103. She Wanted Love Read online

  ‘I am too old for debutante dances,’ Eleta mused.

  At the same time she knew that because there were always older people invited, she would not be particularly conspicuous.

  In France it had not mattered if a girl was young or older. No one noticed if she was over or under eighteen if she could join in the conversation, if she could make men laugh and if she was beautiful.

  Eleta had received a great many compliments from the French, but she thought on the whole that Englishmen were far more attractive.

  She remembered listening to her father talking to her mother and it was not what he said but the note in his voice that revealed so clearly now much he loved her.

  ‘What my Papa said were real compliments,’ Eleta thought, ‘but to the French they are just a normal part of conversation and mean very little.’

  The train was now approaching London and once again she began to think of her stepfather waiting for her and of her Mama’s empty bedroom.

  ‘How could Mama have died and left me just when I wanted her so desperately?’ Eleta reflected, as the train came steaming into the terminus.

  Then she told herself that she must be nice to her stepfather because her mother had been fond of him. He had had made her happier than if she had remained alone.

  When she looked out of the window, Eleta was glad to see it was not her stepfather who was waiting for her, but the secretary.

  Mr. Melroy had looked after the accounts of the houses in London and in the country for her father.

  When the train door opened and Eleta stepped out, she held out her hand to him.

  “It’s lovely to see you, Mr. Melroy,” she said, “and very kind of you to come and meet me.”

  “I have been looking forward to your return, Lady Eleta,” Mr. Melroy replied. “The house has seemed very dull without you and there is a warm welcome waiting for you from all the staff.”

  Eleta noticed that he did not include her stepfather.

  She rode back in the carriage drawn by two well-trained horses, which had been her mother’s favourites.

  The coachman and the footman on the box were wearing the Stanrenton livery and it always proclaimed to Eleta all too firmly that her stepfather had no family livery.

  ‘I must try to be nice to him for Mama’s sake,’ she told herself. ‘Now she is not here, I only hope I don’t have to be alone very often with Step-papa.’

  The carriage drew up outside the house in Berkeley Square, which had belonged to her father’s family for two generations and it was very comfortable and attractive.

  As the carriage came to a standstill, two footmen wearing her father’s livery laid the red carpet down on the pavement.

  Because it was all so like home, Eleta jumped out and said, “hello, how are you?” to Harry.

  “It’s nice to ’ave you back, my Lady,” Harry said.

  Eleta walked into the hall and the butler, who had seemed old even when she was a baby, was waiting for her.

  “Welcome, my Lady,” he intoned. “It’s been a long time and we’ve missed you.”

  “I have missed you too, Buxton,” Eleta answered.

  It was with difficulty she prevented herself from asking as she had asked so often before, ‘where is Mama?’

  As she hesitated, Buxton added,

  “Mr. Warner’s in the study, my Lady.”

  For a moment Eleta did not move.

  Then she knew it would be rude if she went upstairs without at least telling her stepfather that she was back, so she walked towards the study.

  The old butler quickly went ahead of her, opened the door and announced,

  “Lady Eleta, sir.”

  Cyril Warner was seated at the writing table that had once been her father’s.

  It was a beautiful example of the Regency style and despite herself, because her Papa had always sat at it, Eleta resented seeing Cyril Warner in his place.

  He rose slowly to his feet and held out his hand.

  “So you are back at last,” he began. “The ship must have been late.”

  “I thought we made up for it on the train,” Eleta replied. “But the Channel was rougher than it usually is.”

  “Which it should not be at this time of the year,” her Stepfather responded severely.

  Buxton had stayed in the room.

  “Will your Ladyship have tea in here,” he asked, “or in the drawing room?”

  Eleta looked at her stepfather and, before she could answer, he said,

  “In here, Buxton. I wish to talk to her Ladyship and we must not be interrupted.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  He left the room and Cyril Warner moved to stand in front of the mantelpiece.

  “It’s a long time since you were at home,” he said.

  It was not just his words, but the way he said them which told Eleta that it was a rebuke.

  “I am sorry, Step-papa, but as it so happens I was staying with friends in Greece and then with other friends in Cairo. Both visits were most enjoyable and instructive.”

  “I cannot think that they taught you anything you could not have learnt here in England,” Cyril Warner said somewhat aggressively.

  Eleta thought it was a mistake to argue.

  He had always been against her being educated in France and he had at one time suggested that she came home and was taught by a Governess.

  Her Mama, however, had resisted, knowing that she would learn more at the Convent than any Governess could teach her and so she had remained happily in France.

  “Now I am here,” Eleta said quickly, “I am very anxious to hear how things are in the country. Have you any new horses and are the flowers in the garden as lovely as I remember them?”

  “The answer to your first question is ‘no’ and to your second, ‘yes’,” Cyril Warner answered abruptly.

  Eleta was just about to protest that the horses when she last rode them were growing old when she remembered that he was not a good rider and did not particularly enjoy being on horseback.

