“In about a week,” he replied, finding her irresistible. “I had to wait until I found exactly the right one for you. A special pony, Dulcie.”
A wide smile spread across her face, and she said, “Thank you, Papa. I’m going to call him Hugo.”
There was a moment of quietness, and Charlotte glanced away, unable to look at Charles. Charles cleared his throat, and did the same.
It was Daphne who spoke first. “And why have you chosen that particular name, Dulcie?” she asked curiously.
“Because I have a friend called Hugo. I was the first sister to meet him, and I can’t help it that he chose me to meet him first … you told me that, Daphne. You said it wasn’t my fault.”
“I did, yes. So the pony is to be given Hugo’s name?”
“Yes. Because Hugo is nice, and the pony will be nice.”
“Hugo is nice, Papa. Dulcie’s right about that. He’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met,” Daphne said to the room at large.
* * *
An hour later, Dulcie had gone back to the nursery, and Daphne sat in the library with her father and Charlotte. Charles told her everything, holding nothing back, repeating, almost verbatim, all of the things Hugo had said before returning to Zurich.
Daphne listened attentively, and then asked quietly, “And so what happens next, Papa?”
“When Hugo comes back to Yorkshire, to attend the ball, he would like to know what your thoughts are.”
“Do you mean he wants some sort of an answer?” Daphne murmured, giving her father a hard stare.
“He does indeed.” Charles leaned back on the Chesterfield sofa and crossed his legs.
“But an answer to what exactly?” Daphne asked. “Will I marry him? Or can he court me, with a view to marriage?”
“The latter, Daphne,” Charles answered. “He indicated he wishes you to get to know him better. He is absolutely sure of his own feelings for you. He kept repeating that to me. He wants you to have enough time to make up your mind. In other words, he doesn’t want you to dismiss him out of hand, and he doesn’t want to push.”
Daphne did not answer immediately.
Charles looked at Charlotte and raised a brow, and Charlotte nodded.
She said softly, “Hugo doesn’t want to rush you, but he did want you to know how he truly feels, from what your father’s said to me. I’ll tell you something interesting.”
Charlotte now leaned forward, her eyes searching Daphne’s face; the girl seemed very puzzled. “You know, Daphne, Cecily spotted the way Hugo was reacting to you, the first day you met him, at tea that Friday afternoon. She told me he couldn’t take his eyes off you. She added that he’d found a wife. What she meant was a potential wife.”
“I trust Cecily. She never misses anything, and she’s very grown-up and intelligent for her age,” Daphne responded. “So what you’re saying is that Hugo would court me, and if I like him enough to marry him, then that would be the ultimate result. Marriage. Eventually. But if I didn’t grow to like him, more than I do already, then the courtship would die a natural death.” Daphne sat back in her chair and looked at her father pointedly. “Am I correct? Have I summed it up?”
“You have, darling,” Charles said.
Daphne was thoughtful for a moment, before saying, “I do like Hugo; he’s a lovely man. Maybe it would work. We seem to get on well, we like the same things. But there’s a huge problem, Papa. I’m pregnant. He would have to be told I’m having a baby. It would be wrong to hide that from him. Unethical, actually. Dishonorable, on my part. But there’s a risk in telling him. He might walk away from me, lose interest in me, and yet he would know my secret. And he could talk. I would be ruined.”
“Don’t think I haven’t thought about all that,” Charles exclaimed. “And so has Charlotte. I suppose we just have to take that chance.”
Charlotte cleared her throat, and said, “Hugo is an Ingham, a member of the family, your father’s first cousin, Daphne. I believe he is an honest and honorable man, and like all the Ingham men, true blue, in my opinion. I don’t think for one moment that he would talk. Also, remember he will be told you were attacked and raped, and why would he reveal that? I doubt he would.”
“He would probably walk away, and never come back,” Charles interjected. “If he lost interest in you, or if you spurn his courtship. He indicated that to me. He thought it would be intolerable to live here at Whernside House and not have you as his wife. Untenable, that was the word he used.”
