Richard Boyle quite naturally began to discuss money and property. "Charlotte's dowry is thirty thousand pounds, and I've promised her yearly 'pin money' of a thousand. I shall have a bank draft drawn up."
"There is no hurry for that, I assure you, Lord Burlington. If you will agree to an immediate engagement, I thought perhaps a wedding in the spring, once Charlotte turns seventeen, would please the ladies."
Richard beamed at his future son-in-law's consideration.
Dorothy smiled at her husband. "Darling, why don't you go and get the plans for Burlington Gardens to show William? While you're off to the library, Will and I can have a cozy chat."
Since Richard's great passion was building houses, he rushed off to get the plans.
"The real reason for wanting to wait until the spring is your mother, is it not?" Dorothy spoke with sympathetic understanding.
"Yes," William admitted. "I'm hoping she will give us her blessing, but if she doesn't, it will make no difference."
"Good. Charlotte's maid, Jane, has confided to me that my daughter's menses have stopped. Waiting until spring isn't an option, I'm afraid."
William, momentarily shocked, colored. "Forgive me, Lady Burlington."
"Nonsense, my lord, there's nothing to forgive. December is a lovely month for a wedding. I beg you not let Charlie know I have the faintest notion."
Richard Boyle returned, his arms filled with plans. He cleared off an eight-foot refectory table and eagerly spread them out.
"Lord Burlington, I fear I am too impatient to wait until spring. Would you be amenable to a December wedding?"
"Certainly, my boy. Come and look at Burlington Gardens. I intend to assign the house to my daughter's husband for life."
William gazed down at the plans in disbelief. "You are most generous, Lord Burlington."
"But not very romantic, I'm afraid. Houses are all very well, Richard, but William wants to propose." Her eyes met Will's with understanding. "You'll find Charlie upstairs."
The second week of December, Burlington House was filled with a profusion of white hothouse carnations, chrysanthemums, and lilies for the wedding of Lady Charlotte Boyle to William Cavendish, Marquis of Harrington.
Elizabeth Gunning handed the bride her bouquet of white rosebuds and lifted the long train so her friend wouldn't trip as she descended the staircase in the Pall Mall mansion. Elizabeth, along with William's sisters, Rachel and Cat, wore identical bridesmaids' gowns of ice-blue satin over Irish lace. Her heart was overflowing with happiness for Charlie, a stark contrast from the anguish she had felt for her friend a fortnight ago.
Elizabeth had lain sleepless for two nights before she had received Charlie's note. She shuddered as she remembered her mother snatching it from her fingers before she could read it.
"Have I not made it clear that I will be the first to read any correspondence you receive, Elizabeth?"
Beth's hands began to shake uncontrollably as her mother read the note from Charlie. She would never breathe a word of her friend's secret, but that would not matter if Charlie's words revealed her plight.
"It seems your friend is getting married." Her mother's eyes gleamed with envy as she thrust the note at her daughter. "Ask her to teach you how to catch a husband!"
Elizabeth sagged with relief as she read the note.
Elizabeth:
William proposed to me last night. I am the luckiest and the happiest girl in the world!
Love,
Charlie
That night Elizabeth burned the note, along with the one she had received from John. Regretfully, there was nowhere she could keep private letters safe from prying eyes.
Now, as the bride took her place beside the groom, Elizabeth's thoughts turned to William. Though his father, his brother, and sisters were present, his mother was conspicuously absent. Rumor was rife that the Duchess of Devonshire was so incensed her husband had taken his heir's side against her wishes that she had decamped from Chatsworth and moved into the rectory at Eyam. Her Grace hoped to become a martyr in the eyes of Society but, instead, the _ton_ whispered that the old duchess had gone mad.
As Elizabeth looked at the handsome groom she fervently hoped his mother hadn't taken the joy from his union with Charlotte. Her glance traveled to his brother, Charles, standing beside him, and she wished with all her heart that his best friend, John Campbell, could have returned in time for the wedding. John had sent her another letter explaining that since his brother's regiment was overseas, his mother had begged him to stay in Scotland for Christmas and that he would return to London in January. Sadly, it was another letter she had had to burn.
