A Shaft of Sunlight Read online

  Giona laughed and then as if he had rebuked her for being so impetuous she dropped him a respectful curtsy.

  “I am deeply honoured to meet Your Grace!” she said demurely, but her eyes were twinkling.

  “Let me look at you,” the Duke said.

  She was not in the least shy, but threw out her arms crying,

  “Yes, please look! Your grandmother and I have been so anxious to gain your approval.”

  She was gowned in the height of fashion, but the Duke found it difficult to take his eyes from her face. He could see that the sharp line of her chin and cheekbones had already softened, while the sparkle in her eyes and a sheen on her hair told him that proper feeding and a feeling of security and happiness were working the miracle for which he had hoped.

  He did not speak and after a moment Giona asked anxiously,

  “You are not – disappointed?”

  “How could I be?” the Duke replied. “Grandmama has waved a magic wand!”

  As he spoke he, found that Lucien who had entered the room behind him was greeting his grandmother.

  “I am delighted to see you, dear boy,” she said, “and now I want you to meet my guest and somebody who I think you have heard about, but never actually seen.”

  “No, I have never seen her before,” Lucien replied.

  He held out his hand and as Giona curtsied his smile swept away much of the signs of dissipation on his face.

  The Duke somewhat belatedly kissed his grandmother’s cheek saying as he did so,

  “I presume you have spent a fortune!”

  “Then you presume right,” she replied, “and Giona and I intend to spend a great deal more.”

  “Only if – I can – afford it,” Giona said in a quiet voice before the Duke could reply.

  He knew there was a question behind what she said and in reply he put his hand under her arm and drew her towards the French window, which opened onto the terrace.

  “May I leave Lucien to entertain you for a few minutes, Grandmama?” he asked. “I have something of importance that I wish to tell Giona alone.”

  “There is a lot I want Lucien to tell me,” the Duchess replied, and she smiled at the Viscount in a manner that was still irresistible, despite her age.

  “I am so sorry for all the cruel and unnecessary suffering you have been forced to endure,” she said softly.

  The Duke guessed as he drew Giona away that by the time they returned Lucien would have poured out his miseries and as it was to somebody so sympathetic and compassionate as his grandmother, it would do him a great deal of good.

  His knowledge of men told him that what Lucien found even worse than the frustration of having to wait for their revenge on Sir Jarvis was that he was unable to confide in any of his usual friends.

  They would undoubtedly have plied him with questions as to why he was no longer interested in Claribel and were mystified by his behaviour, which was wilder and more outrageous than it had ever been before.

  And yet there was no plausible explanation he could make to them, nothing he could say to excuse his excesses.

  “Grandmama will comfort him,” the Duke told himself.

  He drew Giona through the French windows and down through the Rose Garden to where there was an arbour covered with honeysuckle and roses.

  They reached the arbour and there were comfortable silk cushions waiting for them on the seat.

  The Duke sat down and turned sideways so that he could look at Giona thinking as he did so that she was now not only one of the loveliest young women he had ever seen, but also the most unusual.

  He had been half-afraid that once she was dressed fashionably the Greek goddess look that he admired might vanish or at least be diminished.

  Instead she looked even more Greek and her grey eyes looking at him held the same adoration, which he would have missed if it had not been there.

  “What have you to – tell me?” she asked breathlessly.

  “I have something to give you,” the Duke replied.

  As he spoke he handed her the papers that Mr. Middleton had given him just before he left London.

  As she took them from him he thought her fingers were trembling, and as she read what the papers contained he saw the quiver of excitement and happiness that ran through her.

  For some seconds it was, he knew, impossible for her to speak. Then at length in a voice so low he could hardly hear it she said,

  “It was true. I knew it was!”

  “It was a great help that you knew the exact month and year, and that you thought it was in the vicinity of Dover.”

  She read what was written on the papers again and again, as if to reassure herself that what she had longed for was actually written down.

  Then after a moment she raised her grey eyes and he felt as if the light in them was almost blinding.

  “How can you have done this for me?” she asked, “and how can I ever – thank you?”

  “I knew it would make you happy.”

  “Far happier than I can possibly say. Although I knew it was untrue, the mere fact that Uncle Jarvis could jeer at my darling mother and disparage her made me feel as if I was being pelted with mud.”

  “And now you are flying away to the very top of Olympus,” the Duke smiled.

  “Not away from – you,” Giona said quickly, “because – without you I would – feel afraid.”

  He knew what she was thinking and he said quietly,

  “It is only a question of a little more waiting and a little more time, before your uncle will be discredited and never again will he be able to menace you.”

  “I – I cannot believe that is – true.”

  “Then trust me,” the Duke said. “In the meantime, as you well know, you must stay here with my grandmother and nobody must be aware of your true identity.

  “Her Grace has been so wonderfully kind to me – and I am very happy. At the same time I am still afraid that I may have put you in a dangerous position.”

