"I did, Your Grace," Elizabeth lied to protect Emma.
"We are going to a castle. I want you to look like a medieval queen." He strode to the double wardrobe and flung open its doors. He pulled out a purple velvet gown whose sleeves were slashed to show their primrose satin lining. "This is also an opportune evening to wear a coronet--I've bought you enough of them."
"May I wear my new wig, Your Grace?" Elizabeth pleaded.
"Absolutely not! Your own golden tresses will attract every eye when adorned by your amethyst and diamond crown."
Elizabeth almost forgot to feign a look of disappointment. He was easy to manipulate, but she disliked herself for doing it.
Because they were late leaving, the coachman whipped up the horses, and the carriage swayed alarmingly. Elizabeth managed not to disgrace herself only because Emma had given her a dry biscuit and a few sips of wine to settle her stomach before she left. It was the only thing she had been able to keep down all day.
When they arrived at Strawberry Hill, Maria, Countess of Coventry, was already holding court, telling anyone who would listen how much she hated Paris and loathed its inhabitants. "It was filled with foreigners who refused to speak English!"
Horace Walpole blinked with disbelief. "My dearest lady, they were speaking French because you were in France."
"I found them most discourteous. Moreover, Coventry jibber-jabbered to them in their own tongue until I was ready to scream!"
"And as punishment you no doubt sent him to Coventry?"
Walpole's witticism went over her head. "No, we came back to London with all speed. We have a new house in Berkeley Square."
Elizabeth kissed Maria's cheek. "It's good to have you home."
"Why are you wearing a crown?" Maria demanded peevishly.
"Because Elizabeth is queen of my castle." Walpole made it quite plain which sister he preferred.
Maria, who had been pointedly ignoring George, suddenly turned to him. "I don't have a crown."
"Elizabeth is entitled to wear a ducal coronet, my dear."
"And I am not! I should never have settled for a mere earl."
Elizabeth stood on tiptoe to kiss George and whispered, "She doesn't mean it, my lord."
George looked grim. "Unfortunately, she does."
Hamilton slapped his friend on the back. "Some of us are more fortunate in our wives than others, George. Let us go and sample Walpole's whiskey while I educate you on how to control a woman."
The thought that Maria and George did not have a happy marriage made Elizabeth feel sick in the pit of her stomach. She took her sister's hand. "Would you like to talk, Maria?"
"No, I should like to dance! I warrant I will have a dozen Lords of the Realm panting after me in five minutes flat!"
The last thing Elizabeth felt like was dancing, but it was obligatory. The Duke of Hamilton insisted his wife dance with every male who invited her. She knew that he enjoyed their looking, longing, and lusting. When men desired her, he felt triumphant that he was the one who owned the tantalizing prize.
By the time Elizabeth danced three times in succession, her energy became sapped along with her breath. When a Scottish reel was announced, she determined to sit it out because she realized her clothes were far too tight and constricting about her middle.
Then Walpole held up his limp-wristed hands. "This reel is in honor of my favorite lady at Court. The name of the new dance is 'Elizabeth Hamilton's Rant'! I cannot wait to partner her."
Her inner voice warned: _You cannot offend Horace Walpole. Smile. You are the Duchess of Hamilton_. By the time the rousing, lively reel was over, Elizabeth was staggering on her feet. She tried to take deep breaths but could only manage shallow ones. "Please excuse me, Horace. I must powder my nose." On knees turned to water, she headed from the great hall, and to her utter dismay came face-to-face with John Campbell.
He had vowed not to come tonight, had even sent his regrets to Walpole. Yet here he was, unable to deny himself the chance to see her and touch her. When he saw her, he cursed himself for a bloody fool. He was a military man with a will of iron, but his resolve melted like snow in summer when it came to Elizabeth. She stood beneath a circle of medieval torches that turned her hair to pure-spun gold, crowned by glittering jewels. His hot glance licked over her like a candle flame. His formal bow mocked her.
"Ah, the Queen of Diamonds."
"The Knave of Hearts! Alas, your bid wasn't high enough." Her retaliation was quick and cruel. Her breasts rose and fell with her agitation and lack of breath.
