“Stop!” the man cried. “God’s teeth, m’lady! Have ye gone mad?”
Elizabeth slashed at the huntsman with her quirt. “Unhand my horse!” she commanded. Startled, the man let go of the bridle and stepped back, his eyes dilated with fear and anger. “Dare you lay hands on me?”
“M’lady Dunm.ore—” The huntsman broke off and glanced at his companion for support. The second man shrugged, clearly as distressed as the first.
“Yes!” Elizabeth cried. “I am Dunmore’s wife. His wife—not his paramour, not his servant. I ride to London. Do you ride with me, or will you try to stop me by force?”
“We have no orders—” the man holding Bridget’s horse began.
“I have given you orders,” Elizabeth snapped. “Mount your horses and come along, or stay here like craven dogs and take full responsibility if anything happens to us on the way.”
“But m’lady!” the man at her horse’s head protested. “You cannot ride to London without escort. The roads are thick with highwaymen. Just last week two travelers were robbed and murdered near Brayntre.”
“Then it seems it would behoove you to accompany us.”
“Lord Dunmore will be angry. He—”
“Did he tell you I was to be held prisoner?”
The man’s face turned the shade of old tallow. “No, m’lady, of course not, but—”
“My father is the Earl of Sommersett. It is to his house in London that we journey. If a hair on my head is harmed between here and there, you will answer not only to Lord Dunmore, but also to the wrath of Sommersett.” Elizabeth twisted in the saddle and motioned to Bridget. “Come, girl. The winter’s day is short, and we have far to ride.” She snapped the reins, and the gray leaped ahead.
Bridget followed her mistress, and the two huntsmen scrambled into their saddles and reluctantly set off after the women.
“Lord Dunmore will be very angry if ye go to London wi’out his permission,” Bridget said, guiding her horse close to Elizabeth’s.
“Doubtless he will,” Elizabeth replied. “But m’lord has yet to learn that a Sommersett woman is not a rush mat to rest his feet upon.”
The maid shook her head. “He may beat ye, m’lady.”
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed as she guided her mount up a rise onto the London highway. “My husband may try.”
Three hours later, several weary men-at-arms and a groom caught up with Elizabeth and her party on the Colchester Highway. It took only a few threats and a few forced tears on Elizabeth’s part to convince the newcomers to accompany her to her father’s home in London.
Chapter 15
Sommersett House, London
Elizabeth rose in her bathtub and allowed a maid to drape her with a towel. She stood placidly as one woman dried her hair and yet another rubbed her body briskly with soft, scented cloths. Bridget dropped a shift over her mistress’s head and called to the serving men in the doorway to carry away the copper tub of bathwater.
Elizabeth took a seat before the fire and someone thrust silk mules on her feet. She shut her eyes as the tedious process of dressing continued.
Naturally, her father had been shocked when she had ridden into Sommersett House six days ago with only a motley retinue of foresters, men-at-arms, and a single maid.
“Not that I’m not happy to see you, chit,” he’d admitted when he had finished chastising her, “but your husband needs to give you a sound thrashing.” He chuckled. “Since your marriage, that chore, at least, is out of my hands.”
She’d lied and told him that boredom had driven her to the city. “I shall die if I miss another season of plays and balls,” she’d insisted. Blushing prettily, she’d explained that she’d come to Sommersett House, rather than her husband’s London house, because she didn’t know the state of his household.
“A wise decision, my dear,” Sommersett agreed. Unspoken between them was the thought that if Dunmore kept a mistress, the woman might be in residence there, and that would cause undue embarrassment for all parties concerned.
“You must send word to your husband that you are here,” her father had insisted.
“My thoughts exactly,” she’d replied.
A message had been sent by a footman to Dunmore’s home. So far, there had been no response. Exhausted, Elizabeth had gone to bed and slept around the clock. Since then, she’d engaged in the usual activities of sophisticated women of her class; she had visited her friends and her relatives, had engaged a mantuamaker, and had set about renewing her contacts in the city.
