Amanda Scott (19 page)

Simon carried with him a piece of bread, a lump of coal, salt, and a half-dozen coins, symbolic gifts which he promptly handed to his father, thus ensuring that the marquess and all his family would have food, warmth, and prosperity all through the year. After the ceremony, Simon strode to his wife, picked her up in his arms, and carried her into the new hall to stand beneath the kissing bough, still hanging from the ceiling there. To the huge delight of all, he proceeded to kiss Diana thoroughly, setting an example that many of the other young gentlemen hastened to follow with their own ladies.

By the time they finally went to bed, Diana was so exhausted that she thought later she must have fallen asleep even before Marlie had helped her to undress, but early the next morning Simon shook her awake.

“Go away,” she muttered, turning over again and burrowing into her pillows.

“Up you get,” he said cheerfully, hauling her out of the bed without ceremony. “I promised the brats we’d wassail the apple trees this morning, and if I must brave the snow, so must you.”

“Wassailing is for Twelfth Night,” she protested.

“But the children won’t be here for Twelfth Night, and no one amongst their families grows apples,” he explained patiently. “I doubt six days will make any difference to the trees.”

Fully awake now, she grinned at him and shook her head, unable to decide who would be more disappointed to miss the wassailing, the children or Simon, who would also be gone from Alderwood before Twelfth Night. Less than an hour later, bundled up from top to toe, she stood beside Lord Thomas Warrington’s daughters and watched as Simon, Rory, Ethelmoor, and several other hardy gentlemen, as well as her nephew John, approached the favored tree. Simon carried a shotgun and a pail of cider. The others, including young John, all carried shotguns.

Everyone dipped pieces of toast in the cider and laid them in the fork of the tree. Then Simon poured the remaining cider onto its roots, the shotguns were fired through the tree’s branches, and a traditional wassailing song was sung, with Diana and the girls joining in. Afterward, content in the knowledge that they had done what was necessary to make the trees bear an abundance of fruit in the coming year, they piled into sleighs to return to the abbey, looking forward to a hearty breakfast.

In the sleigh, Simon put his arm around Diana. “Warm enough, sweetheart?”

She snuggled against him, nodding, aware once again of that feeling of contentment. But as she savored the feeling, she remembered the scene the previous night between Lady Jersey and the Prince of Wales. Supposedly, like Diana and Simon, the two had once been madly in love with each other. For some months Lady Jersey had been seeking to rekindle that love, but last night’s confrontation proved that she had failed miserably.

Just then Simon laughed at something Ethelmoor said to him, and Diana looked up at her husband. Men, she thought, were prodigiously unpredictable.

T
HE ROYAL PARTY TOOK
their leave by late afternoon, not wishing to remain until Monday, which they would otherwise be forced to do, since the prince did not travel on Sundays. A number of people, including Diana’s parents, her brother and his family, and Lord Thomas Warrington and his, followed their example, if not from religious scruples then because they feared the New Year’s snowstorm might be a warning of harsher weather to come.

Once the prince had gone, Lady Jersey emerged from her bedchamber, haughtier than ever. Diana could not see that her ladyship was at all cast down by his highness’s snub, nor (aside from a few knowing glances, quickly hooded) did it seem that the remaining guests treated her ladyship any differently than before. Nevertheless, Diana expressed her relief quite as frankly as Lady Ophelia did when Lord Jersey and his family departed before noon on Monday, followed soon afterward by the Earl and Countess of Westmorland and his daughter. As the farewells were being exchanged, the countess turned to Simon.

“Do not forget, Andover, that you are promised to us at the end of the month. You, also, my lord,” she added with a twinkling smile to Lord Roderick.

“Oh, my goodness me, yes, you must come,” added Lady Sarah, giving Rory’s arm a squeeze. “You have never seen Osterley Park, and I promise you, it is something to be seen, indeed. So opulent, so magnificent—quite a fairy-tale palace. I am only sorry that dearest Susanna will be unable to come with you.”

