The Importance of Love Page 5

  ‘But, yes, I think I shall be very happy here.’

  And a slow smile spread across his handsome face as he began to draw.

  *

  “Are you certain we are heading in the right direction, driver?” asked Luella, as the carriage they had hired at Southampton began to climb uphill.

  The Countess groaned and looked even paler than earlier that morning.

  Luella had entreated her to stay awhile longer in Southampton, but she would not hear of it. And now she was looking worse with each passing mile.

  Furthermore, she was losing confidence in their driver to take them to their destination. He had been forced to turn the horses round once already as they had taken a wrong road, having passed through Okehampton, he had not heeded the sign to Bude and was now haring off in the direction of Great Torrington.

  Although Luella did not have a map or a compass, she was concerned as she now believed they were heading due North. She had a good sense of direction and North was where Scotland and home lay.

  And now with the sun moving off to their left every fibre in her body was screaming that they were on the wrong road.

  “Oh,” moaned Aunt Edith, as the carriage hit a rock in the road and jolted.

  “Aunt. Do you wish us to stop?” The Countess nodded and Luella leaned out of the window and shouted to the driver to stop. She helped her aunt out for some fresh air.

  As she stood quivering with nausea by the roadside, Luella was furious with the man. She put her aunt back inside and rounded on him.

  “Do you actually know where we are?” she cried with her pale-blue eyes flashing dangerously.

  The driver hung his head and mumbled,

  “I’s sorry, miss, but I don’t know these ’ere parts.”

  “You said you knew the way to Bude.”

  “Sorry, miss. I be lost.”

  “You fool. My aunt is ill and she is getting worse by the moment. We really must stop very soon. I had hoped to be in Cornwall before dark and now it seems unlikely. Take us to the nearest town and ask for directions to a hotel – and hurry.”

  The driver looked suitably ashamed and crawled back onto his box. Luella shut the carriage door forcefully and sat down with a noisy exhalation of breath.

  “The man is an idiot,” she muttered, as her aunt sat huddled under a blanket. “I have asked him to stop at the next town so that we might find somewhere to stay. Can you last that long?”

  “I shall try,” replied her aunt wearily. “I don’t think we can make it to Cornwall tonight, however.”

  “No, you are right,” answered Luella, watching the sun sink in the sky.

  The carriage rattled on down the country road and Luella felt tense as she watched her aunt become paler and paler.

  After having searched Great Torrington for a hotel only to find nothing suitable, they were just going over a rather rickety wooden bridge when the carriage wheel hit a pothole and was thrown up in the air.

  Although it landed safely without overturning, Aunt Edith let out a cry and fainted onto the floor of the carriage.

  “Aunt! Aunt!” cried Luella, rushing to pick her up. But the Countess was too heavy for her and she had to call to the driver for help.

  “I be sorry, miss. Couldn’t help the hole,” he said shame-faced as they hauled the Countess back into her seat.

  “Just get us to a hotel quickly! Where are we?”

  “I’ll stop at the next inn and ask, miss.”

  The next inn, however, was not for miles and by now, it was almost dark.

  The carriage passed a sign saying ‘Bideford one mile’ and Luella instructed the driver to head in that direction.

  But in Bideford, everywhere was as dead as a grave. They crossed a bridge over a wide river and then Luella saw it. High on the hill overlooking the riverbank was a large and elegant house.

  ‘It could be a hotel or it could be a private house,’ she conjectured. ‘In any case, it must belong to someone of importance so I shall have to throw myself on their mercy. Perhaps they will be able to direct us to a suitable place to stay. Aunt Edith cannot continue for much longer in this carriage without collapsing.’

  She ordered the driver to proceed through the iron gates and up the winding drive towards the house.

  By now the sky overhead was dark and the wind rustled through the trees, making them appear forbidding and gloomy.

  ‘I hope they are not, as some country folk are, suspicious of strangers or worse, half mad,’ Luella murmured to herself.

  As they drew nearer, she could see that the house was in a rundown state and her heart sank. She noted the missing windowpanes and the rusting ironwork.

  The driver opened the carriage door and Luella stepped down, her heart racing.

  “Wait here,” she ordered firmly, as she walked towards the oak front door.

  ‘Well,’ she said to herself. ‘I must be brave and enquire – there is no other nearby house and it does look as if someone is at home. There is a candle burning in that downstairs window.’

  Lifting up the huge knocker, she let it fall, then took two steps back and waited as the hollow sound reverberated through the depths of the shabby building.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Inside Torr House Cork wearily walked towards the front door.

  All afternoon the steady stream of curious visitors to Torr House had not ceased. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to meet the new owner, who, gossip said, was the grandson of the old Marquis who used to visit his ‘Frenchwoman’ there.

  And every other person came to offer their services.

  “We’ve ’eard that the Frenchwoman’s house is to be sold,” they started.

  “No, it is not. His Lordship intends to live in it.”

  “Is he really knocking it down? T’would be a shame if he were,” said others.

  Cork fervently hoped that this latest caller would not demand to see inside the house or to ‘have a word’ with the Viscount, for he had given strict instructions that he was not to be disturbed in the library where he was working.

