by Mary Cummins
Stephen Drummond frowned.
“But you aren’t related, and it was always understood...”
“I know, but that was before we were old enough to fall in love...”
She broke off, her cheeks colouring, aware of Francis Wyatt’s eyes on her.
“Graham is too young to be tied down yet, anyway. He wants to enjoy his freedom a while,” she said, tossing her pale honey-coloured hair. “We understand each other perfectly.”
“It’s better to back out, then, before it’s too late,” put in Nell Drummond, trying to be helpful, and her husband sighed deeply.
“I suppose so. Young people please themselves these days, anyway. I think we had a more stable society when everyone obeyed the rules. Don’t you agree, Mr. Wyatt?”
“Oh, certainly, certainly,” said Francis, though Anne was glancing at him rather curiously. Had her successor, Louise Dalton, proved to be unsuitable after all? He was not the easiest of employers, but Louise had seemed the very soul of efficiency, one of those girls who really loved secretarial work.
Anne had often thought that she had chosen that for herself because it seemed the more suitable from an earning point of view. She had been good at it because it was in her nature to do things well, but she had not really loved the job. This crossroads in her life had made her wonder if she couldn’t take a different path.
Yet here was Francis Wyatt seeking her out again, and it was more than possible that he would ask her to come back.
What should she say? she asked herself, trying to merge into the background and view him dispassionately as he discussed present-day trends with her parents. She loved him. She loved his lean dark face and long slender fingers with bony wrists appearing from under his immaculate cuffs. She loved the straight look he often gave her from his dark eyes which could sometimes gleam with humour, but were more often full of thought. His father had died when he was barely out of his teens and his youngest sister a small child. He’d had precious little time to be a boy. He’d had to grow up too soon, thought Anne sadly. He hadn’t had enough fun in his life.
“You can talk in here, then,” her mother was saying. “Is that all right, Anne?”
She came out of her dreams with a start, aware that all three were looking at her questioningly.
“Ah ... yes, yes,” she replied, unwilling to admit that she had missed half of what had been said.
“Come on then, Stephen my dear. Help me carry the tray.”
The older man got up a trifle reluctantly, his stooped figure showing frailty.
“I’ll carry the tray,” offered Francis. “Here, let me do it, Mrs. Drummond.”
He took the tray from her and followed her to the kitchen. Stephen turned and looked at his daughter.
“It isn’t easy to decide about new paths, my dear,” he said gently. “Sometimes the old well-trodden ones are best. Sometimes new ones are pitted with holes.”
And sometimes they lead to treasures unknown, thought Anne, though she didn’t say so. A rush of affection for her father made tears prick her eyelids. He had been disappointed when she and Graham called off their marriage, but only because of his concern for her.
“I know, Daddy,” she whispered, kissing him. “But working for Mr. Wyatt is an old path, don’t forget.”
“Ah ... work,” murmured Mr. Drummond. “Girls were meant to be home-makers, not workers. Here’s Mr. Wyatt now.”
He held the door open for Francis, then closed it behind both of them, and Anne was face to face with the man she loved for the first time since she left the office.
“Shall ... Shall ... shall we sit down again by the fire?” she offered nervously, and he nodded his agreement. Again the heightened colour was in his cheeks, and she felt that he was as nervous as she. This, oddly enough, served to calm her down, and she smiled pleasantly as she drew up a chair for him.
“Now,” she commanded, “tell me why you’ve come.”
Francis Wyatt hitched forward a little on his chair, then regarded Anne gravely.
“Your marriage ... did not take place, then...” he said slowly.
“No. But there’s no need for you to feel responsible for me in any way. I know my position has been filled. I take it that Miss Dalton is proving efficient?”
Francis nodded, though his thoughts seemed elsewhere.
“Very efficient. She oils the wheels very effectively. Er ... please don’t think me impertinent, but was the decision to call off your marriage really by mutual consent?”
