Improbable Eden (36 page)

“
At least let me pay for the damage,” Max persisted.

The coachman snorted again. “Milord says he's having a new one made. It seems his son, Lord Spencer, is going a-wooing.” The man halted abruptly, glancing around the crowded room. “Oh, blimey, it's no secret now. Young Spencer is courting Anne Churchill. The match looked dubious, don't you know, because her father was in the Tower.” He leaned on the table confidentially. “All London's abuzz—Marlborough's been set free.” The coachman sat back, waiting for an appropriate response. “What do you think of that, eh?”

“
We'll head for St. James's,” Max said as they hurried out into St. Martin's Lane. “Jack will undoubtedly join the Countess there.”

Wearing Max's cloak, Eden blinked against the unexpected brightness of the afternoon. The snow flurry had passed, leaving London under a brilliant white mantle. Footprints already marred the pristine landscape, but a sense of peace had descended over the neighborhood. The aftermath of the storm not only concealed the drab and dirty aspect of the city, it also had erased the evil that had so recently pervaded the lane outside Old Slaughter's. Eden could not be sure exactly where Rudolf had been killed. Even the lumpy mass that had once been the fat snow woman was a sparkling mound, which the children were turning into a fantasy castle.

In the Strand, the winter calm was broken by shouts from a gaggle of Londoners who surrounded two men on horseback. Eden and Max paused, both shielding their eyes against the bright winter sun.

“
It's Jack,” said Max, grinning. “And Joost. They must be coming from the Tower.”

Amid the cheers of his supporters, the Earl of Marlborough sat astride a handsome gray gelding. He wore the same brown cloak he'd had on when Eden first met him in Smarden, but had acquired a beaver hat with a turned-up brim etched in gold braid. Keppel was costumed in his usual style, a peacock blue embroidered cloak over an orange satin vest, fringed gauntlets at his wrists, with a black plush muff depending from a silver ribbon slung around his neck. The sleek bay stallion he rode was caparisoned to match its rider's wardrobe. But all eyes were on the Earl.

Taking Eden by the hand, Max led her up the Strand to join the festive crowd. But before they could reach the gathering, a calèche came crunching over the snow-covered street, its top folded back to reveal Sarah, Countess of Marlborough, and the five Churchill offspring.

To Eden's surprise, the smallest girl was no more than seven years old. It had not occurred to her that the Earl's other children could be so young. The boy was no more than ten, but his three elder sisters all appeared to be in their middle teens. Eden tried to scrutinize them for possible signs of kinship. They were a handsome lot, but at a distance of some twenty feet, she saw little resemblance to herself. Marlborough had been right, Eden was definitely her mother's daughter.

Her father's wife did not see Eden and Max, so intent was she on the gladsome sight of her husband. As the calèche rolled to a halt near the entrance to Drury Lane, the Earl jumped from his horse, the crowd obligingly parted, and the Countess alighted from the calèche with her children at her heels.

The public reunion of husband and wife evoked a hearty cheer from the onlookers. Keppel beamed his approval while Max put an arm around Eden and inclined his head in a bemused manner. The young Churchills were being greeted one by one, with a special salute for the son and heir who stood at military attention before allowing his father to hug him close. Eden felt tears sting her eyes, and she put her head against Max's arm.

“
I should be ecstatic,” she murmured as all the Marlboroughs clambered into the calèche. “Why am I crying?”

Max's initial reaction was to tell Eden that she was shedding tears of joy. But another look at the delirious Marlborough family elicited a different opinion. Max phrased his reply as tactfully as possible. “You wanted to be the bearer of good news. It didn't work out that way, Eden.” He gave her shoulders a little squeeze as he wiped her tears with his finger. “You'll see Jack later. I know he'll be enormously grateful.”

“
It's not that,” Eden began, but stopped as the calèche turned around in the middle of the Strand and began to head for St. James's Palace. With her hand half raised, Eden thought of calling out to her father. But the procession, truncated as it was, suddenly reminded her of that summer day on the road to Tunbridge Wells, when she had wanted so badly to be noticed by King Charles. Even after more than a decade, Eden couldn't bear a repetition of the humiliation she'd suffered when the man she believed to be her father had ridden on without so much as a nod.

