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  “I am sure, you and Papa have taught me just as much as I could have learned at any school,” Ajanta had replied loyally, but she knew her mother was unconvinced.

  Yes, she decided now, Charis must go to school and it would do her a great deal of good. She would stop mooning about after men and instead enjoy the company of other girls of her own age and the competition it would entail.

  ‘Charis should be surrounded by young people,’ Ajanta thought, ‘and the same will apply to Darice, when she is a little older.’

  She had often thought because they were all so intelligent and quick-witted that their brains were stagnating, lacking the stimulus that was so essential.

  ‘The money will enable me to do so much for Charis and Darice,’ Ajanta mused.

  Then she remembered what she had to do and felt apprehensive.

  She was too intelligent not to realise that the Marquis had manipulated her very cleverly in getting her to agree to his preposterous proposal.

  ‘He is astute and he knows it,’ she thought, ‘and he is also proud and very conceited.’

  She knew that the idea of a mock engagement was something he would never have thought of suggesting to a girl he considered to be one of his own class.

  For instance, he would never dare to suggest it to Lady Sarah, Ajanta thought.

  She had seen Lady Sarah on one or two occasions when she had attended some County function or been asked to the garden party that the Duke and Duchess gave every third year and to which they invited practically everybody in the County.

  It was a condescension on their part, as Ajanta knew, but their guests included the local Parsons, the doctors and even the senior yeoman farmers who lived on the estate.

  “When the Duchess speaks to me,” Ajanta said to her mother after the last one they had attended, “she always makes me feel as if I am a charity child and I should be thanking both God and the Duke for my bowl of gruel!”

  Her mother had laughed.

  “I know exactly what you mean, dearest. I always think of the Duke and Duchess when I sing,

  “The rich man in his castle, The poor man at his gate, God made them high and lowly, And ordered their estate.”

  “Oh, Mama, I wish I could say that to them,” Ajanta laughed.

  “If you did,” her mother replied, “I am quite sure that they would take it seriously and not think it in the least funny!”

  Something Ajanta missed desperately when her mother had died was having somebody to laugh with.

  The Vicarage had always seemed to be filled with laughter, but for a long time after her death it appeared as if her husband would never smile again.

  It was Ajanta who realised that the gloom engendered by his sense of loss was bad both for Charis and Darice and she forced herself to make jokes and to inveigle her father into seeing the funny side of life.

  It was a tremendous effort because she knew in losing her mother life could never be the same again.

  It was Lyle more than anybody else who helped to create a more or less normal atmosphere, which Ajanta knew her mother would have wanted, even though they could never forget her.

  Lyle came home full of enthusiasm about how wonderful Oxford was, how many new friends he had, what pranks they had played when they were not working.

  He found it hard to adjust himself to ride alone because there was only one horse and having no friends to invite to meals. But he was always happy with Ajanta, who, because she loved him, was prepared to listen for hours on end while he talked about himself.

  She knew that Lyle would be the easiest member of the family where her unexpected engagement was concerned.

  He would be exclusively interested in the prospect of riding the Marquis’s horses, the attempt to copy the way he tied his cravat and the invitation to visit Stowe Hall.

  Ajanta thought now that she had been very obtuse when the Marquis had said his name was Stowe not to realise that he must be one of the great racehorse owners about whom Lyle talked continually.

  She was sure now that Lyle must have told her about him after his horse had won the Derby.

  ‘It was stupid of me, Stowe being an unusual name, not to guess that he was the owner of Golden Glory,’ she thought. ‘But one would hardly expect a stranger who rescued Charis to be a Marquis!’

  She then remembered that she had not only to tell Charis of her engagement, but also to explain away her misleading reference to Mr. Stowe’s ‘wife’.

  ‘The whole thing is becoming more and more complicated!’ she mused crossly.

  At the same time, as she carried the cheque, the notes and the sovereigns upstairs to her bedroom to hide them in a drawer in her dressing table, she was planning how tomorrow she would drive, if her father did not want the gig, to the small market town that was only two miles away.

  There she would deposit the cheque in her father’s Bank. One blessing was that, because the Vicar was so engrossed in his books and so forgetful of everything else, he had arranged that she could sign cheques on his account. “It is very unusual, Vicar,” the Bank Manager had protested.

  But because he admired anyone who could write a book, he finally agreed.

  She knew that the Manager, who was used to their having only a very small amount of credit on their account and sometimes being overdrawn, would be astonished.

  She told herself the only explanation she could make was that she had been left a legacy by one of the Marquis’s relations.

  ‘Godmother would sound convincing,’ she mused and then thought that it was another falsehood.

  ‘Lies! Lies! Lies!’ she exclaimed to herself. ‘It is what I have to do, but it’s wrong. It is something I should not do, not only as myself, but as my father’s daughter.’

  She paused and then she said slowly and distinctly,

  “I hate him! I wish he had never come into my life!”

  At the same time irrepressibly her heart was singing because Lyle could have his fun, Charis could go to school and she would no longer have to teach Darice herself, but could employ the teacher for her whom Charis would no longer require.

