Vere was used to them to the extent of knowing his grandfather no longer dominated him into impotency. Fiery and implacable the old man might still be, but Vere now knew how to counter those traits. The Sudan had strengthened him, and Kitty’s love made him the giant Annabel had said he would never be.
Clunes was disapproving when Vere arrived at the master suite shortly before noon. The former military batman seemed almost prepared to defend the door leading to the room of a distinguished soldier he had served for many years.
‘The General is upset, sir,’ he declared, barring entry by planting himself squarely in Vere’s path. ‘You’d be risking his health by disturbing him, I’m afraid.’
‘You’re a good man, Clunes,’ Vere told him warmly, ‘but if my grandfather is stout enough to ruin Miss Charlotte’s future, and dismiss a bailiff who has served him faithfully for most of his life, I think I shall present little risk to his health. Stand aside, there’s a good fellow.’
Sir Gilliard certainly looked flushed and angry, but he was indulging in a glass of sherry whilst standing by the window which gave a splendid view of his land; standing erect and as formidable as many young officers had seen him during humiliating interviews. He did not look in the least danger of succumbing to ill health, and soon made it clear he was in fine fettle.
‘I daresay this infamous business is your doing, sir,’ he growled as Vere approached. ‘Lost all sense of propriety. Warned you of the dangers of abandoning duty to mix with namby-pamby fellahs with paint brushes. Never should have frequented those countries along the Mediterranean. Raffish ideas. No concept of morals or hygiene. Half of them are peasants with no learning, the other half damned smooth and acquisitive.’
‘I never found them so,’ put in Vere calmly. ‘They were extremely cultured, with beautiful manners and great appreciation of the social and philanthropic problems in their own country as well as other parts of the world. If one of them were to say military men are all aggressive, unyielding, pompous and narrow-minded, you would be outraged and challenge their words, claiming they knew very little about soldiers, wouldn’t you?’
Sir Gilliard turned away, saying coldly, ‘What are you doing here? I do not recall summoning you.’
‘I’m not one of your subalterns. I’m your grandson and heir, who should be free to discuss family matters with you at any time.’
Sir Gilliard swung back at him. ‘Family matters, you say? My bailiff is not a member of this distinguished line, sir!’
‘Neither is he attempting to be. His name will forever be Morgan, and he has his own lineage.’
‘Damned lowly lineage! How dared he come to me with such a proposition?’
‘Because he is devoted to my sister, and she to him.’ White eyebrows met in disgust. ‘Pah! Has she now lost all sense of honour and duty? I’ll not hear any more from you. Get out!’
‘No, Grandfather,’ said Vere standing his ground. ‘If you refuse to allow Lottie happiness after the years she has spent entertaining your guests, planning the Khartoum Dinner, the Waterloo Ball and numerous other social events, and bearing your irascibility without complaint as the only one of us to remain at Knightshill, I shall act in your place to see that she marries the man that she loves.’
‘Love. Love?’ the well-known voice roared. ‘You are all the same. The whole pack of you.’ Sir Gilliard advanced full of ire, glass in hand, to thrust his face close to Vere’s. ‘Your mother abandoned you all to cross the Atlantic with a damned foreigner who dressed in clothes more suited to a clown, all in the name of love. Your sister brought shame on us all by running off to live in sin with one of those smooth Mediterranean fellahs, and the boy tore the clothes off a respectable woman to assault her while he was still at school. You, sir, chose as your wife a creature brought up amidst gamblers, swindlers and frequenters of whorehouses, and now I am told that the last of your mother’s changeling brood has a mind to ally herself with someone of peasant stock. No, sir, no! I am still head of this family, and I say no!’
Recollection of a previous quarrel along the same lines made Vere pause before repeating words designed to hurt as much as he had been hurt. He did not want too many regrets when this splendid old warhorse lost his final battle, and there was much truth in his words. They had all initially let him down in their search for happiness, yet each was entitled to personal freedom outside his rigid code … and all were now compensating for those things of which this proud man accused them.
