Kathleen Winsor - Forever Amber

For an instant she stood, stunned, staring at the crest; and then without a word she whirled and ran back across the courtyard. She had been in Samuel’s offices no more than three or four times and the various men working there looked at her in some surprise and curiosity as she rushed through the outer rooms toward his private office. Without stopping for an instant to decide what she would say or do, to try to gather her composure, she flung open the door.

The room was large and handsomely furnished with carved oak tables and chairs and stools, dark rich velvet hangings, panelled walls, and numerous candles burning in brass sconces. Samuel and Lord Carlton stood before a great framed map of the New World, and though Samuel was facing her Bruce had his back turned. He had on one of the new cassock-coats, made of dark-green-and-gold brocade and reaching to his knees, with a broad twisted satin sash about the waist and a belt slung from one shoulder to hold his sword. A broad-brimmed hat was on his head and he wore a periwig which was not, however, much different in appearance from his own hair; only the fops wore the long extravagantly-curled wigs.

Even from the back he looked different to her from any other man, and her heart was beating so violently she was almost stifled. I’m going to faint! she thought desperately. I’m going to do something terrible and make a fool of myself!

“Oh, I’m sorry, Samuel,” she said, still standing in the opened doorway and holding to the knob. “I thought you were alone.”

“Come in, my dear. This is Lord Carlton, of whom you’ve heard me speak. My lord, may I present my wife?”

Bruce turned and looked at her and his eyes showed first surprise and then amusement. You—he seemed to say—of all people. You, married to a respectable rich old merchant. And she saw too that he had not forgotten their last parting, made in anger and tragedy.

But he merely took off his hat and bowed to her gravely. “Your servant, madame.”

“Lord Carlton is just returned from America with his ships —and several others, as well,” Samuel added with a smile, for the merchants were proud of the privateers, and grateful to them.

“How fine,” said Amber nervously, and she had a terrible feeling that she was going to fall apart, collapse in little pieces from head to toe. “I just came to tell you, Samuel”—she spoke rapidly—“that I won’t be home in time for dinner. I’ve got a call to make.” She gave Carlton a swift uncertain glance. “Why don’t you come to supper this evening, Lord Carlton? I’m sure you must have a great many exciting tales to tell of your adventures at sea.”

He bowed again, smiling. “I don’t believe sea-going stories hold much interest for ladies, but I shall be very glad to come, Mrs. Dangerfield. Thank you.”

Amber gave them both an abrupt smile, curtsied, and went out in a rush of taffeta petticoats; the door banged noisily behind her. She ran back across the courtyard as if afraid that her legs would not carry her all the way to the coach. She climbed in, dropped down onto the seat, and closed her eyes.

Excitedly Nan seized her hand. “Is he there, mam?”

“Yes,” she whispered weakly. “He’s there.”

Half an hour later she was at Almsbury House and Emily was greeting her with eager enthusiasm. Together they started upstairs toward the nursery.

“How kind of you to call! We’ve been in town less than a fortnight and we tried to find you but at the Theatre they could only tell us you’d married, but didn’t know where you were living. Lord Carlton is here with us—”

“Yes, I know. I just saw him at my husband’s office. Do you think he’ll come back here for dinner?”

“I don’t know. I believe that he and John were to meet somewhere at one.”

They had reached the nursery and found the children having their porridge. Amber’s disappointment over the prospect of missing Bruce was partly eased by her reunion with her son, whom she had not seen since the previous September. He was an extraordinarily beautiful child, healthy and happy and friendly, with dark waving hair and green eyes. She picked him up in her arms, laughing gaily when he kissed her and got cream on her cheeks and mouth and tangled his spoon in her curls.

“Daddy’s here too, Mother!” he announced loudly. “Aunt Emily brought me all the way to London to see him!”

“Oh,” said Amber, a little jealous resentment pricking at her. “You knew he was coming?”

“He wrote to John,” explained Emily. “He wanted to see the baby.”

“He isn’t married, is he?”

It was the one question she dreaded to ask, each time he came back, though she could not imagine whom a man could find to marry in that barbarous empty land across the ocean.

“No,” said Emily.

Amber sat down on the floor with Bruce and a fat barking spotted puppy which belonged to him, while Emily’s two sons came to join them. Between playing with the puppy and talking to her son, she managed to ask Emily some questions.

