Come Be My Love Read online

  I took care to conceal my work, for some of the poems were so intimate, so passionate, I knew they could be shown to no one, least of all left to the eyes of Aunt Maud or one of the servants. Yet its concealment strengthened my pleasure in it. It was mine and mine alone. Through it I kept alive private moments, moments gone, never, perhaps, to return. Yet it was through these poems that I could make them live for me for­ever.

  Unlike Cassy, I never lacked partners at the assemblies. I was considered pleasing, even charming, delightful, by many of Aunt Maud's friends, most of whom at one time or another put forward the perfect choice of a husband for me. Aunt Maud had great hopes, but I disappointed them all. She was at a loss to understand why no gentleman attached himself to me despite all promptings, why no offers of marriage were forthcoming. She was, of course, unaware that I made sure none would be made. Whenever I saw a glint of interest that promised to develop into something more, I dashed it with icy silence or drowned it in tedious outpourings or terrified it with enthusiastic entrapment until it fled in fright, its owner re­lieved at his narrow escape.

  Thus I parted from Aunt Maud at Christmas, still a maiden though not untouched, in fact in no changed condi­tion from that in which I had arrived. Despite her dashed hopes our parting was friendly. She presented me with a five-guinea gold piece as a present and invited me to return in the spring.

  I was spared father's catechism on my Salisbury matri­monial prospects, who I had met there, what was their in­come, to whom were they connected, the catechism Cassy had so dreaded, by the presence in the neighbourhood of Howard Ramsey. He had returned home on company leave for the holidays and had been anxiously awaiting my arrival.

  Initially I found his company quite pleasing. He talked a great deal of India. To be sure, much of it was disappointingly businesslike—the country's economic prospects, native labour and methods of getting the greatest return from the least effort (he had, it appeared, done his part and had returned as he had promised to do, a veritable nabob). I learned little of the scenery or the social customs of the people but nevertheless he provided a worldly touch at our Christmas gathering, which was not the happiest for me with memories of Crumpet, Dar­ius away and Charteris closed and with no plans for( either Cassy or Paul joining us. Howard paid great attention to me but I saw no harm in it. I knew he was soon to return to India; there could be little danger in being entrapped by a man who showed no indication of settling down.

  I should have been forewarned by the manner in which father openly favoured Howard that his intentions were per­haps more than passing. I can only excuse my lack of pru­dence by the fact that I had kept such a close guard in fencing likely suitors while in Salisbury that when I returned home, I was unprepared to continue to defend my free state. It was not until I noticed how often Howard and I were left to our own devices that I suspected father of planning another match. By that time Howard, assured father offered no objection, openly flaunted his attentions. Too late I began a campaign of dis­couragement.

  Howard began to talk of purchasing a property in the neighbourhood, and I heard him discuss with father the condi­tion and desirability of houses that were available. I believe they even went so far as to examine some of them. Father outrageously encouraged Howard in grandiose plans for ex­pansion of buildings, entering into long and detailed provi­sions for acquiring additional acreage. Though I was often turned to for an opinion or a word of encouragement, I said nothing, a silent, reluctant observer.

  I had hoped to thwart father's now-unconcealed plans for my future by outstaying all onslaughts, for I knew that How­ard was to return to Calcutta in the spring, but as his atten­tions became increasingly difficult to ignore, I was hard pressed to avoid his asking the question I least wished to hear.

  Despite all my precautions against it, the subject arose after dinner one night. I had fled to the sitting room at the rear of the house, the very one Cassy had used for a refuge. I should have known it for an unlucky retreat, for no sooner had I flung myself into an armchair and opened my book than I realized Howard had guessed my intentions and had preceded me. He was esconced in a high wingback chair—with its back to the door. I had been unable to see him on entering.

  "I thought you would come here." He smiled in self-satisfaction.

  I got up, intent on leaving, but he rose too and thus stood between me and my means of retreat.

  "Don't leave, Alexandra. I came here expressly because I want to talk to you on your own."

