Come Be My Love Page 20

  "When he follows his brother down to the village girls, you mean."

  "Alex, how do you know anything about that!" She was horrified.

  "Almost everyone does, mother, except Eugenia, and she may, too, for all I know. Perhaps she even encourages it. No matter. Despite his wanderings he manages to keep her con­stantly pregnant."

  Mother's expression indicated that the conversation was distasteful to her and she said in a reproving tone, "It is the role of a woman to bear children, Alex."

  "I know," I said wearily. "But why were we given brains as well as wombs?"

  Mother eyed me doubtfully. Perhaps she was unsure whether "womb" was a nice word. I was about to point out to her that it occurred often in the Bible, but instead I kissed her.

  "Thank you for coming, mother. I'll think over what you have said. I told father I would give him my answer tonight."

  "That answer must be yes, Alex," she whispered as she hugged me. "Otherwise he'll make life unbearable for you."

  Her tone of voice indicated that she knew whereof she spoke. I clung to her again for a moment before she left.

  When Alice brought my lunch tray, I took the food from it and stuffed it in a drawer. I was too excited to eat. Then I dressed and combed my hair. It was useless to attempt to do much with it with such a wind outside. I listened to make sure the family were in the dining room at lunch before quietly making my way down the staircase, across the empty hall and out into the clear, crisp air.

  The wind whipped at my hair and cheeks, and for the first time in months I felt happy. I was free. I wanted to dance. If I could have sprouted wings, I would have flown to Char­teris, but I doubt I could have arrived there much quicker than my scurrying feet carried me. My face was glowing from the cold air and my hair in complete disarray when I arrived at the great front portico, but I had never felt so radiantly alive.

  Fate favoured me for Darius had already returned. I found him in the grand saloon, still in his red hunting coat, standing before a crackling fire, sipping sherry. His face was bronze from the warm Italian sun, his cheeks pink from the cool English wind, the colour of his complexion making his slate grey eyes quite blue. My heart beat faster at the sight of his smile, at the sound of his voice. I had so long imagined being alone with him just as we were. Yet when the moment arrived, I wondered how to begin. I suddenly wished for the gaunt, unshaven man who had been my lover rather than the handsome, self-assured Adonis who greeted me, warm though his greeting was.

  "Alex, Alex, how good of you to come. You must have known I was thinking of you." He laughed and held out both hands to me and held me at arm's length. "You look abso­lutely wonderful. What have you been doing with yourself?"

  "Nothing in comparison with you. You look marvellous . . . Italy must have agreed with you."

  "It did. It always does. Come, let me take your pelisse. And let me pour you a glass of sherry. I hear you are out now, so I suppose that is in order."

  I nodded. "How long have you been back?" I asked.

  "I got back from Italy last month. I've been busy in Lon­don and thought I'd come here for a few days. It was probably a mistake, though. There are too many memories here." He turned away but could not disguise the catch in his voice, and I knew we were both remembering Crumpet.

  "When did you get here?" I asked after an interminable pause.

  "Yesterday."

  Yesterday, I thought. Fate had really been kind to me.

  "Yes, and damned cold I'm finding it after Italy."

  I sat on a straight-back mahogany Chippendale chair sip­ping the sherry he handed me while he reclined opposite me on the sofa, twirling the golden liquid in its stemmed glass. If only he weren't quite so handsome, so confident, so friendly; if only my heart wouldn't pound so; if only I knew where to begin, perhaps I would be able to do so.

  "Now tell me about yourself. What have you been doing?"

  "I just got back from Aunt Maud's in Salisbury. She pre­sented me to two bishops and various clerics, a baronet or two, their wives, their daughters, their—their sons—the usual Salis­bury social scene—but I expect you are acquainted with it."

  "No, tell me about it."

  I did, rattling on about the depressing parties I'd at­tended as though they'd been gala affairs, highlighting some of the more memorable characters I'd met while painfully aware that the conversation was nowhere near where I wanted it to be, when suddenly Darius turned it in the desired di­rection.

  "And did no eligible suitors present themselves?"

  It was the moment. I would pour out my story of Howard Ramsey, of my predicament. Then I would declare my love for him. For courage I swallowed the rest of my sherry in one gulp, but as I took breath to begin he interrupted me.

  "No, wait a moment, Alex, before you begin that list, for I know it must be a long one. I have something for you."

  "For me—a present?"

  "Yes. So you can't accuse me of not thinking of you while I was gone."

  Everything was going to be all right. He took a small box from the Chinese cabinet by the window. My heart beat faster—was it possible—could it be a ring? How acceptable it would be in comparison with the one I had spurned last night. Had his intent and mine been the same all along?

  "What is it?" I asked eagerly.

  He handed me the box. "Open it and you'll see."

  He smiled at my fumbling fingers, yet his smile faded at my disappointed "Oh," for the box contained not a ring but a cameo. True, it was the most beautiful cameo I had ever seen, an oval carving of the three graces surrounded by square-cut diamonds that caught the rays of the winter sun as I lifted it from the box. It was the most beautiful piece of jewellery that I had ever been given—yet it was not a ring.