And then, as Marlborough and his children jostled for comfortable positions in the carriage, he turned toward Eden and Max. His refined features lighted up, and a smile as dazzling as the snow crossed his face.

“
Max! Eden! Come here!” The calèche stopped again, the driver waiting patiently while still more Londoners congregated.

“
Jack!” Eden cried as she ran to meet him. Her feet slipped twice on the fresh snow, but both times Max grabbed her arm. A moment later, she was leaning against the calèche, holding Marlborough by the hands. “I didn't think you saw me,” she whispered, unaware that her cheeks were still damp with tears.

“
I didn't,” Marlborough replied honestly. His smile was as kindly as ever, his manner as self-deprecating as Eden remembered. “I'm not used to being out in the bright light of day.”

Eden smiled through her tears. “I'm so glad you're free! I've been afraid … of so many things.”

“
Here,” said Marlborough with a mild glance of reproach at his younger children who were growing fractious, “come join us. We're a bit cramped, but we'll manage.” He looked beyond Eden to Max who was standing with hands on hips amidst a clutch of well-wishers. “Max! Take my horse, ride with Joost. We're heading for St. James's.”

Eden hesitated for only a moment, then climbed into the carriage. The Countess's smile held a hint of frost, but the rest of the family displayed unconcealed curiosity. As Eden watched Max swing up on the Earl's gray gelding, she became aware of the awkward atmosphere that had suddenly enveloped her fellow passengers.

Apparently, Marlborough felt the same sense of discomfiture. With Eden pressed between him and the side of the calèche, he bestowed a sympathetic smile on his family. “My dear children,” he said in his imperturbable voice, “this is your sister, Eden. We all owe her a great debt. Indeed,” he went on, while the five young Churchills gaped with varying degrees of disbelief, surprise and hostility, “she has saved my life.”

“
Our sister?” Anne blurted, taking in only the first part of her father's words. “Papa, how can this be? Do you mean that ….” Words failed the Earl's eldest.

“
It means your father is human and had an unfortunate lapse,” snapped Sarah, shoving her hands deep inside her ermine muff. “In fact, he had two of them. The other one is in France.” The Countess's expression brooked no further remarks.

The Earl, however, was not quite as cowed by his wife as the rest. “We'll have a long talk about all this later, my dears. Indeed, we'll have plenty of time to talk and talk. Thank God,” he breathed, and without regard for the sensibilities of the others, he reached out and patted Eden's hand. Her face glowed with happiness. After a lifetime of waiting, her father's carriage had finally stopped to take her in.

By the time the Marlborough entourage had reached St. James's, the crowd of admirers had grown into the hundreds. At the palace gates the Earl doffed his beaver hat and waved while a great cheer shook the afternoon's relative calm.

Members of Princess Anne's household rushed to greet Marlborough and escort his family to the Heiress Presumptive's apartments. Eden was propelled along with the others, though she would have preferred to wait for Max. She had last seen him coming down Pall Mall, trying along with Keppel to push through the surging crowd.

Once inside the palace, Eden caught Anne Churchill by the sleeve. “Milady,” she said, not quite certain how to address her half sister when it came to rank, “I will rejoin His Lordship as soon as I can, but I must see after Prince Maximilian. He, too, would like to officially greet your—” Eden swallowed hard, then lifted her chin with dignity “—
our
father.”

Anne, who closely resembled her mother, glanced at her parents as they proceeded down the passageway surrounded by old friends. When she was assured that the Earl and his Countess were out of earshot, Anne grabbed Eden by the arm. “Is it true that Charles's coach trampled a German noble today?”

For a moment, Eden had no idea what her half sister was talking about. “Count Rudolf?” She saw Anne give an ambivalent nod. “He was killed in St. Martin's Lane—oh! Is this Charles the son of Lord Sunderland?” inquired Eden.

