Love and the Marquis Page 2

  So Imeldra bit her lips to stop herself from sobbing and said in a voice that only trembled a little,

  “Can I not – stay with you for – just a little time – Papa? I have dreamt of you and – longed to be with – you and to talk to you.”

  “That was what I too have wanted,” the Earl answered, “but because I have been a fool, Imeldra, it is now impossible.”

  “Must you – really run away with – this lady?”

  “It is something I have to do,” he replied, “and you must expect me, as your father, to do the honourable thing.”

  “Not if you don’t love her.”

  “Love? What is love?”

  Then, as he saw the expression on his daughter’s face, he said in a very different voice,

  “You know as well as I do that I have only loved once in my life and that sort of love never comes again.”

  “Is that true of everyone, Papa? That they love only one person with ‒ a real love, which is what you had for Mama?”

  “It was the way I loved your mother and she loved me,” the Earl replied, “and, because we were the other part of each other, it would be impossible for any other woman to mean the same to me.”

  He spoke simply and to Imeldra his words were very moving.

  “At the same time,” he said as if he must tell the truth, “you know there have been times when I have been infatuated, beguiled and bemused by women, but because I have known the best, I am not prepared to accept second best in my heart whatever my lips may say.”

  “I understand, Papa,” Imeldra answered, “and I hope that one day I shall love in the same way.”

  “That is the whole point,” the Earl said as if she had played into his hands. “That is what I want for you and that is what I am determined, if it is at all possible, you shall find.”

  Imeldra did not speak and he went on,

  “But as I have already said told you, you will not find it in the gutters or in the sort of places where I reign as King, albeit over a very scruffy little Kingdom.”

  He laughed, but the sound had very little humour in it.

  “Yes, a real King, because I am rich and because in a foreign land I am accepted by the noblest families who excuse anything I do since I am an English ‘Milord’! But you, dearest child, are not concerned with the French, the Italians, the Austrians or the Spanish but with English ladies. Their Society is the most snobbish and the most critical in the world.”

  “Then why must I mix with them?”

  “Because, my precious, only from the heights to which they can take you will you marry into the life that I wish you to lead and then meet the right sort of man who will offer you marriage.”

  There was a sudden sharpening of the Earl’s voice as he went on,

  “Make no mistake, from now on you will find it a great handicap that I should be your father. But your beauty, your wealth and the fact that your aunt is a Duchess of impeccable respectability will make you acceptable.”

  “But, Papa, do you imagine I would agree to marry any man who thought of me in those terms?”

  The Earl’s voice softened and he declared,

  “He will also love you, my darling, love you passionately and with his whole heart. But his mind and his critical sense must assure him that in making you his wife he is doing the right thing.”

  Because Imeldra was perceptive and so closely attuned to her father, she knew exactly what he was trying to say to her.

  She would have been very stupid if she had not been aware that many of the people he entertained in foreign Capitals would not have been acceptable in the aristocratic houses of England when ladies were present.

  There had often been times when she had been told not to come downstairs and she had known the following morning that the party that went on until dawn had been rowdy and very far from respectable.

  She accepted it because she loved her father deeply and because her life with him was so adventurous, delightful and constantly changing.

  She had never known from one day to the next what would happen and often, when the lessons at school seemed extremely dull, she had slipped away back into the past.

  When the class was droning on over French irregular verbs, she could see in front of her eyes the beauty of Versailles, the clouds over Mount Vesuvius, the Coliseum or the crowds at St. Peter’s when she was learning Italian.

  When the teacher pointed to Greece on the map, she saw the Acropolis and the ruins of Delphi.

  ‘I am so lucky to have seen the real thing,’ she told herself.

  She knew that the other pupils in the class could not understand the beauty of such places that had become a part of her and something she could never lose.

  The butler announced luncheon and while she and her father ate they talked of the places they had visited in the past and he told her about the Palazzo he had bought in Venice, which was a very old one.

  As she had never visited Venice and could not visualise what he was trying to tell her, she suggested,

  “Please send me a painting of it, Papa, so that I shall be able to feel that I am near you.”

  “I will do that,” the Earl promised, “but even if we do not see each other, my dearest, we can still keep in touch by letter.”

  “And in our thoughts,” Imeldra added. “I have often believed at night when I have been at school that I was sending my thoughts winging towards you and wherever you were you would receive them.”

  “I am sure I did,” the Earl replied, “and I am telling you the truth when I say that I was often conscious of your presence and my thoughts were continually with you.”

  “I think I know that, Papa, so you see that we can never really lose each other.”

  “No, of course not,” the Earl said, but his eyes were sad.

  As they walked back to the salon, Imeldra asked,

  “When are you leaving?”

  “I was intending to do so this afternoon,” he said, “but I have changed my plans. It will not matter if I reach London tomorrow morning instead of tonight.”

  “Then I can dine with you?” Imeldra asked in a rapt little voice.