  So she changed the subject,

  “I hope the old staff are still there and there are not too many newcomers.”

  “I have reduced the staff because I seldom go to the country,” he replied. “I am in fact extremely busy. Busier than I have ever been before in London.”

  “How interesting,” she managed to say. “Is it some new sort of ship you are building?”

  She had just finished speaking as the door opened and Buxton came in with two footmen carrying the tea.

  On a tray carried by the second footman there were large and small cakes that had been her favourites ever since she was a child.

  One look at them told her that Mrs. Buxton was still in the kitchen and, as she walked over to the sofa to sit down in front of the tea tray, she said,

  “Please tell Mrs. Buxton I am so glad that she has not forgotten me and I have been looking forward to her gingerbread ever since I left Calais.”

  “And the Missus has been working hard on all your Ladyship’s best favourites and getting them ready since breakfast time this morning,” Buxton replied.

  “Do tell her I will come and see her when I have finished eating much more than I ought to,” Eleta smiled.

  “Now you enjoy yourself and don’t worry about your weight,” Buxton answered. “It’s happy we all are to see your Ladyship back with us.”

  He left the room without waiting for Eleta’s reply and she glanced at her stepfather to see him frowning.

  ‘After all,’ she reflected, ‘it is my house and my home and everything in it was chosen by Mama or came from my father’s family.’

  Then she knew she was thinking of her stepfather once again as an intruder and she should not do it.

  With an effort she asked,

  “Do you like your tea, Step-papa, with or without milk or cream?”

  “I want neither,” Cyril Warner replied. “I just want to talk to you, Eleta.”

  He pulled up a chair an
d sat down on it facing her.

  She had the sudden feeling that what he was going to say was something frightening, but she could not think what it could be.

  She drew in her breath and felt an uncomfortable apprehension that she could not express in words.

  She poured out her own cup of tea and then reached out to help herself from the nearest plate.

  As she did so, she was aware that her stepfather was watching her and once again she had the feeling that there was something in his eyes or perhaps his silence that was almost sinister.

  “What is it, Step-papa?” she asked him. “What has happened?”

  “Nothing has happened, so far,” he replied. “But it is something that I hope will happen quite soon.”

  “What is that?” Eleta enquired apprehensively.

  She was thinking as she spoke that Mrs. Buxton’s cooking had lost nothing with the passing of the years. In fact there were some new cakes on the table that she had not seen before but which she was anxious to sample.

  “Now listen to me,” her stepfather began.

  “I am listening,” Eleta replied. “At the same time it’s so wonderful to be here and to have the same things to eat that I loved when I was a child and the same servants running the house as they have always done.”

  “I am glad you appreciate it,” Cyril Warner said in a terse voice.

  “I suppose we are all the same,” Eleta sighed. “We enjoy ourselves when we are away, but it is wonderful to come home.”

  She was aware that Cyril Warner stiffened and then she asked,

  “What is it? What are you trying to tell me?”

  “I told you that I wanted to talk to you, Eleta. I therefore want your full attention.”

  “Of course that is what you will have. Equally you must not mind me enjoying my tea. Mrs. Buxton will be so upset if the plates go back untouched.”

  “I am not concerned with Mrs. Buxton’s feelings one way or the other,” he snapped. “And what I have to say concerns your future and that is much more important.”

  He spoke sharply and Eleta stared at him.

  “Concerns my future,” she repeated slowly. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean that I have arranged your marriage and I am sure it will give you the same pleasure as it gives me.”

  “My marriage!” Eleta exclaimed. “What do you mean? How can you arrange my marriage?”

  “Much more easily than I thought it would be,” her Stepfather answered. “Unless living in France has made you less intelligent than I believe you to be, you will be delighted at what I have to tell you.”

  With a huge effort Eleta made herself ask slowly and in what she hoped was an ordinary voice,

  “What have you arranged?”

  Cyril Warner sat back in his chair.

  “I have arranged that you will marry, as soon as possible, the Duke of Hazelware.”

  Eleta stared at him.

  “You have arranged my marriage?” she questioned. “How could you possibly do that? I have never met the Duke of Hazelware. In fact I don’t think that he was a friend of either my mother or my father.”

  “But he is a friend of mine and a most important one. He is in fact exactly the man I want as the Chairman of my new Company which he has promised to be. He will also benefit by having you as his wife. So that there is no reason for you to feel that he is condescending to you.”

  “I cannot imagine that what you are saying is true,” Eleta cried. “Why should I marry the Duke of Hazelware whom I have never met? And it is not my concern whether he is Chairman of your Company or not.”

  Cyril Warner laughed and it was not a particularly pleasant sound.

  “If you will allow me to explain the circumstances through which I obtained such a consequential husband for you,” he said, “you will understand that it is a question of our both giving and receiving.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Eleta demanded.

  “Well, I want an influential figure like the Duke as Chairman of my Company and he is anxious not only to have an heir, which he does not have at the moment, but also to be able to afford one.”

