Corinna laughed. “I suppose it might seem dull to one who had always lived in a city, but it doesn’t seem dull to me. It’s such a beautiful land. And the plantations all front on rivers so that we travel easily by boat anywhere we want to go. We love to give parties—and often they last for days or weeks. The men are busy, of course, with their work, but they have time aplenty for hunting and fishing and gambling and dancing, too. Oh, forgive me, your Grace, I’m boring you with all this nonsense—”
“By no means. I’ve always wondered what America was like. Perhaps I’ll pay you a visit someday.” She could not imagine what had prompted her to say that.
But Corinna caught her up eagerly. “Oh, your Grace, if you would! My husband and I would love to have you! You can’t imagine what excitement it would cause! A duchess and a beauty in America! Why, you’d be feted in every great house in Virginia—but of course we’d keep you with us most of the time.” Her smile was so genuine, so guileless, that Amber boiled inside with resentful fury. Lord, but she
Aloud she asked her: “When are you going over to France?” She had asked Bruce several times but had never received a definite answer, and since they had already been there two months she was afraid that they might be planning to leave very soon.
“Why—not for some time, I think.” Corinna hesitated a moment, as though uncertain whether she should say any more. Then quickly, with a kind of pride and the air of giving a precious confidence, she added: “You see, I’ve found that I’m with child and my husband thinks it would be unwise to start until after the baby has been born.”
Amber said nothing, but for a moment she felt sick with shock, her mind and muscles seemed paralyzed. “Oh,” she heard herself murmur at last. “Isn’t that fine.”
Angrily she told herself that she was being a fool. What did it matter if the woman was pregnant? What could that mean to her? She should be glad. For now he would be here longer than he had intended—much longer, for so far Corinna showed no evidence at all of pregnancy. She got to her feet then, saying that she must go, and Corinna pulled a bell-rope to summon a servant.
“Thank you so much for coming to call, your Grace,” she said as they walked toward the door. “I hope we shall become good friends.”
They paused just in the doorway now and Amber looked at her levelly. “I hope we shall too, madame.” Then, unexpectedly, she said something else. “I met your son yesterday in the Palace.”
A quick puzzled look crossed Corinna’s face, but instantly she laughed. “Oh, you mean young Bruce! But he isn’t my son, your Grace. He’s my husband’s son by his first wife—though truly, I love him as if he were my own.”
Amber said nothing but her eyes turned suddenly hard, and the swift fierce jealousy sprang up again. What do you mean! she thought furiously. You love him as if he were your own! What right have you to love him at all! What right have you to even know him! He’s mine—
Corinna was still talking. “Of course I never met the first Lady Carlton—I don’t even know who she was—but I think she must have been a very wonderful woman to have had such a son.”
Amber forced herself to give a little laugh, but there was no humour in it. “You’re mighty generous, madame. I should think you’d hate her—that first wife he had.”
Corinna smiled slowly. “Hate her? Why should I? After all—he belongs to me now.” She was speaking, of course, of the father, not the son. “And she left me her child.”
Amber turned about swiftly to shield her face. “I must go now, madame—Good-day—” She walked along the gallery but had gone only a few steps down the broad staircase when she heard Corinna’s voice again.
“Your Grace—you dropped your fan—”
She went on, pretending not to hear, unable to bear the thought of facing her again. But Corinna came hurrying after her, her high golden heels making a sharp sound as she walked along. “Your Grace,” she repeated, “you dropped your fan.”
Amber turned to take it. Corinna was standing just above her on the steps and now she smiled again, a friendly almost wistful smile. “Please don’t think me foolish, your Grace—but for a long while I’ve felt that you misliked me—”
“Of course I don’t—”
“No, I’m sure you don’t. And I shall think of it no more. Good-day, your Grace—and pray do come visit me again.”
ONE WARM NIGHT in early November there was a water-pageant on the Thames. This was a favourite entertainment of the King’s, and a group had gathered in his apartments to watch from the balconies. The skiffs and barges were decorated with flower-garlands and banners and a multitude of lanterns and flaring torches. From the other shore rockets shot up and fell back, hissing, into the water; streaks of yellow light crossed the sky. Music drifted from the boats and the King’s fiddlers played in a far corner of the room.
