"That is understandable... your aversion is to be expected."
He withdrew his gaze from the amber liquor and looked into her eyes. "What I didn't expect was to be challenged by John Campbell."
Her hand flew to her heart in a protective gesture. "Challenged to a duel, Your Grace?" She felt the blood drain from her face. _Dear God, I am to blame for this... they are fighting over me_!
"I want you to go to Half-Moon Street and ask him to cry off."
Her hand moved up to her throat. "I cannot go to him." _John must hate me! The minute he left London, you forced my parents to marry me to you. I cannot face him_!
"You can and you will." He drew close and loomed over her. He set down the glass and took firm possession of her hand. "This duel is about you, Elizabeth. I stole the prize from under his nose. Now he is mad with jealousy that you are my wife."
"But I am married to _you _... there is no need for _jealousy_!"
"There is every need. One of the reasons I made you my duchess was because Campbell desired you. Now that I own you, his desire will have doubled. You don't know much about men, Elizabeth, and that's the way I want it. The sheer pleasure in possessing an object of rare beauty is that other men will covet it."
_I am not an object! You do not own me_ -- _you will never own the least part of me_! "I cannot go to him, Your Grace."
"You must. I am deathly superstitious! Have you never heard that history always has a way of repeating itself? We are to fight with sabres. If there is a duel, we will kill each other."
Elizabeth felt her hand being squeezed cruelly. His spatulate fingers tightened on hers, crushing the delicate bones.
"Remember the night your father was wounded, Elizabeth? Surely, you wouldn't wish him to have another unfortunate accident?"
She thought of the night her father arrived home covered with blood and shivered as she remembered that Hamilton had been with him. "I will go. I will try."
He released her, and she rubbed her fingers to ease the throbbing pain. She saw the light of victory in his eyes. "The carriage is ready and waiting. He will be able to refuse you nothing."
Inside the coach Elizabeth began to tremble. The thought of seeing John filled her with panic. She loved him so much, and her heart ached that she was another man's wife. Somehow she must stop this duel. If John was killed, she would not want to live. If he was wounded, the blame would be hers. What would she say? What would he say to her? She suddenly remembered his military button that she had sewn into the lining of her cloak. As her fingers found it they stopped trembling. _It will be all right. John will make everything all right_. She relived what it felt like to have his powerful arms about her. It lent her strength. It filled her with courage. He would do what she asked because he loved her.
In Half-Moon Street the servant who opened the door looked startled, but the sight of John at the top of the stairs with a sabre in his hand propelled her up the steps.
"Elizabeth! What the devil are you doing here?" He led the way into the room where they had dined so intimately before the fire.
"John, I came to stop you from doing this thing."
He set down his weapon, removed her cloak, and stood looking down at her. He had thought of her as his. The next time he saw her he had fully intended to ask her to marry him. Now all his plans for the future had been snatched away. He felt as if he had taken a sabre thrust to the heart. John had never seen a woman more elegantly gowned in his life. She was a vision in pale lavender with a collar of amethysts blazing at her throat above half-exposed breasts. Her glorious hair had been styled by a _coiffeuse_ and her _maquillage_ was flawless. She looked a duchess down to her fingertips. His jaw clenched. "Did Hamilton send you?"
"Yes. His father was killed in a duel, and he is superstitious that history will repeat itself."
"He is right! History will repeat itself. I have every intention of killing him."
"John, you must not! You must cry off. Please!"
He could not believe what he was hearing. She was actually _pleading_ with him. Pleading on behalf of _Hamilton!_ "Cry off?" His eyes hardened and swept her from head to foot with contempt. "I see. Tis obvious you enjoy being a duchess. I must do nothing to rob you of being the wife of the Duke of Hamilton."
"That's not true! I was forced to marry him. How can you say such cruel things to me?"
His eyes were hard, angry, and unforgiving. "You are the one who inflicted cruelty, Elizabeth. The minute my back was turned, you sold yourself to the highest bidder. What a bloody fool I was. I should have known the Gorgeous Gunnings stepped out of an Irish bog and came to London to secure their fortune. 'Tis clear you had only one purpose in mind: to seek out a nobleman with wealth and title and trap him into marriage. Seems I've had a miraculous escape!"
