The Emperor (67 page)

Lucy's face was taut and white. 'You are quite wrong,'
she said. 'You may abuse me - indeed, you have every right
- and I do not expect you to understand my feelings. But I
have not written to him.’

Chetwyn regarded her with hostility. 'Surely you don't
expect me to believe that such fond lovers would part without a promise of correspondence?’

Lucy seemed to shrink together. 'I cannot govern what
you believe. But I did not tell Weston that I was with child,
and I shall not tell him that he is the father.’

There was a silence, in which Chetwyn looked puzzled,
doubtful, then apprehensive. 'May I ask the reason for such
forbearance? I was under the impression that you valued
honesty above all other considerations. Or perhaps you pity
me too much to expose me to your lover's wit?'

‘
I never knew,' she said in a small voice, 'that you
minded. Oh Chetwyn, I'm sorry! I never meant to hurt you,
indeed I didn't. But we did not marry for love, and I thought -'

‘
You thought I should not mind who fathered my sons? Well, perhaps it does not matter. Your friend has saved us
both a great deal of trouble, for who knows but what I
mightn't have gone on giving you daughters for ever? Now
we need not trouble each other again. I wish you joy of your
son, madam. Have you decided what to call him? Perhaps
James would be the most tactful choice?'

‘
I didn't tell him, ' Lucy said desperately, 'because it
would be disloyal. You are my husband, and the children
are yours. You said so yourself. I did not think, since ours
was a marriage of convenience, that it mattered where I
gave my heart, but for the rest - I would not tell
anyone
that
the child was not yours!’

Chetwyn thought of his quarrel with Edward, and a sense
of futility washed over him. He lifted his hands in a gesture
of frustration. 'For God's sake, Lucy, why did you have to
tell
me?’

The baby woke, and began to cry. Chetwyn looked at
Lucy helplessly. I'm sorry,' she said. The baby's crying grew
in strength, and almost instinctively, Chetwyn reached into
the crib and lifted the white bundle, remembering anew how small and light new babies were. As soon as he picked it up,
the baby stopped crying, and lay red-faced in his arms,
making surprised gestures with its eyebrows. He tried to
wonder how he would feel if it had been his own son he
held, and found that he could not. This was Lord Calder,
the future Earl of Aylesbury. He had arrived in the world,
and that was that.

‘You did not write to Weston?' Chetwyn said carefully.

‘
No,' said Lucy. The baby began to whimper, and
Chetwyn rocked it a little and made crooning noises, and
Lucy saw the lines at the corners of his mouth soften.
‘About a name for the child,' she said diffidently. 'Have you
any thoughts? Perhaps it could be something Roman, to go
with Flaminia?'

‘
Like Marcus, perhaps?' Chetwyn enquired ironically.
The baby opened its eyes, and he looked down into its face, almost smiling. 'No, I think not. Let it be something modern
and fashionable. What do you say to Roland?’

Lucy's heart lifted. 'Yes, I think that sounds very well,'
she said. Chetwyn laid the baby carefully back in the cradle
and stood looking down at it for a moment; then he turned
to Lucy, his face expressionless.

‘
May I ask what are your plans, madam?' he enquired
politely.

‘Plans?' she said, taken by surprise.

Tor the immediate future. Do you intend returning to
London, or will you stay at Wolvercote?'

‘
Docwra won't let me go anywhere for the moment,' she
said, trying for a smile. 'I thought of asking some people
down for the cub-hunting, and going up at the end of
October.’

Chetwyn bowed. 'Then perhaps I shall see you in
London. I go up first thing tomorrow morning.’

Lucy's smile froze, and her heart sank again. So there was to he no reconciliation. She returned him his bow in
kind, and watched him leave without another word. She was
still thinking deeply when Docwra came back into the room.

‘
Is everything all right, my lady?' Docwra enquired caut
iously.

‘
His lordship is going up to London tomorrow,' Lucy
said absently.

Docwra clucked in disapproval, and Lucy seemed to come
to a decision. 'Well, that sets the tone for the future. He has
his son, and a couple of daughters in addition. I have kept
my side of the bargain. I need concern myself no longer.
Docwra, fetch me my writing case. I have a letter to write —
one that's long overdue.’

*

The new year came in quietly at Morland Place. There had
been no guests for the Christmas season, and Shawes had
not been opened up, for the Chelmsfords had stayed in
London, since Charles had not felt well enough to travel so
far. William was in the West Indies, where Admiral
Seymour's squadron was enjoying moderate success, and
Harry was off Gibraltar keeping watch for any attempt by
the French to re-open communications with its lost
Armée
d'Orient.

Mary Ann had wanted to hold a grand dinner and ball to
celebrate the start of the new century, until Father Aislaby
had pointed out, not entirely tactfully, that she was a year in
advance of the fact. It took all the combined reasoning
powers of the priest and her husband to persuade her that
1800 was the last year of the old century, not the first year
of the new, and even then James was never sure she had
properly understood the argument.

But she was not too unhappy at spending a quiet Christ
mas, for she was pregnant again, and suffering intermittently
from nausea. She satisfied her desire for society with the St
Stephen's Day meet, and a small dinner at which Lord and
Lady Anstey and Sir Arthur and Lady Fussell were the only
guests. She received their congratulations on her hopes with
a shy smile, and a glance at James, whose expression was
inscrutable.

