They were merchants and lawyers and goldsmiths, part of that solid body of upper-middle-class rich which was rapidly becoming the greatest force in England. More and more they were able to control governmental policies both at home and overseas, because they now controlled the largest share of the country’s money. Almost without exception they had been on the winning side in the Civil Wars, and their fortunes had continued to grow during the years that the defeated Royalists suffered imprisonment and ruinous taxes at home or lived in desperate poverty abroad. Even the Restoration had not been able to bring about a return of the old conditions; these were the rich strong men of the kingdom now.

It was the merchants who were loudest and most insistent in demanding a war against the Dutch, which was necessary to protect England’s commerce and trade from the most formidable rival she had in that sphere. And Lord Carlton, as a privateer who had been sinking Dutch ships and capturing Dutch merchandise, was vastly respected and admired by them, in spite of the fact that he was an aristocrat.

At last Amber came up to the small group which stood framed by the new gold-embroidered velvet draperies she had put in the drawing-room. She made a deep curtsy and Bruce bowed to her. Jemima watched them both.

“I’m glad you were able to come, Lord Carlton.” She could face him more calmly now, though her inner excitement was still intense.

“I’m extremely happy to be here, Mrs. Dangerfield.”

No one could have guessed that only three hours ago they had lain together. Now they were cool and polite—strangers.

Supper was announced and the guests began to straggle into the dining-room where the meal was being served in French buffet style. There was food enough to feed three times the hundred people there were to eat it, and gallons of white and red wine. Wax candles cast a soft bright light on the women’s hair and shoulders; music of fiddles drifted from the rooms beyond. Some of the women were dressed with as great splendour as the Court ladies; the men were for the most part in sober dark velvets or wool.

Amber and Bruce were immediately separated, for she had her duties as hostess and he was captured by a circle of merchants who wanted to know when the war would begin, how many ships he had taken, and if it was true that there was a plague in Holland which would lay her so low she would be an easy victim. They asked him why the King did not mend his ways, how long the idleness and corruption at Court would continue and, privately, whether it was a safe investment to loan his Majesty a large sum of money. “Our ships,” “our trade,” “our seas,” were the words that sounded over and over. The women gathered in groups to talk of their children, their pregnancies and their servants. Almost everyone would remark, sometime during the course of the evening, that England had been far happier under Old Oliver; they forgot how they had grumbled about that same Old Oliver.

They drifted out of the dining-room and back to the drawing-room to seat themselves about little round tables or on chairs and benches. And Amber, whose eyes followed Bruce wherever he went, even when she seemed most occupied with something else, was furious when Jemima at last succeeded in maneuvering him away from his questioners and into a corner alone with her. They sat down, plates on their laps, and began to talk.

Jemima was chattering at him and smiling, her eyes ashine with happiness and passionate admiration as she plied on him all the pretty tricks of a natural flirt. Bruce sat and watched her and now and then he said something, but though he seemed only lazily amused Amber was in a state of anguished jealousy.

She made several starts to go over and interrupt them, but each time someone stopped her. At last one old dowager with a bosom like a shelf and the face of a petulant spaniel said to her: “Jemima seems mightily smitten with his Lordship. She’s been making sheep’s-eyes at him all evening. Let me tell you, Mrs. Dangerfield, if Jemima was my daughter I’d find a way to get her out of his company—I admire his Lordship’s exploits on the sea as much as anyone, but his reputation with women is none of the best, you can take my word for that.”

Amber was horrified. “Oh, heaven! Thank you for telling me, Mrs. Humpage. I’ll take a course with her this instant.”

And immediately she was off across the room to where Joseph Cuttle stood in a corner talking to Henry and trying to pretend he did not know Jemima was with a man who was not only handsome and titled but a hero into the bargain.

“Why, Joseph!” she cried. “Where have you been all evening? Whatever are you doing over here? I’ll wager you haven’t spoke so much as a word to Jemima!”

Joseph blushed and shuffled one foot awkwardly, while Henry looked into his step-mother’s neckline. “I’m having a fine time Mrs. Dangerfield. Jemima’s busy.”

