Lord Buckingham’s Bride

by Sandra Heath

  ‘The fact that I was so providently on my way to a promised audience with the czar was the very thing as far as his majesty’s government was concerned, and as a loyal Englishman I was required to do my duty. I am now doing that duty, Alison, which is why it is so important that you and I continue with our story. Naryshky is an ardent Bonapartist and his interest has been aroused, and that is bad enough, but to then arouse his suspicion that we might pose a danger to the French cause would be very undesirable indeed. He and his sister between them wield immense power in St Petersburg, and one word from either of them would prevent my audience with the czar from ever taking place. I involved myself in events at the inn last night, for you had to be saved from his advances, but in doing so, I lent myself to the tale you’d invented. I thought we would only need to keep up the subterfuge until the Pavlovsk sailed, but now it’s plain that we must continue until we reach St Petersburg. My mission must be accomplished smoothly, Alison, and that is why, when I learned that Naryshky was here in Stockholm, I made it my business to seek him out. I meant to act the genuine horse bore, as I thought it would be beneficial if my name were to figure in his communications, albeit as a tedious devotee of the British turf.’ He smiled a little. ‘If it hadn’t been for that decision on my part, I wouldn’t have been there to save you last night,’ he reminded her.

  ‘And now I’ve become a necessary millstone?’

  ‘That’s one way of putting it. We’ve lied to him, Alison, and that’s a fact that he must not discover, or he’ll write to the countess and that will be the end of my audience. Would that the usual diplomatic channels were still safe, but they aren’t.’

  ‘Why? What happened?’

  ‘Certain secret information was somehow getting out of our embassy in St Petersburg and reaching Bonaparte. We have a new ambassador there, Lord St Helens, and he notified London that one of his subordinates – he didn’t know which one – was working on behalf of the French. The documents I have to deliver to the czar contain proof of certain very dangerous and secret French activities against Russia, and that is why the usual diplomatic routes have to be circumnavigated. Bonaparte is endeavoring to woo Alexander, whose support is vital if the Corsican’s ambition to be master of Europe is ever to be realized. We have now discovered that while Bonaparte is flattering the czar on the one hand, on the other he’s gathering as much information as he possibly can to launch an invasion of Russia, not by the expected overland path, but from the Baltic, by taking Kronstadt and then St Petersburg itself.’

  Alison stared at him. ‘But, isn’t Kronstadt…?’

  ‘A virtually impregnable fortress island that straddles the sea approaches? Yes, it is, but when all its secrets are known to the enemy, it becomes far less of an obstacle. We have agents in Paris, and one of them, a clerk who works close to Bonaparte himself, has sent copies of certain papers to London. These papers, which include detailed maritime charts of the Baltic and the Gulf of Finland, the name given to that part of the Baltic closest to Russia and Finland, give full and accurate information about Kronstadt’s defenses, both military and naval. They list the full complement of men, the guns and artillery, the standing orders, complete details of the ironworks and shipbuilding yards on the island, and contingency plans. The maritime charts show all sandbanks, channels, currents, tides, and any hazard that might impede an invasion. The waters there are very treacherous indeed because they’re so shallow, and that means that all conventional naval vessels would have to sail dangerously close to Kronstadt and thus be in firing range.

  ‘Bonaparte intends to build a huge fleet of shallow draft vessels to transport troops, horses, guns, and everything else necessary to an invasion force. This fleet could sail out of range of Kronstadt and with the night tide skim over the sandbanks, et cetera, and the defenses on the island could then be successfully eliminated by the full French navy, which would have complete knowledge of every likely retaliation and maneuver on the Russians’ part. There is even the suggestion that the military and naval commanders at Kronstadt, who we believe to be the traitors who’ve supplied the French with the information, would lead their men into changing sides and thus give Kronstadt over to the French intact.

  ‘Alexander is at this moment hovering on the brink of believing Bonaparte’s silken words of friendship, but he wouldn’t be such a fool if he knew what the Corsican was really up to. We can’t risk the usual diplomatic approaches, which would mean the high possibility of the French learning that we’ve rumbled them, and so I’ve been dragged into it all. Perhaps “dragged” is the wrong word to use, for I’m doing it willingly enough.’