His eyes lowered deliberately. "Such a lush display. Your pair certainly trumps my cards."
"I doubt that, Sundridge. The best I can hope for is a draw."
"_Touché_. Your tongue is sharp, Wildcat."
"You think your tongue is not a formidable weapon?"
"Let's see." He took her hand, turned it over, and placed a sensual kiss in her palm. Then he licked it.
A wave of desire almost drowned her. Blood rushed from her head to her heart, and she fought desperately for breath. Her violet eyes were huge in a face pale as a ghost. Her careful _facade_ vanished. "John," she gasped, her hand reaching in supplication.
He saw her lashes sweep to her cheeks, saw her body go limp. He caught her before she hit the floor and lifted her in his arms. "Sweetheart." He gazed down at the delicate features, noticed the shadows beneath her eyes, and was gripped by a desperate need to protect her. When he realized that it was not a momentary faint, that she was completely unconscious, fear knotted his gut. He looked around at the gaping spectators and knew he had no choice but to find Hamilton. Holding her against his heart, he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other and take her to her husband. It was the hardest thing he had ever done in his life.
Campbell knew where to find Hamilton; he was as addicted to gaming as he was to liquor. He did not take Elizabeth into the smoke-filled room, but stood at the entrance holding his delicate burden. Hamilton saw immediately and strode to the door. Their hard eyes met for long stormy minutes, while Campbell fought the urge to kill. The veneer of civilization was dangerously thin over the savage Highlander at this moment. It took every ounce of discipline he had ever learned to surrender Elizabeth into her husband's keeping. "I hope she is precious to you, James." Implicit was the threat that she had _better_ be precious.
Hamilton smiled with triumph. It was obvious to them both that she had quickened with child. "John, she is my treasure."
* * *
Though Elizabeth hadn't thought it possible, the Duke of Hamilton stepped up the pace of their social engagements. When they were not being entertained at St. James's Palace or the great houses such as Leicester, Burlington, and Devonshire, they were hosting parties at Hamilton House. Often before a gala affair, they attended a play or were seen at the opera.
Elizabeth felt her vitality draining away with each function she attended. More and more, exhaustion overwhelmed her. She had no appetite and lost weight everywhere except her expanding belly. Her stamina was considerably diminished, yet Hamilton would not excuse her from socializing, for now he was not simply showing off his wife's extraordinary beauty but flaunting her pregnancy and advertising his virility.
She dragged herself listlessly through the Season, from ball to party to reception. Though outwardly serene, on the inside she was terrified that if her social pace continued, she would do her baby irreparable harm. Moreover, she no longer encountered John Campbell. At first she felt relief, but far too quickly her relief changed to longing, and her heartache became almost unbearable.
John Campbell was determined to cut the golden cord that bound him to Elizabeth. Seeing her lovely face, hearing her voice, kissing her hand, touching her in the dance while her fragrance intoxicated his senses, then watching her leave with Hamilton was an agony he could do without. With an iron determination he swore an oath that he would stop torturing himself and Elizabeth.
His regiment was called back to active duty, an
d he devoted his time to the soldiers he had recruited in Scotland, turning them into His Majesty's 98th Argyllshire Highlanders. They had traveled from Glasgow to London in March, but for all the training Argyll had provided, they still seemed like raw recruits compared to the disciplined and experienced veterans of war he presently commanded in the 3rd Highland Regiment of Foot Guards.
"Charlie, you are absolutely blooming with health!" Elizabeth kissed her friend and picked up Dandy for a quick cuddle.
Burlington Gardens, the home of Charlotte and Will, was one of the few places Hamilton allowed Elizabeth to visit alone.
"I wish I could say the same for you, Beth." Charlie scanned her face anxiously. "Are you still having morning sickness?"
"Every day, I'm afraid. But honestly, I don't mind that. It's the lethargy I find hard to cope with, and I often feel ill. I think I could go to bed and stay there for the rest of my life. At Leicester House last night, it wasn't just a matter of hiding my yawns behind my fan--I actually fell asleep and awoke to find Princess Augusta waving her smelling salts under my nose."