She was wounded by his hateful accusation, and her hurt quickly turned to anger. "And 'tis clear to me that _you_ had only one purpose in mind: From the moment you saw me step out of that Irish bog you intended to seduce me." _And you succeeded. Damn you to hellfire_!
"Who seduced whom?" he asked with irony. "You are a born actress, Elizabeth, playing the role of beautiful innocent to perfection, while setting your sights on the wealth and power of Argyll. You wasted little time! When I didn't offer marriage you immediately moved to the next powerful man. Straight from my bed to Hamilton's. The Gunning sisters are the most flagrant pair of fortune hunters to ever set foot in London and gull Society."
She flew at him with passion, raking her perfectly polished nails down his dark, arrogant face. Her breasts rose and fell with her agitation. _My God, all men are created vile_!
He captured her wrists in his iron like grip, forcing her hands from his face. "Beneath that gentle _facade_ you hide the temper of an Irish wildcat," he said with contempt.
Her uncivilized behavior shocked her. This man had the ability to provoke her to madness. When he loosened his powerful fingers she withdrew her hands and lifted her chin with regal disdain. "It seems, Lord Sundridge, that we have both had a miraculous escape."
Elizabeth picked up her cloak. On the outside she appeared serene, but inside she was in a total panic. Her midnight visit had gone wrong from the moment she arrived with her heart in her mouth. She had said all the wrong things, and they had savaged each other with accusations. He still intended to fight--to kill, or be killed. She made one last desperate attempt. "You are acting like a barbarian. Dueling on the so-called 'Field of Honor' has nothing to do with honor and everything to do with arrogant male pride."
John Campbell stood motionless for a long time after Elizabeth left. Finally, reluctantly, he admitted that she had skewered him with the truth. He had challenged Hamilton because his pride had been mauled. His arrogant, male pride. He had not offered Elizabeth marriage, he had offered her _carte blanche_. Regrettably, he had only himself to blame that she had accepted an honorable offer and become another man's wife. If he killed James Hamilton in a duel, he would disgrace the name of Argyll. Worse than that, he would bring scandal down upon Elizabeth. A need to protect her rose up in him, and it was greater than his thirst for vengeance. She had begged him to cry off. It was the only thing she had ever asked of him, and he could refuse her nothing.
Elizabeth dreaded returning to Grosvenor Place. She pictured herself jumping from the carriage and fleeing into the night, rather than facing Hamilton. Where could she go? The house in Great Marlborough Street was no longer leased to the Gunnings. She could take refuge with her friend Charlie, but come morning she would have to return to her husband, or embroil her friends in her desperate situation. She had sworn that she would allow no one to ever suspect she was desperately unhappy; besides that, Charlie was going into her fifth month, and Elizabeth refused to upset her. She gathered her courage as the carriage stopped at Grosvenor Place.
Hamilton awaited her in the vaulted reception hall. "Well?"
As she swept past him into the salon, all she could smell was whiskey. He reeked of it. She turned to face hi
m, veiling her eyes so he would not see the contempt. "I saw Sundridge and asked him to cry off, but I am afraid my wishes had little influence."
"You dare return without dissuading him? The most beautiful woman in London, and you did not use your feminine wiles on him?" Hamilton's face was purple with fear and anger.
"I'm sorry." _Sorry I am married to a drunken coward who is not man enough to fight his own battles. Sorry I ever left Ireland and came to this accursed city. Sorry I am the Duchess of Hamilton_!
He lifted his arm in fury and backhanded her across her face. It was as if the night exploded. She saw stars and felt the searing pain in her cheekbone. Slowly, she got up from her knees and raised her lashes so that he could see her disgust. "Perhaps when Joshua Reynolds comes to paint my portrait tomorrow, he can leave out the bruises on my face. If you destroy my beauty, men will not envy you--they will pity you."
At four o'clock William Cavendish arrived in Half-Moon Street. "As second it is my responsibility to examine the weapon. May I have your sabre, John?"