  He smiled a little sadly. ‘Bonaparte can never be satisfied with peace, Alison, not until he’s realized his overwhelming ambition to be lord of Europe and beyond; and to embark upon that course, he first needs the support of Russia, whose territories stretch into the infinity of the East. When Czar Paul was alive, the Corsican was assured of Russian favor, and as a result, Britain found herself standing alone. But Paul’s death put a stop to all that, because Alexander had a healthy mistrust for the French. We have to see that that mistrust is maintained, Alison, because for Britain’s sake, as well as Russia’s, Alexander mustn’t be seduced by Bonaparte.’

  She lowered her eyes, finding it difficult to absorb everything.

  His fingers tightened over hers. ‘Alison, I must beg you to reconsider about going back to England. If you return, not only will I be unable to escort you safely there, but I’ll also be placed in a very awkward position vis-à-vis the delivery of the documents. Naryshky is, I’m sure, keeping us under surveil-lance, and even if it is only because of his unwelcome interest in you, that doesn’t alter the fact that he’s bound to notice anything untoward in our conduct.’ He gave a wry laugh. ‘And let’s face it, it would be somewhat odd if you dashed off back to England and I not only allowed you to do so but also left you to do it all on your own. Last night and this morning we’ve been aping the tender lovers, and then you suddenly make a bolt for home? He’d be bound to wonder why I put a visit to Russia before my love for you, and he’d think it suspicious enough to put paid to my meeting with Alexander. At least, he might think it suspicious enough, and that’s the possibility I have to avoid at all costs. Please stay with me, Alison – play my adoring sweetheart for a few days more, that’s all I ask.’ His fmgers were still warm and persuasive over hers. ‘Just until St Petersburg, by which time we’ll have convinced everyone on this brigantine that we’re head over heels in love.’

  ‘And what then? What if something else happens and we’re forced to keep up the pretense even then? We’ll have to offer some explanation to my uncle and step-aunt and—’

  He put a finger to her lips and shook his head. ‘Don’t find problems that aren’t there,’ he said softly. ‘If such a thing should happen, then I’ll think of something, but at this precise moment all I’m concerned about is the next five days. I can’t emphasize enough how important my mission is and how important it is that you stay with me now that circumstances have flung us together.’ He glanced at the quayside, where the final bales of wool were being loaded. ‘The time’s come for you to decide, Alison, because in a minute or so we’ll be under way. What’s it to be? Do you still mean to go back to England, or will you stay with me?’

  ‘I have no real choice but to remain with you, do I? I’ve caused the problem and it’s my duty to do what I can to put matters right again. I’ll stay with you, Francis, and I’ll do whatever is necessary to help you deliver the documents to the czar.’

  The smile he gave her was proof of his immense relief. He drew her hand to his lips and kissed the palm.

  It was a gesture that set her foolish emotions spinning again. She shouldn’t feel like this about him; she mustn’t feel like this about him. She suddenly thought of Pamela again, and pangs of fresh conscience stabbed through her.

  ‘Is there something else?’ He looked at her in some concern, for her eyes were troubled.

&n
bsp; ‘Wrong? No, of course not,’ she replied quickly. ‘I was just wondering something, that’s all.’

  ‘Wondering?’

  She gave him a brisk smile. ‘Where do you keep the documents hidden?’ she asked, for it was the first thing that came into her head.

  He laughed a little. ‘They never leave my person, Alison, I carry them in a leather wallet next to my heart.’

  About a quarter of an hour after that the Pavlovsk left her moorings and followed a pilot skiff across the crowded harbor toward the more open water of the island-dotted sound that led east to the Baltic. Pinewoods swept up from the shore, and forts were silhouetted above the treetops, their guns trained upon the water over which any invader would have to come. Like those to St Petersburg, the approaches to Stockholm were very well defended indeed.

