Kathleen Winsor - Forever Amber

“Don’t you remember your Daddy?” asked Amber.

Susanna gave him another dubious glance. “But I have a Daddy,” she protested politely.

Charles had told her, when she had said that she had no Daddy, that he would be her Daddy now. And since then she had regarded the King as her father, for she saw him often and he always made a great fuss over her because of her prettiness and his own fondness for children.

Bruce laughed at that and coming forward he reached down, took hold of her, and swooped her into his arms. “You can’t fob me off with any such tale as that, young lady. You may have a new father, but I’m still your first—and it’s the first one who counts. Come now—give me a kiss—and if it’s nice enough perhaps I’ll find a present for you.”

“A present?”

Susanna’s eyes turned big and round and she looked back at her mother, who winked and nodded her head. Without further hesitation she flung her arms about his neck and kissed his cheek resoundingly.

Almsbury grinned. “Her mother’s own child. I see it more every day.”

Amber made him a face, but she was too happy now to take offense at his quips. Bruce carried Susanna to the door, opened it, reached outside and picked up a box, and then putting her down he dropped to his heels beside her. “There,” he said. “Open it up and we’ll see what’s inside.”

Both Amber and Almsbury came up close to see what it was as Susanna, now very self-important, picked up the lid. There lay a beautiful doll, perhaps a foot and a half tall, with light blonde curls done in the latest mode and wearing a fashionable French gown. Packed beside her was a wardrobe containing several more gowns, petticoats and smocks, shoes and gloves and fans and masks, all the paraphernalia of a lady of quality. Susanna, all but delirious with pleasure, kissed him again and again. Then, very carefully, she lifted her treasure from its satin-lined bed and held it in her arms.

“Oh, Mother!” she cried. “I want to have her in my picture too! Can I?” Susanna was having her portrait painted by Mr. Lely.

“Of course you can, darling.” She glanced at Bruce and found him watching both of them, and though he was faintly smiling there was something moody and almost wistful in his eyes. “It was so kind of you to think of her,” she said softly.

At last, when half an hour or so had passed, Amber glanced at the clock. “It’s time for your supper, sweetheart. You must go now, or you’ll be late.”

“But I don’t want to go! I don’t want any supper! I want to stay with my new Daddy!”

She ran to him where he still knelt on one knee, and he put an arm about her. “I’ll come back to see you soon, darling, I promise. But now you must go.” He kissed her and then, reluctantly, she made a curtsy to Amber and Almsbury. Primly she walked to the doorway, where, as the nurse held it open for her, she turned and looked around at them.

“I s’pose it’s time to go to bed with my new Daddy now!”

The nurse hastily covered Susanna’s mouth with her handkerchief and hurried her out, closing the door firmly, while the two men burst into laughter. Amber spread her hands and gave a shrug, making a comical little grimace. There was no doubt Susanna had been sent off many times with the excuse that it was time for Mother and Daddy to go to bed. Bruce got to his feet.

Amber’s eyes were on him instantly, questioning, begging.

Quickly Almsbury took out his watch. “Well—damn me! But I’m late now—I hope you’ll excuse me—” Already he was backing from the room.

But Bruce turned about swiftly. “I’m going with you, John—”

“Bruce!” Amber gave a little cry of anguish and ran toward him. “You can’t go now! Stay just a little—and talk to me—”

While he stood looking down at her Almsbury went out the door and shut it softly. Bruce glanced back over his shoulder as he heard the sound, hesitated a moment longer and then tossed his hat onto a chair.

AMBER LAY ON a low cushioned day-bed, her eyes closed, her face serenely peaceful and content. Her hair had come down and fell in tawny masses about her shoulders. Bruce sat on the floor beside her, arms resting on his drawn-up knees, head bent forward to lean on his wrists. He had taken off his periwig, coat and sword, and his wet white-linen shirt clung to his back and arms.

For a long while they continued silent.

Finally Amber, not opening her eyes, reached out and put one hand on his, her fingers tender and warm. He raised his head to look at her. His face was moist and flushed. Slowly he smiled, bent his head again and laid his lips on the back of her hand where the blue veins swelled.