  “You are still thinking of me?”

  “Of course,” she replied. “Could I think of anything else when if you had not rescued me I might by this time be – dead?”

  There was a little throb as she said the last word and he knew it was still a very real fear.

  “You have to forget the past,” he said, “just as Lucien has to forget what happened to him. I therefore suggest that you are kind to him. He needs your help.”

  “Your grandmother told me that he has been behaving in a somewhat wild manner. I can understand that he has been trying to hide his suffering from other people.”

  “That is true,” the Duke agreed. “At the same time it is not doing him any good and, if you get the chance, I think you might try to give him a new interest.”

  He was aware that she looked at him enquiringly but she did not ask any more questions.

  Instead she said,

  “Please tell me what you have been doing and what is the latest news from Parliament?”

  The Duke was surprised that she should be interested, but he told her of the Bills that were being passed through the House of Lords and the speech he intended to make about one of them.

  “Is His Majesty’s health really bad?” she asked when he had finished speaking.

  “Very bad,” the Duke replied, “and I cannot think that he will live much longer.”

  “Then the Regent will be King,” Giona said, “and I think that recently, because I have had to wait as he has had to do, I began to understand that nothing is more difficult than what Papa called ‘possessing one’s soul in patience’!”

  The Duke laughed.

  “Is that what you are doing?”

  “I do not know about my soul,” Giona replied, “but my mind is very, very impatient, and it makes my body nervous and restless.”

  “Nevertheless,” he smiled, “it is now very elegantly adorned, and you look very different from the little grey shadow I found sitting on a tree-trunk.”

&
nbsp; “Always in my dreams,” Giona answered, “I see you walking towards me. I know now, even if I did not realise it at the time, that you were – enveloped in the – light of Apollo.”

  “It sounds very poetical,” the Duke said lightly.

  “It is, and that is why – ”

  Giona stopped.

  The Duke looked at her enquiringly.

  Then he asked,

  “Have you been writing a poem about what happened?”

  There was a faint flush on her cheeks as she answered,

  “I did not mean to tell you – but- it is a poem to – you. I merely tried to express what I feel about – you in verse because it is easier than in prose.”

  “I am honoured,” the Duke said. “When may I see it?”

  “Never!”

  He looked surprised and she explained,

  “It is so inadequate. There are no words even in poetry to describe you, and when I have written a page I tear it up – ashamed that I am – unable to convey adequately what I am – feeling in words.”

  “Perhaps it is the language that is at fault,” the Duke suggested. “Try writing in Greek.”

  She gave a little cry and clasped her hands together.

  “What a wonderful idea! It is something I shall do, then I think I will not be so embarrassed to show it to you.”

  I shall be waiting to read it,” the Duke said.

  He wondered as he spoke if there was any other woman of his acquaintance now or in the past who could have written a poem about him in Greek.

  Then he told himself he must not encourage Giona to concentrate on him but on Lucien.

  As they walked in the garden he said,

  “Now do as I tell you. Try to help Lucien. It may eventually do him good to have loved and lost, but for the moment he is finding it a very painful experience.”

  *

  It was a great surprise to the Duke that his grandmother was well enough to dine downstairs with them, and later that evening he watched Giona walk onto the terrace and a second later Lucien joined her.

  They were leaning on the stone balustrade and started to talk quietly to each other. The Duke could not hear what they said, but there was no doubt that Lucien was speaking eagerly in a voice that was very different from the sullen drawl that was all his Guardian had heard for the last fortnight.

  “They make a very charming couple,” the Duchess said complacently.

  “They are certainly both very good-looking,” the Duke replied.

  “Giona has all the stability and intelligence that a young man like Lucien needs,” the Duchess went on. “She is a very sweet creature, the servants all adore her, and every dog and horse in the place will come if she calls them.”

  “She is certainly exceptional,” the Duke agreed. “It has made me very happy to have her here. In fact I feel better than I have felt for years.”

  “I have always said there is nothing wrong with you, Grandmama, except boredom.”

  “Well, nobody can be bored with Giona,” the Duchess said, “and even if she had not such an intriguing story, which makes her like a heroine in a novelette, I should still find her adorable.”

  The Duke knew this was very high praise from his grandmother who seldom liked young women, and he thought that with such attributes it would be very surprising if Lucien was not soon ‘off with the old love and on with the new’.

  He looked and found they had left the terrace while he had talked to his grandmother and were now out of sight.

  He told himself that was just what he had been hoping for and then as he saw the sun was sinking low in a blaze of glory he remembered that was how it had been when he had first seen Giona, seated on the fallen trunk of a tree.

  He had known then when he spoke to her that she was very different from what she appeared and even in her ugly grey gown she had been beautiful.

  He glanced through the window.

  Soon the stars would be coming out and the last glow from the sun would have disappeared behind the trees.

  Suddenly he remembered how as he had looked at Giona the moonlight had revealed the look of adoration in her eyes.