  "No!" I said in great agitation. "No. No. I won't listen."

  He must have taken my refusal for timidity, for he hastened to assure me he had father's permission to address me.

  "But I do not wish to be addressed. In fact I refuse to be addressed."

  Howard was perplexed. "But your father assures me that you are quite free," he asserted, as though that made his suit not only perfectly permissible but also highly desirable.

  I began to protest, then decided against it. I would have to hear him out at some time; this was as good as any. There would be father's wrath to face, but that was inevitable since I had been unable to avoid the confrontation.

  I sat stiffly in my chair. Howard stood beside me and grasped my limp hand.

  "I've liked you for a long time, Alex. Even when we used to play together and you were such a tomboy, even then you attracted me. You weren't like other girls—you were full of daring. I was sure you'd grow into a dashed desirable woman and I was right. The day that George married your sister, the day I kissed you, I decided then and there that you were the one for me. I've thought about you all along while I've been away, I've thought about this moment, imagining your white skin under my hands instead of dark, coarse . . ." He stopped short, his already florid complexion taking on a darker hue. "I hadn't meant to say that, but I won't pretend to have been an angel. Experience in a man, unlike that in a woman, is an advantage. I won't try to hide the fact that I desire you. Why should I? It should please you to know that I intend to be attentive and to make you happy in that way as in every other."

  I wished desperately that he would finish so that I could refuse him and thus put an end to this distasteful conversa­tion. He may have sensed my impatience, though without understanding its cause, for he concluded abruptly. "The fact of the matter is, as I suppose you've already guessed, that I want you to be my wife. I'm well off now, your father knows that, and I'll be even better off when next I return from India, but I see no reason why we should wait to get married. I intend to buy a handsome house and see you settled in it before I leave. And feeling as I do, I see no reason why you'll not be left with a swelling belly—that should keep you busy and out of trouble while I'm gone."

  He could not have phrased his proposal in a manner less certain to please me. As he paused, I drew breath for a firm, concise refusal, but I had not counted on being pulled from my chair and enfolded against his chest, his hot mouth cover­ing mine, precluding any verbal protest, his hands kneading my body in a manner that absurdly reminded me of cook working over a bowl of bread dough—had my mouth been free I might have been hard put not to laugh outright. His hands were fervent and damp in their appointed round; my skin in contrast grew cool and unresponsive beneath them. Had he kept them on my back I might have allowed him to finish his embrace, but when I felt him fumbling at my breast it was too much. I pushed him roughly aside, obviously catching him off guard, for he staggered and released me. I could see from his expression that my action had surprised him. Perhaps my pas­sivity had led him to believe I enjoyed his embrace, but though taken aback, he was undaunted.

  "That is quite enough, sir. You had no right to thrust yourself upon me before allowing me the civility of replying to your offer."

  If he was at all abashed, he was in no way out of counte­nance. He reached into his pocket for a small box, which I suspected must contain a ring, and I hastened to continue before he might attempt to place it on my finger.

  "I thank you for your offer but I
do not wish to marry you."

  My reply could not have been plainer, yet Howard stood staring at me as though he had not understood a word I said. Either he thought not to have heard me correctly, or perhaps to tempt me, he opened the box to reveal a gold ring set with a large opal. He removed the ring from the box and made to place it on my hand, but I pushed it aside.

  "Perhaps I have not been plain enough. I have no inten­tion of marrying you now or at any other time. Do you quite understand?"

  He stared in obvious disbelief, his mouth slightly ajar as though about to speak without knowing precisely what to say. Then his expression grew ugly and his voice, when at last he spoke, was hard and determined.

  "Your father expects you to marry me. I expect you to marry me. Since I can conceive of no reason for your refusal except a false sense of modesty or a certain coyness which is not entirely unbecoming, though I trust you will soon over­come it, I shall ignore your response. I may perhaps have been a little hasty in my caresses. I was possibly overeager. I can only say I have waited for you for a long time and I want you." There was an unrelenting quality about him that was more frightening than open anger. His eyes, fixed at first on mine before they moved to my mouth, were hot and compul­sive. "No matter what you say, Alex, I have no intention of giving up, I can assure you of that."

