65 A Heart Is Stolen (3 page)

“Oh, for God’s sake, don’t make it worse than it is already!” the Marquis said. “How could I have been such a fool as to not realise it was a wedding ring she was after? I was certainly not her first lover. Why should she want to marry me?”

Anthony laughed.

“Now, really, Justin, you sound like a surprised virgin! Of course she wants to marry you rather than Leicester, who has no money or Selbirn, who will have to wait at least another ten years before he comes into his father’s title.”

“You seem to know a lot about her.”

“I watched Rose pursuing you,” Anthony said, “and had the feeling that she might succeed in getting you on the hook.”

“You could have taken the trouble to warn me.”

“Warn you?” his friend exclaimed. “When have you ever allowed me to warn you about anything? You are always so certain that you know best and what is more, you would snap my head off if I ever discussed your love affairs.”

This was so palpably true that the Marquis had nothing to say, but concentrated on driving his horses.

It was certainly some consolation to know that they moved perfectly in unison and were as smooth and easy to handle as any team he had ever known in the whole of his life.

“In future I shall keep to horses,” he remarked.

Anthony laughed.

“Until the next beauty sees you and is determined to get you into her clutches. The trouble with you, Justin, is that you are too handsome, too rich and too elusive.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that women run after you because you make so little effort to run after them.”

“The trouble is that I don’t have to.”

“That is what is wrong,” Anthony said. “Women should appreciate that they are the prey, the final objective and that is what makes the pursuit of them such good fun.”

“You had better tell that to Rose and your friend Lucy.”

Anthony sighed.

“Stop being personal and let’s try and talk objectively on the principle of the subject.”

“What good will that do?” the Marquis enquired.

“It will clear our minds for the future,” Anthony replied loftily. “Lucy has taught me a lesson, just as you have learned one from Rose Caterham. We would be fools not to profit by it.”

“All right, I am listening to what you are trying to say,” the Marquis said. “Come to the point.”

“The point is that anything one becomes too easy it’s not worth having. Agreed?”

“I suppose so.”

“The women you and I know, let’s face it, are extremely easy and bowled over quicker by you than they are by me, because you have more to offer them. There is not a woman born who would not want to be the Marchioness of Veryan.”

The Marquis did not reply, but he was frowning and Anthony knew that he was still apprehensive that he might find himself unavoidably married to Rose Caterham and was aware how greatly he would dislike it.

As if the Marquis had spoken aloud, Anthony continued,

“Beauty is not enough – we both know that. Neither of us wants the type of wife who flirts with every man she meets and has not a thought in her head beyond being the belle of every ball she attends.”

There was silence for a moment until the Marquis said,

“Go on, Anthony, you are making sense and you are saying what I have always thought myself, but had not the brains to spell it out.”

“My father used to say that every man should ‘chew the cud’,” Anthony went on, “and that is something you and I have often omitted to do until it’s too late and we have made quite a number of unnecessary mistakes.”

“We don’t want to go over that now,” the Marquis said hastily, thinking of a number of incidents that were best forgotten.

“No, but you know what I am thinking about,” Anthony went on. “Quite frankly, I believe we should be much more sensible in the future if we considered what we were doing before we did it.”

“That is a gabbled sentence,” the Marquis said critically, “but I get your meaning. The trouble is that we move in a very small circle and you and I, Anthony, don’t exercise our brains by which we set so much score when we were at Oxford.”

Seeing that the Marquis understood what he was trying to say, Anthony said,

“We are both in agreement.”

The Marquis laughed.

“Of course!” he said, “but Heaven knows what the future may hold! I have the uncomfortable feeling that Rose and Lucy will quickly be replaced by two other ‘fair charmers’ of much the same calibre.”

Anthony threw up his hands.

“Dammit all, Justin. You are as depressing as a wet race meeting! Where is your sense of adventure? Your optimism, your faith in your guiding star?”

He spoke with an unmistakable mockery.

