Once in the corridor, Vere drew Kitty close to discover that she was shaking. ‘I should not have subjected you to that, but I didn’t believe Lottie’s pessimism. Forgive me, darling.’ He stroked her hair tenderly while joy replaced anger. ‘Is it true about the child? Say that it is.’
She glanced up, nodding. ‘I planned to tell you in more romantic circumstances during our first night here.’
‘You may tell me all over again in circumstances as romantic as you please,’ he breathed and kissed her. ‘I thought I could not possibly be happier than on the day you took my name, but I am. You are magnificent!’
‘No, Vere, I misjudged your grandfather badly. I withdraw my plea for you to be generous and understanding towards him. I’m so sorry, my dear. He’s quite, quite ruthless. Small wonder he drove you all away.’
*
The Waterloo Ball, the first of the new century, was reminiscent of the old days when Charlotte had made all the arrangements together with her sister Margaret. Vere was eager for the affair to be a glittering one and invited a number of his acquaintances from the art and drama world in London. Every member of the Ashleigh family, including doddering aunts and uncles, ageing cousins with their military offspring, travelled to Wiltshire with the intention of remaining there for a short midsummer break, and retired officers of the West Wiltshires turned out to represent the regiment stationed in China. Neighbouring landowners, for whom the traditional ball was the highlight of the summer season, all accepted invitations very promptly, agog to meet Vere Ashleigh’s unconventional bride. A diamond prospector’s widow with a young son! Whatever had the man been thinking of? He had always been the odd one out in that family.
Charlotte was in her element when Kitty confessed that she could not possibly take on such a mammoth task. ‘You will know exactly what to do, whom to invite and which rooms in this great mansion each of your relatives prefers to occupy during the visit. I will do all I can to help you, but I beg you to organize the ball as you always have, Lottie. Vere says you are peerless at ensuring nothing can go wrong, however difficult some guests might be.’ She smiled. ‘He gave me a most amusing account of several elderly relatives who are always practically impossible to please, but says although your diplomacy is stretched to the limit it is never confounded.’
‘I know them so well I anticipate their demands, that’s all,’ Charlotte responded, pleased by Vere’s compliment.
‘My tolerance has been tested on only a small scale. An inn on the veld houses some enigmatic people overnight, and I have to pit my wits against them. But it’s easier to be forceful when guests are paying for what you provide.’ She sighed. ‘My way of life did little to prepare me for the kind of social elegance you have at Knightshill. I dare not think what I would do without you to guide me.’
They worked in complete accord to plan an evening which would measure up to Vere’s hopes and also be adjudged by the guests as the best Waterloo Ball ever held by the Ashleighs. They achieved their aim. Charlotte had not enjoyed the event for the past three years. Being unable to dance because of her withered leg, she had usually concentrated on ensuring that all ran smoothly during the ball while Margaret acted as hostess on the dance floor. It had been difficult without her sister. Kitty replaced her this year. In a gown of shimmering silver brocade, with the Ashleigh rubies on her finger and the matching necklet glowing against her pale throat, she successfully silenced the sneering conjecture of many guests. The military men were inevitably drawn to the woman from a country in which their comrades had recently fought with such losses. They wanted to question her on its complexities and hazards. Vere’s artistic friends without exception generously greeted Monkford Kellaway’s daughter and plied her with invitations to visit them. The Ashleigh relatives on the whole declared Vere’s wife to be somewhat better than they feared and decided to accept the fait accompli.
The only dissenters were ladies either jealous of someone who had succeeded with the Knightshill heir where they had failed, who resented the attention paid by male guests to a woman reared among colonial adventurers, or whose principles would not allow them to believe she was anything but a social climber. Yet it appeared that Sir Gilliard had accepted Kitty Ashleigh as the future mistress of Knightshill. Nothing had yet been announced, but whispers in Dunstan St Mary had it that the heir had swiftly done his duty and the happy event would be in December. The old general would accept any woman who produced a son to ensure continuation of the bloodline, they told themselves.
