Forever Amber полностью

“You’re not going—if I have to tie you to a bedpost! It is possible to have plague twice, you know. If you had any sense you wouldn’t want to go back—for nothing. Bruce left because he had to. His ships may be ruined or plundered by now and if they haven’t been they would be soon after the town began to fill again. Now, darling, for God’s sake—be sensible. He’ll be back again some day; he said he would.”

Amber looked up at him, her lower lip still rolled out stubbornly, but tears were in her eyes and beginning to slide over her cheeks. She sniffled but did not protest when he put his arms about her. “But why,” she asked him at last, and caught her breath on a sob, “why didn’t he even say ‘goodbye’ to me? Last night—why, last night was just like always—”

He pressed her head to his chest and stroked her hair. “Just maybe, sweetheart—it was because he didn’t want to quarrel.”

Amber gave a mournful little wail and burst into tears at that, her arms going about his neck for comfort. “I—I wouldn’t have quarrelled! Oh, Almsbury! I love him so much!”

He let her cry, holding her close, until at last she began to grow quiet again. Then he took out a handkerchief and gave it to her. “Did you notice the gentleman coming downstairs as you were going up?”

She blew her nose, wiped at her red eyes and tear-stained face. “No. I didn’t. Why?”

“He asked me who you were. He thinks you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.”

Vanity crept through her grief. “Does he?” She sniffled a few times, looking down at the handkerchief as she twisted it in her hands, and then blew her nose again. “Who is he?”

“He’s Edmund Mortimer, Earl of Radclyffe—one of the oldest and most honoured families in England. Come on, darling, it’s time for dinner. Let’s go down—he wants to be presented.”

Amber sighed, turning away. “Oh, I don’t care if he does. I don’t want to know anyone else.”

Almsbury gave her an ingratiating smile. “You’d rather stay in your room and mope, is that it? Well, do as you like, but he’ll be mighty disappointed. To tell you the truth, I think he might make you a proposal.”

“A proposal! What the devil would I want with another husband? I’m never going to get married again!”

“Not even to an earl—” said his Lordship thoughtfully. “Well, my dear, do as you like. But I thought I heard you say something to Bruce the other night like: ‘Just wait till I’m Countess of Puddle-dock.’ Now here’s your chance—are you going to throw it away?”

“I suppose you told the old dotard how rich I am.”

“Well, now—perhaps I did. I don’t remember.”

“Oh, well, then, I’ll come down. But I’m not going to marry him. I don’t care whether I ever get to be a countess or not!”

But she was already thinking: If the next time Bruce saw me I was her Ladyship, Countess of Radclyffe, he’d take some notice of that, I’ll warrant you!

He’s only a baron!

DINNER WAS POSTPONED a half-hour, while Amber dressed again and removed the traces of tears from her face. Then, throwing a fur-lined cloak about her shoulders, she went to the dining-parlour. It was always necessary to wear cloaks when passing from one room to another during the winter, but this year it was so cold that they must be worn all the time.

Almsbury and his guest stood before the fireplace. Lady Almsbury sat near them, working on a piece of needlepoint. The two men turned, Almsbury made the introductions, and as Amber curtsied her eyes swept critically over the Earl of Radclyffe. Her first reaction was quick: How ugly he is! She decided immediately that she would not marry him, and they sat down to dinner.

Edmund Mortimer was fifty-seven and looked at least five years older. He was perhaps three inches taller than Amber, but because she had on high-heeled shoes they were exactly of a height. Slight and delicate, with narrow shoulders and thin legs, his head seemed too large for his fragile frame and the luxuriant periwig he wore increased the effect of disproportion. His face was severe and ascetic in expression and as he spoke decaying yellow teeth showed between his tight-pressed lips. Only his clothes met with her approval, for they were the most exquisite, the most perfect in every detail, that she had ever seen. And his manners, though cold and not engaging, were likewise impeccable.

“His Lordship,” said Almsbury, as they began to eat, “has been travelling on the Continent these three years past.”

“Oh?” said Amber politely. She was not hungry and she wished that she had stayed in her own room. She had to swallow food to force down the aching lump that rose in her throat. “But why come back now, of all times—with the plague among us?”

His voice, as he answered her, was precisely clipped, as though the man who spoke would tolerate no carelessness. “I am no longer young, madame. Sickness and death do not frighten me any more. And my son is to be married within the fortnight—I came back for the ceremony.”

“Oh.” That was all she could think of to say.