“Oh, shut up, Anthony!” the Marquis said. “Now you are depressing me and I am quite certain that the only adventure we shall have on this trip will be a collision or a buckled wheel.”

*

The Marquis and Sir Anthony lingered so long over the luncheon they enjoyed at
The Flying Fox
on the road that they were later than they intended in reaching the coast.

As always, when they were alone together, they enjoyed their conversation, the jokes they made at each other’s expense and recalling incidents that had happened in the long years of their friendship.

Because they were both so exceptionally fit, the headaches they had been suffering from when they awoke were dispersed over luncheon and they were both in excellent spirits as they set off on the last part of the drive.

With any other team the Marquis would have been obliged to change horses, but those he was driving had an Arab strain in them and he knew that, if he took them fairly carefully over the last miles of the journey, they would be able to stay the course.

“Now that peace has been declared,” he said, “it’s time for me to have my horses on the Dover Road again.”

“I thought that you might have done that already.”

“I had not intended to go to France for another month,” the Marquis explained. “I always think after a war, it is a good thing to let the country settle down and restore its more obvious comforts before one pays it a visit.”

“There are people already extolling the delights of Paris,” Anthony replied, “and several men have told me that they were agreeably impressed with their excellent reception from the moment they arrived at Calais. What is more, I am told the French women are fantastic!”

“We will go there next month,” the Marquis promised. “Actually Percival told me that in the Palais Royal the women all wear draperies in the Grecian mode with their hair anointed with scented oil.”

Anthony laughed.

“We will certainly have to visit the Palais Royal and I would also like to see the First Consul. He cannot be quite such a monster as he is always depicted.”

“I only hope he is not as clever as I suspect him to be,” the Marquis remarked.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I have a suspicion that, while we are wallowing in peace, forgetting old grievances and talking of the return of ‘peace and plenty’, Bonaparte might be taking advantage by building up his Army and his Fleet.”

“Nonsense!” Anthony replied. “He is ready, just as we are, to let bygones be bygones.”

“I hope you are right. But we will find out for ourselves when we get to France. Paris next month will be delightful and certainly not as hot as it is now.”

They talked of other issues until ahead of them they saw the long line of the Downs and knew that their journey was nearly at an end.

“It’s years since I have been to Heathcliffe,” Anthony said. “I remember staying with you when we were boys and your father was in a terrible rage over something a neighbour had done to him.”

“The Admiral, my father’s arch enemy!” the Marquis recalled. “The battle between those two old gentlemen had the blood coursing in their veins and their fury kept them young at heart until the very day my father died.”

“What was the quarrel about?”

“I have forgotten – if I ever knew. When my father bought Heathcliffe, he found in the very centre of the estate only a mile from the house itself, there was a small manor and ten acres belonging to a retired Admiral – what was his name?”

The Marquis paused before he exclaimed,

“Wadebridge! That was it! Admiral Horatio Wadebridge! He behaved as if he was still on the quarter deck, which made my father furious whenever he thought of him.”

Anthony laughed.

“What did they fight about?”

“Everything, but mostly because the Admiral would not sell his home and estate to my father. There was no reason why he should but my father coveted ‘Naboth’s Vineyard’ and he did everything in his power to gain possession of it without success.”

“What has happened to the Admiral now?” Anthony asked.

“He must have died, like my father. They were both about the same age.”

“And who now possesses Naboth’s Vineyard, as you call it?”

“The Admiral had a son, so I suppose it belongs to him,” the Marquis replied. “He is a good deal older than I am, so perhaps he has retired there, waiting to quarrel with me when I need the sea air for my health.”

“He will have to wait a long time,” Anthony remarked. “On the other hand he might be willing to sell.”

“Yes, I suppose he might,” the Marquis agreed, “in which case I shall certainly buy the land.”

“Have you not enough already?”

“I don’t think one can ever have too much land,” the Marquis replied. “Look at the Cecils – they have always added to their possession of land all through the centuries. I believe it is something I should do for those who follow after me.”