Her concern about her husband’s reaction to her departure from Sotterley was real, but Elizabeth refused to allow it to ruin her pleasure at being back in London. Sommersett and her stepmother, Sibyl, were rarely at home, but her sister Ann lived only a few blocks away. Ann, the marchioness of Dawes, was near childbed. She was so delighted to have Elizabeth come by to see her that she set aside her usual peevishness and was actually good company.
“Ouch!” Elizabeth was drawn sharply back from her musing by the heat of the curling iron on her neck.
Bridget slapped the maid’s face. “ ‘Ads-flesh, ye nitty jade! Will ye scar m’lady’s beauty wi’ a hot iron? Give me that.” Weeping, the girl handed over the tool and began to busy herself wiping up water spots on the floor.
“No need to make such a shrieking,” Elizabeth snapped. “I’m not hurt. It just startled me.”
Being careful not to muss the ringlets at the sides of Elizabeth’s face, Bridget smoothly drew back the hair over her mistress’s crown and began to arrange the heavy mass at the back into a chignon. The woman who had dried Elizabeth’s hair brought a succession of gowns for inspection, so that her mistress might choose one for the morning. A second girl offered shoes to match.
Elizabeth frowned and waved them away. Her wardrobe had been so extensive that she’d been unable to take even half of her wedding finery with her on the ship to Virginia. She’d had new gowns sewn since she got back, but she no longer took the interest in them she used to. “I’ll wear the ice blue with the lace collar,” she said absently. “I’ve nothing special planned for—”
Someone knocked, and Bridget signaled Mary to answer the door. Mary conferred with a liveried footman, then hurried back to Elizabeth.
“M’lady, Lord Dunmore is here insisting to see you at once.”
Elizabeth’s hands flew to her hair. “Are you finished with this?” she asked Bridget. “Good. Go downstairs and tell m’lord that I will receive him directly.” She waved to the nearest maid. “Well? My gown, quickly.”
There was a gasp from the serving girl behind her, and Elizabeth glanced toward the doorway. Her husband, Edward Lindsey, was standing there glaring at her.
Elizabeth covered her surprise with a formal greeting. “M’lord.” Mary draped a dressing gown over Elizabeth’s thin ivory-colored shift, and Elizabeth rose to offer her husband her hand. “You are welcome.”
Edward frowned. “Out. All of you,” he ordered. “I wish to speak with Lady Dunmore alone.” The maids took flight like a flock of frightened sparrows.
Elizabeth withdrew her hand and regarded him coolly. She was frightened of what he might do to her, but she’d not let him see it. “I trust you are not displeased with me, Edward.”
“Displeased? Displeased?” His face took on a florid cast. “I am furious. You’ve made me the laughingstock of—”
“To the contrary, sir,” she countered with spirit. “I have been the soul of propriety. I came straight to my father’s house, and I have been surrounded by servants—some of your own, I might add—since I left Sotterley.”
“You knew I wanted you to remain in the country,” he accused hotly. “To take horse and ride across Essex like some . . . some gypsy wench . . .” He trailed off and made a sound of derision. “It is most unbecoming.”
She shrugged delicately and spread her hands palm up before her. “I was bored, nothing more. I meant no disrespect,” she lied brazenly. She’d not admit to hi
m that she’d felt a prisoner at Sotterley, or that she considered his behavior since their wedding to border on the demented. “As for riding,” she continued, “I’ve often ridden horseback from Longview to London with my father, and that requires several nights on the road.”
“What you did when you were in the care of Lord Sommersett has nothing to do with this.” Edward’s pallid lips thinned. “I’ll not have my honor besmirched by your behavior.”
She stiffened. “What touches your honor, sir, touches mine.” Her eyes flashed. “You’ve heard no gossip about our personal life, have you? I assure you, it was never my wish to shame you or to set our marriage up as an object of ridicule.”
Edward took her hands in his. “We’ve not begun this well, have we?”
Elizabeth’s gaze faltered and she blushed, withdrawing from his cold grasp. “I think not, and I confess I am greatly disturbed by—”
He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “It seems the thing to do would be to start again. I apologize for my churlish behavior on our wedding night,” Edward said. “I was—”
“We were both overwrought,” she soothed. “Will you sit and have coffee with me?” He nodded acceptance, and Elizabeth covered her nervousness by pulling the bell cord to call her maids.