"Come and put your feet up, Beth, and I shall do the same. I'm as big as a pig full of figs! I feel well enough, but it really is time for me to withdraw from Society until after the happy event."
"July will be here before we know it. Are you afraid, Charlie?"
"No ... yes! I'm so ignorant about childbirth. What about you?"
"I have a lot of questions that I cannot bring myself to ask my mother. I thought perhaps it might be easier to ask _your_ mother."
"Excellent idea! After lunch we'll both go over and ask her."
Jane served them their lunch on trays, so they would not have to move from their comfortable couches before the fire. It was the first time in months that Elizabeth felt completely relaxed, and for once she kept down some light broth, followed by _blancmange_.
They decided to walk over to Burlington House so they could enjoy the fragrant May blossoms on the trees. "Father's gone to Rutland to see that all is in readiness for me at Uppingham Manor. It's the most beautiful countryside. The River Welland runs through our property--you would love it. Oh, I wish you would come with me, Beth. London's air is so unhealthy in the summer."
Elizabeth thought longingly of Uppingham, but knew it would be impossible. Hamilton would never allow her to leave London.
"I shall get Will to suggest it to James. He indulges you so. I'm sure he will insist you come to the country for your health."
When they got to Burlington House, Dandy ran in with tail wagging madly before the majordomo could answer the door.
"It's only me," Charlie said. "We've come to see Mother."
The man looked nonplussed. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, not sure how one handled these complicated situations.
The terrier ran upstairs, intent on rooting out Dorothy, and they heard a little scream. "Dandy has surprised her!"
Presently, as Dorothy Boyle made her elegant way down the stairs, she wasn't the only one to be surprised. Elizabeth stared in amazement. "Father ... what are you doing here?" The moment the question left her lips, she blushed hotly. It was perfectly obvious what Jack Gunning was doing here, upstairs with the Countess of Burlington, while the earl was away in Rutland. _No wonder I never see you these days, Father_. Elizabeth felt betrayed. She remembered the words he had used to persuade her on that fateful Valentine's night: _Do this for me, Elizabeth, and you won't ever regret it_. Well, she had regretted it every moment of her life since. He had married her to a duke then considered his duty done. When she had needed her father's love, support, and advice the most, he had abandoned her and gone about his own selfish affairs. _Affair_, she corrected herself. _There isn't a man breathing whom a woman can trust_! "Oh, of course, I forgot you were looking for a riding mare," Elizabeth said succinctly.
Dorothy Boyle raised an appreciative eyebrow. The Duchess of Hamilton's wit carried a sting. "Jack, our daughters are going to make grandparents of us. We should climb into the saddle often, while we can still mount and ride."
Elizabeth noted with satisfaction that her father had the decency to flush.
When Jack Gunning departed, Charlie kissed her mother. "We need answers to some rather delicate questions. Elizabeth feels shy about broaching the subject with her own mother."
Dorothy held up her hand. "Say no more. I know which delicate subject you refer to. Come out on the terrace and I will enlighten you both." Once she made them comfortable with cushions and footstools she began to advise them about pregnancy and sex. "When your swollen belly makes frontal sex impossible, there are a dozen other ways to go about the thing, so don't despair, darlings."
"A dozen? Will and I have only found two! I'm rather fortunate that he's so much taller than I. It's a simple matter for him to wrap his long body about mine and enter me from behind, and then of course I sit on him in a chair--I suppose we're not too inventive."
Elizabeth sat very still, her face a complete mask.
"Your tummy's already too large for strenuous contortions, Charlie. You'll soon have to keep Will happy by fellating him."
"Fellating?"
"You know ... Frenching. Men love to be Frenched. A lot prefer it to intercourse, and some don't even care if the mouth is female!"
Elizabeth said faintly, "Actually the questions I had were about childbirth." She didn't fully comprehend what Dorothy was talking about, but she knew it was something overtly prurient.
Dorothy laughed. "Of course, darling. I should have known Hamilton's wife wouldn't need sexual advice. His experience is legendary. I warrant many a brothel would have gone bankrupt without his business over the last decade."