  Alison and Francis remained on the brigantine’s deck as she sailed away from the Swedish capital. Alison glanced up at the forts, wondering if Bonaparte was as well informed about them as he was about Kronstadt. Perhaps he had been able to gather vital information about the defenses of many more countries, including Britain. What if he knew exactly how to invade and take London itself?

  Turning, she looked back toward Stockholm, still bright and colorful in the May sunshine. She could just make out the royal palace. Was Prince Nikolai still there, conducting the talks on behalf of Czar Alexander? She didn’t really care where he was, she just hoped that she would never see him again.

  As the Pavlovsk stood out toward the sound, Nikolai himself was observing her from one of the palace windows. His face was unsmiling as he watched the vessel grow smaller. God help Sergei Mikhailovich Golitsin if he missed anything of importance where Miss Clearwell and Lord Buckingham were concerned. There had to be a clue somewhere, something that would confirm his suspicions that the two so-called lovers weren’t lovers at all. The discrepancy in their story was all the proof he needed that things were not as they should be, and he meant to get to the bottom of it.

  With an impatient sigh, he turned from the window to resume his restless pacing of the antechamber, for, contrary to the message he’d received at the inn, King Gustavus Adolphus hadn’t been waiting to receive him at nine; indeed, there was still no sign of the cursed Swedish monarch. He, Prince Nikolai Ivanovich Naryshky, had been kept loitering like a common petitioner.

  The antechamber was an uncomfortably high-ceilinged room, with portraits of past monarchs gazing down from walls that were rich with swags of gilded plasterwork. Liveried footmen stood on either side of all the doors, and beside the velvet-decked windows where golden fringes and tassels adorned the sumptuous curtains.

  Nikolai’s fellow officers remained wisely at the far end of the room, watching him as he paced angrily up and down. They hoped the King of Sweden wouldn’t delay for much longer, because Nikolai’s temper was a fragile thing at the best of times, and there wasn’t one among them who relished the prospect of his foulest mood.

  Suddenly the doors of the audience chamber opened and one of the king’s aides-de-camp came in. He was splendidly attired in black velvet and his head was encased in a powdered white bagwig. His manner was diplomatically polite as he bowed low to Nikolai.

  ‘I must beg your forgiveness for this inexcusable delay, highness, but I fear I have unwelcome news as far as the talks are concerned.’

  ‘Unwelcome news?’ Nikolai had stopped pacing and his dark eyes were suddenly sharp.

  ‘His majesty was unwell on rising this morning, and although he meant to see you in person, I fear his condition has worsened somewhat and he has been obliged to retire to his bed. His doctors say that it will be some time before he’s well again, and so his majesty feels that it would be wise to postpone the talks for the time being, until he is sufficiently recovered to preside over them again. You are, of course, more than welcome to remain here in Stockhohn, but perhaps you would prefer to return to St Petersburg until the talks can be resumed?’

  Stay in Stockholm? Who in their right senses would wish to stay in this godforsaken place? A smile had begun to play on Nikolai’s lips. ‘Please convey my sympathies to his majesty and tell him that I trust he will recover with all swiftness. I will return to St Petersburg until such time as the talks are reconvened.’

  With a relieved bow, for he had expected a display of high-handed Russian temperament, the aide-de-camp withdrew into the audience chamber again. A murmur of conversation broke out among the other officers, and Nikolai went to the window again, staring across the shining water toward the Pavlovsk, which was now a mere speck on the horizon. Suddenly he was free to return to St Petersburg, free to keep a watch in person on the movements of Lord Buckingham and the delightful Miss Clearwell.

  He glanced down at the Irina. There were arrangements to make, so that he wouldn’t be able to leave until the next tide now, but that didn’t matter. The schooner was swift and would reach Kronstadt before the brigantine, so that he’d be waiting there when his intriguing new English acquaintances arrived.

