A Game of Shadows (32 page)

“I will be at peace knowing that Rose rests in consecrated ground.  I never believed she went to Hell, but I know it would have been important to her.”

“May she rest in peace,” Valerie said, squeezing Alec’s hand.

“Amen.”

The day dawned sunny and bright, the cloudless sky the color of bluebells.  It had grown colder over the past few days, a hint of the coming winter noticeable early in the morning and at night, when darkness settled over London chasing the last bit of warmth away and replacing it with the crisp air of fall.  Louisa loved this time of year.  Another week or two and a fire would be needed during the night, the lovely smell of burning wood and dancing shadows filling the bedroom.  Louisa put her hand on her belly as she did every morning, checking if it had grown any bigger.  Her stomach was still flat, but it felt different, more tender.  Her breasts had grown larger, the nipples more sensitive and the veins bluish against the milky whiteness of her skin.  Her figure was changing, and it wouldn’t be long before the child inside her proclaimed dominion over her body.  Louisa had to admit that she was looking forward to this new experience.  It made her a real woman.  If only she could be sure that the child was Theo’s.  It would make things so much easier.  Would she ever know who the father really was unless the child bore a striking resemblance to Theo or Tom?

“Rise and shine,” her aunt sang as she entered the room, carrying Louisa’s gown.  “You’d better get up now if you want to have time to have some breakfast before we leave for church.  Your uncle has already gone to collect Theo.  They will meet us there at ten.  Nervous?”

Louisa sat up, watching her aunt hang up the gown and take matching shoes out of the trunk.  She seemed in good spirits, which was an improvement on the last few weeks.  Louisa couldn’t bear it if Aunt Lou and Uncle Kit were angry with her. 

“No, Aunt Lou, I’m not nervous, but I am excited.  Theo is everything I ever wanted in a husband.” 

Her aunt gave her a puzzled look as if to ask what in the bloody hell she had been doing with Tom when Theo was such a prize, but she remained silent, not wanting to ruin the special day.  Louisa hoped everything would go as planned.  Theo’s brothers were coming to the wedding, and Walter was already at Aunt Caroline’s London house having come up from the country the day before.  Louisa looked forward to meeting them and hoped they would approve of their brother’s choice.  She knew that Robin had his reservations about Theo marrying a Catholic and a commoner.  If only he knew that the Catholic commoner was also pregnant with a child that might or might not be his brother’s.  Louisa washed her face and sat down in front of the mirror, allowing the maid to brush out her hair before arranging it in an elaborate hairstyle.  She intended to be a beautiful bride, radiant and confident despite the circumstances.  Tom was gone for good, so no one had the power to betray her any longer.

If only Genevieve was happier for her.  The girl had been sour and pensive since the day at the graveyard, but she wouldn’t say a word.  Her fear of being cast out was too great, making her easy to
manipulate.  Genevieve would come to the church and be happy for her, but it would be a relief not to live in the same house with her any longer.  The newlyweds would take up residence at their new house in Cheapside, which Robin had generously bought for them as a wedding present.  The house had come fully furnished, sold by a family who’d fallen on hard times and needed to raise capital in a hurry.  Louisa wasn’t pleased with having to live with someone else’s choice of furniture and decorations, but she would change everything in time, putting her own stamp on the house and making it a thing of beauty and comfort. 

Theo had a country estate as well, but Louisa was in no hurry to go to the count
ry.  They would go there next summer to escape the heat and infection of the city, but for now, she wanted to enjoy everything London had to offer.  Louisa closed her eyes for a brief moment, picturing herself sitting on a blanket in a sunny meadow with a beautiful infant in her lap, his dark hair curling just like Theo’s.  She smiled at the image, resolving to put Thomas Gaines out of her mind forever. 

**

The ancient church was bathed in sunlight as Louisa stepped from the carriage, holding up the hem of her skirt.  Aunt Lou’s seamstress had outdone herself, creating a gorgeous gown of pale-pink silk with a rounded neckline and winged collar worked with tiny seed pearls.  The bodice and hem were worked with the same pattern, leaving the voluminous skirt unadorned in between.  It was beautiful, yet understated, bringing the eye to the lovely girl wearing the dress and not the over-the-top decoration that had been so popular in earlier years.  A dainty hat made of matching fabric completed the outfit, perched atop Louisa’s dark curls at a jaunty angle giving her a flirtatious air.  Louisa had never felt as beautiful as she did at that moment, and she smiled at Uncle Kit, who came out of the church to escort her inside and give her away in marriage. 

Louisa barely noticed the two handsome men who stood when she walked in
, or the disapproving gaze of Aunt Maud, her eyes on Theo, whose face split into a smile of joy as he saw her walk down the nave.  Her life began at this moment and everything that came before was just chaff.  Louisa only wished that her parents were there to see her take her rightful place in London society as Lady Carew. 