“My darling—” Her voice lingered over the word, caressing it. Then slowly she lifted her lids and looked at him; they smiled, a smile born of recent memories and long acquaintance. “At last you’re back again. Oh, Bruce, I’ve missed you so! Have you missed me too—just a little?”

“Of course,” he said. It was an automatic reply, made as if he thought the question a foolish or unnecessary one.

“How long will you be here? Are you going to live here now?” She could have been almost grateful for Corinna if she had insisted that they live in England.

“We’ll be here a couple of months, I think. Then we’re going to France to buy some furniture and visit my sister. After that we’ll go back to Virginia.”

“We.” Amber did not like the sound of it. It reminded her again that his life, all his plans, included a woman now—a woman who was not herself. And it hurt her pride that he was taking Corinna to visit his sister for she had asked Almsbury once what kind of woman Mary Carlton was; he had told her that she was very beautiful, proud and haughty—and that she and Amber would not like each other.

“How d’you like being married?” she challenged him. “You must find it mighty dull—after the gay life you’ve lived!”

He smiled again, but now she knew that with every word she said he drew farther away from her. She was scared, but she did not know what she could do. She felt, as always, helpless to contend against him and hold her own. “I don’t find it dull at all. In Virginia we have a better opinion of marriage than you do here.”

She rolled her eyes at that and sat up, straightening her bodice around and beginning to fasten it again. “Hey day! How might ily proper you’ve grown! I vow and swear, Lord Carlton, you’re not the same man who left here two years ago!”

He grinned at her. “I’m not?”

She looked down at him sharply, then suddenly she was on her knees beside him, held close in his arms. “Oh, my darling, darling—I love you so! I can’t stand to know you’re married to another woman! I hate her, I despise her, I—”

“Amber—don’t talk that way!” He tried to make a joke of it. “After all, you’ve been married four times and I’ve never hated any of your husbands—”

“Why should you? I didn’t love any of them!”

“Nor the King, either, I suppose?”

She dropped her eyes at that, momentarily abashed. Then she faced him again. “Not the way I do you—Anyway, he’s the King. But you know as well as I do, Bruce, that if you’d let me I’d leave him and the Court and everything I have on earth to follow you anywhere!”

“What?” he asked her mockingly. “You’d leave all this?”

As he spoke she realized all of a sudden that he did not consider her position, the luxury and pomp in which she lived, to be of any real worth at all. It was the sharpest disillusionment she had had. For she had expected to brag about it, to impress him with her title, her power, her money, her gorgeous rooms. Instead, he had made her feel that all she had got from life—these things for which she had been willing to make any compromise—were unimportant. Worse, were trash.

“Yes,” she said softly. “Of course I’d leave it.” She had an inexplicable feeling of humility and almost of shame.

“Well, my dear, I wouldn’t dream of asking such a sacrifice of you. You’ve worked hard for what you have and you deserve to keep it. What’s more, you’re exactly where you belong. You and Whitehall are as well suited as a bawd and brandy.”

“What do you mean by that!” she cried.

He shrugged, glanced at the clock and got to his feet. “It’s growing late. I’ve got to go.”

Amber sprang up after him. “You’re not going so soon? You haven’t been here two hours!”

“I thought you were engaged for supper.”

“I won’t go. I’ll send a message I’ve got the vapours. Oh, stay here with me darling and we’ll have supper together! We’ll have—”

“I’m sorry, Amber. I’d like to, but I can’t. I’m late now.”

Her eyes, golden and hard with jealousy, accused him. “Late for what!”

“My wife is expecting me.”

“Your wife!” An ugly expression crossed her face. “And I suppose you don’t dare stay out by so much as half-an-hour or she’ll have you by the ear for it! It’s mighty strange, Lord Carlton, to see you, of all men, turned Tom Otter!” Tom Otter was the prototype of the hen-pecked husband.

He was getting into his coat and though he did not look at her his voice was sarcastic. “I’m afraid living in America has put me somewhat behind the fashion.” He buckled on his sword, set the periwig on his head and took up his hat. Casually he bowed to her. “Good-night, madame.”

But as he started out of the room she ran after him. “Oh, Bruce! I didn’t mean it, I swear I didn’t! Please don’t be angry with me! When can I see you again? And I want to see Bruce, too. Does he remember me?”

“Of course he remembers you, Amber. He asked me today when he was going to visit you.”