“Nonsense, Joseph! Why, she’ll never forgive you if you serve her at this rate!” She took his wrist, kindness and encouragement in her eyes. “Come along, Joseph—you can’t help your cause with her by standing over here.”

They began to make their way across the room and Amber kept a firm hold on Joseph’s hand, as though afraid that he would bolt and run. But Amber dragged him up to Bruce and Jemima, ignoring the reproachful accusing stare Jemima gave her, and presented him to Lord Carlton.

“I’m going to let you and Joseph start the dancing, Jemima,” she said sweetly. “You can begin with a coranto.”

Reluctantly Jemima got to her feet, but her face began to sparkle again as she turned to Bruce. “Excuse me, your Lordship?”

Bruce bowed. “Certainly, madame. And I thank you for your company at supper.”

Jemima gave him a long smile, one he was not intended to forget—ignoring the tormented boy by her side—and then with a brief curtsy to Amber she went off toward the ballroom, but she did not take Joseph’s arm or seem aware that he was with her.

Amber waited until they were out of ear-shot and then she turned to Bruce, to find him smiling down at her. He seemed to know exactly what she was thinking. “Well!” she said. “And did you have a pleasant evening!”

“Very pleasant. Thank you for inviting me. And now—” He glanced across the room at a clock. “I must be going.”

“Oh, you must be going!” she repeated sarcastically. “As soon as I come along you must be going!”

“I have business at Whitehall.”

“I can imagine what your business is!”

“Smile a little, Amber,” he said softly. “Some of your guests are beginning to wonder at your familiarity with me. A woman never quarrels with a man she doesn’t know well.”

His mocking tone made her furious, but what he said scared her even more. And now she forced a bright smile onto her mouth if not into her eyes, and gave a quick sweeping glance to see if they were being watched. I’ve got to be careful! she warned herself. If anyone guessed—Oh Lord, if they ever guessed!

She raised her voice a little, smiling. “I’m so glad you could come tonight, Lord Carlton. It isn’t often we have the company of a man who’s done so much for England.”

Bruce bowed, bending with his careless, light feline grace. “Thank you, madame. Good-night.”

He left her then and made his way across the room to speak to Samuel. Suddenly Amber, who had turned about to talk to a white-haired old gentleman, left him with the excuse that she must see about replenishing the wine. In the hallway she picked up her skirts and ran as fast as she could go, out the door and round to the front courtyard where she saw Bruce just getting into a coach.

“Lord Carlton!” she cried breathlessly, her high heels clicking as she ran across the brick pavement toward him.

He stopped, turning to look at her. “Did you call me, Mrs. Dangerfield?”

“I have a message from my husband, your Lordship.” With that she climbed into the coach and beckoned him to follow her, motioning the footman then to close the door. “Bruce—when can I see you again?”

“Amber, you little fool! What are you thinking about?” His voice was impatient and there was an angry look in his eyes. “You’ve got to use more sense this time!”

She frowned a little as she glanced out the window, wishing that that stupid footman would go away with his torch, for it sent a flaring light in upon them. “I’ll be careful! Only I’ve got to see you, Bruce! When? I can come any time.”

“Come to the ships tomorrow, then. We’ll be unloading and no one will be surprised if you’re there.”

“I’ll be there in the morning.”

She leaned a little toward him, longing for a kiss.

“Amber!”

Reluctantly she got out of the coach and ran back into the house again. To her horrified amazement she found the drawing-rooms in an uproar of excitement and turmoil, though she had left her guests talking and laughing and beginning to dance.

“What is it? What’s happened?” She rushed up to the first person she saw.

“It’s your husband, Mrs. Dangerfield. He’s fainted.”

“Fainted!”

The terrible thought went through her mind that he had somehow guessed or been told about her and Bruce and that the shock had brought on a stroke. She was more worried for herself than for Samuel, as she ran up the stairs.

She found the outer rooms full of people, servants and members of the family, but without stopping to speak to them she went directly into the bedroom. Samuel lay at full length on the bed and Lettice knelt beside him, while the four oldest brothers stood anxiously nearby. None of them glanced at her. Dr. de Forest, who was his physician and who had been at supper, was holding his wrist and taking the count of his pulse.