A Heart In The Highlands

4-2

“And when he has promised me that, I can come home?”

“Of course.”

“And you will miss me?”

The very feminine question seemed to remind the Marquis that he was dealing with a woman. He put out his hand and put it under her chin, then tilted her head back and looked into her eyes.

“I shall not allow myself to think of you,” he said quietly, “or I might be jealous.”

It was the most revealing thing he had ever said to her and she was unable to prevent the elation she felt at his words from shining in her eyes. He saw she was triumphant at what she imagined was a revelation of weakness, and he laughed.

“One day, my dear, you may fall in love,” he said. “It might be an amusing experience.”

“But I am in love,” Beatrice protested, “with you.”

The Marquis shook his head.

“You are in love with what I stand for and what I can give you.”

She would have protested, but he lifted his hand to silence the words bubbling on her lips.

“You have not yet asked what p*****t there will be for this journey.”

Beatrice dimpled at him.

“If I told you I was not interested, you would not believe me.”

It was rogue speaking to rogue, and the understanding which passed between them seemed to draw them closer. The Marquis named a sum that made even Beatrice look surprised.

“And also those emeralds which belonged to my grandmother. The corsage is considered by those who know to be exceptionally fine and of some considerable value.”

Beatrice was excited. She had wanted the emeralds for a long time. She gave a little exclamation of delight, but the Marquis interrupted her.

“There is, however, a condition attached to the emeralds. They are yours if you bring me the ‘Tears of Torrish’.”

“The ‘Tears of Torrish’? What are they?”

“A necklace of diamonds, in the most magnificent setting, given by old Lady Torrish to the Prince on the eve of the battle of Culloden. After the battle they vanished, but they did not accompany the Prince to France. Recently I have had information that the Pretender’s spies are making inquiries about the necklace, and a few days ago a whisper came to my ears that the ‘Tears’ may be at Skaig. It was that which decided me, Beatrice, to send you on this very difficult mission.”

“I should be flattered, I suppose, but the idea of visiting an uncivilised country so many miles away has few attractions for me.”

“You forget the Duke,” the Marquis said with a smile.

Beatrice shrugged her white shoulders.

“He is doubtless as uncivilised and crude as the rest of his countrymen.”

“I think you will not be disappointed when you see him,” the Marquis said grimly, “and while fulfilling the first part of your task, do not forget the second.”

“But why are those diamonds, whatever they are called, so important?”

The Marquis turned suddenly and she saw the steel in his eyes.

“Because diamonds mean gold, and gold in the Pretender’s hands means weapons – weapons and soldiers, and the chance of another rebellion. We have defeated him once, we have driven him into exile, we have killed and tortured and rendered homeless those who followed him, and yet, fanatical fools that they are, the Scots still wait for his return and there are those who are ready to rise again and follow him.”

The Marquis’s voice seemed to echo round the room. Beatrice, alive to his every mood, sensitive to the merest inflection of his voice, thought she had never seen him so moved before. She must obey him, she knew that, but even as she accepted his command, she shivered and felt strangely perturbed.

In her mind’s eye she saw the long road leading north and at the end of it a darkness, a cloud sombre and somehow threatening. But she knew it was useless to argue. If she failed in what she set out to do, the Marquis might forgive her, but if she refused his command – for that there would be no forgiveness!

She left him and went to the Ball, and when later that night he visited her and her head lay against his shoulder, she whispered.

“Why do you send me away from you? I am happy and so, I think, are you. Must we risk our happiness?”

He silenced her with a kiss, but his lips, passionate and possessive, were also masterful to the point of tyranny. She knew then that any plea she might make was useless. Once the Marquis had set his course, no one on earth could make him change it.

The long lonely hours in the coach had given Beatrice time to think. For the first time she considered her life as a whole, not just as hours and days to be lived fully and excitingly as she schemed and plotted towards some particular objective. For the first time she asked herself where her adventuring would finally lead her – what lay ahead? She had gained so much, achieved in a few years more than most women attained in a lifetime, yet now she wondered if she had missed something by the very speed at which she had travelled. Had the Marquis been right when he inferred that she had never been in love?

She had known delirious moments of passion which had seemed to burn their way through her body like a flame, but which like a flame had died away to ashes. A hundred men had loved her, but had she ever really loved one of them in return? She asked herself the question, but she did not know the answer.

Again she saw herself at fifteen, coming to London, her heart beating quickly beneath the budding outlines of her breasts, her eyes starry with anticipation, her lips parted. She had expected so much of life. She had dreamt that there was a man somewhere – a Prince Charming – who would awaken her heart. She had thought that she would know him instantly, that she would surrender herself to him in rapture, and at his touch she would savour heaven.

How very far from her imaginings had been reality. She recalled Lord Wrexham on their wedding night – his eyes bright with lust – leering at her from – a network of wrinkles, his thin sensuous lips wet, his old hands outstretched –

A deep sigh seemed to echo from the very depths of Beatrice’s soul. The voice of her maid interrupted her reverie.

“I think we have reached Aviemore, my Lady.”

Beatrice opened her eyes. She saw several grey stone crofts, and a crowd of children in tattered clothing with bare feet that stared open-mouthed at the splendour of the coach and its attendants.