  He wondered what she and Lucien were saying to each other and if she was looking at him in the same way.

  For some reason he could not understand he suddenly felt extremely irritated.

  It made him rise to his feet to walk to the table where Simpson had left a decanter of brandy and several glasses.

  Without speaking, the Duke poured himself a glass of brandy and with the glass in his hand turned and walked across the room to stand looking out into the garden.

  He supposed by this time Giona and Lucien would be seated in the arbour where there was the fragrance of the honeysuckle and roses.

  In the twilight it would be very romantic and he wondered what Lucien was doing.

  Was he frightening her by being over-impetuous? Or expressing his admiration too fervently?

  “Dammit all!” the Duke muttered beneath his breath. “He might even try to kiss her!”

  There was a feeling rising inside him at the thought, which was different from anything he had ever felt before.

  He could not explain it to himself, and he did not wish to. He only knew that it was a mistake for Giona to be alone in the garden with a man she had only just met, besides being extremely unconventional.

  The Duke put down his glass of brandy untouched.

  “I think, Grandmama, I will take a stroll outside,” he said. “I feel it is very airless in here.”

  “Why, of course, dearest! I agree with you. It has been very hot today.”

  Without waiting for her reply he was already walking out onto the terrace and down the steps that led to the lawn and his footsteps seemed to ring out on the stones.

  His grandmother watched him, a slightly puzzled expression in her shrewd old eyes. She had summed up a great number of men one way or another in the passing years.

  Then as if a new idea had come to her, there was a faint smile on her lips and she sat back a little more comfortably in her chair to await the return of her guests.

  *

  The Duke walked, as he told himself, casually towards the arbour but when he reached it he found it was empty.

  He was surprised.

  “Where the devil have they gone?” he wondered.

  Giona and Lucien had in fact, walked on from the rose-garden into the Herb garden, and from there towards the Maze.

  When they reached it Lucien said,

  “I hated that Maze when I was a small boy because it frightened me. Now I think I hate it because it is like my life, a lot of paths which end abruptly and make me realise I have wasted my time exploring them.”

  He spoke bitterly and Giona said,

  “If one always got exactly what one wanted at the first attempt, think how dull it would be.”

  “Dull?”

  “Of course, and one would just give up trying.”

  She felt the Viscount did not understand and she explained,

  “Suppose you always knew what horse was going to win the race? What would be the point of watching it? If you shot down every bird you aimed at, it would hardly be worthwhile going out shooting. It is the same with other things in life. I think failures only make one keener to succeed.”

  “I suppose I understand what you are saying,” Lucien said, “but it is a very different thing when one is disillusioned with-people.”

  “The point is that we should not blame them, but ourselves.”

  The Viscount looked at her in astonishment.

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “Of course! I believe that our instinct is one of the most precious things we possess. If we are deceived in a person’s character, that is our stupidity – for we should never expect from people more than they are capable of giving.”

  She paused.

  “Go on,” the Viscount prompted. “I am trying to follow you.”

  “Our failures are rathe
r like flowers which fade too quickly, so we throw them away. But there are thousands of others waiting for us to pick them. It is, if you think about it, very exciting when one has such a variety of choice.”

  The Viscount stared at her. Then he laughed.

  “You are extraordinary, and not in the least like any other girl I have ever met.”

  Giona smiled.

  “If that is true it must be the result of my foreign travels. The world makes one realise what exciting people there are in a dozen different nations, and the only sadness is that there is not enough time in one’s life to get to know them all.”

  “I believe Cousin Valerian did tell me you had lived abroad.”

  “I have travelled a great deal,” Giona said, “and it is something you should do.”

  She saw the idea had not occurred to Lucien and she went on,

  “I cannot tell you how wonderful India is, and how different from any other place in the world. It is not only the Indians themselves who are beautiful with charming good manners, but there are so many creeds and castes that every day one learns something from them, as from the country itself.”

  She looked up at the sunset.

  “To me India is crimson and gold. It is shining and mysterious, and it is a mystery that is part of one’s heart and soul and always of one’s mind.”

  She spoke almost as if she was inspired.

  Then as he looked at her the Viscount asked,

  “What is stopping me from seeing for myself, and perhaps feeling as you do about it?”

  “If you can afford it, visit India,” Giona said. “Money is the only stumbling-block for most people.”

  The Viscount gave a sudden cry.

  “You have solved it!” he said. “You have answered the question that has been haunting me these past two weeks.”

  “What question?” Giona asked.

  “What I should do with myself,” he replied, “and if I am honest, how I can forget.”

  He spoke the last two words in a low voice, and Giona said quickly,

  “I thought you would be feeling like that. That is why you should go away.”

  “Of course I should,” the Viscount agreed, “but I could not think where to go, and I do not want to be alone in any other part of England.”

  “No, of course not!” Giona said. “It would only make you miserable and you will keep regretting the past, which is something you must not do.”