  “Of course,” the Earl agreed. “And we must also, my darling, make plans about where you are to go until your aunt is prepared to receive you.”

  Imeldra looked at him and he said,

  “I happen to know from reading the Court page of The Times that she is in Scotland at the moment staying with the Duke and Duchess of Buccleuch.”

  “Good!” Imeldra exclaimed. “That means I cannot go to her until she comes South.”

  “Exactly,” the Earl said dryly. “Therefore, as you cannot return to school, you must go to your grandmother’s.”

  “Oh, no, Papa!”

  She was not at all fond of her grandmother who was old and at times very disagreeable.

  She disapproved of the deep affection Imeldra had for her father and had always resented that her granddaughter had not been sent to live with her as soon as her mother died.

  There was no doubt, however, Imeldra knew, that her grandmother would welcome her as a guest.

  At the same time she would not lose the opportunity of finding fault with the way she had been brought up and Imeldra felt that to have to listen to endless diatribes against her beloved father would be unbearable.

  “Please, Papa,” she pleaded, “don’t send me to Grandmama’s.”

  “Where else can you go, dearest, at a moment’s notice?” the Earl asked. “You can drive there in the carriage in three to four hours.”

  Imeldra knew that this was true.

  “I will send a letter to my mother,” he said, “explaining, for she will undoubtedly learn sooner or later the reason why I am leaving for France and shutting up the house.”

  Imeldra gave a little murmur of distress, but she did not speak and the Earl went on,

  “Dutton will be in charge of everything. You can tell him to do anything you want.”

  Imeldra looked aroun
d the salon.

  She had not spent much time since her mother died at Kingsclere, which was the family seat. Before that it had been their permanent home.

  It was after his wife’s death that the Earl felt that the place was haunted by the woman he had loved so deeply and he could not bear to be there without her.

  It was then that with his small daughter he had set off on their travels to foreign lands.

  Once or twice a year they came home and the Earl would run his horses at Ascot and at Newmarket.

  He would be in the Jockey Club or the Royal Enclosure with some beautiful woman who had taken his fancy at that particular moment, while Imeldra, properly escorted, was allowed to roam amongst the crowds.

  The gypsies would tell her her fortune and, as she was so pretty and well dressed, they were always very glamorous forecasts.

  She would watch the many shysters and the bookies and those who made their living by entertaining the crowds and extracting pennies from their pockets by doing so.

  It had all been the most immense fun and the summers at Kingsclere were as vivid and as beautiful in her mind as anything she saw abroad.

  But inevitably the end of the summer meant the end of the Earl’s latest affaire de coeur.

  As soon as he had finished shooting the first partridges, he would be off to the sun from the Mediterranean to North Africa and once unforgettably down the Red Sea to India.

  It was a strange and varied life for any child, but Imeldra grew to girlhood with a wider knowledge than any of her contemporaries had, not only of countries and places but of people with strange religions and conflicting political ideals.

  Because her father was so intelligent, he spent his time not only with beautiful women but with the Statesmen of the countries they visited, the Prime Ministers, the Chancellors and the Foreign Secretaries.

  And whenever he entertained, Imeldra would listen to what they were saying and try to understand so that she could discuss the most interesting points with him afterwards.

  As they talked together after dinner that evening, she had a feeling that no man she would meet in Society would ever be able to take his place, since even if he loved her, their brains would not match each other’s.

  What was more, she would never be able to learn from him as she had learnt from her father.

  Inexorably the evening came to an end and, when Imeldra looked reluctantly at the clock over the mantelpiece, the Earl said,

  “I am going to say ‘goodbye’ to you now, my precious daughter. You know that I cannot bear emotional farewells, so I am asking you, my darling, not to come downstairs until I have left tomorrow morning, which will be very early.”

  With an almost superhuman effort Imeldra bit back the words of protest that came to her lips.

  She knew that her father was right in that they had nothing more to say to each other but, when she saw him drive away, she would want to cry because he would be going out of her life for a very long time.

  She was aware that he was really saying to her that it would be a mistake for them to meet again until she was married.

  The idea of losing him as well as having to marry somebody because he considered it the ‘right thing to do’ was terrifying.

  However there was no point in saying so and it would only make him unhappy.

  She could already feel the misery she would know once he had gone surging over her.

  Instead she put her arms around his neck saying as she did so,

  “I love you, Papa, and nobody in the whole world could have a kinder more wonderful or more handsome father than I have.”

  “But not a very good one, I am afraid, my precious.”

  “That is where you are wrong,” Imeldra said. “You have not only given me a marvellous childhood but you have also given me high ideals and aspirations.”

  The Earl looked at her to see if she was telling the truth and she continued,

  “Because we have always talked over things so sensibly, I am not bemused or fascinated by the things that are wrong. I merely accept them as part of living. But you have always pointed out to me the things that are right and good and noble. And because you have always wanted me to aim for them, that is what I intend to do.”