“How long is he going to stay this time?”

“A month or so, I believe. He’s going to volunteer his ships for the war.”

“The war! It hasn’t begun yet, has it?”

“Not yet, but soon, I believe. At least that’s what they’re saying at Court.”

“But what’s he going to do that for? He might lose them all—”

Emily looked faintly surprised. “Why, he wants to. England needs every ship and every experienced seaman she can get. Many privateers will do the same thing—”

At just that moment Bruce came through the opened doorway and walked toward them. While Amber sat speechless and helpless, the baby broke out of her arms and ran to his father, who swung him up onto one shoulder. He was standing above her now, looking down and smiling.

“I thought I might find you here.”

JEMIMA CAME RUNNING into the bedroom that evening as Amber was getting dressed for supper. “Amber!” she cried joyously. “Oh, Amber, thank you!”

Amber turned and saw to her annoyance that Jemima, dressed in a gown of cornflower-blue satin, with the skirt caught up by artificial roses and real roses pinned into her glossy curls, was looking prettier than she ever had.

“Thank you for what?”

“For inviting Lord Carlton to supper, of course! Father told me he was coming and that you had asked him!”

“Joseph Cuttle’s coming too, remember,” said Amber crossly. “And if you’re not nice to him your father will be mighty displeased.”

“Oh, Joseph Cuttle! Who cares about him! Oh, Amber, I’m so excited. What’ll I do? What’ll I say? Oh, I do want to make a great impression! Tell me what I shall do, Amber, please—You know about those things.”

“Just be quiet and modest,” advised Amber, somewhat tartly. “Remember, men never like a pert woman.”

Jemima was instantly subdued, struggling to compose her face. “I know it! I’ve got to be very formal and languishing—if only I can! But, oh, I think I’ll faint at the sight of him! Tell me—how do I look?”

“Oh, tearing fine,” Amber assured her. She got up to put on her gown.

Amber was unhappy and worried and sickeningly jealous, desperately afraid of her step-daughter. She and Bruce had been together all afternoon, and the glow of those hours still lingered, throbbing and reverberating through every chord of her being. But now here was Jemima, young, lovely, audacious, who suddenly seemed to her a dangerous rival. For by her own marriage to a rich old merchant Amber had acquired a sort of counterfeit respectability which she felt made her less alluring. She was married but Jemima was not; and for all Samuel’s certainty that Lord Carlton would not care to marry into the Dangerfield family, Amber was scared.

Don’t be a fool! she had told herself a hundred times. He wouldn’t marry a simpleton like Jemima for all the gold in England! Besides, he’s rich enough himself now. Oh, why doesn’t Jemima look like Lettice!

She did not look at Jemima as she got into her gown but she could feel the girl watching her, anxiously, and her own confidence began to return. The gown was made of champagne-coloured lace over champagne satin, and was spangled with thousands of golden stars. She turned, still avoiding Jemima’s eyes, and walked back to the dressing-table to put on her emeralds.

“Oh!” cried Jemima at last. “How beautiful you are!” Her eyes wistfully sought out her own reflection in a mirror. “He won’t even see me!”

“Of course he will, sweetheart,” said Amber, better-natured now. “You’ve never looked half so pretty.”

At that moment Jemima’s woman, Mrs. Carter, stuck her head in the door. “Mrs. Jemima!” she hissed. “His Lordship’s here! He just came in!”

Amber’s heart gave a bound, but she did not turn her head or move. Jemima, however, looked as distraught as a girl summoned to her execution. “He’s here!” she breathed. “Oh, my God!” That alone was enough to show her mortal desperation, for blasphemy was no more allowable in Dangerfield House than was bawdry.

And then Jemima picked up her skirts and was gone.

Five minutes later Amber was ready to go downstairs herself. She was eager to see how he looked at Jemima, what he seemed to think of her—but most of all she wanted nothing but to see him again, to hear his voice and watch his face, to be in the same room with him.

“Take care, mam,” cautioned Nan softly, as she gave her her fan.

Amber saw him the moment she entered the drawing-room. He was standing across from her talking to Samuel and two other men, and Jemima was there at his side, staring up at him like a flower with its face turned to the sun. She started toward them but had to stop a great many times on the way to greet her other guests, most of whom were familiar to her for they had been there often during the past five months.