Picking his words carefully, Vere said, ‘You refer to us as our mother’s changeling brood, but we are as much your son’s children as hers. You have always condemned my artistic bent as having been inherited from her, and you are possibly right, but you cannot claim that six children have none of their father’s qualities. I remember little of my father, but Mama always spoke of him with great fondness so it seems probable that he loved her. Have you ever condemned him? There’s nothing shameful about strong passion, sir, especially when it brings happiness. Mother found it with her American; Margaret with a man of great distinction who saved her from misery and, as we later discovered, from a hideous death at the hands of African tribesmen. Val simply lost his head over an older, calculating woman, but you refuse to listen to my account of how he is living up to all you demand of your grandchildren. Love of honour and glory rules him and he is alive with happiness.’
He took a deep breath to control his temper. ‘You speak of my wife in derisory terms, but she is from aristocratic stock. Setting that aside, she is admirably fulfilling her role at Knightshill and will shortly give birth to the child you have for several years been urging me to father. Would you be better pleased if I did not love her? Were you so hurt as a young man that you still resent those who love and find joy in it?’
Sir Gilliard stood for long moments gazing at Vere in a manner that suggested he saw an entirely different face. Then he visibly returned to the present. His upright stance loosened as if he were crumbling. ‘Your ultimate weapon, as I recall. You have used it ruthlessly whenever on unsafe ground. The thrust beneath the guard no real gentleman would use.’
‘You think so? My reference to your unfaithful young wife is no less gallant than your treatment of Kitty, who is completely undeserving of it.’ He continued in the same forceful manner. ‘John Morgan is also undeserving of your contempt for wishing to marry my sister. He is a good, loyal man who has cared for the estate as if it were his own. He is deeply devoted to Lottie, but would never have spoken of his feelings if she had not encouraged him to do so.’
His grandfather turned away to sink into a chair with evident weariness. Staring at the floor, he said heavily, ‘When my only son died of his wounds in this house I gave him my word that I would protect and guide his children in the Ashleigh tradition. I have failed with all but one.’
This oblique reference to Vorne robbed Vere of any sympathy for a man who truly believed what he had just said. ‘We are not failures simply because we used the Ashleigh qualities you so much admire in ways you choose not to recognize. Lottie will marry John with my blessing. If you refuse her the dowry to which she is entitled, I’ll give it to her instead. As I have been managing the estate for you since I came of age, and paying Morgan’s wage, you have no power to dismiss him.’ He took a breath and chose his words carefully. ‘Is it really your wish to turn your back on a granddaughter who has cared about your comfort and wellbeing over many years; how you mean to honour your promise to our father?’
A pale, strained face turned upward to him. ‘Is it your intention to bury me before I am dead?’
‘No, Grandfather,’ Vere said more gently. ‘I’m simply demonstrating my ability to head this family so that you may leave it in my hands, with confidence, now that you are growing tired.’ Squatting before Sir Gilliard on a sudden compassionate impulse, he added, ‘There comes a time when even the most distinguished general accepts that he is no longer able to lead his army, and makes way for a younger man with new ideas. He nevertheless
remains an inspiration to those who follow in his illustrious steps.’
A suggestion of sudden moisture in eyes still vividly blue surprised Vere, but the bark was back in Sir Gilliard’s voice. ‘Get up, man! You are all determined to go to the devil behind my back. I wonder you even have the courtesy of informing me of the fact. I will not dine with a bailiff, mark you. I am still master of my own table, sir, and will choose with whom I share it. Distinguished generals are accorded that privilege when they hand over an army, damn you!’
