Sweet Adventure

Chapter One ~ 1739-3

Lord Lynke’s face darkened.

“He must have driven her to it then. Charlotte would, I am convinced, rather die than kotow to that stuck-up whited sepulchre who calls himself her husband.”

“Nevertheless she has done so,” the Duke said sharply, “and the position is that Lord Rustington, most generously I must say, has agreed to forget this very reprehensible episode on one condition.”

“He wants his pound of flesh, of course,” Lord Lynke retorted. “Edward Rustington is a nefarious, grasping – ”

The Duke of Newcastle raised his hand.

Thank you, Hugo. Your opinion of Lord Rustington is quite unnecessary. He has in this matter behaved extremely well.”

“But his condition is – ?” Lord Lynke prompted.

“That you should go abroad immediately.”

“And that I refuse. I am engaged at Newmarket next week. I have two horses running and some very high stakes are involved. If Rustington thinks that he is going to drive me away, he is very much mistaken.”

“I am afraid you have no choice in the matter,” the Duke said drily. “I have already accepted Lord Rustington’s conditions on your behalf.”

“The devil you have!” Lord Lynke exclaimed.

“Yes, Hugo, I have,” the Duke answered. “I have worked all my life for one thing, for the preservation of England’s greatness abroad and for the preservation of peace at home. At this moment we cannot afford a scandal in Court circles. The Young Pretender, Prince Charles Stuart, is just across the Channel awaiting his opportunity. The people are restless and the King is worried.”

“Not without reason,” Lord Lynke murmured. “A lot of people wish that Charles Stuart was on the throne.

The Duke ignored him.

“Lord Rustington’s conditions are therefore something that concerns not only you and his wife but the whole British Constitution.”

“You make me sound damned important,” Lord Lynke murmured.

“You are important only so far as I cannot allow you to make a disturbance at this particular moment. I have therefore arranged for you to go to Spain.”

“To Spain!” Lord Lynke exclaimed. “Now, why Spain? A country I know nothing about although you made me learn the cursed language when I was at school.”

“A very wise precaution,” the Duke said. “I believed that foreign languages would prove useful at some time in your life. I see I was not mistaken.”

The Duke crossed the room to his desk and picked up some papers.

“There are two reasons why you are to go to Spain,” he went on. “First, because the Queen of Spain, Elizabeth Farnese, made the suggestion a short while ago that a marriage between the King’s Ward, Doña Alcira, and an English Nobleman might be to the advantage of both countries. The suggestion was ignored at the time simply because no one quite understood her motive for making such a suggestion. And also because there was no one particularly suitable whom we could suggest as a bridegroom.”

“And now you think that I am suitable?” Lord Lynke asked.

“On the contrary I think you are most unsuitable,” the Duke said coldly. “But if you go to Spain as an aspirant for Doña Alcira’s hand, it will certainly give you the entrée into Royal and diplomatic circles.”

“As a reluctant bridegroom!” Lord Lynke said drily. “Not a very attractive mission. And surely the punishment exceeds the crime?”

“The punishment, as you put it, may not be so very arduous as you imagine,” the Duke answered. “Doña Alcira is the daughter of the late Duke of Carcastillo. She was married when she was very young to the Count of Talavera. He was killed shortly after their marriage when he was out hunting. Doña Alcira has inherited not only his estates, which are quite considerable but also those of her father. She is one of the wealthiest women in Spain and reputedly one of the most beautiful.”

“And you really think that I would marry a woman not loving her?” Lord Lynke enquired.

The Duke of Newcastle brought his hand down with what was almost a blow of violence on his desk.

“Love! Love! You keep on harping on love, Hugo. How many women have you loved in the past year? In the past five years? In the past ten years since you left Eton? I dare swear that you will have difficulty in remembering half of them. Do you call that love? You lust after a woman for a short while. You imagine you are giving her your heart.”

The Duke sniffed derisively.

“When you see Doña Alcira, you will doubtless imagine that you love her. Anyway, you will pretend to love her so that you can control the vast estates of the Dukes of Carcastillo in Spain as well as your own very considerable estates here in England. That is an order, not only from me but from His Majesty.”