“Of course,” she said quickly. “Graham is really too young for marriage. He’s a man, certainly, but he wants to get to know the world a little before he’s tied to a small corner of it. We’re the same age, you know, but women are usually more ready to settle down than men ... though perhaps not so much nowadays.”
“And you let him go.”
“Of course,” she said crisply.
She was becoming nervous of his searching questions, afraid of betraying the true reason behind her break with Graham. She clasped her hands and threw back the heavy golden hair, with a small toss of her head, then smiled at him.
“As I say, you mustn’t feel responsible for me, Mr. Wyatt.”
He frowned.
“How long have you worked for me, Miss Drummond?”
“Two ... almost two years.”
“Two years. We ... got to know one another quite well. I found you a soothing influence on my life. I felt your ... understanding. I need someone like you. In fact, I need you at Elvan Hall.”
So it was another job! Anne bit her lips as she began to assimilate what that would mean. Francis Wyatt often stayed at his flat in Carlisle during the week and was only home at weekends, and during the week she would be at the beck and call of his mother.
Anne remembered Mrs. Wyatt and recoiled a little. How could she work for a woman like her, who probably treated her underlings high-handedly, and whose orders were likely to be ill-considered in the first place?
“I ... er ... at Elvan Hall?” she queried hesitantly.
“The house requires to be renovated, as I explained to you once before. It hasn’t been touched for some years, but care must be taken in order that the age and character of the house be preserved. I ... I feel that you would love my home, and appreciate its beauty. I know that I would be happier to leave on my trip to America if I thought you were at Elvan Hall.”
“You’re going to America?”
He nodded. “The contract we were negotiating is ours, but there are many problems to be ironed out. I shall be away for several weeks.”
Her heart unaccountably sank. Only now did she realise what balm it had been just to see him again, and now he was going away. Anne drew a deep breath. He could have no idea how she felt, or he wouldn’t ask her to stay at his home.
“I doubt if I could be of much use to you helping with renovations. I’m not an interior designer or anything like that...”
“That has all been done. It’s a matter of carrying out the work.”
“Surely your mother...”
“My mother did not entirely approve of proposals which had my full support. She has ideas of her own. I ... I don’t want any changes made while I’m away. Please understand, there is much in the house to treasure and to preserve. A mistress of the house can leave her own mark, but she must be aware of what can be tastefully changed and what can be desecrated. It’s no ordinary house. That’s why I can’t even offer you a free hand, though I know, from knowing you, that you’d understand.”
Again Anne bit her lip. She would have no authority in the house to stop Mrs. Wyatt desecrating whatever she liked. She tried to put this point of view to Francis.
“But I’d have no authority over your mother.”
Francis Wyatt’s eyes looked very black as he gazed at her.
“You would ... as my wife,” he said quietly.
Anne wondered if she had heard aright.
“As your wife?” she asked stupidly.
<
br /> He leaned forward eagerly.
“Yes. I’ve thought about it so much, Anne, and wondered if it would be fair to you. But it’s a heritage, you see. I feel you have it in you to love it all as I do.”
“But one ought to love a person for marriage, not a house,” she said, almost in a whisper. “One doesn’t marry for love of a house.”
The colour crept slowly up in his cheeks, then receded again, leaving his face very white.
“You couldn’t marry without love, Anne? Is that what you’re telling me?”
She was about to shake her head, then she paused, very much aware of standing at those crossroads her father had mentioned. She could send him away and keep to her well-trodden path, or she could go down a new unknown way, which could be full of pitfalls, but which might also have glories unknown with Francis by her side. Her love for him was almost overwhelming her, but would it be strong enough to live through future years if he had only liking, and respect ... affection even ... in return?
Yet other marriages had succeeded, which had been based on reasons other than love. She had yet to see Elvan Hall, but she remembered drinking in every detail eagerly, when Francis talked about it. He had been aware of her interest, and her love for beauty which had been cherished through the ages.
