding. The exchanged vows had been beautiful, promising to have and to hold, for richer for poorer, to love and to cherish. Her thoughts returned to the present as the Duke of Hamilton began to search his pockets.

  Dr. Keith spoke up. "It is of no consequence. We are prepared for any eventuality, Your Grace." He produced a box and held it out to Hamilton. "Repeat after me: With this ring I thee wed..."

  Suddenly, Elizabeth was no longer standing on the sidelines. She was at the altar beside Hamilton, who had just slipped a ring onto her finger. She heard Keith declare: "I now pronounce you man and wife." With the acrid smell of candle wax in her nostrils she gazed down at her hand in disbelief. She had been married with a brass curtain ring.

  "Elizabeth!" Her mother came forward to embrace her and she recoiled. Hamilton took her hand and anchored her to his side.

  "You will address my wife as Duchess or Your Grace." His tone was firm. Then he dismissed them. "We bid you good night."

  To Elizabeth, everything had an element of unreality about it, as in the play _A Midsummer Night's Dream_. Hamilton helped her into the well-sprung carriage and took a seat opposite her. Though it was dark she knew he never took his eyes from her as they rode the short distance from Shepherd's Market to Grosvenor Place.

  Elizabeth felt emotionally exhausted and physically numb, frozen as if her heart were encased in ice, yet fear kept her mentally alert and wary. Protectively, she refused to allow her thoughts to anticipate what might happen later tonight and instead focused on the present moment. When they arrived at Hamilton House, the duke helped her from the carriage and escorted her into the mansion. She blinked at the blaze of lights and saw that a dozen servants were gathered in the entrance hall.

  "It gives me great pleasure to introduce my beautiful wife, Elizabeth Douglas, the Duchess of Hamilton. I know you will serve her well."

  Each male servant bowed; each female curtsied to her and murmured, "Your Grace."

  _My name is no longer Gunning. I am Elizabeth Douglas--how strange_. "Thank you for your lovely welcome." Elizabeth saw that the duke had a satisfied, self-congratulatory look on his face. He touched her elbow and led her up the magnificent curved staircase. A narrow-faced maid followed them at a discreet distance.

  "You have pretty manners. I'm well pleased with you, Elizabeth." Implicit in his words were that she should keep him well pleased.

  He led her into a lovely suite of rooms consisting of a sitting room, bedchamber, dressing room, and bathing chamber. The bedroom had a deep-piled, cream-colored carpet, and the walls were covered with pale blue silk. "These rooms will be yours, Elizabeth. My suite is in another wing where I won't disturb you. I keep late hours."

  He signaled for the servant to come forward. "This is Kate Agnew, your ladies' maid. I shall leave you in her capable hands."

  A tidal wave of relief washed over her. "Good night, Your Grace."

  His eyes met hers. "I shall try not to be long."

  Relief ebbed away, and she was engulfed by fear and dread.

  *Chapter Twenty*

  James went straight to the library to search his desk drawers.

  "Where in hellfire did I put those rings?" He had had the rings designed by the best jeweler, had taken delivery of them, then forgotten to take them to the chapel. "Bloody memory lapses happen too frequently of late." When he did not find them he went to his bedchamber where Morton, his valet, awaited him.

  "Congratulations on your marriage, Your Grace." When he learned the duke would be bringing home a duchess, he had been cynical, expecting the new mistress to be a bitch of the first water. Downstairs, however, when he saw the beautiful, innocent girl, who could not be above seventeen, his heart went out to her.

  Hamilton threw him an accusing look. "You let me go without the rings. Find them." He watched him open the top bureau drawer and take out a velvet box. He allowed Morton to remove his coat and his shoes. "Get my brown robe. That will be all... for now."

  As he disrobed, he chuckled at the rarity. He hadn't undressed himself for the last two years. Didn't even remember arriving home in the small hours during that time. His coachman delivered him, then Morton put him to bed. He paid well for their services.

  He donned the robe and opened the velvet box. The pigeon-blood ruby surrounded by white diamonds was perfect, just as his bride was a perfect jewel. He'd provide the setting that would show off her exquisite beauty, so that everyone, from the king down, would covet the prize he alone possessed. She was everything he demanded in a duchess--young, beautiful, soft-spoken, and innocent.

  James refused to believe that his young wife aroused lust in him or decadent sexual desire. These things were reserved for whores. He never wanted her touched by carnality or base sensuality, because she would be the mother of his sons. He smiled with satisfaction. His chaste bride, as beautiful inside as outside, was perfection. She had just become his most precious possession. He slipped the box into his pocket and made his way to his bride's chamber.