The Boyles spared no expense on the lavish reception for more than two hundred invited guests. Wedding gifts were displayed in the long picture gallery, a full orchestra played in the ballroom for dancing prior to the formal wedding dinner, and liveried footmen proffered trays filled with flutes of champagne for toasting the newlyweds.
When Maria Gunning danced twice with the young Prince of Wales, George Coventry, madly jealous, asked Elizabeth if he could partner her. Hamilton, guarding his own interests, cut in on his friend George. Then red-haired Michael Boyle, deciding to sow a little mischief among his friends, deliberately cut in on Hamilton. When the music stopped, William's male friends encircled him, and reached for champagne to offer toasts.
"Too bad John couldn't be here," William declared. "Let's drink to our absent friend."
Michael Boyle laughed and waggled mischievous eyebrows at Charlie. "Probably couldn't bear to see Will leg-shackled!"
"He could come back from Scotland leg-shackled himself, for all we know," Coventry jested.
Boyle saw the fleeting look of distress on Elizabeth's face. "The ladies of Scotland are reputedly cold with ice in their veins. You're a Scot, Hamilton, isn't that true?"
"Yes, but there isn't one of them who wouldn't melt at the thought of an estate, or a fine set of bagpipes playing 'The Campbells Are Coming, Hurrah, Hurrah!'"
William laughed. "John does have a fine set of bagpipes!"
Hamilton saw Elizabeth's cheeks turn a delicate pink. "The party is getting bawdy. Please forgive us, Mistress Gunning-- such coarseness is unforgivable." He led her off to her parents.
When he left, Bridget looked with speculative eyes at Elizabeth. "Dare I hope that you have made a conquest of His Grace?"
"No, Mother," Elizabeth said faintly. "He was just being kind."
"Dukes _are_ rather elusive. They've had lots of practice eluding the marriage trap. You might have more luck with the Duke of Grafton. He's been a widower for years."
John Gunning took his daughter's hand. _He's also been Dorothy Boyle's lover for years_. "No, Bridget, the Duke of Grafton is completely unsuitable for Elizabeth," he said firmly.
Hamilton joined Coventry to rub salt into his wounds. "Maria giving you the cold shoulder these days, is she, George? Doesn't seem like you'll be winning our wager any time soon."
"I've had her on the brink a couple of times, James, which is far closer than you've gotten with her sister, I warrant."
"You and I go about things differently, George. But I warn you, I play to win."
"Everyone knows you can't bear to lose. If you do start to lose, you change the rules. If that doesn't work, you take your cricket bat and go home."
His mouth curved in a saturnine smile. "Precisely."
It was almost midnight when Charlotte, the new Marchioness of Hartington, went upstairs with her bridesmaids to change out of her wedding gown. The newlyweds were spending their wedding night in their new home, Burlington Gardens, and a sleigh with a team of white horses stood ready to transport them across the snow-covered acres that separated the two mansions.
Before Charlie went downstairs, Elizabeth wrapped her in her fur cape and whispered in her ear, "I hope you will always be as happy as you are tonight."
"Oh, Beth, I don't think that will be possible. My heart is overflowing with love. I hope John comes back soon. When he does, yo
u will be able to meet here at Burlington Gardens."
Elizabeth slipped on her winter cloak so that she could follow the newlyweds outside and see them off. Though she stood amidst the crowd of guests who were laughing and waving until the sleigh disappeared through the snowflakes, Elizabeth felt utterly alone.
Shivering, she closed her eyes and fingered the brass button that she had sewn into the lining of her cloak. Suddenly, she was no longer alone, or cold, as John's warm presence enveloped her.
Inveraray Castle's great hall was filled to the rafters for the Christmas celebration. Guests staying for the holidays and visiting neighbors from miles around had gathered for the feasting and revelry. The din of raucous laughter mingled with the skirl of pipes grew more deafening with each hour as the Campbells of Argyll lifted horns of October ale and drams of whiskey to mark December 25, 1751.
A forty-foot Douglas fir, trimmed and decorated, stood at one end of the hall, and the air was redolent with the aroma of roasting meat and game. Highland cattle, stags, geese, grouse, and partridge had been on the spits since before dawn, making stomachs growl in anticipation of the Christmas feast.