  7

  Just as had happened to the Duchess of Albemarle soon after her voyage had commenced, the Pavlovsk found herself sailing into worsening weather. On the second day out, when she was on the exposed water of the Baltic, a gale picked up from nowhere, and as the long Scandinavian evening drew in toward the brief hours of darkness, the brigantine battled against mountainous seas. Ominous clouds raced across the dimming sky, and the gale howled relentlessly through the rigging. The vessel plunged and rolled, her timbers groaning, and such a heavy spray lashed across her deck that it ran in rivulets along the slippery boards. A door banged constantly somewhere, left unattended as the crew strove to keep the ship facing into the storm.

  Night fell, and still the seas battered the Pavlovsk. The cabin windows had long since been boarded over to keep the waves out, and the passengers had been confined to their accommodations. Alison lay uneasily on her bed, gazing up at the trembling shadows cast by the gimbal-mounted candle. Her hair was brushed loose because she had had a headache a little earlier, and she wore the black-and-white-checked gown. The cabin felt curiously humid and unpleasant, and she looked longingly toward the boarded window, wishing the night was calm and the window open just a little.

  Francis was seated at the table, his head resting on his arms as he snatched a few minutes’ sleep. He had joined her the moment the storm became heavy enough for the cabin windows to be made secure, and he had managed to keep her relaxed by talking about Pamela and future plans. But as the hours passed and there was no sign of a lessening of the storm, he had persuaded her to try to sleep. She had lain there restlessly, and it had been Francis himself who had fallen asleep.

  Her breath caught as another huge wave sent the brigantine soaring upward to a peak, left her hanging there for a moment, and then plunged her down with sickening speed into the deepest of troughs. On the Duchess of Albemarle Alison had fallen early victim to seasickness, but evidently she had found her sea legs during that voyage, for now she didn’t feel sick at all, just frightened by the sheer force of the weather outside.

  She heard the captain shouting orders and then the pound of footsteps on the deck overhead, but as she listened, she heard something else, something that struck terror through her, for it took her back to that dreadful night more than six years before when her mother had been killed. A rumble of thunder spread through the darkness, soft and distant at first, but then rolling closer before dying away on an echo. Her face was suddenly drained of color as she sat up quickly, staring toward the boards over the window. As she looked, there was a flicker of lightning between them, followed almost immediately by a thunderclap that seemed to split the night.

  She was terrified of thunder, irrationally filled with dread because of her mother’s tragic death. Her heart had begun to pound in her breast, and she no longer felt the cabin’s humidity because she was suddenly as cold as ice. She was twelve years old again, and the cabin had become a swaying carriage. She could hear her mother’s teasing,
reassuring voice telling her that the thunder was only God moving his furniture around. The creaking of the ship changed into the clatter of hooves and wheels upon a rough country road, and the constant banging of the distant door was the crack of the coachman’s whip. There was another jagged flash of lightning, another reverberating clash of thunder, and she heard her mother’s single scream.

  Suddenly she could bear it no more. The cabin seemed to be stifling her and she couldn’t breathe. Getting up from the bed, she fled toward the door and flung it open; she ran out along the narrow passage toward the steps that led up to the door on to the deck above.

  She was so panic-stricken that she almost lost her footing, but she still scrambled up, dragging the door open at the top. The fury of the storm rushed in on her, snatching at her hair and gown. Rain stung her face, and a wash of seawater rushed past.

  A vivid flash of electric blue lit the darkness, and for a split second the night was day. She saw the huge waves towering all around, and a cry of fear escaped her as the Pavlovsk began to surge upward toward the sky. Another thunderclap exploded through the darkness, and as the brigantine reached the heart-stopping peak of the wave and remained motionless for a moment, a further brilliant burst of lightning lit the seas for miles around. Alison stared across the waves and saw another vessel, a sleek white schooner with crimson sails. The Irina!

  Then the Pavlovsk was plunging downward again, the lightning was extinguished, and suddenly she could hear Francis’ anxious voice as he dashed up the steps behind her. He grabbed hold of her, pulling her close with one arm as he strove to close the door with the other. The gale hurled itself against his efforts, but at last he forced the door to and then held Alison with both hands, looking incredulously into her eyes.