Daphne nodded. Her mind was racing with innumerable thoughts. Unexpectedly, an image of Peggy Swift leaning over her baby, Kevin, came rushing back, and she said, “What about my pregnancy? Can I give this baby up? I don’t know, Papa. It’s an Ingham. I know I’m going to love it, the moment I hold it in my arms. Let us say we got together, and married, Hugo may not wish me to keep the baby.”
Charles was shocked by her words. It had not occurred to him that she would not give the baby up. In a sense, he was astounded. He kept his voice level though when he said, “There are many things to consider, as well as the baby. If you marry Hugo, you won’t be a duchess one day, as you’ve always dreamed of being. But he will treat you like a queen, and you will never want for anything. Hugo’s exceedingly wealthy.”
“I know he’s successful, a clever man in business, I realized that from our conversations.”
“He adores you, in my opinion. He’ll spoil you, give you the world. He’s a millionaire many times over,” Charles told her, and added, “He was very candid and open, explained a great deal about his wealth to me.”
“I can’t let that influence me, Papa.” She turned to Charlotte. “I can’t, can I?”
“No, Daphne. However, I know you will think everything through before coming to a decision. That’s the way you are made. You’re very prudent, and sensible.”
Daphne murmured, almost to herself, “He’s kind and caring, and he makes me laugh. I like his energy … and he has a warm personality.” There was a pause, and then she said slowly, “For the moment I think he can court me … but let me think it over for a few days. Then I will give you my final answer.”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” Charles answered. “It is up to you, darling.”
“What does Mama think about Hugo’s serious interest in me?” Daphne asked, standing up.
“I haven’t told her yet. She has been feeling rather poorly, and I haven’t wanted to burden her in any way,” he explained.
Daphne said, “Perhaps I’ll speak to her later, when she gets back from Harrogate. Anyway, Mama is practical like me, or rather, I should say, I am like her.”
* * *
Upstairs in her room, Daphne locked the door, took off her dress, and all of her underclothes, and went and stood in front of the cheval mirror in the corner.
She studied herself carefully, and from all angles. She wasn’t showing yet. However, her breasts were bigger, and they were also sore on occasion. Once she started to show, and her bump began to grow, she would have to leave Cavendon. There was no alternative. She couldn’t even go to their house in Mayfair. Because of the servants. They would notice her condition immediately.
Looking at herself in the mirror once again, she shook her head and turned away, went to her closet, picked out a silk robe. As she slipped it on, she wondered if she could carry it off … pretending not to be pregnant for the many months ahead of her … going to live in Paris when she was showing. Being taught like a student to speak French, to learn about art and French history. And being shown how to become elegant and chic in the French manner. Could she follow the program Charlotte Swann had mapped out for her?
She could, she was positive about that. After all, she had a strong will, and once she made her mind up to do something, she did it.
But now, for the first time, she wondered if she wanted to go through that. It was playacting and being dishonest, and she would certainly have to learn the art of dissimulation … she was open and hones
t by nature, not given to telling lies.
Walking over to her dressing table, she sat down, stared at her face, leaning closer to the mirror. For once in her life she saw herself objectively, and she understood how beautiful she was. Hugo had fallen in love with her because of that beauty.
Leaning back in the chair, she closed her eyes, and thought of Hugo. He was nice-looking, and charming. She imagined he was a gentle soul, from what she had observed in those few days he had been here at Cavendon. And people who had never met him took to him immediately. Family and staff, who had known him as a young man, welcomed him with open arms. That said a lot, didn’t it?
Marriage to a powerful and wealthy man would protect her, wouldn’t it?
One thing was certain, it would ease the terrible burden on her parents. She had heard her mother say recently to her father that the situation was like living under the sword of Damocles.
Could she marry Hugo? Did she want to? Would he let her keep the baby? Or would she have to give it up for adoption? And could she do that? Give her baby away?
