The King called for the traditional merry old folk-dance: “Cuckolds All Awry,” and just as they stood facing each other at the head of a long line, waiting for the music to begin, he said in an undertone: “I hope your husband won’t suspect that choice of music. He doesn’t look as though he’d wear a pair of horns gracefully.”
“I don’t know, Sire,” she murmured, “whether he would or not.”
“What?” asked Charles, in mock surprise. “Married two months and still a faithful wife?”
But the music began then and the dance was too lively to let them talk. He said nothing more and when it was over led her back to Radclyffe, thanked them both, bowed and was gone. Amber was too breathless from excitement and the exertion of the dance to speak. Just as she rose from her curtsy she saw the Duke of Buckingham approaching them.
God’s my life! she thought, in half-hysterical delight. It’s the truth! The men
She glanced hastily around the great room, caught dozens of pairs of eyes upon her—admiring eyes, amused eyes, hostile eyes. But what did it matter why they looked, or how they looked—so long as they did look? Why! I’m the White Ewe tonight-she thought as she recalled an old Alsatian expression.
Everyone wanted to dance with her. York, Rochester, the popular lazy young fop and playwright, George Etherege, the Earl of Arran, the Earl of Ossory, Sedley and Talbot and Henry Jermyn. All the young and gay and handsome men of the Court flirted with her, paid her outrageous compliments, and asked her for assignations. The women exerted themselves to find fault with her gown, her coiffure, her manners—and reached the comfortable conclusion that, after all, she was new and she was rich and of course her reputation as an actress smelt so high it would have caught the attention of any male within the Verge. It was Amber’s night of glorious triumph.
Suddenly into the midst of this perfect world a meteor fell, shattering everything. In one brief interval when she was returned to his side Radclyffe said quietly: “We are going home, madame.”
Amber gave him a look of hurt surprise, for already beside her stood the Duke of Monmouth and James Hamilton. “Home, my lord?” she said incredulously.
Monmouth immediately took it up. “You’re not thinking of going home, sir? Why, it’s still early. And her Ladyship’s the toast of the evening.”
Radclyffe bowed, his thin lips set in a tight ungracious smile. “By your leave, your Grace. I am not a young man, and to me the hour is already late.”
Monmouth laughed, a happy ingenuous laugh which could have offended no one. “Why, then, sir—why not let her Ladyship stay with us? I’ll see her home myself—with a band of fiddlers and a score of links to light us.”
“Oh, yes!” cried Amber, turning eagerly to her husband. “Let me do that!”
Radclyffe ignored her. “You jest, your Grace,” he said stiffly, bowed, and then turned to Amber. “Come, madame.”
Amber’s golden eyes flamed rebelliously and for an instant she thought of refusing, but she did not quite dare. She curtsied to Monmouth and Colonel Hamilton, but kept her eyes down. When they stopped to bid his Majesty good-night shame and disappointment had made her face scarlet and tears stung her eyes. She could not look at him, though she heard the lazy amusement in his voice as he asked why they were leaving so early. Smiles and whispers followed them out of the room—for the impression created was that of a little girl who has misbehaved at her first party and is being led home by a disgruntled parent.
She did not speak until they were in the coach, jogging along King Street. Then she could restrain herself no longer. “Why did we have to come away so soon!” she demanded, and suddenly her voice broke with enraged disappointment.
“I am too old, madame, to enjoy many hours of such noise and confusion.”
“That wasn’t the reason!” she cried accusingly. “And you know it!”
She stared at him, though his face was in shadow, for the streets were dark and the moon showed only a pale light, like a candle seen through a dirty pane. “I am not interested in discussing the matter,” he retorted coldly.
“I am! You made me come away because I was enjoying myself! You can’t stand seeing anyone happy!”
“On the contrary, madame. I do not object at all to happiness. But I do object to watching my wife make a ridiculous display of herself.”
“Ridiculous! What was ridiculous about it? I was doing nothing but dancing and laughing—is that so ridiculous? Maybe you even danced and laughed once yourself—if you were ever young!” She gave him a look of furious loathing, and turned her face away, muttering, “Which I doubt!”
“You’re not so naive, madame, as you try to pretend. You know as well as I do what was in the minds of those men tonight.”
