He turned back towards the house and paused to look at it, sleeping in the midday sun. Built by his great-great-grandfather, it was an elegant stone house, three storeys high with tall chimneys, pointed gables and mullioned windows.
Seeing its dusky mellow stonework, its windows glinting in the summer sunshine, it struck Justin just how beautiful the house was, and he realised that he didn’t envy Rupert all his freedoms at all, because Pilgrim’s Oak would never be his. It had been their family’s home for five generations and Justin suddenly knew he could never be happy living anywhere else.
He squared his shoulders and went back indoors. The old man was right. Procrastination must end; it was time to act. He would ride over to Marwick House after luncheon and call on Kitty. He already had his grandmother’s engagement ring, designed to be given to his future bride. Perhaps, if things went well, today he would give it to Kitty.
Unless there were guests, the midday meal at Pilgrim’s Oak was taken informally. Often it was little more than a bowl of soup, a plate of cold meats with vegetables from the kitchen garden, and a dish of summer fruits with a jug of cream.
‘Shall we go for a ride this afternoon?’ Frances suggested as they sat down at the table. ‘It’s a beautiful day and we could ride up over the hill and look at the view. On a day like today we should be able to see the sea.’
Justin almost accepted her suggestion. After all, it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t go to see Kitty this very afternoon. He could go another time, another day soon. However, his mother spoke before he could and said, ‘I plan to call on Lady Charteris this afternoon, my love, and she particularly asked me to bring you with me. She has someone she would like you to meet.’
‘Oh, Mama.’ Frances gave a theatrical sigh. ‘Not another suitable young man!’
Amabel Chalfont smiled indulgently. ‘I know how you feel about her efforts, Frances, but we have to remember she’s an old lady and enjoys the company of young people like you. Anyway, when she sent her groom over with an invitation to call and take tea with her this afternoon, I accepted.’
Frances knew there was no point arguing with her mother. Amabel, though an amiable and generally indulgent mother, could be decidedly obstinate. Once she had made up her mind to something, all her children knew there was little point in trying to change it. Arguments, pleas, tears and tantrums were greeted with the same indifference and so Frances sighed and, turning back to her brother and speaking with great formality, said, ‘Well, Justin, I should like to make an appointment to ride with you tomorrow… if the weather is clement.’
‘Certainly, Frances,’ he replied with equal formality. ‘We shall ride together tomorrow… if the weather is clement.’ At which they both broke out laughing.
‘What are your plans for this afternoon, Justin?’ enquired his mother. ‘I know Lady Charteris would be delighted to see you as well. She is sadly short of company these days.’
‘I would have been delighted to escort you and Fran to visit her,’ Justin said, ‘but unfortunately I am engaged to call at Marwick House this afternoon.’
Frances flashed a look of interested enquiry to him but he simply smiled back at her enigmatically, giving her no idea of his inner thoughts. He would give no hint to anyone of what he had finally decided to do; he would ask Kitty and then spring it on them all!
At the end of the meal Sir Philip got to his feet. ‘If you’ll excuse me, my dear, I am meeting with Dawson this afternoon. Just a few decisions to be made.’
If his wife was surprised at his explanation of his doings that afternoon, when normally he told almost nothing of his business, she gave no sign. Despite her husband’s careful discretion about Mary Dawson, Amabel already knew the situation from her maid, Bessie. News like that spread through the servants from house to house like wildfire. In a village the size of Pilgrim St Leonard, nothing remained secret for very long. She also knew that Rupert was considered to be one of the putative fathers, and though she hoped he was no such thing, one had to bear in mind that young men did occasionally get themselves and young maids into scrapes. As long as there was no scandal it could be ignored, and she was certain that Sir Philip would allow no breath of scandal to touch his family. Somehow the problem, if there really was one, would go away. She was glad that Rupert had gone to London and was thus out of the way. Until the talk this lunchtime she had had no idea that he had gone to a wedding in France.
So like him, she thought as she sat at her dressing table preparing to visit Lady Charteris, to vanish into thin air without a word to anyone. Well, Justin knew he’d gone, but he had no idea of his whereabouts in France. Still, he’d disappeared before for weeks at a time and always come home again with stories of the places he’d been and the people he’d met.
She was surprised that Parker, his man, had not accompanied him when he left London, but she did not know that Rupert had sent Parker home to bury his father. It was none of her business to know such things.
‘Take a couple of weeks,’ Rupert had said to Parker. ‘I shan’t need you, and I’m sure your mother will be glad of your support. I’ll send for you if I want you.’
Justin heard his mother and sister being driven away in the chaise and went out to the stables. Jack the stable lad saddled up his horse, Rufus, and having checked that he had the ring box in his pocket, Justin set off to Marwick House to propose to Kitty. As he rode he wondered exactly what he would say, but decided to wait until the moment arose.
How ironic it would be, he thought suddenly, if she tells me that I’ve kept her waiting too long and turns me down, saying she’s going to marry someone else.
The thought suddenly seemed totally unacceptable and he kicked Rufus into a canter.