Then there was the question of intimacy. Eventually, she would have to be his wife, not only in name, but in every way. Sexual union would be part of that marriage. Was she ready for that? Could she share an intimate life with Hugo?
She shuddered, thinking of Richard Torbett and the way he had been rough and cruel with her when he had forced himself on her, raped her. She was still fearful of sex because of that fiend.
Thinking about Torbett now, she realized that being a married woman would, in fact, protect her from that vile man. He wouldn’t dare do anything to her, or her family, if she had a husband like Hugo Stanton.
Then again, if she married Hugo she would never experience that wonderful feeling of falling in love and adoring the man she loved, of wanting to be his in every way. She would never know true love …
What to do?
Daphne lay down on the bed, found her pillow, and buried her face in it. She was on the horns of a dilemma … she did not know which way to turn.
There was one thing she was totally aware of, and that was the need to be strong, to be in control of her own destiny. She was determined to be her own woman, make her own decisions.
Thirty-three
Felicity knew only too well that Charles loved the end of the evening, when dinner was over and everyone had retired for the night. It was then that he could be alone with her in her cozy upstairs sitting room, which adjoined her bedroom.
Comfortable in his nightclothes, he would sit in front of the fire, chatting. Sometimes Charles brought a small glass of cognac with him, or a scotch. Her choice was always a glass of cold water flavored with lemon.
Tonight, after the long afternoon in Harrogate, she was glad she could now relax in front of the fire in a comfortable chair, sipping her lemon water. And waiting for Charles. She wasn’t looking forward to spending some time alone with him, but she had no alternative.
She could hear his voice on the other side of the door. He was in his dressing room with Walter Swann, and the two of them were talking about Winston Churchill, the politician. From what she was hearing, they both seemed to favor him, spoke of his brilliance and his aptitude for public speaking.
A moment later, the door opened and Charles walked in, wearing pajamas and a dark blue silk dressing gown, and carrying a small balloon of brandy.
“You were being very laudatory about Winston Churchill,” Felicity said, looking up. “There are some who don’t like him, you know.”
Charles nodded, then gave her a knowing smile as he sat down in the chair opposite her. “They’re just envious of his brilliance, and his amazing ability to get things done, that’s what all that is about.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” she responded, and settled back in the chair.
“You didn’t say much about Anne when you returned from Harrogate. How is she, actually?” Charles asked sympathetically.
“In her spirit she’s more or less the same, Charles. Undefeated. Positive. Won’t surrender to self-pity. She’s extremely English in that sense … very stoical. Puts up a brave front. But I know she’s in pain, and she is having morphine more frequently.” Felicity let out a long sigh. “She is one of the bravest people I’ve ever known.”
“She is indeed, and I’m so sorry, darling, I do realize how much her cancer worries you. And I just want to say that I’m here for you, whenever you need me. I’ll always do what I can.”
She put out her hand, squeezed his arm, gave him a small smile. “Thank you.”
After taking a sip of the Napoleon brandy, he said, “I have something to tell you. I haven’t had a chance before. Well, actually, I have, but I didn’t want to burden you, I know you’ve been feeling a bit under the weather.”
Felicity looked across at him, and said in a firm voice, “I’m much better today, and you sound serious. Is there something the matter?”
“Well, no, I couldn’t say that…” He paused, took another swallow, and put his glass on a small table next to his chair. Leaning closer to her, he said, “The day Hugo left for London he came to see me. He told me he had fallen in love with Daphne, and did he have my permission to court her? If she was not already spoken for, of course. He said it was love at first sight, and he had serious intentions.”
“I hope you said yes!” Felicity exclaimed, staring at him intently, her eyes bright, alive, her pale face filled with sudden animation.
“I did not,” Charles answered. “I told him I would have to ask Daphne if she would like that. I explained it was her decision.”