“Good Heavens!” Anthony ejaculated. “You are planning ahead! Perhaps after all you should get married and continue the Veryan line who have done very well for themselves since Charles II.”

“Charles I!” the Marquis corrected. “There are plenty of us – cousins by the score!”

“But you still want a son to carry on,” Anthony persisted.

“Of course,” the Marquis agreed, “but there is no hurry and, let me make it quite clear, his mother’s name will not be Rose!”

He spoke in such a ferocious tone that when Anthony laughed he had to join in.

Then the Marquis pointed with his whip.

“There is Heathcliffe!” he declared. “Amongst those trees.”

As he saw it, Anthony remembered the long low house, which the Marquis’s father had added to and improved with the help of one of the greatest architects of his time.

It was situated in a perfect position a little lower than the Downs, which rose behind it and was sheltered in all sides except the front by a thick wood of trees, which protected it from the winds which came in from the sea and yet it gave the appearance of being majestically in command of the place where it was situated.

For almost an hour they had been tasting the salt on the air and knowing a freshness that had been sadly lacking on the first part of their journey.

Now even the horses went a little quicker as if they were aware that they had reached their objective and a comfortable stable was waiting for them.

As they drove down the drive, the house stood in front of them, built of red brick mellowed by the weather to a warm glowing pink and Anthony commented,

“I had forgotten that Heathcliffe is so beautiful. You should come here more often.”

“That is exactly what I was thinking myself,” the Marquis answered. “I cannot imagine why I have neglected it for so long.”

“There is something very romantic about it,” Anthony said reflectively. “Look at the flowers – they are breathtaking!”

“My father expended all his time and a great deal of his money on the garden,” the Marquis said. “I was half-afraid that with the war and the shortage of manpower it might have become neglected, but I see my fears were groundless.”

As they drew nearer to the house, the evening sun glinted on its many windows, seeming to glow with a warm welcome as they drove up to the front door.

Two grooms were waiting to go to the horses’ heads and, as the Marquis stepped down, feeling a little stiff after driving for so long, an elderly man with white hair appeared on the steps.

“Good evening, Markham,” the Marquis said.

“Good evening, my Lord, and may I welcome you home and say what a pleasure it is to have you here.”

“Thank you, Markham,” the Marquis replied. “I expect you remember Sir Anthony Derville from when he was a small boy?”

“I heard he was accompanying you, my Lord, and it’s a very great pleasure to see you again, Sir Anthony.”

Mr. Markham who had been, the Marquis remembered, his agent at Heathcliffe for over thirty years, led them into the cool hall that was filled with flowers.

“I see you were expecting me?” the Marquis said.

“I was very grateful that your Lordship was considerate enough to give me a few hours’ notice of your visit. Everything, as you are aware, is always in readiness, but there was time for the gardeners to bring in flowers and for warming pans to be placed in the beds which Mrs. Kingdom assured me is essential however carefully the sheets are aired.”

The Marquis smiled, but did not reply as they walked into a long low room that overlooked the flower garden at the back of the house.

It was the room in which his father had always sat in the evening and he almost expected him to rise from one of the comfortable armchairs and advance towards him.

Everything the late Marquis had collected was not only in perfect taste but also of great intrinsic value.

The Marquis looked around him with satisfaction, thinking that the pictures on the walls, which were all of ships, were very appropriate to the position of the house and that nothing had changed from when he was here as a boy.

“I anticipated that your Lordship would like a bath before dining,” Mr. Markham said, “and it’s already waiting for you upstairs and a man who will look after you until your own valet arrives.”

“Hawkins will not be far behind, as we lingered rather longer than we intended over luncheon,” the Marquis answered, “but the travelling chariot could not be expected to keep up with my phaeton.”

He spoke with just a touch of pride in his voice and, as if he knew this was a cue for congratulations, Mr. Markham said,