Kitty Blake was sitting in the garden reading when Campbell came out to ask if she were at home to Mr Justin Chalfont.
‘Of course, Campbell,’ she replied, setting aside her book. ‘Bring him out here. We’ll take tea under the oak.’
‘Very good, Miss Kitty,’ answered the butler, and he disappeared into the house. Moments later Justin appeared and Kitty rose to her feet to greet him. He took her outstretched hands, bowing over them.
‘Kitty,’ he said, ‘I trust you’re keeping well?’
‘Very well, thank you, Justin. As you see, I have been enjoying the afternoon sun. Have you come to see my father?’
‘No,’ Justin replied, though he realised at that moment that he ought to have done so before speaking to Kitty. Everyone assumed he and Kitty would ultimately make a match of it, but he had never actually asked her father’s permission to pay his addresses.
‘I’ve asked Campbell to bring tea out here,’ Kitty said, waving Justin to another chair as she sat down again. ‘I thought it would be most pleasant.’
‘It certainly would.’ Justin sat down and then immediately got up again. ‘But before he returns, Kitty, there’s something I want to ask you.’ Now the moment of asking had arrived, Justin found himself at a loss for words. He looked down at her sitting peacefully in her chair, looking up at him enquiringly, waiting for him to speak.
‘Kitty…’ he began and then stopped.
‘Kitty,’ he started again, ‘we’ve known each other from childhood…’
‘Indeed we have,’ Kitty said encouragingly.
‘We’ve always been good friends, have we not?’
‘Yes,’ Kitty agreed affably.
‘Do you think we could be more to each other? I mean, well, Kitty, would you consider being my wife? Marrying me and becoming my wife?’
‘I might,’ she replied, ‘if you got on and asked me.’
Justin could hear the laughter in her voice and he dropped to one knee beside her chair. ‘Will you, Kitty?’
‘Will I what, Justin?’
‘Oh, Kitty, you know what I’m asking. Will you marry me?’
‘Yes, Justin, thank you.’
He grasped her hands again and said, ‘Do you mean it?’
‘If you do,’ she repl
ied with a smile.
‘Of course I do,’ cried Justin, pulling the jeweller’s box out of his pocket. ‘And here is my grandmother’s ring to prove it.’ He opened the box and took out the emerald ring it contained, slipping it on the third finger of her left hand. Then he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.
Campbell, emerging into the garden with the tea tray, saw Mr Justin on one knee beside Miss Kitty and, thinking, About time too, retreated into the house unseen.
‘Perhaps we should go and find your parents now,’ Justin said, ‘and tell them the good news.’
‘Of course.’ Kitty stood up and found herself gathered into Justin’s arms. He kissed her cheek and then, when she made no move to pull away, kissed her on the lips. Her first real kiss.
It was not the one she had been hoping for. Kitty knew that she must marry and she was fond of Justin, but she knew he would always be second best and could only hope that he did not. It was Rupert, so charming and carefree, so different from his more conventional older brother, who had long ago captured her heart, but he had always treated her like Fran, as another sister. And even if he had returned her devotion, she knew that as the younger son, not heir to the baronetcy and its estate, her father would never have countenanced such an alliance.
If I put away all thoughts of Rupert, she thought as she and Justin walked hand in hand back to the house, if I forget all about him, I can be happy with Justin and I hope I can make him happy too.
Chapter 7
Rosalie St Clair dropped into an armchair in the drawing room of the house in the Avenue Ste Anne and sighed. It was good to be home again after such a long day and she felt unexpectedly tired.
What is the matter with me? she wondered as she rang for Didier the butler to bring her some cake and a glass of wine. I feel every day of my age.
At just forty-eight Rosalie was not old. Heavier than she had been in her youth, following the birth of her five children, she carried her age well. Generous of figure, she was still a good-looking woman. Her dark eyes, deep-set behind thick, dark lashes, could still sparkle with pleasure, her generous mouth curved readily into a smile that lit her face, but her once-glossy dark hair was now laced with threads of grey and there were times, as now, when she found her energy seemed to have seeped out through the soles of her feet.
She had brought her three daughters, Clarice, Hélène and Louise, up from the country to their house in Paris four days ago, and since their arrival every day had been crowded with a round of engagements; drives in the Bois, dinner parties, soirées and evenings at the theatre. Today, however, had been their most important appointment of all, an appointment at the House of Worth for the final fitting of Clarice’s wedding dress. She, the eldest of Rosalie and Emile St Clair’s three daughters, was to be married to Lucas Barrineau of Montmichel in just three weeks’ time and today had been the final fitting of her specially designed dress. Her younger sisters were to be bridesmaids, but their dresses were already hanging in the wardrobe back at Belair, their country home. They had been made locally, but Clarice’s dress had not been entrusted to a provincial dressmaker. Clarice was the centre of attention wherever she went; she had left her rounded, childish figure behind and grown into a beautiful young woman. Her thick, curling fair hair was a legacy from her maternal grandmother, as were the speedwell-blue eyes that danced with the happiness of a bride-to-be.