“Is it so important?” he was asking again.
“Are you offering me an ordinary marriage? I mean, would you prefer a marriage in name only?” The colour flooded her cheeks and she saw the tension in him.
“No,” he said at length. “It could only be an ... ordinary marriage. I would want you for my wife in every way. I only wanted to know if you were still in love with Graham Lord. I’m asking you to marry me, but I’d be happier if your heart was ... well, free.”
She didn’t know what to say. He was offering her a true marriage, but there was no word of love for her. “And you?” she asked. “Is your heart free?”
Again his eyes grew dark, and he was very still.
“I couldn’t marry anyone else but you, Anne,” he told her, rather harshly, and she felt he had not answered her question. It could easily mean that he loved someone else who was out of his reach.
“I can’t give you time to think about it. There’s no time. If you agree, then we must be married as soon as ever possible. Your ... your father can perhaps arrange it. I suppose I should first have approached your parents, but I had to talk to you first. Besides...” he rubbed his forehead, “besides, I’m very bad at this sort of thing.”
He smiled ruefully and she could see the strain which had been put upon him. Her heart almost turned over as his eyes softened, looking into hers and she felt there was nothing she wouldn’t do to help him, and protect him. Half a loaf was always better than no bread, she thought, and tried to convince herself that this was no ordinary man asking a girl to be his wife. She was also being asked to be the mistress of Elvan Hall.
“I’ll marry you whenever it can be arranged,” she told him, and he relaxed as the warm colour again crept into his cheeks.
“Oh, Anne, I...”
He leaned forward and kissed her briefly and rather clumsily, then stood up as her father’s heavy measured tread sounded in the corridor.
“We’d better arrange it with your parents at once. I leave for America in two weeks, and I want us to marry and for you to be in Elvan Hall, before I go. Can you manage it so soon?”
Anne nodded rather wryly. She already had a trousseau collected.
“I’ll manage ... Francis,” she said, the name sounding strange to her lips.
“Let’s tell your parents, then,” he said eagerly, as the door opened. “We must have their approval, mustn’t we, Anne?”
But what of Mrs. Wyatt’s approval? wondered Anne, seeing the first rocks ahead on her new journey. What of that?
Stephen Drummond was adamant. There would be no wedding arranged at such short notice. If they were seriously in love, then there was no need for such hurry, and the love would bind them together until Francis came back from America and a proper wedding could be arranged.
His sharp eyes sought Anne’s when he mentioned love and she turned away, glancing quickly at Francis whose face was impassive.
Anne’s pleading eyes went to her mother, and Mrs. Drummond looked at them both with concern.
“Are you sure, darling?” she asked Anne. “It’s very sudden, Mr. Wyatt ... Francis.”
“We’re sure,” said Anne, going to stand beside Francis.
“You mean that the real reason behind your break-up with Graham was that you had fallen in love with ... er ... Francis?”
Anne’s face went scarlet and this time she avoided looking at Francis entirely. How could she answer this but by the truth?
“Something like that,” she said, in a low voice, and felt his fingers tighten on her arm. “Francis has reasons why he wants us to marry before he leaves for America.”
“If I can see you privately, sir,” he said to Stephen Drummond, “I can go into my affairs, and I think I can assure you that Anne will be taken care of.”
The sharp eyes were now on Francis.
“Very well, come into my study. No doubt my wife and Anne will wish to prepare a meal?”
“Of course,” said Nell Drummond hastily. “Er ... perhaps you would like to stay the night if we have further things to discuss, Francis?”
He smiled gently, and Anne thought how young he could look at times.
“Thank you, but I must return to my flat in Carlisle. I have much to do before leaving, but I’d like to return in a few days. Anne and I have some shopping to do for two rings ... that is, if my talk with Mr. Drummond is satisfactory.”
“Better not keep him waiting, then,” advised Mrs. Drummond.