  Never had Cork seen such dedication.

  “If it were up to his Lordship, the whole place would be rebuilt by the end of the week,” he jokingly told his wife.

  Cork opened the heavy door and was surprised to find a very attractive young lady. By her clothes he judged that she was not a local and viewed her with interest.

  “Good afternoon, miss,” he said politely.

  “I am so sorry to trouble you,” began Luella. “But my aunt, the Countess of Ridgeway, is ill and we cannot find a hotel and our coachman is lost. I wondered if you might be able to direct us?”

  Cork cast a glance towards the carriage.

  Although the young lady on the doorstep seemed genteel enough, he noted that she and her aunt were travelling in a hired coach. He hesitated as he tried to think of somewhere they could stay.

  He knew there was a large cattle market and fair on the next day that people from miles around would visit.

  Inevitably all the hotels would be full.

  “Would you wait here awhile, Miss – ?”

  “Ridgeway. Luella Ridgeway,” answered Luella anxiously.

  As Cork went off to consult his wife, the Viscount emerged from the library.

  “Who is that at the door?” he asked looking extremely tired. He hoped that it was not another person claiming to be a close friend of his grandfather’s whom he would have to ask Cork to turn away.

  “A young lady, my Lord. She is travelling with her sick aunt and they are lost. The aunt is the Countess of Ridgeway, as the young lady claims and they are travelling in a common hired carriage.”

  Intrigued the Viscount moved up the hall and the sight he glimpsed through the open door made his heart skip a beat.

  There on his doorstep was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  Her fair hair framed her face like wispy clouds while her pale-blue eyes darted around nervously. Her whole demeanour was one of someon
e in need of rescuing and it appealed to his masculine instincts to come to her aid.

  “Show her in, Cork.”

  “My Lord?”

  “Don’t stand there, man. Show her in.”

  Utterly shocked, Cork retraced his steps to the front door and threw it open.

  “His Lordship has asked that you enter,” he intoned with raised eyebrows. “Thank you very much,” sighed Luella, hoping that this nobleman was kind and that they would soon be on their way.

  The hall somewhat surprised Luella. Although the house had undoubtedly once been grand, everywhere were signs of neglect.

  ‘Yet, this man who approaches looks every inch the fine Lord,’ she said to herself, as the Viscount came towards her with his hand outstretched.

  “Miss Ridgeway? I am David Kennington. Welcome to my home. I hear you are lost and that your aunt is unwell.”

  “Yes, she is in the carriage outside. I was hoping to find a hotel where we might stay before continuing our journey. We were on our way to Bude in Cornwall and our fool of a driver took the wrong turn and we ended up on the Bideford road. We have been travelling in Europe and I am not familiar with this part of the country.”

  “They will not find anywhere tonight, my Lord,” said Cork, who was standing nearby. “The cattle market and fair is on tomorrow.”

  “Then, you must stay here,” exclaimed the Viscount.

  “Although I confess that the house is not as it should be. I only arrived here yesterday to find it in a state of disrepair.”

  “There is the blue room and the river room, my Lord. They have been unaffected by the damp,” suggested Cork suddenly. “Madame’s visitors stayed there and they are most comfortable. Mrs. Cork and I made certain that they were ready to occupy as we did not know how many people to expect.”

  “Oh, I could not impose,” cried Luella.

  “Miss Ridgeway, I cannot have you wandering the roads of North Devon with an ill relative,” replied the Viscount firmly. “Cork, have the Countess brought inside at once and take her to the blue room. Then send for the doctor.”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “Really, you must not go to any trouble.”

  “I would not hear of your travelling to the next town,” the Viscount insisted, ushering Luella into the drawing room. “Now Cork will bring you some refreshments and we shall put your aunt to bed. One of the maids will sit with her until the doctor arrives. If you will excuse me, I must go and change as I have been working since early this morning and am not at my best.”

  With a short bow the Viscount left the room and Luella stared after him.

  ‘What a fine-looking fellow,’ she murmured as he closed the door. Very soon, Mrs. Cork bustled into the room with another servant who carried a tray of tea and sandwiches.

  “His Lordship will not be dining until half-past eight, miss, so he thought you might care for something light to eat after your journey.”

  She bent closer to Luella and whispered,

  “And don’t you worry. We’ve sent that rascal of a coachman packing. Your aunt is in bed now and a maid is looking after her. The doctor will be here soon and we will call you when he arrives.”

  “Thank you very much. You are all being so kind.”

  “We’ve always taken care of visitors at Torr House,” said Mrs. Cork. “And I can see you are strangers here. Now eat your sandwiches and I’ll come and fetch you when your room is ready.”

  ‘Who is this Viscount?’ she asked herself. ‘And what is he doing in this shabby house?’

  She rose and examined an oil painting on the wall of a lady in a ball gown. Judging by her apparel, Luella thought that it had been painted some twenty or thirty years earlier.

  “How beautiful she is,” she declared. “Such wondrous eyes!”

  “Yes, she is rather lovely, isn’t she?” came a voice from behind her. “She was French, you know.”

  She turned around to see the Viscount standing in the doorway.