“No! No! No!” Felicity cried, sounding unusually vehement. “It’s not for her to decide. We have to make the decision for her. Obviously Hugo is a solution to all of her problems. And ours. What a coincidence that Hugo arrived at Cavendon when he did. Or perhaps it wasn’t a coincidence at all. I think it was meant to be. No, it was God’s will.”
For a moment Charles was stunned by her vehemence and the way she spoke so easily of God’s will. Felicity didn’t often invoke God’s name. He frowned, explained quietly, “I cannot force Daphne to accept the overtures of a man she’s not interested in. Nor would I ever push her into a marriage where there was no love involved on her part. That would be unthinkable. Monstrous, in my opinion. Living with someone you don’t love would be impossible.”
Staring at him aghast, Felicity said, “But you were going to marry her off to a duke’s son, and she probably wouldn’t have loved him either.”
“That was never my intention, Felicity, and you know that full well. I wanted to find the right young man, bring them together, and hoped they would fall in love. I am far too modern a man to tolerate an arranged marriage for a daughter of mine.”
“Sometimes they work very well,” Felicity pointed out a little sharply. “Arranged unions have been known to last a lifetime.”
Charles was angry, but he controlled himself, and quietly said, “But mostly they don’t work. And both people are unhappy, miserable, and eventually get divorced. I don’t want that for Daphne.”
“So Hugo is going to be turned away, is he?” she asked sarcastically.
“Far from it,” Charles responded swiftly. “I have explained the situation to her, and Daphne confided that she likes Hugo. She thinks he’s good-looking, charming, and rather nice. She will give me an answer in a day or two. In my opinion, she will agree to the courtship.”
“Well, let’s hope it works, because to me it’s the best solution there is. She would be married, protected, and there would be no gossip.” Felicity sat back in the chair, looking adamant.
“If she doesn’t want to marry him, we will have to go back to the original plan of concealing it, sending her abroad,” Charles pointed out.
“I suppose we will, but that will be a strain on us all. You must persuade her, Charles, make her see the wisdom of marrying Hugo.”
Charles nodded, and picked up the brandy balloon, swirled the cognac around, staring into the am
ber depths. His wife had startled him with her immediate acceptance of the idea of Hugo and Daphne marrying, and without giving a thought to their daughter’s desires, or her ultimate happiness. It was out of character, so unlike her. But then she had been under strain lately, hadn’t been herself at all.
Felicity picked up on his mood, even though he was silent, and ventured, “I want the best for her, and this is the best solution. I think it’s fantastic, and it’s been handed to us on a plate. What did Charlotte say?”
He lifted his head and stared at her in surprise, struck by her knowledge of him. She had immediately assumed he had discussed the matter with Charlotte, without his having to tell her.
He sipped the brandy, put the glass down, and said in a low voice, “She agrees with you that it would be the perfect solution to a ghastly problem, much easier for Daphne to handle, and us as well. However, she thinks it should be Daphne’s decision.”
“I see.”
“Hugo would have to be told the truth, Felicity, and we would have to hope he would not turn away from her, because of her pregnancy. It’s a risk to take, confiding in him, but I tend to agree with Charlotte, who doesn’t think he would talk … that he would keep our secret, protect the family. She thinks he’s true blue, like all the Ingham men.”
“She would say that,” Felicity exclaimed in a pithy tone, her expression disdainful.
Charles frowned, studied her intently for a moment. “What are you suggesting? That we Ingham men don’t have honor and integrity?”
“No, I’m not. However, Charlotte was truly influenced in every way by your father, and she’s also a Swann. It’s ingrained in her to take the Ingham side, die for an Ingham if necessary. That’s their role in life and has been for generations.”
“I know all about the Swanns.”
“Not as much as they know about the Inghams,” Felicity countered. “Anyway, she loved your father, doted on David.”
“Everyone loved my father, that was the kind of man he was.”
“Oh, you know what I mean, Charles!” she shot back, sounding exasperated. “Don’t pretend otherwise.”
Cavendon Hall Page 20