*
As autumn passed into winter Charlotte’s fondness for John deepened further. Her marriage would not be rapturous like Vere’s, nor as exciting as Margaret’s to Laurence Nicolardi, but security and contentment would be hers and she would still have Knightshill. Vere had risen to the occasion in astonishing fashion after his interview with Sir Gilliard. During several stormy meetings, he had emerged as victor over John’s stubborn pride which maintained that he must provide for his wife by his own efforts. Sir Gilliard made no attempt to deprive Charlotte of her rightful marriage dowry, and Vere swiftly quashed John’s determination not to accept a penny of it. After the third heated discussion, the two men came to the room where Charlotte and Kitty were sitting discussing the family wedding and christening gowns. Vere looked determined, John resigned.
‘Shall I ring for tea?’ Kitty asked diplomatically.
‘In a moment. We’d like to tell you both what we have decided,’ Vere shot a swift glance at John, ‘after studying every aspect of the subject. On one matter we’re both in total accord. Charlotte must be given every consideration. Do sit down, John,’ he urged, as the man stood awkwardly just inside the doorway. Settling next to Kitty on the settee, Vere smiled at Charlotte who was more concerned with her fiancé. She knew he was not finding things easy.
‘You cannot imagine what it was like when Margaret insisted on marrying Philip Daulton,’ she told him as she indicated the chair next to hers. ‘A handsome young curate instead of a handsome young officer. Grandfather was furious. He never approves of the partners we choose. The only one who met with his criteria was Annabel Bourneville, and she was completely unsuitable, wasn’t she, Vere?’
‘Completely.’
‘Val is certain to displease when he finds his match.’
‘Ho, that handsome, merry lad is presently terrified of female attention,’ chuckled Kitty. ‘By the time some determined young woman has snared him, Sir Gilliard will no longer be with us.’
‘He has the consoling thought that Vorne undoubtedly would have selected a bride of unsurpassable perfection,’ said Vere in such cutting fashion Charlotte was taken aback.
He resumed the subject in question. ‘John will no longer be employed as bailiff, although he will do all he has always done and receive a percentage of the estate profits, as I do. We shall work together as brothers-in-law, but he understands that I shall devote long periods to painting whenever I wish which will leave the brunt of responsibility still in his capable hands.’ He smiled at Charlotte. ‘You cannot live with him in his cottage, and he now agrees that his plan to find something suitable in the village would not work.’
‘It’s a question of access, especially in winter,’ John explained. ‘You know how bad the snowfall is some years.’
‘So what have you decided on?’ she asked him.
‘Mr Ash … Vere,’ he corrected clumsily, ‘has offered us those rooms at the back of the house.’
‘The guest rooms next to Val’s, near the staircase?’ She turned to her brother. ‘What a splendid idea! We can make them into a complete suite like yours.’ She had dreaded the thought of leaving her home for a rented cottage in Dunstan St Mary and was grateful to Vere for solving the problem with diplomacy. ‘It will be so convenient for your office, John. That staircase runs right to it.’
‘It won’t be my office,’ he told her somewhat stiffly.
Vere swiftly intervened. ‘John and I will both use it to store the paperwork and for serious discussions on estate matters.’ He smiled. ‘We do not wish to bore you ladies with business when we all gather elsewhere in the house.’
‘How very commendable,’ teased Kitty.
‘We’d like you to continue handling the growing and selling of our hothouse flowers, Charlotte. John says you would prefer to try other varieties next year. Go ahead. You and John have been successful with orchids and gardenias. I’m sure you’ll do as well with whatever you choose to grow. The flowers are a good source of revenue, despite the fact that they’re only seasonal.’
‘I enjoy it,’ Charlotte confessed. ‘Flowers are a beautiful alternative to cows and pigs.’
‘You leave them to me, lass,’ John said starting to relax.
‘And me,’ added Vere smoothly. ‘The men of this family will deal with the livestock.’ Getting to his feet he walked to the bell-rope and pulled it. ‘Time for tea, I think. We’ll toast our amicable arrangement with something stronger at dinner. You’ll join us, John? Good,’ he pronounced before the man could say no.
