“Oh, I got him from what-d’ye-call—the East Indies merchant. He was mighty dear, but I think he makes a fine enough show to be worth the price, don’t you?”

Lady Southesk regarded him with contempt. “Gad, I wouldn’t have one of ’em about me! Filthy creatures! Unable to perform a man’s most significant function.”

Amber laughed. “Some of ’em will even do that for you, I’m told. Would you like to borrow Herman someday and find out if it’s true?”

Southesk looked furiously insulted at that, though certainly her reputation was none too tidy, but Middleton hastily changed the subject. “Oh, by the way, your Grace, whom d’you think we encountered just at your door?”

Amber gave her a quick narrow look, seeing that the cat was out. She was almost pleased, though she would not have dared spread the news herself. “Lord Carlton, I suppose. Do be seated, ladies. Pray, no ceremony here.”

Amber derived a great deal of malicious amusement from the etiquette which decreed that persons of inferior rank might sit in the presence of a duchess only with her permission, and then upon armless chairs. It pleased her every time a woman who had once ignored or sneered at her was forced to rise or to move to a less comfortable seat because she had entered a room.

Flinging the towel to Herman she slipped into a dressing-gown held by one of the maids, stuck her toes into a pair of mules and taking the bodkins from her hair gave it a vigorous shake. The glowing warmth which filled her each time she saw Bruce still lingered, and she had a wonderful sense of vigorous well-being. It seemed to her that life had never been more delicious or more satisfying.

“They say that Lord Carlton has a most wicked reputation,” Southesk told her now and Amber gave her a half-smile, one eyebrow raised. “I’m afraid your Grace’s reputation will suffer if he’s seen leaving your apartments very often.”

Before Amber could reply Middleton was prattling again.

“Lord, but he’s the finest person, let me die! I swear he’s the handsomest male I’ve ever clapped eyes on! But every time I’ve seen ’im he’s been so furiously absorbed in his wife! How the devil did your Grace contrive to make his acquaintance so neatly?”

“Oh, didn’t you know?” cried Southesk. “Why, her Grace has known ’im for years!” She turned back to Amber and smiled sweetly. “Haven’t you, madame?”

Amber laughed. “I protest—you ladies are much better informed about all this than I.”

They stayed a few minutes longer, all three of them gossiping with idle viciousness of the doings of their friends and acquaintances. But Southesk and Middleton had found out what they had come for and soon they went off to spread the news through Whitehall and Covent Garden. Bruce, however, never spoke of it to Amber and, whenever she saw her, Corinna was as friendly and gracious as she always had been. It was obvious that she, at least, had no slightest suspicion regarding the Duchess of Ravenspur and her husband.


Then at last, some eight weeks after Lord and Lady Carlton had arrived, Amber went to call upon her—carefully choosing a day when she knew that Bruce had gone to hunt with the King. Corinna met her at the entrance to the sitting-room of their apartments in Almsbury House, and she smiled with genuine pleasure when she saw who her guest was. The two women curtsied but did not kiss for Corinna had not yet contracted the London habit and Amber could not have brought herself to it—though she habitually kissed and was kissed by many women she liked but little better.

“How kind of your Grace to call on me!”

Amber began to pull off her gloves, and in spite of herself her resentment and jealousy began to rise as her eyes flickered over Corinna. “Not at all!” she protested, very careless. “I should have called much sooner. But, Lord! there’s always such a deal of business here in London! One must go here and there—do this and that and the other! It’s barbarous!” She dropped into a chair. “You must find it a mighty great change from America.” Her tone implied that America must be a very dull place where there was little to do but tend babies and work embroidery.

But even as she talked her eyes were observing Corinna carefully, noticing every detail of her coiffure and clothes, the way she walked and held her head and sat. Lady Carlton was wearing a gown of pearl-grey satin with pink musk-roses thrust into the bodice and there was a fine strand of sapphires about her throat; she wore no other jewels except her gold-and-sapphire wedding-ring.

“It is different,” agreed Corinna. “But though it may sound strange I find there’s less to do in London—for me, at least—than in America.”

“Oh, we have a thousand diversions here—one needs only get acquainted with ‘em. How d’you like London? It must seem a great city to you.” Try as she would, Amber found that she could not speak without sarcastic overtones, belittling suggestions, a hint of superiority she was by no means secure in feeling.