"No need for that, Will. I have decided to cry off. Sorry to stick you with the distasteful job of calling on Hamilton and informing him that your best friend is a coward."
"Coward? You don't have a cowardly bone in your body, John. You are a total stranger to fear, and everyone knows it. It takes a great deal of courage to cry off. I expect you are doing it for Elizabeth's sake."
_My God, am I so transparent_? "It's after four. Better make haste to Grosvenor Place before Hamilton leaves for Green Park."
"He won't be that eager. He'll hang on till the last possible minute, hoping against hope that you will let him off."
Alone in her chamber, Elizabeth bathed her face with cold water, hoping it would take down the swelling. She did not want the humiliation of anyone in Hamilton House learning that her husband had struck her. She may live in a hell, but she vowed it would be a private hell. Presently, she heard a carriage stop outside and went to the window. She saw William Cavendish leave the coach and come to the front door. She was surprised that Will was involved in this, then realized he must be acting as second. How reckless and selfish men were to indulge in killing games. She stayed at the window waiting to see Hamilton leave. Perhaps it would be for the last time. Yet, much as she loathed him, it was wicked to wish death upon him. Especially by John Campbell's hand.
To her amazement and relief William Cavendish departed without Hamilton. Did this mean there would be no duel? She realized that Will had brought a message from John--he had done exactly as she asked and cried off! Her heart did not fill with joy. Instead, she felt infinitely sad. It meant that in spite of the angry accusations he had flung at her, he still had feelings for her. _Ne obliviscaris. No, no. Forget me, John. Forget me_.
A short time later, she stiffened as she heard a low knock at the chamber door. There was no one she wished to speak with, not mother, nor sister, nor ladies' maid. She moved to the door. "Yes?" she asked guardedly.
"It's Morton, Your Grace."
She hesitated then opened the door a crack. Morton's voice was so low that she had to strain to hear the words.
"He's unconscious. Tomorrow, he won't remember much."
Her heart lifted with a ray of hope. Someone in the house wished her well. "Thank you, Morton," she whispered gratefully.
The next morning Elizabeth applied some of the white-lead face paint, which her sister constantly used, to conceal the purple bruise that marred her cheekbone. When Sir Joshua Reynolds arrived, her morning was taken up by selecting the most favorable setting for her portrait. Then she posed for the artist for more than an hour before he was satisfied that her hands were in the right position, her head was tilted at the proper angle, and her smile was just right.
It was the hour of noon before Hamilton made his appearance. He was in high spirits and acted as if last night had never happened. He set down the box he was carrying and opened the lid. "I want my duchess to wear this special robe I have had made. It falls straight from the shoulder and forms a train. It is decorated with ermine tails to show her ducal rank."
"What a delightful touch, Your Grace," Reynolds said politely.
Elizabeth repressed her shudders as Hamilton held out the sleeveless robe while she slipped her arms into it. He was playing the devoted husband, besotted by his beautiful wife. _Morton may be right. When he drinks himself unconscious, perhaps he remembers little_. She tucked the information away for future use.
*Chapter Twenty-Two*
The Easter wedding of Maria Gunning was undoubtedly the Society event of the year. The big draw for the _ton_ was that it was to be hosted by the Duke and Duchess of Hamilton at Grosvenor Place. Since their nuptials had been kept secret and held at a wedding chapel, Society had been cheated of the spectacle and made up for it by flocking to Hamilton House for the sister's wedding.
The mansion overflowed with urns of white lilies, roses, and baby's breath, chosen by Elizabeth. Hamilton had allowed her _carte blanche_ with the flowers to make up for refusing to allow her to wear the pink maid of honor gown that Maria had chosen. He insisted that his duchess wear the Douglas colors of blue and white. Elizabeth was privately delighted, though she pretended great disappointment over the pink dress. She was learning to let Hamilton _think_ he controlled her. It took more courage than she thought she possessed, but she'd had years of experience in handling a dominant person and did it with skillful subtlety.