In the kitchen there was silence between the two women while Anne set out cups and saucers on a large tray.
“It’s true then,” her mother said at length. “You broke with Graham because you fell in love with someone else?”
Anne nodded.
“Graham guessed, but really, Mummy, he wanted out of it, too. We only went along with it while we were young, to please all of you. Now we’re older we want to choose for ourselves. Thank goodness we had the courage to stop in time.”
“And you chose Mr. Wyatt? Did he declare his love for you before you left Wyatt’s?”
This time Anne’s face flamed.
“Mummy, I ... I...”
“I’m asking too many questions?”
“No. It’s just that...”
She hesitated. If she confessed to her mother that Francis had not declared his love, she would immediately try to persuade her out of such a marriage. And perhaps she would be right, thought Anne, rather disconsolately. Would her own love really be enough for both? Wasn’t she being rather a fool?
“It’s all right, darling, I won’t pry any more, You’re old enough now to make up your own mind. I suppose we ought to have champagne, but the most we ever seem to manage here is the odd bottle of sherry, and some home-made wines gifted by people in the parish. Some of them are most potent, too, as your father and I have discovered.”
Mrs. Drummond was moving bottles about in a large store cupboard.
“Ah, here we are—Celebration Cream. This should do, shouldn’t it, darling? I remember now that I started laying in a few bottles against more people calling with presents as we were using all the rest up ... Oh!” She looked at Anne levelly. “People will talk, dear.”
“Surely you and Daddy can stand more talk. They’ve all talked their heads off already when Graham and I called it off. It’s my life, after all, not other people’s.”
“Of course, my dear.”
Her mother came to hug her, and Anne swallowed hard to control the rush of tears to her eyes, then she picked up her tray of crockery. She was going to marry Francis Wyatt. He would belong to no one else but herself, and surely there could be no greater happiness than sharing the life of the man one loved.
“Bring the she
rry, Mummy,” she said. “Let’s have something special for tea, too. I can hear Daddy and Francis, and there are no raised voices, so it must be all right!”
CHAPTER TWO
AT the small church she had known all her life, Anne Drummond became Mrs. Francis Wyatt, with only a few close friends to witness the ceremony, even if the whole of Arndale had turned out, either to wish her well or to get a good look at the bridegroom. Graham had, unfortunately, gone to Norway on holiday, or he would, Anne was sure, have been delighted to have come to the ceremony.
Mrs. Wyatt had sent her regrets and had said that she was unwell and Helen would be required to help her over her illness. Judith was much too young to travel to Scotland on her own.
Francis had gone white.
“I expected this,” he told Anne. “Do you mind that my ... my people won't be at the wedding?”
“I don’t know,” said Anne frankly. “My parents will mind, but I don’t think I blame your mother. After all, I’ve been rather sprung on her, haven’t I?”
Again the hard look came over Francis’ face.
“I did what I believed to be necessary,” he told her, rather curtly.
Mrs. Drummond had showed her concern.
“You’ve met Mrs. Wyatt?” she asked Anne. “At the office, I believe.”
“I have.”
“It seems strange that Francis hasn’t taken you home to Elvan Hall, but wants to take you there for the first time as his bride.”
Anne had also thought it strange, but she did not wish to show that to her mother.
“I think he’s romantic,” she said lightly, and saw by her mother’s small smile that this had been the right touch.
“Don’t let ... anyone ... try to bully you, my dear,” she warned, however. “If you’ve any battles to fight, just remember you’re your father’s daughter, and have a good share of his courage in you.”
“And my mother’s,” said Anne softly.
“And your mother’s,” agreed Mrs. Drummond, her eyes twinkling.
Anne and Francis had spent a very brief honeymoon at New Abbey, where Francis wanted to explore the ruins of Sweetheart Abbey. He had shown Anne a great deal of gentleness and consideration, and though she had sighed a little in her secret heart for the love which might have been, she was happy.