“You men! Why is it the greatest whoremaster among you always marries some simple little sugar-sop who doesn’t know one end of him from the other!”
“When shall I bring Bruce here?”
“Why—any time. Tomorrow?”
“Two o’clock?”
“Yes. But, Bruce—”
He bowed to her again and went on, out of the room, while Amber watched him between anger and tears, undecided whether to break something or cry. So she did both.
They came together the next day at two. The little boy, now eight and a half, was much taller and looked a good deal older than when she had seen him last. His resemblance to his father was stronger than ever. He was not at all like her. He was a very handsome decidedly masculine child with great charm and delightful manners, and it seemed incredible to Amber that he could be her own, born of some brief ecstatic moment so many years ago.
His face was eager and joyous at seeing her again, but like a gentleman he paused just inside the door, swept off his hat, and bowed very formally. Amber ran forward with a little cry, dropped to her knees and flung her arms about him, kissing him passionately while her throat ached with tears. Abandoning his own manners then he returned her kisses but kept his face turned so that his father could not see the tears in his eyes.
“Oh, my darling!” cried Amber. “How fine you look! And how tall you’ve grown—and strong!”
He gave a surreptitious little sniffle, dashing the tears off his face with the back of one hand. “I’ve missed you, Mother. England’s so far away when you’re in America.” He grinned at her now, one brown hand on her shoulder. “You look mighty pretty, ma’m.”
She longed to break into sobs, but managed a smile. “Thank you, darling. I hope I’ll always look pretty to you.”
“Why don’t you come back to America with us? We live in a great house now, in Virginia. There’s room enough for all of us and more.
Amber gave Bruce a quick glance, then kissed the little boy again. “I’m glad you want me to live with you, darling, but I don’t think I can. You see, this is where I live.”
He turned now and appealed to his father, with the air of one man stating a practical business proposition to another.. “Then why don’t we all live here, sir?”
Bruce dropped down so that his weight rested on his heels and his face was almost on a level with his son’s; he put one arm about the boy’s waist. “We can’t live here, Bruce, because I can’t leave the plantation. America is my home. But you may stay here, if you prefer.”
Quick disappointment showed on his face. “Oh, but I don’t want to leave you, sir. And I like America.” He turned back to Amber. “Will you come to visit us someday?”
“Perhaps,” said Amber softly, but she did not dare look at Bruce, and then she jumped to her feet. “Would you like to see your sister—Susanna?”
Together the three ran downstairs to the nursery where Susanna was being given her dancing-lesson by an exasperated Frenchman, and just as they arrived she was stamping her foot and screaming at him in a rage. She did not remember her brother at first for she had been only two and a half when he went away, but very soon they were chattering excitedly, exchanging news. Amber dismissed the servants and the four of them were left alone.
Bruce, for all that he seemed so grown-up, could not resist the temptation to brag to his little sister. For he lived in a great new country now, had sailed twice across the ocean, rode his own horse over the plantation with his father, was learning to sail a boat and had shot a wild-turkey just before they left. Susanna was not to be outdone.
“Pish!” she said scornfully. “What do I care for all that!
Bruce was taken aback for no more than an instant. “That’s nothing to me, miss.
“You lie, you rogue!” cried Susanna. Her challenge might have led to an open quarrel, but just at that moment Amber and Bruce interrupted with the suggestion that they all play a game.
After that she saw Lord Carlton frequently, and he came even when he did not bring the little boy. Usually he stayed no more than an hour or two, but he made no great effort to be secretive and Amber decided that marriage had not changed him as much as she had feared at first.
At last she grew bold enough to say to him one day: “What if Corinna finds out about us?”
“I hope she won’t.”
“Gossip spreads like the plague here at Whitehall.”
“Then I hope she won’t believe it.”
“Won’t believe it? Lord, how naive d’you think she is?”
“She’s not accustomed to London morals. She’ll likely think it’s malicious talk.”
“But what if she doesn’t? What if she asks you?”
“I won’t lie to her.” He gave her a quick scowl. “Look here, you little minx, if I find you’ve been up to any of your tricks I’ll—”
“You’ll what?”