  Elizabeth, in a white silk night rail, her hair brushed into a cloud of gold, sat in the huge bed like a doll. As the duke sat down on the bed, her violet eyes widened, their black pupils still dilated from laudanum. She wanted to run from the chamber, from the mansion, from London--but her paralyzed legs would not move. She saw him open a velvet box, felt him remove the brass ring from her finger, then watched him slip on a gold wedding band followed by a jeweled ring. She gazed down at the red heart surrounded by glittering gems. "_It's St. Valentine's. So many red hearts. . . the symbol of love. How ironic_. She said what he expected her to say and knew it would become a pattern. 'Thank you. It's lovely."

  "You have delicate hands. They were made for jewels."

  She glanced at his hands. They were square with spatulate fingers, a sign of one who would have his way at any cost. Sh
e glanced away quickly; they were hands that could inflict pain.

  "Elizabeth, you are extremely young and innocent. I must consummate the marriage, and I regret that I may hurt you. I understand that physical union is naturally distasteful to a well-bred lady but I'm sure you will endure it bravely."

  Elizabeth was far from sure. They were strangers. James Hamilton had never even kissed her, nor did she want him to. Nay, they were more than strangers--they were adversaries. With growing panic she watched him snuff only some of the candles. She lowered her lashes so he would not see the raw fear in her eyes. She heard the rustle of his robe as he removed it then felt the mattress dip. She was shocked to find him naked as he moved over her. She tried to separate herself as she'd done in the chapel but could not escape. She lay motionless as he slid the night rail to her waist.

  He gazed down at her as if mesmerized. She was unearthly fair and delicate, finer in every way than any other female he had known. Her skin was like porcelain, her flesh translucent as pearl, her breasts sheer perfection. He drank in her ethereal beauty like a man parched and reached out to stroke her softness. Suddenly, his hand stilled. If he caressed her, he'd lose control. If he allowed himself to slake his lust and lose himself in her body, all his power would be transferred to her. She would be the one in control. For long moments he let himself look without touching, then he drew her night rail back up to cover her breasts.

  Elizabeth feared he would remove her night rail completely, but he merely inched it up over her thighs. Then his hands urged her legs apart, and he lay between them, breathing heavily. When he tried to penetrate her, she was fever dry and knew he was having difficulty. On the third attempt he entered her partway.

  "Am I hurting you?"

  "No," she murmured and bit down on her lips to prevent from crying out, determined to endure in silence.

  He thrust farther, and Elizabeth doubted she would be able to endure his body inside hers. His rigid shaft would not be denied and, in spite of her resolve, she could not hold back a cry of distress as he seated himself to the hilt.

  "I _did_ hurt you." His voice held a note of satisfaction. "There should be pain, Elizabeth, when a virgin bride's hymen is penetrated. Don't hold back your cries."

  A sudden panic engulfed her. _I'm no longer virgin. Dear God, what will he do to me when there is no blood_? She felt him begin to move. There was nothing tentative about the onslaught as he thrust forcefully. Though it hurt immensely, her pride refused to let her cry out. But by the time he spent, she had reached the end of her endurance. Her fists clenched tightly, and she became aware that the jeweled ring had slipped around her finger to the inside and was cruelly cutting into her palm. She squeezed her hand tighter, realizing it would draw blood. As she pushed the white silk night rail down to cover her thighs, she prayed desperately that the drops of blood would save her from Hamilton's wrath.

  He rolled off her, but before he left the bed, he gazed down with hooded eyes, saw her tears, and smiled. "I _did_ hurt you, but you were afraid to cry out." He kissed her brow. "Sorry, Elizabeth."

  She heard the chamber door close and knew at last she was alone. She lay absolutely still, drained of all emotion. She did not dare allow herself to think of John Campbell or her heart would break.

  Morton was astounded when Hamilton returned to his own chamber and began to dress. _The bastard is going out on his wedding night_.'

  It had taken the duke less than an hour to consummate the marriage with his lovely young bride. Then Morton realized that a virgin would be of little use to a debauched profligate like Hamilton. Though he knew he could not protect the young duchess from her husband, he decided to let her know that she had an ally in him.

  When Elizabeth awoke the next morning, she realized with a sinking heart that it had not been a nightmare. It was very real. No matter how much she wished otherwise, she was married to the Duke of Hamilton. She was served breakfast in bed, then she took her bath. She saw Kate Agnew whisk away the night rail with the telltale drops of blood upon it and set out a new one. It too was embroidered with a coronet and the initials EH for Elizabeth Hamilton. Then Kate brought her a morning gown to wear.

  "The tradespeople are waiting, Your Grace. Three dressmakers, a boot maker, a wig maker, and a jeweler. If you will go into the sitting room, I will show them in."

  The _modiste_ took measurements of her height, waist, and bust, then in quick succession Elizabeth had her foot, head, and even her wrist measured. The dressmakers presented books filled with dress designs for daytime and evening wear and showed her dozens of samples of material in every shade under the sun. The wig maker vied for her attention with his own designs and samples, while the jeweler knelt to one side trying to tempt her with a display cabinet filled with gem-studded necklaces and bracelets.