The postilions riding ahead turned into the courtyard of an inn, the coach followed them, the opening so narrow that the wheels almost scraped the sides of the walls. Ostlers came running, the landlord bowing an obsequious welcome as he hurried to the door.

Pulling her ermine-lined pelisse around her, for the air was chilly, Beatrice slowly descended the steps of the coach.

“You were expecting me?” she asked the landlord in a haughty manner.

“Your Ladyship’s bedchamber has been ready these last two days,” he replied.

“The roads were so excruciatingly bad that we were delayed,” Beatrice said.

She swept in at the door of the inn, the width of her silk gown brushing against the side posts.

“See that dinner and the best wine in your cellar are served to me immediately in my sitting room,” she said.

The landlord coughed and stammered.

“Your Ladyship’s pardon, but we were expecting your Ladyship yesterday. All was prepared and the fire was lit, the dinner was half cooked, but your Ladyship didn’t come. We thought you might be further delayed and – and that your Ladyship would understand and – be gracious.”

“What are you trying to say, my good man?” Beatrice asked sharply.

“The private sitting room, my Lady – it was reserved for you but a gentleman came but a few hours back – a gentleman who said – ”

“Turn him out,” Beatrice said briefly.

“But, my Lady, he is a gentleman of quality, a nobleman, of the greatest import in this part of the world. If your Ladyship would only understand, it is impossible for me.”

Sweating with discomfort, the landlord failed to complete the sentence, his words seeming to trail away into an incoherent whisper.

Beatrice drew herself up.

She was about to show her anger in a way that her servants knew could annihilate those who encountered it. Then quite suddenly she changed her mind. She had been alone for so many days that ‘a gentleman of quality’ might well prove a distraction.

She hesitated, and the landlord, seeing her hesitation, felt relief surge over him.

“This gentleman – ” Beatrice asked, “ – is he young?”

“Indeed he is, my Lady. Young and of handsome countenance. If your Ladyship would only condescend.”

“Her Ladyship will,” Beatrice said. “Pray give the gentleman in question my compliments and ask him if he will do me the favour of dining with me.”

She turned and went upstairs.

The chambermaids were sent scurrying to and fro as soon as she reached the bedroom.

“More candles for her Ladyship!”

“More towels for her Ladyship!”

“Send up her Ladyship’s trunks!”

“Another blanket for her Ladyship’s bed!”

“A bottle of wine for her Ladyship immediately!”

The inn seemed to buzz with the voice of retainers like a beehive that has been disturbed.

Beatrice, washed and robed in a dress of oyster-tinted satin, sat at the small muslin-frilled dressing table and sipped a goblet of wine while her maid dressed her hair.

“A simple style, woman,” she said crossly. “For God’s sake use your intelligence, if indeed you have any! I have no wish for this stranger to imagine that I bedeck myself for him. And now my pearls.”

The maid opened the massive jewel box with difficulty. There, lying in velvet, was a priceless collection of gems, each one a tribute to Beatrice’s beauty. She took up a great rope of pearls.

“I will wear these,” she said, “and the pearl earrings.” She put a patch – a tiny star – near the comer of her mouth. It was fascinating and provocative against the magnolia texture of her skin, and for a second her red lips smiled at her own reflection. Perhaps this nobleman might relieve her boredom and the inescapable depression that had followed her peregrinations into the past. How foolish she had been to try and recapture the thoughts and feelings of an inexperienced, idealistic child! What had she to regret? She had beauty, wealth and influence! What more could she ask, what more had life to offer?

Beatrice finished her glass of wine and rose from the dressing table. Slowly, her skirts rustling silkily against the dark stair boards, she descended to the private sitting room. It was a small panelled room, dark with age and, as she well knew, a perfect background for the shining gold of her hair and the opalescent sheen of her gown.

She moved regally into the centre of the room. A man was seated before a big log fire, his feet stretched out. As he heard Beatrice enter, he rose hastily to his feet. Her eyes flickered over him, noting the rich embroidery on his coat, the sparkle of his buttons, the diamond brooch at his throat. She raised her eyes to his face.

Yes, he was young. The landlord had not lied. He was young, and not unattractive. She had always thought that dark, sardonic man best offset her fair beauty. She held out her hand and felt his lips on her fingers.

“You will honour me by being my guest, sir?”

The nobleman straightened himself. He was taller than Beatrice, and after days of being alone she noticed with satisfaction the undisguised admiration in his eyes.

“On the contrary, madam, I beseech you to honour me. I have presumed to order dinner, and I pray that you will sample the wine that I have brought with me. This poor hostelry has nothing worthy of your patronage.”

Beatrice laughed, and seated herself beside the fire.

“I infer that you travel in comfort, sir.”

“Invariably,” was the reply, “but most especially so when there is a reason for my journey, a reason such as dinner with the most beautiful woman in England.”

Beatrice raised her eyebrows.

“Can it possibly be that you were expecting me?”

“It is indeed. I waited for you last night in Inverness, but when you did not come I journeyed here with all possible dispatch. I feared an accident.”

“I am flattered at such attention,” Beatrice said. “May I know your name, sir?”