  "You don't like it. I can see you don't, and here all along I thought you would."

  "No, how can you think that. I was—I was surprised, that's all." I ran my fingers over the carving. It wasn't a ring but it was beautiful, and he had chosen it for me. "It's ex­quisite, really exquisite. I didn't expect anything at all."

  "You never do expect anything, do you, Alex. You're not like other women."

  "I think, perhaps, that I am not." I took a deep breath.

  "That is why I refuse to marry against my will. Father is trying to force me to—just as he did Cassy."

  "So!" His response was sharp, and he raised his eyebrows in question.

  I waited for some protest but when he next spoke, his voice, like his face, was expressionless. "And who is the chosen gentleman?"

  "Howard Ramsey."

  "Ah, young Ramsey—just back from India, I hear, and quite the nabob."

  "Yes, I think that is why father thinks so highly of him. That—and he's a Tory."

  He laughed. "You're probably right."

  "It isn't funny, Darius, it's deadly serious. They're trying to force me to have him, but I won't."

  "Then tell him so."

  "I did, but he won't take no for an answer."

  "Why?" He got up and refilled my sherry glass. "Is he in love with you?"

  "I don't think I would describe it that way. He just—he just wants to possess me."

  "And you don't want to be possessed?"

  "No; at least not by him."

  "Is there someone else you want to possess you?"

  He looked at me steadily, so steadily my gaze faltered beneath his. Yet I must speak.

  "Yes, there is."

  "So Alex has fallen in love—I wondered when that would happen. I seem to remember once you foreswore all men, and I told you then it would not always be so. And who is it that has stolen your heart—though perhaps you'd rather not tell me."

  If only he wouldn't tease me, just as though I were his sister. But there was no going back. I must tell him.

  "I have been in love for a very long time, Darius. I was in love even when I told you that. I did not foreswear all men, I foreswore all men but one and that one I've loved since I was in short petticoats. I've
never thought of any other man. I don't suppose I ever will."

  I answered the question I saw on his lips. "It's you, Dar­ius. I've loved you for as long as I can remember."

  He said nothing. The only sounds came from the clock on the mantelpiece and the crackle of the fire. His silence fright­ened me, and then I realized why he said nothing—he was thinking of Philomena. It was her shadow that lay between us. He had said he would never remarry, but I didn't care.

  "Marriage isn't important to me, Darius. I know how you feel about that and I don't mind. I don't even mind that you will always care for Philomena. I just want to be with you, to be near you. These past months without ever seeing you have been bleak and empty. You are the only thing in life I care about. Please take me back to London so that I can see you sometimes, so that I can hold you, comfort you when you are sad, laugh with you when you are happy. I'm not asking you to marry me . . ."

  "Alex! Alex! My dearest Alex! What are you saying?"

  "I'm saying I love you, Darius, that you are the only man I care for, the only one I shall ever care for."

  "Alex! My dearest Alex!" he repeated, his voice filled with emotion. He stood staring at me, as though seeing me for the first time, saying nothing so that I was forced to ask.

  "But you, do you care for me, tell me, I must know."

  "I do, Alex, but. . ."

  "But what?" I prompted. "How do you care—is it the way Chauras felt for the Indian princess in Black Marigolds?"

  And when he still hesitated I hastened to add, "I love you enough for both of us, Darius, even if you don't feel that way now, I don't care, I shall be satisfied with anything, anything."

  "Alex," he said abruptly, "there is much to be said, but this is not the time, we can't talk now."

  "But why not now, I don't understand. We must talk now. Darius, I love you, let me stay with you, please, I never want to go home again, I only want to be with you."

  And then I did the only thing that all my instincts had told me to do ever since I had arrived, though I doubt my brain had any part in that decision. I ran to him and threw my arms about his neck, drawing his lips down to mine.

  It was satisfying and exciting to be in his arms again, to smell the fresh country air on his red jacket, to feel the crisp-ness of his hair beneath my fingers, the warmth of his cheek against mine. Most of all to know again his lips taking posses­sion of mine, for while I had begun by kissing him, it was he who was kissing me. Softly at first, then demandingly, ur­gently.

  "Alex!" he murmured at last. "Alex, my sweet, impulsive Alex! There is much to be said, but not now."

  "Why not now?" I queried once again.

  "Because the moment is inopportune," he paused before finishing uneasily, "You see, I am not alone."

  "Not alone?" I questioned, a coldness gripping my heart and the reply came, not from Darius, but from a low laugh behind me. A laugh I knew only too well.

  "So the little student has learned well, has she not. She must have been a great comfort to you in your trials, Darius." Lady Brentwood, as elegant, as lovely as ever, entered the room—all grace, all charm.

  "Your tone is unpleasant, your criticism and implications totally unjust, Althea."

  "I meant nothing by it, Darius, except had I known you were being comforted by your sweet little neighbour I could have saved myself a long and tedious journey. Might I enquire how long this liaison has been going on?"

  "There has been nothing going on, as you put it, nothing."

  "Nothing?" Lady Brentwood raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. "I find you in a most amorous embrace and you say there is nothing, dear me, I find that very difficult to understand."