  Eleta stared at him.

  “Are you then saying that the Duke is marrying me because I have my father’s money, which I am well aware is very considerable?”

  “That is the first intelligent remark you have made since you came home. As I have said, it’s a question of give and take. While I want the Duke for my Company, he will benefit from the fact that you are a very lucky young woman in the matter of money.”

  “As you are referring to the money that belonged to my father and of course to my mother,” Eleta said. “I have every intention of spending it, as they would want me to do on supporting those charities my mother was particularly interested in and in keeping up the estate which my father gave not only his money to but his love and attention.”

  “You are quite right and, with regard to the estate, the Duke will of course share it with you and will, I am sure, thanks to his vast experience, have many new ideas.”

  Eleta was silent for a moment and then she said,

  “How old is this Duke?”

  She knew as she spoke that it was a question he did not wish to answer and he looked uncomfortable, as Eleta continued,

  “If you don’t tell me the truth, I can easily look him up in Debrett’s Peerage – there is one in the library.”

  “He is not a young man, of course he is not,” her stepfather replied. “But he is, I am sure, very young in his outlook. Therefore you will benefit by his experience of life which you have not yet had.”

  “You have not answered my question,” Eleta said quietly. “How old is the Duke we are talking about?”

  Reluctantly and almost as if she had bullied it out of him, he replied after a long pause,

  “Well, I think perhaps he is a little over fifty.”

  Eleta laughed.

  “Do you really think that I would want to marry a man who is old enough to be my grandfather? The answer is quite simply ‘no’.”

  Cyril Warner sat back in his chair.

  “Are you really so stupid, Eleta, as to think that is your final word?”

  “Of course it’s my final word. Have him on your Board, which I am sure is a very wise move, but I have no intention of marrying an old man and certainly not one who is marrying me for my money!”

  There was silence for a moment and then he said,

  “You have forgotten one thing.”

  “What can that be?” Eleta asked suspiciously

  “That I am your Guardian by Law,” her stepfather replied, “and you have to obey me until you are twenty-one. That, as I ascertained this morning, does not happen for nine months and by then you will be on my instructions married to the Duke of Hazelware.”

  Eleta stared at him.

  “Do you really intend to force me up the aisle with someone I have no wish to marry, an old man who is marrying me for what I possess and not for myself?”

  “All young women want a title,” he replied.

  “I already have a title and I have no wish to be a Duchess.”

  “Unfortunately or maybe fortunately,” he answered, “the Duke is extremely necessary to me and I therefore can think of no other way to attract him than to offer him your hand in marriage.”

  “I think you must be mad if you believe I will agree to anything so ridiculous,” Eleta stormed. “If my mother was alive, she would most certainly not allow you to even suggest anything quite so unpleasant to me.”

  “But, Eleta, your mother is not alive and I want to make it completely clear to you that I have gone into this very carefully. There is nothing you can do but obey me until you are twenty-one.”

  “I will not – ” Eleta began, but he interrupted,

  “It is then you will have complete control over your fortune and yourself. But until then you have to obey your Guardian by Law and I, at present, hold that position.”

  He spok
e as if he was addressing a crowd of stupid and uneducated people and there was an expression in his eyes and in the tone of his voice that told Eleta all too clearly that he meant to have his own way.

  She realised, because she was extremely intelligent, that she was at the moment at a complete disadvantage.

  If she defied the law, she would have no support and would finally have to agree to his outrageous idea.

  She wanted to scream and she wanted to hit him.

  She wanted to fight for her freedom.

  But she knew that she was powerless to do so.

  She therefore slowly and deliberately cut herself a piece of cake and put it on her plate before she said,

  “I must say, Step-papa, that this is a great shock to me as soon as I have arrived home. Perhaps we should go into more detail and you could explain to me more fully why the Duke has come into our lives or rather into my life without my having met him.”

  “But of course you will meet him,” Cyril Warner replied, “but he is in the Midlands at the moment where he has a dilapidated castle which is urgently in need of repair, but he should be back tomorrow or the day after.”

  “You think that he will then make me a proposal of marriage?” Eleta managed to say.

  “He has already told me that he is delighted at the idea of marrying someone young, beautiful and of course with a large fortune”

  He paused, but as Eleta did not speak he continued,

  “He was married at one time, but his wife died without giving him any children and he has not been able to afford to be in London often lately.”

  He gave a snide laugh before he added,

  “He has managed, I think with some difficulty, to remain a bachelor.”

  “I suppose you want him on some new project?”

  “I want him badly,” her stepfather answered. “Not that he knows anything about ships or the material which goes into them, but his name will mean a great deal to me and to those who work with me.”

  Cyril Warner’s voice rose sharply as he added,

  “As you must know, all Dukes are deeply respected in this country and abroad, especially in America.”

  There was a note in his voice that told Eleta far better than words that America was where the Duke would shine. If he was to represent her stepfather’s products, they would automatically be of great interest to the Americans.