“Maybe acting isn’t. But there’s another that is.” She climbed in, laughing as he sat down heavily beside her.
“So our innocent country-maid has listened to the Devil, after all.”
“What else could I do after—” She stopped quickly, colouring, and then hastily added, “There’s only one way for a woman to get on in the world, I’ve found.”
“There’s only one way for a woman to get on very well—or very far. Who’s your maintainer?”
“Captain Morgan, of his Majesty’s Horse Guard. D’you know ’im?”
“No. I think I’m somewhat out of the fashion, in keepers and clothes alike. There’s nothing will run a man out of the mode so quick as a wife and a home in the country.”
“Oh! So now you’re married!” Amber gave him a roguish grin, almost as though he had just admitted some indiscretion.
“Yes, now I’m married. Two years the 5th of next month. And I’ve got two boys—one a little over a year and another just two months. And—a—weren’t you—” His eyes went down over her questioningly, but he hesitated.
“I have a boy, too!” cried Amber suddenly, unable to control herself any longer. “Oh, Almsbury, you should see him! He looks just like Bruce! Tell me, Almsbury: Where is he? Has he been back to London? Have you seen him?” She did not care any longer about seeming flippant and independent. She was happy with Rex and had almost thought that she was no longer in love with Bruce Carlton—but the mere sight of Almsbury had brought it all churning up again.
“I’ve heard that he’s in Jamaica and sails from there to take Spanish ships. Lord, sweetheart, don’t tell me you’re still—”
“Well, what if I am!” cried Amber, tears in her voice, and she turned her head quickly to look out the window.
Almsbury’s tone was soothing. He moved closer and put an arm about her. “Here—darling. Good Lord, I’m sorry.”
She dropped her head onto his shoulder. “When do you think he’ll come back? He’s been gone two years—”
“I don’t know. But I suppose one of these days when we least expect it he’ll be putting into port.”
“He’ll stay here then, won’t he? He won’t go away again, will he?”
“I’m afraid he will, sweetheart. I’ve known Carlton for twenty years, and most of that time he’s been just coming home or just going away. He doesn’t stay long in one place. It must be his Scottish blood, I think, that sends him off adventuring.”
“But it’ll be different—now that the King’s back. When he has money he can live at Court without having to crawl on his belly—that’s what he said he didn’t like.”
“It was more than that. He doesn’t like the Court.”
“Doesn’t like it! Why, that’s ridiculous! That’s where everybody would live—if they could!”
Almsbury shrugged. “Nevertheless he doesn’t like it. No one does—but few of ’em have got the guts to leave.”
Amber shook her shoulders, pouting, and leaned forward to get out as the coach drew up before her lodging-house. “That sounds like damned nonsense!” she muttered crossly.
Her maid, Gatty, was not in, for Amber had given her permission to see the pageant and then pay a visit to her father. Prudence she had long since dismissed when she had come home unexpectedly to find the girl parading about in her best and newest gown. And there had been two others before Gatty, one sent away for pilfering and the other for laziness. Amber sent Jeremiah to bring them some food from the Bear, an excellent nearby ordinary which sold French food cooked by Englishmen. Her meals were all sent in, from taverns or cook-shops.
She showed him her rooms with great pride, pointing out every detail so that he should miss nothing. Rex was generous and gave her almost everything she asked for; consequently he spent much of his time when not on duty gambling in the Groom Porter’s Lodge or at a tavern.
Among her recent acquirements was a chest of drawers from Holland made of Brazilian kingwood—chocolate brown with black veins, decorated with a great deal of florid Dutch carving. There was a lacquered black Chinese screen, and in one corner stood a what-not loaded with tiny figures: a tree of coral, a blown-glass stag, an old Chinese knife-grinder worked in silver filigree. And over the fireplace hung a three-quarter portrait of Amber.
“What d’you think of me?” she asked, gesturing toward the portrait, tossing her muff and fan aside.
Almsbury put his hands in his pockets and leaned back on his heels, examining it with his head to one side. “Well, sweetheart, I’m glad I saw you in the flesh first, or I should have been troubled to think you’d grown so plump. And who sat for the mouth? That isn’t yours.”
She laughed, beckoning him into the bedroom where she began to unpin her back hair. “Being in the country hasn’t changed you so much, Almsbury. You’re still as great a courtier as ever. But you should see the miniature Samuel Cooper did of me. I’m supposed to be Aphro—I forget what he called it—Venus, anyway, rising from the sea. I stand like this—” she struck an easy graceful pose, “and haven’t got a thing on.”