  "You may do as you please, sir, but a wedding needs the consent of two people. You will not have mine."

  I pushed past him and pulled open the door. At the end of the hallway, looking expectantly in my direction, was fa­ther. Ignoring him, I ran upstairs, leaving Howard to report on the outcome of his offer. There would be the devil to pay, I knew that, but I was prepared to fight and I would not fail. I would never accept Howard Ramsey.

  It was not long before I heard father's heavy footsteps outside my door. He entered without knocking.

  "Well, my fine young lady, whom are you waiting for, pray tell me—a prince of the realm, is it? Or do you perhaps consider yourself fit only for an emperor? Pray enlighten me, which is it?"

  His heavy sarcasm was laced with anger. I faced him squarely, aware of the futility of attempting to reason with him yet attempting it anyway.

  "Father, try to understand. All I want is a man I can love and respect. I can never hold either sentiment for Howard Ramsey. I don't even like him, let alone love him. I must respect the man I marry—if I do not I prefer to remain in my single state."

  "It seems to me we've discussed this matter once before when Cassy married. You were set against that, too, I remem­ber, but it's a happy union."

  "A happy union! How would you know? You've never seen her; she never comes home. How can it be happy with a man who reads her letters, who tells her what she may and may not write and read."

  "It's a sensible man who has control of his own house­hold, and that's what you need, my girl, a man to control you. You've been getting your own way far too long. I've been negligent in allowing it. Now I'm bearing the fruits of my indulgence. Well, in this matter you will listen to me and you will obey. Young Ramsey is not a man to be trifled with. You'll marry him because there's no earthly reason why you should refuse him. He's young, healthy, rich and a fine-look­ing fellow to boot. Why he wants you when there's many a fair woman would be glad to throw her cap at him I can't imag­ine, but want you he does and he'll have you, mark my words. You reach your majority soon, and I won't keep you under my roof as an old maid when you've had a perfectly good, I may even say a superior marriage offer." Father's voice was slow and firm as he spoke, his manner as unforgiving as I knew only he could be. He couldn't force me to the altar but he could make life unlivable.

  I needed time to think. I had no intention of giving in, but I had to think.

  "Give me a week to think it over, father. Allow me to consider it, please," I persuaded.

  "I'll give you till tomorrow night to accept Ramsey, not a minute more. You'll accept him then and you'll accept him prettily. You will stay in your room until you do."

  I turned away from him, ignoring his good night. He left, slamming the door behind him. I had not gained much, I thought as I gazed around at my four familiar walls. I was glad that I possessed an active imagination. I would need it, for it seemed that those four walls would be all I would be seeing for a long time to come. I thought of Cassy's, "You'll be next," just like the first Cassandra in her predictions, but this one I refused to allow to come true. I would not be next, not with Howard Ramsey at least. If only Darius were home.

  XVIII

  It was as though my prayers had been answered.

  Alice brought my breakfast the next morning, sniffing as she laid down the tray. "In disgrace again, I see, Miss Alex. At your age, too. When will you learn to mind your father?"

  I ignored her remark, and knowing of her friendship with Miller at Charteris, I asked how things were going up on the hill, asking in perhaps too casual a tone to conceal my interest whether anything had been heard from Lord Bladen in Italy.

  "Don't know nothing about Italy, Miss Alex, but Miller said he was out with the hounds this morning."

  "Out with the hounds, here, with the Bedwyn pack?" There was no disguising the excitement in my voice.

  "I don't know of no other," Alice replied drily, eyeing me suspiciously, so that I turned my attention to the tray and commented that being indoors wasn't much of a hardship on such a blustery day.