As summer passed, Charlotte’s initial relief over Kitty’s undemanding attitude within the house mellowed into an easy friendship with her. It was a friendship with limitations, nevertheless. Roughly the same age, Kitty was more experienced, assured and sexually mature, and her approach to the servants was natural, friendly but firm. They responded happily. A new liveliness sprang up in the corridors and salons. Men and women who had moved about the silent mansion with slow tread and straight faces now smiled and bustled about their tasks. Numerous social events meant that carriages rolled up to the door with a frequency that delighted Ned and the stable-lads, who had had little to do for months.
Vere’s guests also breathed life into Knightshill. Cosmopolitan, intellectual, scholarly, artistic, young officers vastly different from Sir Gilliard’s aged acquaintances prone to tell the same old exaggerated stories, they found greater rapport with their host’s unconventional wife than with his sister. Although Charlotte found these visitors entertaining to observe she had no desire to be like them. Domestic arrangements for these visits gave her greater satisfaction than intercourse with the guests. Yet it was good to have company other than a grandfather who had used her merely as a listener for his views and theories.
Sir Gilliard made infrequent appearances at the dining-table and then retired early. Age was finally overtaking him, and Charlotte sometimes wondered if he was simply waiting for Kitty’s child to be born before dying, his private world secured. Certainly he showed no interest in the estate and, when Vere insisted on producing Val’s photograph, adding a verbal account of their meeting in Kimberley, Sir Gilliard gave an impression of total disinterest in his younger grandson so eager to earn approval and forgiveness from him.
Charlotte’s life fell into a new pattern as summer ran into autumn. It was a curious pattern. Kate was no longer in her sole charge. The child was again part of a family with a beloved uncle, a new aunt and a youthful companion in addition to someone who had petted and spoiled her during a period of confusion. It was inevitable that both children, together for lessons given by a tutor employed by Vere, should become almost inseparable and go jointly to Kitty with their problems. So Charlotte was slowly relieved of responsibility for her sister’s daughter. She felt no resentment. Kitty was a mother who understood children far better than she, and Vere provided a father figure for a child shattered by the change in her own family group. There was no doubt of Kate’s new vitality and happiness, which must be the prime consideration. Charlotte nevertheless missed the little girl’s dependence upon her which had made her feel needed.
No one could reasonably claim that Vere had committed utter folly in marrying as he had. He and Kitty were evidently deeply in love, and Charlotte had never seen her brother so full of pride for the manner in which his wife accepted the role so many had believed she could not handle. Kitty did not necessarily do things the way the daughters of the house for years had done them, but her less formal approach brought changes to Knightshill that were not altogether unwelcome.
Vere threw himself into estate matters with fresh enthusiasm. When he rode his acres with John, he invariably invited Charlotte to accompany them. It was less a brotherly gesture as of old, than recognition of her deputization during his long absence and, although he included her in discussions on future plans, Charlotte knew he was merely being considerate. Her days as a decision-maker were almost over. Kitty frequently made a foursome on fine days. They were happy times, all at ease with each other. John
readily responded to Kitty’s easy manner, and the suggestion of two natural couples crept in without Charlotte being aware of it until a day in October when leaves were being blown from trees in russet flurries.
Vere and Kitty had taken the children to Salisbury and would not be back until late afternoon. Overcast skies made the house dark; the empty corridors were reminiscent of former lonely months with only a bitter, introspective grandfather for company. Charlotte stood at her window watching the wild weather outside, finding curious identification with it. Autumnal bluster would give way to winter bleakness. Vere was a fond, but more detached, brother. Kitty was a friend whose future was assured as wife, mother and mistress of Knightshill. Kate would one day return to her own family. Sir Gilliard would die. At present she, herself, was caught up in the life of each member of her family, and was part of their urgent activities, yet winter would overtake her as time passed. She could not forever live through the lives of those around her. Where was her future?