A light rain fell from the pewter skies, covering everything in sight with a glistening sheen of moisture.  The street was quickly turning into a muddy mess, and the mucky sidewalk was even more slippery than usual, making walking at a good pace a dangerous sport.  A thick mist blew off the river, the boats nearly invisible, their lanterns giving off fuzzy orbs of light that appeared to be floating out of the mist of their own accord.  Boatmen could be heard calling to each other, their voices sounding strangely detached from their bodies.

Kit stared straight ahead as he walked along, concentrating on not slipping and falling into a pile of refuse.  He was miserable enough without being covered in shit.  He supposed he could have taken the carriage, but he didn’t want anyone to know where he was going.  He’d been taken aback when Buckingham invited him to come to York House on the Strand.  Would he really make love to him with his wife right there in the same house?  Kit wondered if the poor woman knew of her husband’s proclivities, but then again, maybe she didn’t care.  Few marriages were based on love and desire; most being contracts between two families designed to further
the political and financial interests of both parties.  Lady Katherine Manners had been sold to Buckingham in marriage like many others of her station.  All the same, Kit hoped he wouldn’t have to face her. 

The house loomed up ahead, solid and imposing, a palace
unto itself.  It wasn’t nearly as vast as Whitehall, but it had a grandeur that marked it as a residence of someone to be reckoned with.  Kit could hear the splashing of water against the dock as a boat pulled up to the arched water gate on the river bank.  Was someone coming or going?  Kit had a flash of hope that Buckingham had changed his mind and left the premises, but he knew it wasn’t likely.  Whoever was getting out of the boat was alone, and Buckingham was never alone.

A liveried manservant led Kit down several hallways, their vaulted ceilings and high windows reminiscent of a church.  The only sound was the echo of their footsteps on the marble floor
, and the oppressive sound of a house with not enough occupants and too many rooms.  Kit supposed Buckingham had his private apartments separate from his wife, who he probably visited only occasionally for the purpose of procreation.

The servant led Kit through a set of heavy wooden doors, which led to yet another hallway and another set of doors.  A maid scurried past them, carrying a basket of linens
, but otherwise the hallway was deserted.  The final set of doors led to Buckingham’s private apartments,
—
“
The entrance to Hell,”
Kit thought as he pushed open the door and walked inside.  Buckingham didn’t come to greet him this time.  He sat with his feet up on a low stool, a fire blazing in the grate.  It wasn’t cold, but dampness penetrated everything this close to the river, the mist swirling right outside, engulfing everything in a gray shroud. 

Buckingham gestured to a chair opposite his own, his eyes never leaving the merry fire.  He certainly didn’t seem amorous today, his hooded eyes blank and staring
, a goblet of wine in his hand. 

“Are you all right, Your Grace?” Kit asked, hoping he wasn’t.  Buckingham took a sip of wine, his eyes never straying from the dancing flames.  He just shook his head as he shrugged noncommittally.

“The Duke of Buckingham is always all right; it’s George Villiers that has his moments of melancholy.  Get some wine, Christopher,” he added absentmindedly.

“What’s troubling you, George?” Kit asked, pouring himself a glass of wine and sitting back down.  He suddenly realized that Villiers wanted more from him than just physical gratification.  He wanted him to play the lover, listening and comforting him in his hour of need.  That was absurd, but he supposed listening to Buckingham for a little while was a lot less agonizing than being fucked. 

“Come, George, tell me about it,” he invited, taking a sip of wine and watching his “lover” debate the wisdom of sharing his concerns. 

Buckingham ran his hand through his unruly curls, finally turning to face Kit.  “I suppose I’m just being overly
sensitive, but I’m not very popular these days.”  He gave Kit a dramatic look, his face scrunched up like a child who was about to cry.

“Surely His Majesty still loves you,” Kit replied.  He’d recently heard a rumor that the king referred to Buckingham as “my sweet child and wife” in one of his letters.  It hadn’t been the first expression of love from their monarch, his love for Villiers an open secret at Court.
  Was it really possible that the king himself was a sodomite, maintaining a relationship with Buckingham right under the nose of the queen?

“Sweet James will always love me, but it’s the people I’m referring to.  They’ve gotten wind of Charles’
s betrothal to Henrietta Maria of France, which I helped to broker.  His Majesty approves the match for his son, especially since the alliance with the Spanish princess didn’t come to fruition, but the people are not happy, Christopher.  She’s a Catholic princess; that’s all they care about.  What does it matter if she flagellates herself or yearns to burn someone at the stake?  Her only job is to guarantee our alliance with France and spread her legs often enough to produce several heirs.  It’s not as if she will have a voice in anything that matters.”  Buckingham took another sip of wine, pouting like a girl.  Kit was sure he wasn’t finished with his list of grievances.

“And speaking of heirs, did you know I only have one daughter?  I must have a son to carry on the title once I’m gone –
- a son!”  He turned to Kit as if he were the one who failed to provide him with an heir.  “You have a son,” he added accusingly.  “How happy you must be.”