“Oh, I love London! I’m only sorry that I couldn’t have seen it before the Fire. We left here before I was quite five, you see, and I couldn’t remember anything about it. I’ve always wanted to come back, though, for in America we all think of England as ‘home.’ ”

She was so poised, so quietly yet radiantly happy that Amber longed to say something which would shatter that serene protected world in which she lived. But she dared not. She could only murmur: “But isn’t it furiously dull—living on a plantation? I suppose you never see a living soul, save blackamoors and wild Indians.”

Corinna laughed. “I suppose it might seem dull to one who had always lived in a city, but it doesn’t seem dull to me. It’s such a beautiful land. And the plantations all front on rivers so that we travel easily by boat anywhere we want to go. We love to give parties—and often they last for days or weeks. The men are busy, of course, with their work, but they have time aplenty for hunting and fishing and gambling and dancing, too. Oh, forgive me, your Grace, I’m boring you with all this nonsense—”

“By no means. I’ve always wondered what America was like. Perhaps I’ll pay you a visit someday.” She could not imagine what had prompted her to say that.

But Corinna caught her up eagerly. “Oh, your Grace, if you would! My husband and I would love to have you! You can’t imagine what excitement it would cause! A duchess and a beauty in America! Why, you’d be feted in every great house in Virginia—but of course we’d keep you with us most of the time.” Her smile was so genuine, so guileless, that Amber boiled inside with resentful fury. Lord, but she must have lived a retired life! she thought scornfully.

Aloud she asked her: “When are you going over to France?” She had asked Bruce several times but had never received a definite answer, and since they had already been there two months she was afraid that they might be planning to leave very soon.

“Why—not for some time, I think.” Corinna hesitated a moment, as though uncertain whether she should say any more. Then quickly, with a kind of pride and the air of giving a precious confidence, she added: “You see, I’ve found that I’m with child and my husband thinks it would be unwise to start until after the baby has been born.”

Amber said nothing, but for a moment she felt sick with shock, her mind and muscles seemed paralyzed. “Oh,” she heard herself murmur at last. “Isn’t that fine.”

Angrily she told herself that she was being a fool. What did it matter if the woman was pregnant? What could that mean to her? She should be glad. For now he would be here longer than he had intended—much longer, for so far Corinna showed no evidence at all of pregnancy. She got to her feet then, saying that she must go, and Corinna pulled a bell-rope to summon a servant.

“Thank you so much for coming to call, your Grace,” she said as they walked toward the door. “I hope we shall become good friends.”

They paused just in the doorway now and Amber looked at her levelly. “I hope we shall too, madame.” Then, unexpectedly, she said something else. “I met your son yesterday in the Palace.”

A quick puzzled look crossed Corinna’s face, but instantly she laughed. “Oh, you mean young Bruce! But he isn’t my son, your Grace. He’s my husband’s son by his first wife—though truly, I love him as if he were my own.”

Amber said nothing but her eyes turned suddenly hard, and the swift fierce jealousy sprang up again. What do you mean! she thought furiously. You love him as if he were your own! What right have you to love him at all! What right have you to even know him! He’s mine—

Corinna was still talking. “Of course I never met the first Lady Carlton—I don’t even know who she was—but I think she must have been a very wonderful woman to have had such a son.”

Amber forced herself to give a little laugh, but there was no humour in it. “You’re mighty generous, madame. I should think you’d hate her—that first wife he had.”

Corinna smiled slowly. “Hate her? Why should I? After all—he belongs to me now.” She was speaking, of course, of the father, not the son. “And she left me her child.”

Amber turned about swiftly to shield her face. “I must go now, madame—Good-day—” She walked along the gallery but had gone only a few steps down the broad staircase when she heard Corinna’s voice again.

“Your Grace—you dropped your fan—”

She went on, pretending not to hear, unable to bear the thought of facing her again. But Corinna came hurrying after her, her high golden heels making a sharp sound as she walked along. “Your Grace,” she repeated, “you dropped your fan.”

Amber turned to take it. Corinna was standing just above her on the steps and now she smiled again, a friendly almost wistful smile. “Please don’t think me foolish, your Grace—but for a long while I’ve felt that you misliked me—”