  "Alexandra came to talk something over with me. She is, as you know . . ."

  "Yes, I know, you told me she is a friend and neighbour, though she's always had designs to be much more than that."

  Darius ran his hand through his hair in exasperation.

  "Really, Althea, there are times you make me wish Adam had gone to his grave with his ribs intact."

  "You'll never convince me of that, Darius, not you of all men." She laughed again, that low, soft laugh. It rankled like poison in my soul.

  Darius turned to me, "Alex, I'm sorry, but you can see this is neither the time nor the place to talk . . ."

  "Darling, it didn't appear that you were doing very much talking when I arrived, though I know the dear girl is noted for her erudition. But I'm afraid I interrupted something."

  "No," I said decisively, picking up my pelisse, "you inter­rupted nothing."

  "Let us say it wasn't quite as intimate as the last time we met, but of course then it was you who did the intruding," she reminded me.

  "I shall intrude no longer."

  Darius was plainly out of countenance.

  "Alex, please! It is impossible to discuss anything at the moment. Go home, at least for now. I shall come to you to­morrow, I promise."

  "Tomorrow you may go to the devil." I pulled the cameo he had given me from my dress and put it on the table. "Give it to her; it is she who deserves your gifts—she's your mistress, I should have remembered that. You have no need of another."

  He called to me, but I did not turn back. I left the front door ajar as I ran from the house, racing down the path be­tween the stark trees. I ran fast, faster than I had in going, yet it was with a heavy step and a heavier heart. I ran until I could run no more, then I slowed to a walk, continuing delib­erately but apathetically towards Seton Place.

  Always I had believed that once Darius knew that I loved him, his eyes would be opened and he would return that love. It had not been so. Not only was there the ghost of Philomena to contend with but the warm and only too real Althea Brent­wood. I might have overcome one but not both. I had thrown myself at his feet and he had refused me—my lifelong love had been spurned. It was over.

  I was shattered. As I moved inexorably in the direction of home, of father, of Howard Ramsey, I considered what must be done. I could see no alternative but to run away, but where? As rationally as the turmoil within would allow, I turned over in my mind the places where I might seek refuge.

  Northumberland—Paul's stipend barely covered his own expenses; while he would give me anything that was his, to go to him at this time, just when he was beginning to settle down, could only mean unhappiness and upheaval for him. Besides, it was the first place father would look for me.

  Oxford—I couldn't go to Cassy, not with that wretched man at her side. He would see to it that I was returned home without fail.

  Salisbury—Aunt Maud had been kind to me after her fashion. We had parted amicably. But she was father's sister; her first allegiance would always be to him. She would proba­bly think that Howard was a worthy suitor. No, there could be no shelter in Salisbury.

  I didn't even consider Eugenia as a possible refuge. Being married to Howard's brother automatically put her in the enemy camp, though I didn't doubt that she would have been there no matter whom she had married.

  I though of my scanty resources. All I had was the five guineas Aunt Maud had given me when I left Salisbury. It would be enough to get me away from Linbury, but even with my limited financial acumen I knew I could not live on it for long-Suddenly I remembered the Sum of Glory. It must have brought in something. I didn't know how many copies, but some had been sold, for I had seen it in several circulating libraries, and Sydney Smith had reviewed it in the Edinburgh Review. Unless Mr. Hillaby was a completely unprincipled rogue, some of the proceeds from its sale must belong to me. Of course! I would go to him and demand whatever monies were mine by right. I would throw myself on his mercy, ask him to help me find somewhere to stay until I could obtain some kind of situation. I was resolved on a course of action. I would put Darius and his countess from my thoughts. Why should he take me when he had such obvious delights so read­ily available from a woman of his own world. I had been naive to expect it. I had made a fool of myself over him, a complete fool, but it would ne
ver happen again, not over him, not over any other man. I was quite decided on that. I would rely on no one, only myself.

  With my plan decided upon I walked boldly in the front door, caring not whether my father saw me.

  He came out of his study as I slammed the door shut, his face like a thundercloud. "I thought I told you to stay in your room, Alexandra. I shall teach you not to disobey me any­more."

  I looked at him dispassionately, wondering what punish­ment he had in mind now. Running away would be worth­while if for no other reason than to be out of reach of his heavy-handed rule, let alone Howard's lecherous leers, but I had no intention of showing my hand too soon and thereby risking the success of my escape.

  "I've been for a walk, father, to think over our talk last night, and I've decided to accept Howard Ramsey's offer."

  Father's eyes widened in surprise before his face became wreathed in smiles. "I knew you would see it in the end, Alex," he said. "I only want what is best for you, and you're a clever girl, in fact you are probably the brightest of my children. I knew that the advantages of the match could not escape you. Howard has been looking at the Belden mansion on the Saver-nake road today. Some renovation will be necessary, of course, but he says it will do very well, and you'll be near enough to Seton Place to see us. He thinks . . ."

  I didn't want to know what Howard thought, I was only astonished that my cool reception of Howard's proposal had not deterred him in his estate hunting. I cut father short. "There's plenty of time for that, father. I must go up and change for dinner now."

  "At least let me be the first to congratulate you."