“Never mind that,” said Lady Ophelia, looking down her nose. “Next winter Susanna may enjoy as many house parties as she likes. She is several months younger than you are, Lady Sarah, so I cannot approve of allowing her any more freedom in such matters than what she’s had. My nephews will represent the Warringtons at Osterley. And Lady Andover, of course. And you will have Ethelmoor and his wife, as well, you know.”

Lady Sarah looked pleased to be reminded of her superiority in age, and when the Warringtons returned to the abbey, Diana laughingly said she had not expected to hear Lady Ophelia adding to that young woman’s sense of her own consequence.

“That’s as may be,” said Lady Ophelia. “Only let her get a few more years in her dish and then see if she likes being reminded that Susanna is younger. When do you and Simon leave us?”

“In just a few hours. We are promised to Lady Tyson in Bath for her ball this evening, and then we go on to Bellwood for a Twelfth-Night houseparty.”

Lord Roderick was not going to Bellwood with them but was promised instead to friends in London, and Diana had only a moment to exchange a word with him later by the chaise before she and Simon left for Lady Tyson’s house in Bath.

“Do not outrun the constable, Rory,” she said, grinning.

“Never fear. I’ve reformed, remember?” He glanced at Simon, standing beside her. “I have, truly, you’ll see.” A flush stole up into his cheeks. “You won’t be sorry this time. Thanks, Simon.” He reached out and gripped his brother’s hand. “See you both at Osterley.” And with that, he turned and hurried back up to the house.

“What did he mean, thanking you like that?” Diana asked as the chaise rolled down the broad avenue toward the Bath-Bristol Road, followed by their attendants in another carriage, their extra horses, and Simon’s phaeton.

“Can’t imagine,” Simon said, his eyes twinkling as he made himself comfortable against the squabs.

She regarded him pensively. “I know for a fact that he didn’t have a sou at Wilton House, and I know you were furious with him for those debts he had run up whilst you were in France, so you didn’t give him anything to speak of then. But if he is going to join friends in London now and planning to meet us at Osterley…and he is in a very good mood—Simon, you gave him money, didn’t you?”

“You are becoming very wifely, are you not? Do you mean to demand an explanation of every groat I spend?”

“No, of course not.” She tucked her hand in his. “I wish your father would change his mind and do something sensible by Rory, but since he will not, I’m very pleased with you, sir.”

Her pleasure lasted less than twenty-four hours. The ball at Lady Tyson’s was a squeeze, and with no responsibilities to worry her, Diana threw herself into the festivities, never lacking for a partner. She caught Simon’s eye upon her from time to time and noted the sardonic twist to his mouth, but she was enjoying herself and feeling far too carefree to worry about his jealousy. Because of the crush of guests, she found herself sharing a bedchamber that night with two other ladies instead of with her husband; however, in the face of Simon’s curt good night, she could not be sorry for it.

The period of good feeling between them had ended. Indeed, it seemed almost as though the pleasant time at Alderwood had never been, for their relationship deteriorated further at Bellwood and during the weeks following, as they continued from house to house in the last flurry of parties before members of the
beau monde
would begin to remove to London for the social Season.

If Simon was not criticizing her dress or her behavior, he ignored her entirely while he engaged in discussions with other gentlemen, generally concerning the ominous behavior of Napoleon Bonaparte. Diana had not hitherto paid much heed to such conversations or to the continual rumors assailing her ears. But since they had had no word from Lord Roderick since leaving Alderwood, and since she had heard nothing further from anyone about the Beléchappé family, she found herself listening more carefully to what was said in her presence.

Many people were beginning to express a belief that the Peace of Amiens would prove to be no more than a brief truce, for despite his agreement to its provisions, Bonaparte’s aggressions had not ceased. He had already annexed Elba and a large portion of northern Italy, and the French army now occupied Switzerland. Then, too, his attitude of late toward England had scarcely been conciliatory.

According to the information Diana overheard, particular difficulties had arisen over the island of Malta, for although the English had agreed to restore the island to France, they now refused to do so. She sought further enlightenment in the matter from Simon, demanding to know how the English negotiators could quibble over such a matter. “To renege on our part of the agreement cannot be honorable,” she pointed out.