“From His Majesty? From the King?”

Lord Lynke looked astonished.

“From the King. I have discussed the matter with him and with the Prime Minister. They both give their approval.”

“So it has gone as far as that?”

“Most certainly.”

“But can Spain really want this?”

“That, Hugo, is the most intelligent question you have asked so far. We have no real idea as to why Elizabeth Farnese made the suggestion in the first place, unless it was yet another bid for Gibraltar. We have always to remember what is at the back of her mind – the return of Gibraltar to Spain. We will never relinquish it – never!”

Again the Duke brought down his clenched fist on the desk

“And another thing. The Spanish Government has struggled incessantly since the Peace of Utrecht to evade the performance of their commercial engagements. They have employed every artifice to obstruct our trade in America. We find that wherever there are Spaniards there are troubles in the West Indian Ports and Officers who obstruct our lawful business.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do about that?” Lord Lynke asked.

“Quite a lot,” the Duke replied. “Sir Benjamin Keene, our Minister in Madrid, has written frequently asking for help, begging me to send out men whom he would trust to assist him in finding out what is going on beneath the veneer of pleasantry and peace. He is quite sure that something is afoot, but in his position it is very difficult to discover what it is.

“That can be your job, Hugo. A little clever espionage, which will be easy because no one will suspect you as being in the least interested in anything except love.”

The Duke spoke sarcastically.

Lord Lynke threw back his head and laughed.

“Really, Uncle! I have never heard such a preposterous school-boyish plot in the whole of my life. If you imagine for one moment that I shall be of the slightest use to you in such exploits, you must be demented. And if you imagine that I am likely to marry this swarthy-skinned heiress, you are also very much mistaken.”

The Duke rose to his feet. His eyes were cold, his long thin nose seemed to register disapproval.

“I am afraid, Hugo,” he said slowly, “you have no alternative. One of our trading ships, The Sea Hawk, will be waiting for you in Southampton Harbour a week from today. You can take with you what servants you wish. You will be treated with every courtesy and offered every facility while travelling abroad. You will be a distinguished visitor to a friendly country with introductions from myself as the Secretary of State and from Mr. Walpole as Prime Minister.”

“It sounds very attractive,” Lord Lynke said mockingly. “But – ”

“There is no ‘but,’” the Duke of Newcastle interrupted. “If you do not agree, you will be shanghaied and, when you recover consciousness with an extremely aching head, you will find yourself aboard a ship heading for Canada.”

“You really mean that?” Lord Lynke asked incredulously.

“I really mean it,” the Duke of Newcastle repeated. “You see, Hugo, it is a choice between you and England. And I have chosen England.”

*

Staring into the flames of the log fire in front of him, Hugo Lynke could see his uncle’s face as he said the last words.

“I have chosen England.”

The Duke was not very imaginative. He would never really be a great man. History would doubtless forget him and make small mention of his talents. And yet to him his country meant everything. More than wife and children and family, more even than himself.

For the first time in his life Hugo Lynke felt a kind of affection for the man who had tried to play the very difficult role of Guardian over his wildness and irresponsibility.

“Dammit!” he cursed aloud. “A dark-eyed heiress who will doubtless hate me as much as I hate her.”

His head sank forward a little despondently on his chest as he thought of his horses at Newmarket, his friends gathered round the gaming tables and the pretty women who would miss him in all the gay spots of St. James’s.

He felt a sudden sinking of his spirits, Spain, dark-eyed señoritas, castanets and bullfights.

He hated the lot of them already.

He had a sudden vision of Charlotte, her fair hair streaming over her shoulders as she put her arms around his neck. He could see her red lips quivering, the sudden tumultuous rise and fall of her breasts.

Was it love that he felt for her?

He asked himself the question and had a sudden nostalgia for England, for the world that he knew, for his friends, their conversation and laughter, for soft tender moments with women like Charlotte who were so much a part of his life.

He knew that he was as homesick as any schoolboy.

And then through the darkness of his thoughts came a proud little voice saying,

“I do not wait on servants.”

He chuckled unexpectedly.

Even Spain might have its lighter moments.