  She cast a look at Kate Agnew that clearly asked for help.

  "His Grace left instructions to choose anything you desire."

  Perversely, Elizabeth did not want the things Hamilton's money could buy her. Yet instinctively she guessed that if she refused them, he would find a way to punish her. She turned from the goldsmith and began to examine the material. Silks, satins, laces, taffetas, tulles, and velvets ran the gamut from pale pastel through vibrant bold colors to deep rich jewel tones. She had never seen anything as lovely as the cloth before her, which had come from such far-off lands as France, Italy, and the Orient. Tentatively, and not without pleasure, she made some selections.

  Just before noon the Duke of Hamilton strode into her sitting room. Ignoring everyone else, he walked a direct path to her.

  Elizabeth stood immediately. She did not want him towering over her. She did not curtsy, but murmured politely, "Your Grace."

  He lifted her fingers to his lips. "Good morning, Elizabeth." After gazing at her possessively for a full minute, he deigned to notice the others. He instantly took exception to the samples of one dressmaker. "These won't do at all. The quality is totally unacceptable. This lady is the _Duchess of Hamilton"_ he said with emphasis. "Only the best is good enough for my wife." He turned to Elizabeth. "Show me what you have chosen."

  Hesitantly, Elizabeth pointed to the apricot silk, the turquoise satin, and a black velvet. She realized her mistake immediately, when he rejected them in favor of his own selections.

  "The blush-colored silk will show off your flawless complexion to perfection, and the dull gold satin, when trimmed with sable fur, will be a striking contrast with your glorious hair. I forbid you to wear black--it is too sophisticated, too worldly-wise."

  Elizabeth knew it was the control, not the colors, that was paramount. She watched him select styles with extremely low-cut necklines, and he chose the material and shades.

  "I have a luncheon appointment, so I'll leave you to it. Indulge yourself, Elizabeth. Whatever you desire."

  She gathered her courage. "I desire ... that is, I should like to visit my friend Lady Charlotte this afternoon."

  His brows lowered, and he took her aside so his words would not be overheard. "I'd rather you didn't visit Lady Hartington today. The king's drawing room is in a few days. I've sent word that the Duke and Duchess of Hamilton will be attending. The Court will be agog to learn who my bride is, and I want to surprise them."

  She lowered her lashes so that he would not see her resentment. "As you wish," she acquiesced.

  Hamilton's luncheon appointment was with George Coventry, and he couldn't wait. He hadn't attended the morning session in the House, since he'd been out until dawn, but knew his friend wouldn't miss it. He spotted Coventry at their usual table.

  "James, I'm surprised you weren't at Leicester House last night. Quite a crush. Mistress Elizabeth Gunning was in great demand."

  "You enjoy taunting me, George. How long until your wedding?"

  "Only three weeks. If you'll do the honors and consent to be my groomsman, we can make the final arrangements."

  "Of course. It's only fitting since we will be brothers-in-law." He gave him a
large envelope with the Hamilton crest on it.

  "Brothers-in-law? Don't tell me you intend to follow my lead and ask Mistress Elizabeth Gunning to marry you?"

  "She is Elizabeth Gunning no longer, George. She is Elizabeth Douglas, Duchess of Hamilton. We were wed in a secret ceremony last night at the wedding chapel in Shepherd's Market."

  "You are jesting! Surely this is a hoax, James?"

  "Look in the envelope."

  George slit the wax seal with his thumbnail, expecting to see a marriage license. Instead, it was a silk night rail embroidered with a coronet and the initials EH. It had spots of blood on it.

  "You bastard! You had to trump me, no matter what it took!"

  "Don't be a poor loser, George. It's bad form."

  "It's not the money, it's the principle of the goddamn thing!" He could not hide his disgust. "You'll have my bank draft today."

  "That's civilized of you, old man."

  "Yes, but don't expect John Campbell to be civilized when he learns you have snatched the prize while his back was turned."

  "Anticipating his reaction gives me even more pleasure than anticipating yours did. What, you're not leaving, George?"

  "I'm not hungry. You make my gorge rise."

  John Campbell saddled a mount in Inveraray stables and rode out across Argyll, keeping to the well-worn tracks. He had been a soldier since he was fifteen, and commanded men for more than a decade; though battle had hardened him to death, he found it difficult to lose men under his command. But it did not compare with losing a brother. He had lost part of himself with Henry's death, yet conversely a part of Henry would be with him always. They rode together now across their land. It was not yet spring in the Highlands, but winter had loosened its cruel grip and the deep snows were beginning to melt. He spotted a red stag with a majestic rack of antlers and knew they would soon be in rut, seeking mates.