James had decided that Nez Carré, though as willing as
ever, was getting too old to risk on the hunting field, and
took out a young horse which Edward wanted to sell as a
schooled hunter. He rode hard that day, and took risks
which roused indignation in Edward on his youngster's
behalf. He rode up to James at the first check to remon
strate with him, but seeing his brother's expression, moved
away again, the reproof unspoken. He had hoped Mary
Ann's condition meant that James was finally reconciled to
his fate, but the grim and bleak unhappiness in his face as he
waited by the covert revealed even to Edward, who was not
a noticing person, that with James the outside rarely
matched the inside, and that he grieved as much as ever for
Héloïse.

*

 
Lucy was spending Christmas in London, but Chetwyn had
gone down to Oatlands, the Surrey home of the Duke and
Duchess of York. The Duchess, or 'pretty little Princess
Fred' as she was known, was Prussian, and liked to keep the
season in the lavish German manner, with spectacular
decorations, a splendid dinner, and a table laden with gifts for her guests. In the centre of the great dining room there would be a large fir-tree in a pot, also decorated, and hung
with oranges and sweetmeats and gilded gingerbread. After
the distribution of presents, children from orphan asylums
and charity schools would be brought in and allowed to strip
the tree of its good things.

The Duchess was very fond of animals, but did not like women, so the Duke, who was very fond of her, took only
gentlemen and dogs to Oatlands. Horatio, who was also
home for the winter recess, met up with his commander-in-chief at Morning Service in the Chapel Royal. He spoke to
him of Chetwyn's engagement with such wistful envy that
the bluff, good-natured Duke felt constrained to say that he
would be glad of Colonel Morland's company at Oatlands,
only that he thought Lady Barbara might not take kindly to
being left alone.

‘
Indeed, no, sir,' Horatio said hastily, 'Lady Barbara
would not mind in the least. She has no taste for parties, and
would much sooner spend the time quietly at Park Lane. I
assure you, she would be glad to have me out of the way.’

This was no more than the truth. After her delightfully
economical summer at Wolvercote, Lady Barbara had been
reluctant to resume living at her own expense. Since being
obliged to leave Wolvercote in the autumn, she had dis
covered the joys of thrift, and in the short time between her
return to Park Lane and Horatio's arrival home, she had
become obsessed with the making of economies.

While this mode of behaviour satisfied something in her
inmost soul, its joys seemed to Horatio esoteric. His home
had become austere and comfortless, and if he could find
some way of indulging his taste for luxury without breaking
his wife's very laudable resolve not to spend money, he
would be glad of it.

The Duke of York's invitation thus made them both very
happy, and when Chetwyn offered to take Horatio to
Oatlands in his chariot, their happiness was complete; for in
Horatio's absence, Lady Barbara had dispensed with their
own chariot and horses, assuring him on his return that
there was an excellent job-stable only a step away in Hays
Mews.

‘
Depend upon it,' she told her rather startled husband, 'it
is folly to be keeping a carriage, and having a pair of horses
eating their heads off day after day, whether they go out or not. I have so much to do at home that I do not venture out
above twice a week, and then, you know, a hired turn-out
will do just as well for my purposes; and someone else may
feed the horses the rest of the time.’

It did not entirely suit Horatio's ideas of their conse
quence to think of going to evening parties in a hired chaise
behind job-horses; but when he found himself bowling
down the road towards Oatlands in the Aylesbury chariot, behind four high-fed prime goers whose keep had not cost him a penny, he saw the force of his wife's argument, and
blessed Heaven for her wisdom, and his own good sense in
having married her.

Lucy's Christmas in London was quiet. There was no
large party at Carlton House, for the Prince of Wales was in
the throes of a reconciliation with Mrs Fitzherbert. He had
dismissed Lady Jersey in June, and the following month sent
his brother Prince Edward to negotiate with Mrs Fitz
herbert, who finally agreed to come back to him if the Pope
gave permission. They had been married by the Roman
Catholic rite, and though the King would not recognize the
marriage, the Prince of Wales now declared that Maria
Fitzherbert was his 'wife before God' and that he would
acknowledge no other while he lived. A Roman Catholic
priest had been sent to Rome, but until the Pope's decision
was known, Mrs Fitzherbert insisted that she and the Prince
must not see each other.

So with no Carlton House party, and much of her set
away at Oatlands or Belvoir, Lucy spent her time quietly,
riding and driving in the Park, visiting the theatre and the
opera, and dining with friends. Brummell had gone to
Oatlands, but Danby Wiske, dumb with bliss, resumed his
place at her side. He became so accepted as her cicisbeo that
those hostesses who remained in Town over the Christmas
season sent out invitations to Lady Aylesbury and Major
Wiske without thinking twice about it.

One day in January Lucy and Wiske made up a small
party to drive out to Ascot for the races. The war had
caused a shortage of food which brought hard times to the
poor, and footpads and highwaymen had grown more
numerous and more bold of late, but even so Lucy was
astonished as she drove across the heath when two brutish-looking men jumped out from the bushes at the side of the
road. One brandished a pistol and yelled at her to stop,
while the other made a jump for the leaders' heads.