*
The wedding was to be a quiet pre-Christmas affair conducted in the tiny chapel of Knightshill, rather than in the church of Dunstan St Mary. Sir Gilliard had declined to attend the ceremony, so his absence would have added to village gossip about the unequal alliance, and Kitty could not appear in public so near to the birth of her child. Ashleigh relatives made the excuse of distance to stay away, and John had no family to come and wish them well. Messages and gifts from Margaret and Val were all Charlotte needed to make the day a happy one, however.
The Nicolardis arranged with a leading London store to present the couple with a handsome linen chest filled with a selection of the finest items available. They wrote of their complete happiness with each other and their two boys. Their baby was flourishing and Tim had advanced at school with leaps and bounds after his repressed education at the hands of the Reverend Daulton. They all hoped Kate was continuing to enjoy her life with the family at Knightshill and felt she should remain there for the present.
Val sent a typically hearty letter of congratulations together with a pair of wood carvings that were all he could afford on his subaltern’s salary. The greater part of his letter concerned the love of his life. He gave his opinion of the war that was over yet had not been won, because half the enemy were continuing to fight despite the call to surrender by their own commanders. His regiment was presently quartered near Pretoria during this stalemate. He deplored the lack of action but was using surplus energy in his favourite sporting pursuits. He was at last what he had long wanted to be — a cavalry officer. If only he could again be an Ashleigh.
Gifts arrived from Charlotte’s many Howard and Carlton-Jay relations, the modesty of which betrayed the senders’ opinions of the match. Charlotte did not care. She would not be obliged to deal with their demands and complaints during the January visit for the Khartoum Dinner. Once she had recovered from the birth of her child, Kitty would become sole mistress of Knightshill with Charlotte’s blessing.
The marriage ceremony was attended by Kitty, Simon, Charlotte’s maid Sarah, Stoner who still valetted for Vere, Ned who represented the stable staff, Nanny and Cook. Vere deputized for Sir Gilliard and Winters acted as John’s best man. Kate was a very self-important flower girl in a long silk dress embroidered with Michaelmas daisies. Charlotte had decided against wearing the Ashleigh wedding-gown with its eight-foot train and elaborate appliqué work. Margaret had last donned it for her marriage to Philip. It had not brought her happiness. The heir’s bride had married abroad, so the gown’s importance had waned. If Val ever married, perhaps …
Standing before her mirror on her wedding morning Charlotte was satisfied with her choice of ivory satin in a simple style. The lavishness of her sister’s wedding was a far cry from her own, but John was a dear man who would make her life bright with hope when it had been for so long dull with dread. Margaret had always craved excitement. She, Charlotte, was tied to her roots with a bond
of deep commitment. All she desired of today was to be joined as one to a man who shared that bond.
Vere arrived several minutes early to escort her downstairs, kissing her warmly. ‘Are you nervous?’
‘Not in the least, my dear. It’s not as if I’m about to parade through some vast cathedral.’
‘You should, Lottie. I’ve seldom seen a more beautiful bride.’
She smiled, ‘Flatterer!’
Turning her back to face her reflection, he said over her shoulder, ‘It’s not flattery. You’ve consistently underestimated yourself, and I feel more than partially responsible.’
‘What nonsense, Vere! Whyever should you feel that?’
His hands dropped from her shoulders as he sighed. ‘I accepted your willingness to become my constant companion in the sick-room. I was an invalid, but you were coerced into believing yourself one, also. You deserve more than you have received from life. Your devotion to me robbed you of it.’
He had touched on something she had frequently considered. She was now quite honest in her reply. ‘My devotion to you had a possessive quality for which only I am responsible.’ She turned to smile apologetically. ‘I mistakenly believed we would never change. Thank heaven we did.’ She took his hand. ‘Life has given me a great deal, Vere. As the one Ashleigh who prefers not to roam I have all I could possibly want right here at Knightshill.’
‘I’m so very glad,’ he said with sincerity. Then he brought from his pocket a long velvet box to offer to her. ‘The pair of horses was our wedding gift to you both. This is quite apart from that, Lottie.’
A Distant Hero Page 31