“Honor has little to do with it at this juncture,” he returned curtly. They were in the midst of a large, before-dinner company in the drawing room at Foley Castle, and he was annoyed with her again, partly because she was wearing a very becoming but gossamer-thin gown of which he disapproved, but mostly because she had not been feeling quite the thing that day and had ignored his command to stay in bed, insisting upon joining the others for dinner. “The French,” he went on, “have virtually ignored the treaty, and Malta is our last hole card. We have—thanks to that weak-kneed Addington—nothing else left with which to bargain.”

Diana personally thought the prime minister was a dull but well-intentioned man. She knew, however, that Simon’s opinion was a deal harsher. He could not approve of the immediate disbanding of the navy that had followed the signing of the peace, nor of the vast reduction of manpower in the English army. And Diana, listening to the uneasy talk that had become more and more common in drawing rooms and at dining tables as the days marched by, could not help but think that if England were to go to war with France again, as indeed everyone now seemed to believe would be the case, it would be most difficult to effect a victory without benefit of a proper military force.

By the time they climbed into their chaise that last week of January to make the short journey from Denham Place to Osterley Park, winter seemed to have passed its peak, while Diana’s relationship with Simon had reached its lowest point. With the exception of a few brief days that he had spent on business in London without her, Simon had continued, or so it seemed to Diana, to carp and correct or to ignore her entirely for nearly a month, and she had reacted as she always did by lifting her pointed chin and doing precisely as she pleased, practically daring him to stop her. Simon had only grown grimmer and more censorious. Even their nights together provided little respite in the cold war between them, for Diana continued to feel unwell. The long days of partying following so closely upon the festivities at Alderwood seemed to be taking an unwarranted toll of her energies, for she was extremely tired and found herself falling into bed each night with relief, scarcely closing her eyes before she was fast asleep.

She was grateful now that their journey to Osterley would be a short one, for not only was Simon in a particularly surly mood, but she was feeling distinctly unwell. The chaise was well sprung, but it rocked, and thanks to a break in the weather, the roads were clear of snow and ice, so the pace was rapid, increasing that motion. She had said little to Simon about her continued indisposition, knowing that he would behave as he had at Foley Castle, demanding that she quack herself, issuing orders and counterorders. And if he began to suspect, as indeed she had herself, the cause of her indisposition, he would have her back at Andover Court or even Alderwood, wrapped in cotton wool with her feet up on a stool. So, instead of requesting that he order the postilions to slow their pace, she merely placed one hand over her stomach, willing it to calm itself, praying that she would reach Osterley without disgracing herself.

At last, however, followed by their usual cavalcade of servants and extra horses, they turned off the Bath Road onto a tan-graveled drive, leading through a thickly wooded area, and proceeded at a slower, more comfortable pace into Osterley Park. Diana’s first view of the house was little more than an impression of turrets soaring above the trees of the park, but minutes later they emerged from the woods to see the great house in all its splendor, its corner turrets giving it the look of a red-brick Elizabethan palace.

The house had indeed been built in Elizabethan times, by Sir Thomas Gresham, but Lady Sarah Fane’s grandfather, Robert Child, had hired Robert Adam, the famous Scottish architect, to transform it into its present appearance, and it was considered by many to be one of his greatest masterpieces.

The Warrington chaise drew up in front of the great double hexastyle portico, built to resemble an open classical temple, through which, once one had mounted the broad, high, sweeping stairway, the central courtyard could be seen. Diana, feeling much recovered once her feet touched solid ground, expressed approval of the airy sense of space one felt between the great columns of the portico. Inside, as they followed the butler through a series of magnificent state rooms, she saw that no expense had been spared by Lady Sarah’s trustees to keep the house as Robert Adam had intended it to be kept.

The ornaments in each room were in beautiful taste. The deep crimson frieze in the pale green damask drawing room produced a particularly admirable effect, and all the designs in the next and principal drawing room were excellent, though a trifle too profusely distributed to suit Diana’s taste. In consequence, the rich Gobelin tapestries adorning the walls seemed busy rather than magnificent.