Today Edward was every inch a gentleman of fashion in his long, black, curled wig and shallow-crowned velvet hat. The forest-green coat suited his complexion well, and his slim figure showed off the elegant garments to perfection. Edward is an attractive man, she thought. Is it possible that our marriage can be set right? Her pulse quickened with excitement as she turned back to her husband with a slight smile.
“There is nothing I desire more than being your friend,” she said. “If I’ve led you to believe otherwise, then I am truly sorry.”
Edward lowered himself into an upholstered armchair, set his ivory-headed walking stick aside, and struck a courtier’s pose. “I’m content to have peace between us, my dear. Actually, since you’re here in London, you may as well stay for a few weeks. It’s probably more convenient for you to remain at Sommersett House. My house is in shambles. I’m completely redecorating the bottom two floors. Will it be an imposition on Lady Sommersett to have you in residence?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Not at all. I rarely see my stepmother.”
“But Lord Sommersett is here?” His tone was politely inquisitive.
“Yes, of course. And my brother James lives here with his wife, Margaret. They are away now, but we expect them back within days.” She seated herself nearby. “You need not fear for my reputation.”
The maids reappeared, and Elizabeth gave instructions for the refreshments. Mary went to fetch them, and Bridget and the others began to set up a small table and clear away Elizabeth’s clothes.
“I am thinking only of you, my dear,” Edward said. “There are so many lewd women at court. Gossip runs rampant, and I’ll not have my wife the subject of malicious attacks.” He chuckled. “Actually, your ride to London set them back on their heels. The story was so preposterous that some were loath to believe it.” He rested his hand on the gilded scabbard of his sword. “My groom Dickon came running when I got out of the coach and pleaded with me not to wreak some terrible punishment on him and his family. I fear the servants at Sotterley will never be the same.”
“I knew you would not blame them for my rash behavior,” Elizabeth said calmly. “You are too wise to take out your anger on the servants.” Inwardly, she was pleased. Her husband was much like her own father. A few honeyed words would go far in managing him. Such a marriage wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen to a woman, even if she never felt love for him.
Edward laughed again. “Damn me, Elizabeth, sparring with you will be a challenge. I’d not heard you had such a ready wit.”
“Or sharp tongue?”
His brow furrowed. “I fear we both are apt to speak before we think.” He pursed his lips indulgently. “You must come to Whitehall with me on Thursday next. I shall have a delightful surprise for you and all the court. His majesty is giving an intimate supper—no more than seventy will be invited—but naturally my wife will be welcome.”
“Whitehall? I cannot possibly go with you, Edward. What would I wear?” She spread her hands expressively. “Naturally, my wardrobe here at Sommersett House is full, but there’s nothing suitable for supper with their majesties.”
“I think you may leave that matter to me. Lady Castlemaine’s gown has been finished for days, and she engages a wonderful Flemish mantuamaker. I’ll send the woman around this afternoon. Mulberry watered silk, I believe, with an underskirt of pearl. Puffed sleeves, and a tastefully low decolletage. We don’t want to show too much of your gorgeous breasts. If we’re borrowing Lady Castlemaine’s seamstress, it’s best to let Barbara outshine you. My waistcoat and breeches are in pearl and mulberry, and we will match nicely. You’ll need gold brocade . . .”
Elizabeth lowered her lashes modestly and gave her husband the appearance of her full attention as he chattered on. The thought occurred to her that she had accused Cain of being vain of his appearance. The remark seemed silly in light of Edward’s peacock attire and obvious concern with the details of high fashion. It was wrong to blame Edward for being exactly what he was supposed to be—a gentleman of the court—but she could not help comparing him to Cain.
Why do I torture myself by thinking of Cain? she wondered. This is my life now, and this is the man I will share it with until death parts us. I must make the best of the situation.
“. . . the Dunmore pearls,” Edward continued. “I shall see that they are here in plenty of time. I’ll send my coach for you, and perhaps—yes, I’ll have Lord and Lady Maxwell escort you there. You don’t mind if we meet at Whitehall on Thursday evening, do you, my dear? The surprise, you know. I wish to make . . .” He beamed. “I wish to make an entrance.”