Minutes ticked past as she grew increasingly heavy-hearted. What she had feared since receiving news of Vere’s marriage had actually happened, although in the kindest manner. It had been inevitable, of course, and she was fortunate to have Kitty rather than Annabel Bourneville for a sister-in-law. The latter would have ejected an unwanted spinster by making life at Knightshill impossible for her. Kitty would never do that. Charlotte had herself made it impossible from the day that she had devoted herself to her brothers and sister, turning her back on youthful suitors. It was too late now. She was thirty years old and established as an old maid.
Into her mind then came recollection of a conversation she had had with Margaret in London, when her sister had explained why she had run off with Laurence Nicolardi. ‘I knew I could not face bleak years with Philip. I could not. I thought of Vere running from a life without Annabel, and Val taking any risk to avoid a career in the West Wilts, and I decided that a female Ashleigh had every right to follow their lead. It takes enormous courage, Lottie, but it is possible to change something unendurable. Vere discovered health and artistic fame, Val has found fulfilment in the cavalry. You have evidence of my own great happiness. Think how miserable we three would now be if we had not challenged fate.’ Charlotte sighed. Margaret had run to Laurence’s arms, Vere to war in the Sudan, Val to his beloved horse regiment. There was no obvious escape for an untalented spinster with a deformed leg.
On the point of turning from the window she saw John approaching from his cottage, and felt a sense of relief. Here was someone to talk to, someone whose friendship had never wavered throughout the last few difficult years. She had no real purpose in going to his office, but the prospect of long hours stretching ahead until Vere’s return was so daunting she hurried from her room.
John was studying some files as she entered. He glanced up and his smile was like a glow of warmth on a bleak day. Charlotte felt that warmth flowing right through her as he greeted her with obvious pleasure.
‘So Knightshill is not altogether deserted! The others may come and go but you’re always here to brighten even a dull day. ’Tis a raw one. We’ll have an early winter, if I’m not mistaken.’
‘You’re probably right, John,’ she replied heavily, knowing that he had the true countryman’s knack of reading nature’s signs.
He put down the files and came round the desk to her. ‘The prospect doesn’t please you?’
‘It’s been a good summer. Why does it have to end?’ she heard herself ask.
His frank blue gaze studied her face with soft concern. ‘Every summer comes to an end, lass.’
His use of that term brought memories of the time she had been thrown from her mare after the Waterloo Ball last year. John had held her so tenderly, spoken in those same tones as he had begged her to stop frightening him and open her lovely eyes. All at once, Charlotte saw in a startlingly different light a man she had known all her life. A face so familiar was suddenly very dear; a voice softened by regional accent was sweet music to her mood of desolation. Only now did she realize how subtly their relationship had changed since Vere had returned. No longer the person to whom he must refer, if only as a formality, for decisions concerning the estate, Charlotte had been accepted as John’s natural companion by everyone at Knightshill. They were the stalwarts, the ones with their roots in this corner of Wiltshire. They belonged here. They loved every inch of the land around them. Why had she not before recognized John as the one person in her life who would never disappoint her, hurt her or leave Knightshill? Why had she not admitted to herself how contented she felt in his company, how essential he was to her sense of confidence and wellbeing?
Studying him now Charlotte finally accepted something she had for years chosen not to recognize. John’s devotion to her was a great deal deeper than that of a bailiff to a member of the family he served. The knowledge warmed her further as she faced the fact of her own deep devotion to him, which she had also ignored. Because of their social differences, or because she had deliberately shunned the possibility of that brand of love? Or because she had held Vere as a loving shield for too long. The shield had been removed to leave her exposed and vulnerable. If she ran from the truth now, summer might have ended forever.
‘Do you never feel lonely, John?’ she asked softly.
He showed his surprise at her question, but said, ‘Aye, sometimes. Why do you ask?’
‘When? When do you feel lonely?’ she persisted.
‘Winter evenings, when I can’t get out about the estate as I do in the summer.’
‘Is that why you work here in the office until late?’