  When she left, I bounded out of bed. It was too good to be true—he was back! My problems were solved. I would go to Charteris and throw myself at his mercy. Now was no time to consider niceties like propriety. I would declare myself, de­clare my love for him. He had loved me once. I would tell him of it, tell him all that had happened that night. I knew he had loved me then. He had called my name and no other. He had loved me passionately. I remembered his face as I had kissed it. I knew he had been happy then; there was no reason we could not be happy together always. I would make him happy, I vowed I would. I would make him forget Philomena.

  All my years of waiting were at an end. I felt deliriously exultant. All my dreams would at last come true. I began to hum as I pulled open my wardrobe to decide what to wear. I would go to Charteris and wait. If he was hunting he probably would not return until the afternoon, but I would be there when he came. I hummed Tom Moore's air "Those Endearing Young Charms" as I chose a soft blue-green kerseymere with a pelisse of matching tone, for I could see the cold wind whip­ping at the trees.

  No, the heart that has truly lov'd never forgets,

  But as truly loves on to the close,

  As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets,

  The same look which she turn'd when he rose.

  Tom Moore's words were far more fitting to me than to the Countess to whom he had sang them. I wouldn't be afraid of her anymore, I decided.

  Mother came in and I hastily pushed the dress back into the wardrobe.

  "Good morning, dear," she kissed me perfunctorily. "You are sounding happier than I had expected."

  She stood awkwardly looking around, not knowing where to begin. "You have a charming aspect from this room, Alex."

  "Yes," I replied noncommittally, and she went on even more awkwardly.

  "Father asked me to talk to you, Alex." She looked at me for help, but I knew what father had asked her to talk about and I had no help to give. She began again in a hesitant voice.

  "We all have to do things in life that at the time may not appear to be exactly as we would wish, but they have a way, Alex, of turning out quite satisfactorily once we adapt our­selves to them."

  I watched, not without pity, as she spoke. Would I resem­ble her twenty years hence, colourless, no light in the eye, no lilt to the voice—would that happen to me? Would I try to persuade my child to adopt a course of action decided by my husband? She was a model of submission: submission to father over countless years of marriage, submission to her father over countless years before that. I totally rejected her way of life. I would not pattern my own
on it. Yet even so I felt a deep tenderness, for suppose she had not always been so—suppose she had once felt as I did at that moment, suppose she had once fought for her own life—and lost. I found myself crying. I flung myself in her arms and held her close to me.

  "Oh, mother, mother. I really do love you."

  "Alex, Alex! My dear Alex! You are so impulsive. Of all my children you have worried me most. I was so afraid you would do something . . . something rash. At first I thought the education you received, so far superior to that of your sisters, might make you more understanding of the realities of life, but I can see that the reverse has happened. You are more dissatisfied now than ever. Perhaps that is why women should not be educated."

  "But education is more important to us, mother. We are the ones who hold the lives of future generations in our hands."

  "It is not education we need to mould those lives, Alex. We need to learn the art of pleasing, we need to learn to use our wiles. That is how women survive, by using their wiles, and that is what you must learn, Alex, if you too wish to survive. You are too blunt, too straightforward."

  "Then tell me, mother, how I can use my wiles to keep from marrying Howard Ramsey?" I asked.

  She took my face in her hands and wiped a tear from my cheek. "I don't believe you can, Alex. Your father is set on it and Mr. Ramsey is set on it. I think you must resign yourself to the marriage, but if you do as I advise you will survive it."

  "But I don't want to survive marriage, mother, I want to live it. Once I take those vows I shall be married for the rest of my life. I don't want to survive my life, I want to live it. I want to live with someone I love, or if I ask too much in that, at least someone I respect."

  "I know, dear, I know. I was young once. But you will see, it will work. You will have children and then you'll find your time is occupied with their welfare, not merely centred around your husband. Your life will be full. I think Howard Ramsey is a very presentable gentleman. He is quite handsome, wealthy, and his family is known to us. There would be no surprises. Eugenia is nearby—you could perhaps become close to her, though I know you always preferred Cassy." She paused, as though unsure whether to continue, then bravely plunged on, "I don't know whether Howard has frightened you by being too . . . too demanding . . . but if so you'll find that will wear off."