Anne's eyes shone. “He is. And as brave as his father is guileful.” Her feet sketched little dancing steps in the wet entry hall. “My parents despise them both. But I intend to marry Charles anyway! Are you really the one I have to thank for my good fortune?”

Taken aback by Anne's forthright speech, Eden tugged at the folds of Max's cloak. “I' truth, if you mean that His Lordship's release has removed a cloud from over your marriage prospects, then I may have been of some help. But,” she added with a little tremor in her voice, “I owe your beloved's kin even more. The coachman may have saved my life, and that of Prince Maximilian, as well.”

Anne accepted Eden's gratitude without emotion. “Well and good. Charles will be pleased.” The sparkle ignited in her blue eyes. “He hates the nobility, you see. As long as this Rudolf was a count, the coachman no doubt will be rewarded.”

“
But … Eden stared at Anne in bewilderment. “Isn't Charles a nobleman himself?”

Anne was already making her way down the passage. “Oh, yes,” she called over her shoulder. “But Charles prefers to be known as Mr. Spencer. Don't you think that's rather brave? Imagine, such a fuss over titles! What's a name, after all?”

What, indeed, thought Eden as she watched Anne Churchill skip off in the direction of the royal apartments. For Eden, finding a name had been a lifelong search. After nineteen years of imagining who she might be, she had discovered that she was a Churchill and a Villiers. But for her half sister, who had never been shadowed by doubt, the prospect of becoming Mrs. Spencer put spring into her step. Marveling at the ironies of life, Eden departed the palace to find Max. And for the first time, she realized that though she knew his title, she didn't know his full name.

Outside, the crowd had dispersed, except for a handful of citizens who huddled together under the fading sun to discuss the consequences of Marlborough's release.

“ '
E'll be our general again, mark my words,” a pockmarked man of middle age admonished his listeners. “An' send them Frenchies 'arfway to 'ell, 'e will.”

“
No wonder Wee Willie Cheesemonger couldn't win the war,” grumbled a tall woman. “Foreigners don't know how to fight except with each other.”

Eden suppressed a smile at the running commentary as she walked through the newly trampled snow to Pall Mall.

No doubt Max had decided not to intrude on the family reunion. As for Keppel, he knew of the Countess's antipathy toward him and probably felt it tactful to withdraw.

Yet it was Joost Eden saw in the dying light, his stallion pawing impatiently at a bare patch of ground. “Where's Max?” she called, approaching with caution, for ice was forming a thick crust on the wide street that led away from the palace and into the Strand.

“
Where have you been?” Keppel asked in a petulant tone, though it occurred to Eden that of course he must know.

“
I was carried away by ….” The words died on her lips as she saw Keppel's unhappy expression. “Joost! What has happened? Where's Max?”

Keppel soothed his horse with a distracted hand. “I thought you knew. Didn't you see?” He waved his plush muff in the general direction of Whitehall. “The King's men have arrested Max. He's been taken to the Tower.”

E
den could not believe that her state of euphoria had evaporated so swiftly. As she rode pillion behind him, Keppel was doing his best to explain what had happened, though he was somewhat uncertain. “Soldiers bearing the royal insignia came up to us just before we got to St. James's,” he said as they passed through Temple Bar. “I' faith, I wasn't quite sure of the charge. It wasn't treason, but rather conspiracy or complicity. It all sounded most vague to me. The strange part was, Max didn't argue. That's not like him.”

“
It's not.” Eden was thoughtful as they crossed the road that led to Blackfriars. “I don't understand,” she said fretfully. “Max seemed so confident that he wouldn't be arrested. Do you think this box of bees is Bentinck's doing?”

Keppel hesitated in answering while he guided the black stallion around the base of the tall pillar that commemorated London's great fire. “As much as it galls me, Bentinck retains much of his power. It's a sop, you see,” he went on, giving Eden a faintly shamefaced look over his shoulder. “The King is going to make me Earl of Albermarle within the month.”