She was mired in the depths of depression and feelings of inferiority for months. Adrian knew there was something wrong; she saw him looking at her, concern and puzzlement in his eyes, but she could not speak to him of her troubles. His own traditions, she knew, were stoic; if he felt weariness or grief or fear he would deal with it privately and carry on. She could not cry on his shoulder that she missed her father and her country. She could not say that she loved her son but he tired her unendurably. She could not tell him that she felt a failure as a wife. He would be all sympathy and reassurance, she knew, but she was horribly afraid that he would secretly think her a failure.
The image of the Comtesse d’Aubigny rose
to
haunt her. She could never imagine that elegant woman of the world allowing herself to get into such a miserable emotional knot. She could not imagine the Comtesse ever failing, as she was failing, in the important business of social representation. The Comtesse would always be by her husband’s side, would entertain for him with efficiency and brilliance, would always uphold in the social world the same high standard he himself did in the political world.
As May progressed, and the beautiful English countryside was at its glorious best, Tracy became more and more convinced that she must go up to London with Adrian. He had been given a Cabinet post and was busier than ever now that the Congress of Aix La Chapelle was over and some basic decisions had been made about foreign policy. He was an extremely important personage, and it was time his wife came out of hiding and assumed her appointed, her expected, her imposed, character.
Adrian had never once suggested that he wanted her to go up to London with him. She thought, somewhat hollowly, that he probably thought she was incapable of assuming the duties and responsibilities of her station. He probably thought that all she was good for was to stay at home, pickling and gardening.
She was dreadfully afraid that that
was
all she was good for. The London world was so tremendously fixed and ordered. It demanded things be done on a grand scale. All the great people of the land, such as Lady Bridgewater, would be watching her with merciless attention, waiting for her to fail. She felt sick at the very thought of having to face that world again, and compete in it.
But as the weeks went by she became more and more convinced that she would have to face it. She owed it to Adrian. If his wife constantly failed to do what by rights he would expect of her, then she could not complain if he looked elsewhere for what she did not give. She thought again, with hatred, of the Comtesse d’Aubigny.
Her mind was made up on a cool spring evening late in the month. The Duke had been in London for almost a week and he seemed, to Tracy, more absent than ever before. Too absent. She could not go on like this, she thought, as she stared into the fire. She was dressed for dinner and waiting for Mary and Miss Alden to join her, and when the door opened behind her she turned, expecting to see them. Instead she saw her husband.
“Adrian.”
She had hoped to see him earlier, but when he had not arrived she had resigned herself to another endless day’s absence. He stood before her for a moment as though revealed, so perfect in his beauty that she felt again the stab of inferiority. How could she ever hope to be worthy of him?
He came across the room and held her close and long. “How are you,
ma mie?”
he murmured, scanning her face.
“Fine, now that you are here.”
They spoke for perhaps three minutes, then he said, “Am I too late for dinner?”
“Certainly not. Do you want to dine right away, or do you want to change?”
“Change,” he said firmly. “If you don’t mind waiting?”
“Of course not.” She watched him walk through the door, but, even in his absence, the room seemed filled with his presence.
She would go up to London with him, she determined. She would conquer all her private demons and do for him and be to him all that he would wish for in a wife.
Mary came in and said, “I see Adrian has arrived.”
Tracy smiled peacefully. “Yes.” She felt better now that her decision had been made.
The Duke was not completely pleased with her announced intention. “Come to London with me! But you’re still nursing the baby, Tracy.”
“He can come with us. He is sleeping through the night now. There is no reason for me to be as tied down as I have been.”
“It will be too tiring for you,” he protested. “The country is quieter, less demanding. I’m afraid London will wear you out.”
“Nonsense, Adrian,” Tracy retorted rather sharply. She had been touched on a sore point. “I am perfectly fine.” There was doubt in the Duke’s dark blue eyes. “Unless, of course, you don’t want me to come,” she added stiffly.
“Of course I want you,
ma mie,”
he said quietly.
“Good. Then that’s settled.” She turned to address a remark to Miss Alden.
They sat together in intimate silence after dinner and listened to Mary play the piano. The beautiful music, beautifully played, lifted Tracy out of herself. For the first time in too long she felt high above the pits of despair and inadequacy in which she had been mired. All her stumbling blocks were below her. For the first time in months she felt she would be able to do what she desired.
When Adrian took her hands in his as they stood together over their sleeping baby, she felt herself melting as she had not done since before Billy’s birth. He put an arm about her and, held close to his side, she slowly walked with him into her bedroom.
* * * *
Adrian was deeply worried about Tracy. Over the months he had watched her closely, thinking, waiting, fearing. At first he had told himself that her strained look and unaccustomed silences were caused by fatigue. But as time went by, and he caught her several times with tearstains on her face, he began to fear it was something more serious. He began to fear she was regretting her marriage.
For the Duke, his wife had come to be, quite simply, the most important thing in his life. He had loved many other women, but his interest had always waned with his possession. With his wife, the reverse was true. The more she surrendered to him, the more her power over him increased. It had become the focal point of his life: to know she was there, was his, was his wife. It shook him to the very core of his being, the fear that she was withdrawing from him, the fear that he was losing her.
He had only one way of expressing himself to a woman, but Tracy did not want him to make love to her. With a restraint he had not known he possessed, he contained himself and did not ask her for what she could not freely give. And, throughout all the long days and nights of the long months, he remained faithful to her.
It was not because he was not tempted. London was filled with beautiful, willing women, and the months of abstinence were very long. He was tempted. But he had always believed in his luck; and he had always felt he deserved his luck. He stayed faithful to Tracy mainly due to this obscure superstition. If he betrayed her—his dearest love, his golden girl—he was putting all of his happiness into jeopardy.