The St Clairs at Belair and the Barrineau family at Montmichel had moved in the same social circle near the village of St Etienne for more than a generation. Clarice had known Lucas all her life, but the gap of four years between them had made Clarice a child when Lucas left home to study at the Sorbonne and then make the grand tour of Europe. On his occasional visits home their paths had not crossed, but when he’d finally come back to St Etienne three months ago, he had met her again at a dinner party given at Gavrineau, the home of friends of his parents, Elisabeth and Raoul Barnier, and discovered not only that Clarice had grown up while he was away but that she was the toast of the neighbourhood. He’d watched her across the dinner table, the candlelight gleaming on her shining hair, her wide blue eyes sparkling as she conversed with the man on her right, the son of the house, Simon Barnier. Though Lucas had known Simon from childhood, he had not seen him for some years, as Simon had been living abroad. Now he was back. Lucas had never particularly liked him but suddenly, watching his easy discourse with Clarice, he realised he disliked him excessively.
It was only a matter of days before Lucas visited Emile St Clair to ask permission to address Clarice, a matter of weeks before he proposed, and a matter of moments before she accepted him. It was a splendid match for Clarice and her delighted parents were determined that everything should be perfect for their daughter’s wedding day.
Emile St Clair, a professional man, a successful architect, had picked up the pieces of his architectural business after the civil war that had raged through Paris had nearly bankrupted him six years earlier. With hard work and determination he had repaired the family finances and, recognised by his colleagues as a shrewd businessman, he had prospered. Now his favourite daughter was about to marry into the landowning Barrineau family. Emile was particularly pleased with the match, recognising it as a step up in society for Clarice. Though the St Clairs’ country home – bought by Emile’s father when he married some sixty years ago – was a substantial house gracious in design and set in delightful gardens, it was completely eclipsed by the grandeur of Montmichel, which had been in the Barrineau family for several generations. Proud of his Clarice, when it came to her wedding, Emile was determined no expense should be spared. When Rosalie had suggested to him that Clarice should be dressed by the finest designer in Paris, he had not demurred, simply saying, ‘Certainly, if Monsieur Worth is truly the best.’
‘He has even dressed the Empress Eugénie,’ Rosalie replied.
Emile had no time for the erstwhile empress who had fled to exile in England at the end of the Prussian war, but accepted that if this man commanded royal clientele he must be the best, and only the best was good enough for his beloved daughter. So Rosalie had taken Clarice to 7 Rue de la Paix, and with the attention of Monsieur Worth himself, they had chosen the fabric and the design of the dress and it had been created exclusively for Clarice.
Wedding arrangements were now well advanced, but it seemed to Rosalie that every minute of her day had been taken over by the preparations. Today had been particularly long and it was not yet over. She only had two hours before she would be leaving the house again to chaperone Clarice to a performance of The Pearl Fishers at the new opera house. She had already sent Clarice upstairs to rest and intended to lie down for an hour herself before dressing; thus she was not pleased when Didier came quietly to the drawing room.
‘Excuse me, madame,’ he said, ‘but there is a person at the door asking to speak with you.’
Rosalie raised tired eyes and said, ‘A person, Didier? What sort of person?’
‘A woman of the lower classes, madame,’ replied the butler.
‘Then send her away,’ said Rosalie, wearily. ‘I don’t want to see anyone just now.’
‘Very good, madame.’ Didier left the room to deal with the unwelcome woman caller. Not wanting to leave her standing on their doorstep for all the neighbours to see, he had brought her indoors, but then told her to wait while he would discover if Madame St Clair was at home. When he returned, she was standing exactly where he had left her, and on hearing his tread she looked up expectantly.
‘Madame St Clair is not at home to visitors,’ he said stiffly, and moved to open the front door.
The woman stood her ground and said, ‘Please will you tell her my name? It’s Agathe—’
At that moment Hélène came down the stairs and saw Didier about to eject someone from the house. As she reached the hallway she paused, staring in confusion at the woman who seemed so familiar. Then, with a cry of delight, she recognised her. Madame Sauze, who had taken her in when, as a child, she�
�d been lost and alone on the streets in Paris.
‘Madame Sauze! Is that you? Is it really you? Didier, it’s Madame Sauze! Why are you showing her out? Have you been visiting Maman, madame? Why didn’t she call me?’
‘Madame St Clair is not receiving visitors this afternoon, Miss Hélène,’ Didier said repressively.
‘But did she know it was Madame Sauze?’ demanded Hélène. She turned back to Agathe. ‘Did you want to see my mother, madame?’
‘I was hoping for the favour of a word with her, but if it’s inconvenient I can come again another time.’
‘Of course it’s not inconvenient, madame. Did you send in your name?’
‘Miss Hélène,’ Didier tried again. ‘Madame is not receiving guests this afternoon.’
‘I’m sure she will receive Madame Sauze,’ Hélène replied firmly. She reached out and took Agathe’s hand. ‘Stay where you are, madame, and I’ll tell Maman that it’s you.’
The French Wife Page 5