  He had changed and was wearing a well-cut shirt and waistcoat over smart trousers. His shirt was open at the neck and his dark hair fell forward on one side in a highly attractive manner. His brown eyes were lively under black eyebrows.

  “Is she a relative?” asked Luella a little self-consciously.

  “No, she was – a family friend. I see that Mrs. Cork has attended to you?”

  “Yes, thank you. It is most kind of you.”

  “Think nothing of it, Miss Ridgeway. I am a stranger myself to these parts and would hope that were I in the same position, someone would do likewise for me.”

  “What brings you to Bideford, if I may ask?” she said, fluttering her eyelashes as she looked up at him.

  The Viscount found himself compelled to gaze into her blue eyes as they met his.

  “My grandfather left me this house when he died recently. I hankered after a change in scenery as I had tired of London and this house offered me a unique opportunity. I am an architect, you see – or at least, I trained as such.”

  “So you have great plans for this house?” asked Luella sitting down again.

  The Viscount noticed the shy way she regarded him. She tilted her head downwards and cast her eyes upwards in a manner that was rather beguiling. Lost in the moment he hesitated before replying.

  “Yes, I wish to remodel the existing house and add to it. It would be a pity to tear down a fine house such as this and start again and I often find myself outraged at what has been done to many fine old houses in the name of progress and modernity.”

  “Well spoken,” she agreed. “I am much of the same opinion. In France they do not tear down an old house because it is out of fashion. They respect the past.”

  “So, what finds you in the West Country?” he enquired, leaning on the mantelpiece and crossing one leg over the other.

  Luella hesitated and then took a deep breath.

  “I hope you will not think ill of me when I tell you – ” she sighed, taking out a handkerchief and wrapping it around her delicate hands.

  “You are not an infamous woman on the run from the Police, I hope!”

  “No,” answered Luella. “But I am fleeing from someone. An unwanted and persistent admirer.”

  “I would have thought that he would not be alone,” muttered the Viscount, entranced by the vision of loveliness in front of him.

  “You must have many men at your feet.”

  “This man has decided that he is going to marry me – he is obsessed!” she said looking down at her fingers. “We fled France when he became threatening and were to take refuge in Cornwall before returning to my aunt’s house in Scotland. We both fell ill on the crossing and although I have recovered, she has not. I hope you will not think again about giving us refuge. You may not wish to harbour two fugitives!”

  But the Viscount had already fallen under her spell.

  It had been a very long time since he had felt so taken with a woman. His hardened heart had neither sought love nor missed it in his life, yet now he found himself swamped with myriad emotions.

  Luella stared at him as she awaited his reply, but the Viscount found himself strangely hesitant. At last, he said,

  “You have done nothing wrong. This man must have been very persistent to have followed you through Europe. Is it love that propels him so?”

  “Not entirely. My aunt is a very rich and powerful woman with vast estates in Scotland. I am her only heir as the rest of the family have died. Frank Connolly, for that is the man’s name, desires riches and power for himself. I am just another possession to be added into the bargain.”

  A fierce protectiveness sprang up in the Viscount’s bosom. He felt outraged that this fortune hunter had so relentlessly pursued the lovely young lady who sat trembling in the chair in front of him. And because of him, her aunt was now ill.

  He listened as Luella recounted the tale of Frank Connolly’s reign of terror.

  “Aunt Edith thought that if we travelled West, instead of going str
aight to London, we would shake him off. I was certain that he will be in pursuit of us.”

  “While you are under my roof, you must not fear for your safety,” the Viscount assured her with a tremor in his voice.

  He rose from his chair and rang the bell. “Dinner will be at half-past eight and I hope you will do me the honour of joining me?”

  “I would be delighted,” accepted Luella puzzled at his sudden change of mood.

  As the Viscount left, Cork entered the room and informed Luella that the doctor was upstairs with the Countess. She stood up and followed him. Meanwhile the Viscount was in the library gazing out of the window deep in thought.

  His mind whirled and he found he could not concentrate, such was the effect that his beautiful visitor had on him.

  ‘It is as if this house is casting a spell,’ he told himself, as he looked out of the window at the wilderness of his garden.

  The clock in the hall chimed six-thirty and the Viscount found himself wishing the hours away until dinner. He tried to sit down at his desk and do some more work, but his mind persisted in dwelling on the beautiful Luella Ridgeway.

  ‘It’s this place that is unnerving me so,’ he decided picking up his instruments. ‘And the ghost of Madame Le Fevre!’

  *

  The doctor was most adamant.

  “She must rest for at least a week,” he said as he packed up his bag. “She must drink lots of fluids and eat light and nourishing meals.”

  “But we cannot impose upon the Viscount’s hospitality for that long,” replied Luella. “He has already been too kind.”

  “Move her at your own peril,” counselled the doctor. “I cannot be held answerable if she resumes her travels earlier than I have stated.”

  The Countess was propped up in bed and being tended to by Maisie, who was making a great deal of fuss of her ensuring that she had everything she needed.

  “We’ll soon have you better, my Lady,” she cooed. “But you must stay where you are.”

  Luella approached the bed and sank down on the edge of it. Her aunt, although still ghastly white, did look a little more comfortable.