Elizabeth asked quickly, "How long does childbirth take?"
"Once labor begins, a first child usually takes about twelve hours. I had Charlotte in record time, only three or four hours, but of course she wasn't my first." Dorothy immediately realized her careless words evoked the spectre of infant mortality. "It's best not to dwell on thoughts of labor. Ignorance is bliss."
"Indeed," Elizabeth agreed ruefully. _I for one was in blissful ignorance of many things before our visit today_.
"Just make sure you get lots of rest, fresh air, and pampering during the months before your confinement, and all will be well."
"I want Elizabeth to come to Uppingham with me. I'm going to get Will to suggest it to James."
By the time she got home, Elizabeth felt acutely ill. With determination she set aside thoughts of her father's dalliance along with that of her husband, but she could not banish thoughts of how easily she could harm the baby she was carrying. She searched her brain for a way to stop the duke from forcing her to keep up the reckless social pace. Fear for her child was suddenly greater than her fear of Hamilton. She vowed she would outwit him.
"I think you are fevered," Emma said, feeling Elizabeth's brow.
"Yes, I know. The same time each day I get this shivery feeling and I know it can't go on. Emma, I've thought of a way to shock Hamilton to his senses, but I'll need your help. It involves something extremely personal and I'm embarrassed to ask you."
"Ask away, child. I'll do anything for you."
Elizabeth's cheeks turned bright pink. "Next time you menstruate, will you wear one of my silk petticoats and try to get as much blood on it as you can? If we can convince him I'm in danger of losing the baby, he will have to summon Dr. Bower."
A week later the pair of conspirators set the stage, then Emma frantically summoned Hamilton who was with Morton, his valet, dressing for an evening at the Prime Minister's home. James strode past Emma to Elizabeth's apartment and threw open the door to her bedchamber. He found his wife abed with a frightened look on her pale face. One of her silk petticoats, covered with dark red blood, lay across the foot of the four-poster.
A breathless Emma caught up with him. "I found her on the floor, Your Grace, and put her straight to bed. I don't think she's lost the child ... yet. But perhaps we should get the doctor."
An hour later, Bower took in the scene and demanded privacy for his examination. He had to order Hamilton from the room. The doctor pulled down the covers and placed his hand on the small mound. "Are you experiencing pain, Your Grace?"
"Not now," Elizabeth answered truthfully. "But when my corset was tightened I had pain." She cast him a beseeching look. "If I miss the Prime Minister's ball, the duke will be furious with me."
Bower had heard enough. He left Elizabeth and summoned Hamilton for a private word. "Let me be blunt. If your duchess continues to dance the night away in a tight corset, she will miscarry. She will lose the precious Hamilton heir she is no doubt carrying. The choice is yours, of course, as will be the full blame. She needs complete bed rest for the next twenty-four hours. Then she must leave London for the country. Your wife requires peace and quiet, good food, fresh air, and plenty of rest and relaxation."
When Bower left, Hamilton returned to his wife's bedside. "How would you like to spend the next two months with Lady Charlotte? Will is sending her to Uppingham Manor in Rutland, and I believe a rest in the country is just what you need, Elizabeth."
"I shall do whatever you think best, Your Grace."
*Chapter Twenty-Four*
"I think my labor has begun!" Charlie dropped her fork and clutched Elizabeth's hands. The pair was enjoying an early breakfast of scones with fresh strawberries and clotted cream.
"I'll get your mother... sit absolutely still." Beth knew that Dorothy Boyle kept late hours even here in the country and never arose before eleven. Will had been with them at Uppingham for the past fortnight but had ridden up to Chatsworth, approximately fifty miles north, to inform his truculent mother that shortly she would become a grandmother and to try to bridge the gulf.
Dorothy immediately dispatched messengers to Charlie's husband in Derbyshire, her father in London, and her midwife in Rutland. Then she spent a quarter of an hour with Charlie berating the Duchess of Devonshire. "My daughter's child should rightfully be born at Chatsworth. Someday, Charlie, you will be the Duchess of Devonshire, and when you are, I shall personally see that the bloody dowager duchess is turfed out of Chatsworth on her bony arse!"