And it seemed that his patience was finally bearing fruit. Her responsiveness to him on the night of his return had been like manna in the desert. As they drove together up to London, he hoped that all their trouble was now over. He hoped, fervently, that he had got his wife back again.
Chapter 21
Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place.
—Shakespeare
The American political situation was once again about to create a disturbance in the lives of the Duke and Duchess of Hastings. The uproar over General Jackson’s executions of Ambrister and Arbuthnot had quite blown over, with the two victims being written off by the British government as a necessary debit in the balance sheet of Anglo-American affairs. This caused Spain, who finally realized that it could not count on aid from Britain, to get on with negotiations over the Floridas. So, on February 22, the Spanish Ambassador to the United States and Secretary of State John Quincy Adams had signed Adams’ masterpiece, the Transcontinental Treaty.
For the first time, the boundaries of the United States stretched from ocean to ocean. Two days later the Senate of the United States unanimously advised and consented to the treaty’s ratification.
The Duke and the Duchess entered into the affair at the point where the treaty was sent to Spain to be ratified by the King. To accomplish this task, the United States sent a new Minister to Madrid, John Forsyth of Georgia. Forsyth was a likable, intelligent fellow, who had no previous diplomatic experience, and who was further handicapped by the fact that he spoke no language but English. In the corrupt quagmire of the Spanish Court, he was like a bull that has blundered into a nest of gnats.
The King of Spain refused to ratify the treaty, saying it ceded too much land, and John Forsyth simply did not know what to do. In his confusion, he blamed the King’s intransigence on the British. His premise was that Ferdinand believed that the British government would support him in his annulment of the treaty in order to receive the gift of Cuba in return.
In order to allay American suspicions of a British intervention, Lord Castlereagh offered to send to Spain the Duke of Hastings, who spoke fluent Spanish and who had well-known American ties.
The Duke was not pleased when news of this assignment greeted his return to London with Tracy. He did not want to leave her at just this moment, when relations between them were happier than they had been in months, but his sense of duty would not allow him to refuse the mission.
Very possibly he would have refused, however, if he had realized that the ship’s captain who had brought John Forsyth from America to Spain was crossing from Spain to England at the very moment the Duke was planning to embark in the opposite direction carrying a very disturbing passenger.
* * * *
Tracy was not as disturbed about the Duke’s proposed trip as he was. Once she had decided to undertake her public role as Adrian’s wife, she had sworn to herself that she would make a success of it. After a great deal of hard thought, she decided to go to Lady Bridgewater and ask for assistance.
Adrian’s aunt had heretofore figured in her mind rather as a serpent in the garden of her private paradise, but she remembered something her father had once said about the advisability of turning enemies into friends. It sounded like a good idea. If she could convert Lady Bridgewater from critic to ally, her battle would be half won.
Lady Bridgewater was delighted when Tracy approached her for advice. She was by nature a managing woman, and the prospect of managing the young Duchess was irresistible. It was not that she had ever precisely disapproved of Tracy; it was simply that she was solicitous for her nephew’s position.
In fact, Tracy had been in Lady Bridgewater’s good graces before she had returned to London. Lady Bridgewater had heard the news of Mr. Bodmin’s death with discreet satisfaction. It was so nice to know that all those millions would come rolling into the ducal coffers. And then, Tracy had so promptly presented her husband with a son and heir. So when the Duchess turned up at Lady Bridgewater’s door, pretty and bright as a new gold guinea, anxious to assume her social duties and eager to be taught the proper way to carry them out, Lady Bridgewater was all gracious encouragement
The Duke’s aunt thought Tracy should plan a ball for July. “It isn’t really that onerous a task, my dear,” she said to Tracy kindly. “And I will assist you.”
Actually, the plunge back into London society was very good for Tracy. The open admiration of so many great men was a needed boost to her self-esteem. For the first time in months she began to feel that she was pretty. Her old electric vitality returned. Mary had come to London with them, and the two girls shopped for clothes and drove in the park in the brilliant sunshine. Rather to her own surprise Tracy found she was enjoying herself.
One reason was that she had finally physically recovered from her postnatal fatigue and depression. And a great deal of the uneasiness that had plagued her previous London season had been dispelled.
She knew her husband better. She no longer worried that he would take to gambling - Mary’s revelations about his confrontations with his father on that failing had put to rest all her doubts on that score. Nor did she fear that he would be unfaithful to her. She was the mother of his son. And she thought that he did actually care for her.
She would bind him to her with hoops of steel, she determined. She would be a brilliant hostess for him. She would give him a whole army of children to carry on his name. After two weeks in London, encouraged by Lady Bridgewater and by the admiration of her glittering circle, she felt she could do it all.
Adrian’s departure for Spain came at a rather convenient time for Tracy. She was finding her feet and was determined to give the biggest, brightest, most successful ball of the whole Season. She was going to work like a laborer over it, but she did not want him to see how important it was to her. Adrian would expect his wife to be able to organize balls merely by waving a wand, she felt. It was just as well that he was going to be out of her way for a while.
So the face Tracy showed her husband on his departure was more cheerful than it had been for some time. Unfortunately, Adrian would have been happier if she had been less so. It seemed to him that she was glad to get rid of him.
He had a very trying time in Spain, which was not helped by his misgivings about Tracy. First of all, he had to sail from Southampton down through the Bay of Biscay to Santander, and traveling by water always made him sick. Secondly, the situation in Madrid was enough to drive any rational man insane.
He tried first to convince some members of the Spanish Council of State tha,t according to international law, an absolute monarch was bound to ratify a treaty signed by a minister with full powers. But the Council of State, smarting from some extremely honest remarks by the American Minister, advised the King not to ratify the treaty. International law be damned, they felt.