  *

  Driving in the exceedingly comfortable travelling chariot, which the Marquis had sent for them, made Ajanta feel as if she was leaving behind one world for another.

  It was strange to see such an impressive vehicle outside their door and to realise that the six horses pulling it were of such superior breeding that she could only stare at them spellbound.

  The servants in their smart livery seemed to have stepped straight out of a Fairy story.

  Ever since the Marquis had left them, everything that happened seemed unreal, not as in a dream, but as if she was being propelled by some supernatural force and could hardly draw her breath, let alone think.

  When she told her father rather hesitantly that she was engaged to the Marquis, he had said,

  “I thought him an extremely intelligent man, but I had no idea that you had met him before yesterday.”

  Ajanta drew in her breath.

  “It was actually the first time, Papa, but he said that he fell in love with me as you did with Mama the moment you saw her.”

  “That is true,” the Vicar confirmed. “I had never seen anybody so beautiful and I felt she must have stepped out of Heaven itself.”

  Ajanta knew that her father and mother had met when he had just left Oxford and when they looked into each other’s eyes everything else in the whole world had paled into insignificance.

  ‘That is how I want it to be,’ she told herself.

  She had felt resentful because she was missing something precious and she thought that the Marquis was encouraging Charis to think herself in love with him.

  ‘I expect he has that effect on every woman he meets,’ she thought scornfully, ‘but it is certainly something that will not happen to me.’

  “I am looking forward to visiting Stowe Hall,” her father was saying.

  “Yes, Papa, and the Marquis suggested it would
be a good opportunity for you to go to Oxford from there and get on with your research.”

  “He is very kind and thoughtful,” the Vicar said. “I am finding it very difficult to obtain the detailed information I require for chapter four in which I describe Mecca and what it means to those who can wear the green turban.”

  The way her father spoke told Ajanta that he was already thinking of his writing.

  She therefore left him in his study and walked down to the village to ask the elderly retired Clergyman who lived in the house at the far end if he would be kind enough to take any Services that were required until her father returned.

  “I knew it would not be long before your father felt the urge to go to Oxford again,” the old man said jovially, “and you must encourage him, Ajanta, to finish this next volume of his work. I enjoyed the last one on Zen Buddhism more than I can say.”

  “Papa will be delighted that it pleased you,” Ajanta replied.

  “A brilliant man, your father! Brilliant! And of course I will do anything in my power to fill in for him while he is away.”

  “Thank you! You are very kind,” Ajanta said and hurried back to the Vicarage to set off for the market town.

  Once she had paid in her cheque, she could buy things for Charis and Darice, although the choice in such a small place was limited.

  However, the new ribbons for her chip-straw bonnet sent Charis into ecstasies of delight and the blue sash to go round a plain muslin gown that Ajanta had made for her younger sister made Darice look more than ever like a small angel.

  Ajanta had always thought that Darice looked as though she had stepped straight out of an allegorical painting and she would have been irritated if she had known that the Marquis thought the same.

  In spite of every resolution to be grateful she could not help resenting the way he swept them off their feet and forced them to carry out his instructions without even an apology for causing such inconvenience.

  ‘If he thinks I am going to go down on my knees to thank him for everything he does,’ Ajanta told herself, ‘he will be mistaken. He is doing this entirely for his own selfish ends.’

  At the same time it was exciting to travel faster than she had ever travelled in her life in a carriage that was so well sprung and so well cushioned that the roads might have been as smooth as a table.

  Their leather trunks, all now old and worn looked extremely incongruous, Ajanta thought, when they were put into the smart brake which, being drawn by only four horses, left an hour-and-a-half before the chariot.

  The servants with the two vehicles had stopped the night at a Posting inn, which was only about half-an-hour’s drive away from the village.

  “His Lordship wishes us to get to Stowe Hall as quickly as possible, miss,” the coachman explained, “and the horses are raring to go, so you’ll not find the journey too tedious.”

  They stopped for what they all decided was a delicious luncheon, the meal having already been ordered by the servants on the brake that had stopped there earlier.

  The manner in which they were received by the landlord, the comfort of the private parlour into which they were shown and the bottle of the very best claret which had been ordered for the Vicar with lemonade for the girls, made everybody but Ajanta almost hysterical with praise for their host.

  “How can he think of every detail?” Charis asked.

  She had been fulsome in her admiration of the Marquis and was undoubtedly once again in love with him now that she had learned he was unmarried.

  She had said to Ajanta this morning,

  “I think it extremely unfair that you should marry him. I found him first and, if it had not been for me, he would never have come to the Vicarage.”

  “I know, dearest,” Ajanta replied. “But he is really too old for you. In another year or so you will undoubtedly meet a young man of the right age.”

  “I cannot believe there could be anybody as good as the Marquis!” Charis said petulantly. “But you are prettier than I am and I suppose it was only to be expected that he would like you best.”

