It was not two weeks later that Sir Frederick married the Dowager Baroness.
Aware that most pretty young women with money had either sharp-eyed parents or guardians who would never consider him a good match, he began to pay his court to her almost immediately upon quitting Amber’s apartments—and when he proposed she accepted him. Amber gave her five thousand pounds in return for a witnessed statement that she would never again ask or expect money from her.
At first the Baroness was highly indignant, refused absolutely, and said that she would have all the money since it was her son’s by right. Amber soon persuaded her that in such a case the King would take her side and in the end Lucilla was glad to get the five thousand pounds, which would not now do a great deal more than clear her debts. But she was not giving very much thought to money. All her emotions were centered in the exciting prospect of being a wife again, this time to a handsome and young man who did not seem aware that she was old enough to be his mother. The ceremony took place at night and though Gerald was wretchedly embarrassed by his mother’s behaviour Amber was at once amused, relieved and contemptuous.
There’s no more ridiculous creature on earth, she decided, than your virtuous woman who makes herself miserable for years to preserve what the captious world will never credit her with having.
Now that Amber was rid of her mother-in-law she decided to make a similar arrangement with her husband. She knew that he had begun an affair with Mrs. Polly Stark, a pretty fifteen-year-old who had recently taken a small shop in the ’Change, where she sold ribbons and other trinkets. And so one evening in late November when he strolled into her Majesty’s Drawing-Room she left her card-table and went to join him.
As always when he found himself face-to-face with her he had a look of dread expectancy. Now he supposed that she was going to harangue him about Mrs. Stark. “Gad!” he exclaimed. “But it’s damned hot in here. Frightful, let me perish!”
“Why, I don’t find it so,” said Amber sweetly. ‘Lord, what a handsome suit that is you’re wearing. I vow your tailor’s quite beyond compare.”
“Why—thank you, madame.” Bewildered, he looked down at himself, then quickly returned the compliment. “And that’s a mighty fine gown, madame.”
“Thank you, sir. I bought the ribbons of a young woman newly set up in the ‘Change. Her name’s Mrs. Stark, I think—She knows everything in the world about garniture.”
He turned red and swallowed. So it was Mrs. Stark. He wished he had never come to the Palace. He had not wanted to but had been persuaded by some friends who had an intrigue in the fire with a couple of her Majesty’s Maids. “Mrs. Stark?” he repeated. “Mort Dieu, the name’s familiar!”
“Think hard and I believe you’ll recall her. She remembers you very well.”
“You talked to her!”
“Oh, yes. Half an hour or more. We’re great friends.”
“Well.”
She laughed outright now, tapping him on the arm with her fan. “Lord, Gerald, don’t look so sheepish. How could you be in the fashion if you didn’t keep a wench? I swear I wouldn’t have a faithful husband—it’d ruin me among all my acquaintance.”
He looked at her with astonishment and then stared down at his shoes, frowning unhappily. He was not quite sure whether she was serious or was making fun of him; whichever it was he felt like a fool. He could think of nothing to say in reply.
“And what d’you think?” continued Amber. “She complains you’re stingy.”
“What? Stingy—I? Well, gad, madame—She wants to keep a coach and occupy lodgings in Drury Lane and will wear nothing but silk stockings and I can’t think what all. She’s a damned expensive jade. It would cost me less to keep London Bridge in repair than to support her.”
“Still,” said Amber reasonably, “you can’t set up for a beau if you don’t keep a whore, can you?”
He gave her another quick glance of amazement. “Why—I—Well, it’s all the mode, of course, but then—”
“And if you’re going to keep a wench she must be pretty and the pretty ones come at a high figure.” Suddenly she sobered. “Look, sir: Suppose we two strike up a bargain. I’ll give Mrs. Stark two hundred pound a year—while she keeps your good graces—and I’ll give you four hundred. You can sign a paper agreeing to meet your own expenses from that amount and trouble me no further. If you run into debt I’ll not be held responsible. How does that sound to you?”
“Why—of course that’s very generous of you, madame. Only I thought—that is—Mother said—”
“Pox on your mother! I don’t care what she said! Now, does that satisfy you or no? For if it doesn’t I’ll ask his Majesty to speak to the Archbishop about an annulment.”
“An annulment! But, madame—how can you? The marriage has been consummated!”