John's sister, Anne, and her husband, the Earl of Sutherland, had brought their two children, Fiona and Grace, who dogged John's footsteps wherever he went. He had just hoisted Grade so she could reach a piece of marzipan from a silver dish on a high table.
"You seem to like children, and 'tis obvious they adore you."
John turned to see Mary Montagu, daughter of the Duke of Buccleuch, at his elbow. They were visiting from Buccleuch Castle, their pink sandstone fortress that housed innumerable treasures, including an art collection that boasted dozens of Van Dycks, a Rembrandt, and a Leonardo da Vinci painting. Campbell and Buccleuch ancestors had intermarried, and John was well aware that his mother had invited young Lady Mary in hope of making a match.
John laughed. "Grade takes shameless advantage because she knows I will indulge her passion for sweets."
She touched Grace's chin with her finger. "Lucky girl! What lady would not wish to have you indulge her passion?"
John was saved from the sally by young Fiona trying to steal the dirk from his boot. He cuffed her gently. "Stop that!"
Lady Mary laughed. "Your niece's passion is weapons. At Boughton House in Northamptonshire we have an armory with a collection of weapons that rivals that of the Tower of London. I would love to show it to you, John."
His mother, whom he realized must have been watching, joined them and lifted little Gracie from his arms. "John, after New Year, Lady Mary is planning to visit her aunt in London, an arduous and risky journey in wintertime. I told her she must allow you and your captains to act as her escort."
John bowed. "Mistress Montagu, it would be an honor to escort you safely to London."
Her glance lingered on his mouth. "How gallant you are! Surely we have known each other long enough for you to call me Mary? We can break our journey at Bowhill in the Borders and Boughton House in Northamptonshire, if you and your captains will accept our hospitality. I shall be able to show you the armory after all."
_I have already been exposed to your weapons, and they are formidable_. John knew that he had been outflanked by his mother and the attractive daughter of Buccleuch, which was hard to swallow for a military man. He cursed himself for an unsuspecting fool. He knew he should have kept up his guard; for days his mother had been cataloging the Buccleuchs' wealth, priceless collections, and property. Her words came back to him now: _They say Boughton House resembles a great gray Versailles set down in the heart of England. What a pity it is only occupied for a month each year when they are not in Scotland_.
"Ah, you must excuse me. They are about to drag in the Yule log and I'd like to help. It's supposed to be lucky, you know."
His mother's eyes sparkled with mischief. "You are already lucky, John. I have seated you and Lady Mary together at dinner."
Long after midnight, when Inveraray Castle finally lay shrouded in silence, John Campbell climbed to the turrets of the north tower. The icy-cold wind whipped the snow about so that the visibility was nonexistent, but it was a good place to think without distraction. He shook his head at his own folly of offering his dinner partner grouse instead of partridge, as if the game bird must only be eaten by Elizabeth.
Mary Montagu was a great marriage prize, suitable in every way. In a couple of years, when he could no longer put off taking a wife, he had no objection to considering her, if she was still in the market for a husband. But that was for the future. At the moment, he was only interested in the present, in returning to London and taking up where he left off with Elizabeth Gunning. She was his heart's desire.
*Chapter Sixteen*
In London, the social whirl over Christmas and New Year built in a crescendo of invitations to Court entertainments and private parties by the reigning families, and climaxed in January with the New Year's Honors List from the king. This was to be celebrated at the first drawing room of the year at St. James's Palace.
Bridget Gunning, who had been watching for the royal invitation, easily intercepted a note addressed to Elizabeth from the newly married Lady Hartington. She opened it quickly and scanned its contents:
Elizabeth:
I am so excited about William's appointment as Master of the Horse, which will be announced at the king's drawing room for the New Year's honors.
J sends regards, and we all look forward to seeing you at St. James's Palace.
Love, Charlie
Bridget handed over the note. "Who is J?" she demanded.
"Jane ... Charlie's maid," Elizabeth improvised quickly, swallowing her guilt over the lie.
"He would never have gotten the appointment if his father wasn't the Duke of Devonshire!" Bridget said with malice.