  It was with difficulty that Ajanta did not reply, ‘I don’t like him in the slightest and he is only making use of me!’

  Then she told herself she must not even think such things, because they were so close to each other as a family that they could often read one another thoughts.

  Although she had done her best to make her two sisters look smart for the journey, Ajanta had not bothered about herself.

  It was in fact a very long time since she had had a new gown and she thought a little ruefully that the one in which she must travel and which had once been a pretty shade of blue was now both worn and faded.

  There was nothing she could do about it, except hope that the Marquis’s relatives would not notice and that he really meant it when he said clothes would be waiting for her at Stowe Hall.

  She thought it was because of her appearance that he had not kept to his original plan to take her first to London.

  She would not look quite so out of place in the country to which she was used, but she was quite certain that in London her appearance would evolve the scorn and contempt of the Marquis’s smart friends.

  ‘They might be suspicious,’ she told herself, ‘that he should wish to marry anything so dowdy and out of place.’

  She was well aware that if he had not been so strong, so masculine and so broad-shouldered, he might have been described as a ‘dandy’.

  Lyle had explained in great detail what dandies wore, the elegance of their clothes, the way their Hessian boots polished with champagne shone so that one could see one’s face in them and the height of their cravats.

  She had thought that dandies were rather feminine foolish creatures, but she could certainly apply neither of those adjectives to the Marquis.

  After such a good luncheon and the excellent claret, the Vicar fell asleep in his corner of the carriage and so did Darice.

  Charis on the other hand had no wish to miss anything and she chattered away asking questions for which Ajanta had no answers, until finally she scolded,

  “Oh, do be quiet for a little while, Charis! I have a headache. I wish like Papa I could sleep.”

  “I expect really you are feeling over-excited because you are going to see the person you love,” Charis sighed romantically.

  “It’s not that at all,” Ajanta said without thinking.

  “Of course it is,” Charis contradicted. “Oh, Ajanta, it is so very very exciting that you have found love with such a romantic man. And every day, as you grow more and more fond of each other, you will know it is I who brought such delight into your lives.”

  Ajanta had a suspicion that Charis was quoting from some novel she had recently read, but, as she could hardly deny what she was saying, she merely closed her eyes and pretended to go to sleep.

  She did in fact doze for a little while and was awoken by a sudden shriek from Charis as she exclaimed,

  “Look! Look! Have you ever seen anything so marvellous?”

  Ajanta woke up with a start and do did the Vicar. They looked in the direction at which Charis was pointing.

  Not far away they could see through the trees an enormous and very impressive building.

  It had a centre block with high Corinthian pillars standing above a long flight of steps while on each side there were two other blocks, both surmounted by stone urns and statues which were silhouetted against the sky.

  The Marquis’s standard was floating from the highest point on the roof and behind the house was a wood of dark fir trees that seemed to protect it as if it was a jewel in a velvet setting.

  “I have never seen anything so lovely!” Charis said. “That is where you will live, Ajanta, and reign like a Queen.”

  ‘And be dethroned like one!’ Ajanta wanted to reply. It was impossible all the same to deny that Charis’s enthusiasm was well justified.

  Stowe Hall was very beautiful and, as they drew nearer, they saw that the green law
ns sloped down to a large lake on which there floated both white and black swans.

  The bridge spanning the lake was very much older than the house itself and beautiful beyond compare.

  Because it was all so awe-inspiring, everybody in the carriage was silent as it drew up outside the front door.

  Servants in green and yellow livery, which Ajanta thought must also be the Marquis’s racing colours, came hurrying down the steps to attend to them.

  As she walked up to the front door, Ajanta thought that the house, like the Marquis, was overpowering and guaranteed to make anybody like her feel small and insignificant.

  But she decided she would not be intimidated by him and, when the Marquis greeted them in the hall, she was holding her chin up and he thought, as he had expected, there was a challenge in her vivid blue eyes.

  “Welcome to Stowe,” he said, “and I do hope your journey has not been too tiring.”

  “I guessed you would have an enormous and wonderful house like this!” Charis enthused before anybody else could speak. “We have had a glorious journey, my Lord, a delicious luncheon, and you were so very very clever to think of everything we might want.”

  “I am glad about that,” the Marquis replied.

  He shook hands with the Vicar saying,

  “It is delightful to have you here, sir, and I know the first thing you will want to see is my library. My curator has already a large selection of books on the Mohammedans waiting for your perusal.”

  He then held out his hand to Ajanta.

  “There is no need for me to tell you how much I have been looking forward to seeing you,” he said.

  She realised from the way he raised his voice a little that he intended his welcome to be overheard by his servants. She curtsied but made no reply and hoped that anyone watching would merely think she was shy.

  “Now what would you like to do first?” the Marquis asked. “Go upstairs and take off your bonnets? Or come into the salon where I have a glass of champagne waiting for those who are old enough and some lemonade for those who are not?”

  “I am thirsty!” Darice said before anybody else could speak.

  “Then lemonade and some delicious chocolate cakes are waiting for you,” the Marquis responded.