  The Earl put his arms around her and held her very close to him.

  “Thank you for saying that to me, my sweet,” he said. “It makes me very happy. I have often been afraid that your mother was reproaching me because I had not let you be brought up by your grandmother.”

  “Mama would have understood that I had to be with you,” Imeldra said. “And because I know what you meant to each other, I also know exactly what I want to find in a husband.”

  Because the Earl could find no words to answer her, he merely kissed her.

  Then he said,

  “If things go wrong, if you are in trouble, you have only to send for me and you know I will come to you from the very ends of the Earth.”

  “Just as I will come to you, Papa, if you ever want me.”

  Her father kissed her again and, as if there was nothing more they could add to what they had already said to each other and with their arms linked they walked up the great staircase to where they were sleeping in bedrooms adjacent to each other.

  The Earl kissed her again on both cheeks and on her forehead.

  Then without saying anything he went from her bedroom and closed the door.

  For a moment Imeldra thought that she must throw herself down on the bed and let the tears that were pricking her eyes become a tempest of weeping,

  Instead she went down on her knees to pray to her mother to protect her father and keep him from coming to any harm.

  It was a long time before Imeldra went to sleep and when she woke up the next morning it was to hear movements in the passage and to know that her father was leaving.

  It was then that once again the misery of being without him seeped over her and it was only thanks to years of exerting self-control that she prevented herself from rushing out and holding onto him and begging him to take her with him.

  Then she recalled that it was just the sort of thing that the women who had loved him and with whom he had grown bored would have done and she refused to lower herself to be like them.

  Instead she put her hands over her ears and stopped herself from hearing him go.

  Only when she was quite certain that he had driven away in his smart phaeton drawn by four horses did she take her hands away and lie back against the pillows, feeling as if she was exhausted by the conflict seething within her.

  Finding it impossible to stay in bed, she climbed out and dressed without ringing for the housemaid and went downstairs.

  Everything in the house looked so beautiful and so attractive that she could not bear the thought of it being left empty and unloved.

  She knew that, as soon as she had left the house, the Holland covers would be put over the furniture, the flowers thrown out and the windows shuttered and barred.

  The garden would come into full bloom with no one to appreciate it or enjoy its beauty.

  She did not walk into the salon where she had sat with her father last night, because for the moment to remember the things they had said to each other then was upsetting, but into the library.

  She had only just reached it when Mr. Dutton, her father’s secretary, who he had said would manage the house when they had left, followed her.

  “Good morning, my Lady,” he said. “I was wondering at what time you wish the carriage brought round. Your father has given me a letter to her Ladyship to explain your unexpected arrival.”

  Imeldra hesitated for a moment.

  “Shall I think about it after breakfast, Mr. Dutton? As I am sure you are aware, I have no wish to arrive before I have to.”

  She had known Mr. Dutton since she was a child and now his kind middle-aged face was filled with sympathy and an expression that told her that he knew how she was feeling.

  “There’s no hurry, my Lady,�
�� he said. “And while you are here I suggest you have a look round and see if there is anything you wish to take with you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Dutton.”

  He left her as if he sensed that she wished to be alone and after spending a little time in the library she walked to the breakfast room where the old butler, who had been at Kingsclere with her mother, was waiting to serve her.

  He bowed respectfully and since her father was not present he arranged the newspapers, which had just arrived, on a silver stand in front of her plate so that she could read while she was eating.

  Because she thought it would please him she glanced at The Morning Post while playing with the food she had chosen from half-a-dozen silver entrée dishes engraved with the family Crest.

  Inevitably she remembered how when she and her father were in France they had been quite content with a French breakfast of croissants and coffee. But in England to have refused the innumerable dishes that had been cooked by the chef would most certainly have upset the household.

  As her father had always said laughingly,

  “When in Rome we must do as the Romans do.”

  The butler moved discreetly from the room and Imeldra, feeling as if food would choke her, pushed aside her plate and picked up the newspaper.

  The headlines, as she had expected, told her that there had been innumerable speeches in Parliament for and against the Reform Bill.

  Then she looked further down the page and an item caught her eye and she read it with interest,

  “The Marquis of Marizon has engaged Mr. William Gladwin to rebuild the orangery at Marizon his country seat, which was recently destroyed by fire.

  Mr. Gladwin, who is an expert on orangeries, is, it is understood, following the famous Regency architect, Mr. Humphrey Repton, who was the first builder to include top-lighting in conservatories and glasshouses. He has also in many mansions incorporated the orangery, or the winter garden, with the house rather than make it a separate building.”

  Imeldra read the report twice.

  She knew William Gladwin because for three years he had worked at Kingsclere to add the orangery that for some unknown reason had never been erected before, to the house that had existed since the sixteenth century.

  When William Gladwin had finished, it was a most impressive sight and, in Imeldra’s opinion, very beautiful.