“Of course I don’t mind,” she replied dutifully. “Lady Maxwell was an old friend of my mother.”
“Excellent. I don’t recall the time. My man can tell you when he comes with the pearls.” He paused and smiled at her. “Perhaps it’s for the best that you did come down from Sotterley. You really are quite beautiful, Elizabeth.”
“Thank you, m’lord.” Elizabeth found it more and more difficult to retain her composure. Why was Edward so amiable today? It was almost as though he were a different man than the Edward Lindsey she had married. She was puzzled and deeply concerned. Who hadn’t heard of men and women who were normal one minute and taken with fits of madness the next? Was it possible that she was wife to a lunatic?
He glanced toward the door. “Send your maid to see what’s happened to our coffee, and tell them to bring up a pitcher of ale as well. I’m quite parched.”
“As you wish.” She motioned to Bridget, then gave Edward her genuine attention as he launched into an amusing tale about the duke of York and his latest mistress.
The splendid banqueting house at Whitehall Palace glittered with the light of thousands of candles. Lords and ladies, bedecked in silks and satins and priceless jewels, flowed in and out of noisy clusters. Like rare exotic birds, they bobbed and chattered, laughing and slyly whispering to one another, sharing all manner of scandalous gossip and subtle insinuations.
Edward’s count of seventy guests for King Charles’s intimate gathering had doubled, and there were more servants and musicians than Elizabeth cared to count. Between the talking and the music, the noise was nearly overwhelming.
She had accepted Lord and Lady Maxwell’s escort, and they had traveled to Whitehall by river rather than coach or sedan chair. “London is far too dangerous at night,” Lord Maxwell had insisted. “Footpads and scoundrels. The hanging trees at Tyburn bear heavy fruit, but it has scant effect on the crime.”
The journey by boat was not without its own dangers. The tide was swift in the Thames, and the tricky run beneath London Bridge never failed to make Elizabeth’s heart pound with excitement. Tonight, a heav
y black, choking fog, fueled by thousands of smoking chimneys, had hung over the city. Even though the tilt-boat was canopied, the ladies had been forced to mask their faces and cover their hair to keep from becoming dirty before they reached the palace.
When they had safely disembarked at Whitehall Stairs, Elizabeth was surprised to see that Lady Maxwell was adorned with beauty patches and a great deal of facepaint. She also wore a vermillion damask gown that revealed much more of her person than Elizabeth thought seemly for a lady of advanced years and plain countenance.
Nevertheless, Lady Maxwell was a favorite of Queen Catherine, and she and Elizabeth were soon formally presented to their majesties. Her majesty was kind enough to ask after Elizabeth’s health and to inquire about the climate in the New World. The King had murmured only a few gracious words, but the expression in his eyes let Elizabeth know that the hours spent in fittings for her mulberry watered-silk gown had been well spent.
Left to her own devices, Elizabeth was soon surrounded by soft-spoken, dazzling young courtiers paying her extravagantly false compliments. Although she laughed and made the correct responses, she was shocked to discover that the pageantry of the opulent Stuart court no longer held the same fascination for her that it had before she left for Virginia. The glittering gentlemen with their gilt swords, false curls, and beribboned, high-heeled shoes seemed oddly effeminate, and she found herself giving acid replies to their overtures.
The King disliked sit-down suppers. Instead of being served in the normal manner, the guests wandered about and selected tidbits from small gilt tables set at intervals around the magnificent banquet hall. Forwarned, Elizabeth had eaten before she left Sommersett House. She had no intention of spilling a sauce of hummingbird tongues down the front of her new gown. It was enough to seem to sample the dozens of highly spiced meats and dainty pastries without soiling one’s fingers or lips.
All eyes this evening were on his majesty’s former mistress, Lady Castlemaine. Rumor was that she had quarreled bitterly with the King. He had danced two contrantos with the Queen, and one with the beautiful Louise de Keroualle. “She is surely the cause of Barbara’s pique,” Lord Darcey whispered into Elizabeth’s ear. “No amount of paint can cover the fact that Lady Castlemaine is showing her age.”
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