Maybe you
’re sticking it in the wrong place
, thought Kit with uncharacteristic venom, forcing himself to rearrange his face into an expression of understanding and sympathy.

“You are still young, George, you’ll have more children.”

“I’m thirty-two, Christopher, hardly young.  I should have had half a dozen heirs by now, but my wife has managed one girl.  Do you enjoy lying with your wife?” he asked suddenly.

“I love my wife, George.”  Kit wasn’t about to discuss his marital relations with Buckingham.  He would not taint his
feelings for Louisa by sharing them with a man who was blackmailing him and causing him such torment.

“How blessed you are to be married to a woman you love.  I could never be in a legal union with the object of my affection, but it doesn’t mean my love is any less real.”  Buckingham rose to his feet, putting his glass on a table, his hand unsteady.  “I think I need to lie down, Christopher.  My head aches something awful and my bowels are in a knot.  Thank you for listening to me.  You’ve made me fee
l better.”  Buckingham planted a wine-infused kiss on Kit’s lips, holding out his hand.  “Come and lie down with me awhile.” 

Buckingham carefully reclined on the bed, putting his head on Kit’s shoulder and snuggling closer in an effort to get more comfortable.  Kit had no choice but to put his arms around him and hold him as he finally fell asleep, murmuring words of love and gratitude that left Kit feeling even worse than he already did.

Abbie kneaded the dough for bread as if the dough had grossly offended her in some way.  She punched it and slammed it against the table, using it to release some of her fear and frustration.  Sam had been gone for over three weeks and despite all their efforts, they hadn’t found a trace of his whereabouts.  Finn had gone out with Mr. Jenkins the day after Sam vanished, but word got around quickly that the authorities were looking for them, forcing them to stay hidden at the farm.  Mr. Jenkins did his best, but found nothing. 

For the first few days
, Abbie kept hoping that Sam would just show up; that he’d survived somehow and found his way to them, but as time went by she had to face the truth.  Sam was gone.  If he had survived, he would have managed to get word to them somehow, but there’d been nothing but deafening silence.  Abbie slammed the dough one last time before molding it into several loaf-shaped ovals and putting them into the oven to bake.  She sat down, suddenly tired.  She was grateful not to feel nauseous like Martha did when she was first pregnant, but she did feel awfully tired, desperate for a nap after the midday meal.  Finn encouraged her to rest, knowing that the only time she was truly at peace was when she was sleeping. 

Abbie looked up as Finn came in carrying two buckets of milk.  He set them down and looked her over.  “Are you all right?  You look flushed.”  Abbie just nodded, picking up a cup and handing it to Finn to fill with milk.  She was
terribly thirsty.  Finn gave her a cup of milk and took one for himself, drinking it in one long swallow. 

“Abbie, it’s time to leave.”  He said it quietly, but his tone brooked no argument.  “It’s been nearly two weeks now.  The British
have defeated General Washington at Brandywine Creek and are poised to take Philadelphia.  We must leave while we can.”

Abbie went still, the empty cup falling from her hand as she absorbed the news.  How could this have happened?  First Washington lost New York
, and now he would lose Philadelphia.  This was so much worse than any of them expected.

“When did this happen?” she asked, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“The battle took place on September 11
th
.  General Howe managed to position his forces behind Washington’s right flank, breaking through and driving the Continental Army to the northeast.  Jim just told me this morning.”

“So, my information was useless?” Abbie asked.  It rankled her to think that she would have died for nothing.

“I don’t know.”  Finn sat down on the bench, suddenly looking defeated.  “Abbie, we need to leave.”

“Finn, I can’t leave until I know what happened to Sam.  Please
, don’t ask me to.”  Abbie looked away from him, hoping he would let the matter drop for the time being, but Finn wasn’t giving up.

“We can’t afford to wait any
longer.  Sam’s gone, Abbie.”

“No, he’s not!” she cried, tears spilling down her cheeks.  They were never too far away these days.

“Abbie, if Sam survived, he will find his way back.  He is a soldier; he can take care of himself.  In the meantime, you must think of our child.  We have to go back to Virginia.”  Finn stood up, placing his palms on the table and glaring at her.    He had no intention of backing down, and she knew it.

“Finn, the baby doesn’t seem real to me yet, but I’ve known Sam all my life.  He’s my big brother
, and I love him with all my heart.  How can I just leave him here?” She wiped the tears away angrily, upset with Finn for not seeing her point of view.

“I love him too, Abbie.  He’s like the brother I never had, but you are my priority.  I swore to your father that I would bring you home.”  His voice was low, but she could hear him just fine.  “I have never imposed my will on you.  Never.  But you are my wife
, and you will obey me in this.  We will leave by the end of this week.  Is that understood?” 

“I’ll never forgive you for this.”  Abbie stood up and ran to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.  She knew that Finn was right, but she needed someone to blame, and right now,
he was all she had.  Abbie threw herself down on the bed, crying her heart out and hoping that Finn would follow her and comfort her, but he didn’t.  The door remained firmly closed.