‘Possibly,’ he agreed, regarding her with curiosity. Taking her courage in both hands she said, ‘I feel lonely on winter evenings, too. We … we should keep each other company.’
‘You have your brother and his wife.’
‘No, John. They have each other, and Kitty likes to retire early now. Once their child is born they’ll be a complete small family and I shall be lonelier than ever.’ John remained silent as she went further. ‘Being a spinster in a large family is an unenviable position. Vere’s wife is destined to be the mistress of Knightshill. When Val marries, his wife will be second in line for that position. When Grandfather dies and Margaret can come home again, she will have greater claim than I to Knightshill by dint of being older.’
Although it was clear John had to struggle to remain silent, he succeeded. Charlotte then realized he would never seize the initiative on this particular subject, so she took a breath and asked, ‘Are you going to leave me to face long, lonely years because of convention?’
He studied her face for a long while with heightened colour, and it was all she could do not to turn and run from this situation she had instigated. Yet she felt it was now or never.
‘I’m not certain what you’re asking, lass,’ he said eventually. ‘You’re an Ashleigh.’
‘So is Vere, but he’s married a woman from the middle of nowhere and made her mistress of all this. Perhaps I am also destined to flout convention.’
John fought to put the situation into perspective. ‘You know I’d do anything for you. I’ve made that plain enough over the years, but I’ve too much respect for you to do what I think you’re suggesting. I can see that it would solve your problem for a while … until you began to regret it. Better to choose someone from your own class.’
She stiffened as his meaning grew clear, and she said with force, ‘I believed you had a higher opinion of me. I’m not grasping at straws, out to snare any husband I can get. I’d sooner be lonely all my life, indeed I would.’
As she turned away he gripped her arm to hold her there. His eyes were alive with feeling as he said, ‘I’m a simple man, as you know. Will you put into simple fashion what you have been saying?’
The strength of his grip and the force of his verbal demand gave birth to passion of a sweeter nature. Words tumbled from her. ‘I would have put myself on the marriage mart years ago if all I wanted was to shel
ter behind any man who would give me his name and ease my loneliness. It’s taken me a long time to see the obvious, but how foolish it would be for you to spend long winter evenings working in this office, and I sitting alone in my room. What I have been saying, dear John, is that we should spend them together in happy harmony … for the rest of our lives.’
‘Your grandfather would never agree,’ he said, still resistant to something he dared not contemplate.
‘The rest of my family have done what they wish without his agreement.’
‘But I’ve nothing to offer you.’
‘You can offer your devotion and the freedom of Knightshill’s acres. That’s more than enough for me.’
He touched her hair with a gentle hand. ‘Do you truly mean that, lass?’
Charlotte smiled. ‘What a fool I’ve been to delay it for so long. As soon as Vere gets back from Salisbury we’ll recruit his help to face Grandfather.’
John drew her into his arms with a shake of his head. ‘No, my dear, I’ll do that on my own. I may not be an Ashleigh, but I’ve got their fighting spirit when it comes to getting what I want.’
Flooded by happiness, Charlotte asked, ‘It is what you want, isn’t it?’
‘Ever since you grew into the loveliest young woman I’d set eyes on, which is half my lifetime.’
Accepting his gentle kiss, she said, ‘I’ll do my utmost to make the rest of it so good it will be worth all that waiting.’
12
SIR GILLIARD FLATLY refused to consider marriage between an Ashleigh and an employee. John Morgan was told he was insolent, presumptuous and no longer Knightshill’s estate manager. Charlotte had no need to beg Vere to intervene. He was so angry he confronted their grandfather less than an hour after John had broken the news to them all. The poor man was shaken and prepared to bow out of their lives until Vere, backed by Kitty, told him not to abandon his hopes and to carry on as usual while a few facts were put to the old general. ‘It won’t do any good, Mr Ashleigh,’ John warned. Vere gave a tight smile. ‘If you’re going to be my brother-in-law you’ll have to forget formality, John. And you’ll have to grow used to clashes of this nature with Sir Gilliard.’
A Distant Hero Page 30