Elizabeth skipped over the first part of the message and concentrated on the second. Charlie was telling her that John was back in London and looked forward to seeing her at St. James's. Her heart did a somersault as she rushed upstairs to dress.
John Campbell graciously agreed to escort Lady Mary Montagu to the drawing room at St. James's Palace. He felt it his social duty to introduce the young _debutante_ to the Court, then his obligation would be finished. Upon his arrival in London, he had immediately visited his best friend, Will Cavendish, and his bride at Burlington Gardens. He was delighted that Will would be Master of the Horse, an appointment he had long anticipated, and attending the drawing room would give John a chance to report to the king. He asked Charlie to let Beth know he was back in London and most eager to see her.
When John arrived, he lost no time in escorting Lady Mary to the king. He glimpsed Maria Gunning close by, and his pulse quickened as he realized Elizabeth must be somewhere in the chamber. "Your Majesty, it is my honor and my pleasure to present the Duke of Buccleuch's daughter, Lady Mary Montagu."
King George looked her over. "The pleasure is ours, Sundridge. Welcome to our Court, Lady Mary."
She sank into a deep curtsy. "You honor me, Gracious Majesty."
"We trust your journey from Scotland was uneventful, what?"
"Lord Sundridge gave me safe escort, Your Majesty."
"Quite! Couldn't be in better hands!" King George's speculative glance moved over the couple, then he made eye contact with Campbell and indicated that he would see him in his privy chamber after the reception.
The king wasn't the only one speculating. George Coventry and James Hamilton watched John return the lady to her aunt then walk across the chamber to greet them. As Hamilton began to hum "The Campbells Are Coming," Coventry jested, "By God, I told you he might return from Scotland leg-shackled!"
"She has such lovely manners ... Buccleuch, Bowhill, Boughton."
"I'm glad I amuse you," John said dryly. "If her manors interest you, please feel free to pursue the lady." His dark glance swept relentlessly around the room until it found the object of his desire. "Excuse me, gentlemen."
As he walked a direct path to her, he
saw her mother join Dorothy Boyle, leaving Elizabeth in the company of Charlie and Will. John took her fingers to his lips, and his eyes drank in the smile of radiant joy she bestowed upon him.
"Lord Sundridge," she said breathlessly.
She wore a new gown of ice-blue satin over a lace underdress; her golden curls remained unpowdered. She was a thousand times more lovely than he remembered. "My beauty," he murmured for her ears alone. Then he proceeded to press his newlywed friends to arrange a rendezvous at Burlington Gardens.
Across the room, Dorothy bent close to Bridget. "You'd think the duchess would be here to see her son honored with the appointment of Master of the Horse. Her actions prove she is neither aristocrat nor even plutocrat." Dorothy shuddered. "Middle-class!"
"She should be ashamed to embarrass the duke and her son in such a manner. Gossip about her is rife!"
"The _ugly duchess_ is without shame. In all the years her husband was Viceroy of Ireland, she spent only a month there. Stuck her nose up at the Irish and decamped back to Chatsworth. Is it any wonder he turned to his two other loves?"
Bridget's eyebrows lifted in inquiry.
"Gaming and drink!" Dorothy laughed at her own joke. "I see Johnny Ponsonby's name on the Honors List. Old Devonshire has managed to get him appointed Baron Duncannon. That's strictly to appease the old bitch. When Cat Cavendish weds him, she'll have the title of Lady Duncannon."
Bridget Gunning was incensed that so many weddings were taking place among her daughters' acquaintances. Her girls were far more beautiful than any of the chits who were becoming brides, especially Maria. Bridget's resolve hardened. She would have to take matters into her own hands. Time was of the essence.
Unwittingly, King George became her ally when he beckoned Maria and lightly scolded her about her newfound friendship with her Tory admirer. Even Maria understood that the king preferred Whig supremacy in Parliament and on the spot decided it was time to stop giving George Coventry the cold shoulder. She assumed that all she'd have to do was crook her little finger and he'd come running. She felt a small frisson of panic when she found the earl laughing with the female John Campbell had presented to the king as Lady Mary Montagu, daughter of Duke Somebody-or-other. Her mother had warned her: _If you chase two rabbits, you end up losing both_!