For once, Bridget was forced to take a back seat, since Maria made sure she was the star attraction at her own wedding, and Hamilton made certain that Elizabeth was the hostess of the social event. After the vows had been exchanged, the Duke and Duchess of Hamilton headed the reception line, followed by George and Maria, the Earl and Countess of Coventry, to welcome their illustrious guests. King George did not attend private weddings, but his heir, the Prince of Wales, along with his mother, Princess Augustus, attended, as did the Duke of Cumberland. Behind them came the Prime Minister and his wife, then Horace Walpole, London's greatest gossip.
Elizabeth welcomed Will and kissed Charlie on the cheek. It was now evident to all that Lady Charlotte was with child, and she made no effort to conceal the pregnancy. "I'm so pleased you are well, and I cannot help but envy you," Elizabeth whispered.
Will's father, the Duke of Devonshire, accompanied the young couple, but his duchess was still at Chatsworth in Derbyshire, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge her daughter-in-law or her expected grandchild. He thumped Hamilton on the back, eyed Elizabeth's middle, and asked bluntly, "Not breeding yet?"
Elizabeth blushed. _I was sick this morning . .. perhaps I am_!
"My bride was virgin. Unlike others we did not jump the gun."
Elizabeth's blush deepened at the cruel remark her husband directed at Charlie. She was deeply grateful that her friend had not overheard as she welcomed Charlie's parents, the Earl and Countess of Burlington. Suddenly, she became aware of something in the air. For a moment it was indefinable, then she realized that John Campbell had arrived. Abject fear rose up in her at what the two men would do. Only days ago they had been ready to kill each other. She was astounded when the men spoke with civility as if nothing were amiss between them.
Elizabeth felt cold as ice, then inexplicably hot as fire as she lowered her lashes and held out her hand to him. The cruel words they had exchanged danced silently upon the air.
John drank in the vision before him. He had been determined not to attend Coventry's wedding since it was being held at Hamilton House, but some perverse craving had compelled him. He knew full well it would be tortuous to see her at Hamilton's side, but he could not help himself. When he took her hand and lifted it to his lips, she raised her lashes and looked into his eyes. Not by word or sign did anything pass between them, but both felt the invisible golden thread that bound them one to the other.
Once all their guests passed down the reception line, Hamilton led Elizabeth to the ballroom, which had not been used since his parents had held
a ball there more than a dozen years before. The musicians, sitting upon a raised dais at one end of the long room, began to play as the host brought the hostess to the dais. When he raised his hands an expectant silence fell over the guests. "I have had a special piece of music composed in honor of my bride. We would be honored if you would choose your partners and promenade to 'The Duchess of Hamilton's Fancy.'"
It was completely unexpected to Elizabeth. She stood speechless with a self-conscious blush upon her cheeks, trying to look pleased but secretly wanting to sink through the floor as couples paraded past her, starting with Maria and George. Her husband murmured, "You are the highest ranking lady in this room, with the exception of the princess. Your sister is a countess." Next came Charlie and Will. "Charlotte is a marchioness. Ah, here are the Cavendish sisters. Rachel is Countess Orford, and Cat will become lowly Baroness Duncannon. Even wealthy Dorothy Boyle is merely a countess. I've raised you to the pinnacle of Society, Elizabeth."
Her hand was enclosed in his. She felt his fingers squeeze hers and feared he would crush them if her response was not appropriate. "You honor me, Your Grace," she said low. _You honor me as a possession, an object of beauty to be displayed. You dishonor me as a woman! My role is to decorate your arm and make men envy you_.
When the piece of music was finished, the ballroom rang with applause. He smiled proudly down at her. "Now go forth and be a perfect hostess to our guests."
Only when she moved away from him was she able to take a deep breath. Shrewdly, she made a point of seeking out Horace Walpole for special attention. He often made witty references to the inappropriate things Maria said, and Elizabeth wanted to engage him in intelligent conversation so that he would know she had more to offer than a pretty face. He danced elegantly, and she pretended reluctance to change partners when the Prince of Wales approached her. By genuinely listening to the things young George let drop she learned that he had become enamored of the fifteen-year-old daughter of the Duke of Richmond. "Next time we entertain, I shall invite her." With that promise she won George's undying affection.
Undone - Virginia Henley Page 26
