Ruth smiled back and then turned to have a look at the last few photographs on a nearby table. They were of a tiny Victoria, looking cute in a ballet tutu and pink ballet shoes, then slightly older at the wheel of a Rolls-Royce grinning gleefully and finally as a teenager posing playfully in a swimming costume beside a swimming pool.
“The swimming pool is just outside,” remarked Richard. “You’ll see it through the windows of the gold drawing room and in much more detail when we swim in the morning.”
“That will be lovely,” remarked Ruth, looking forward to it. He had told her to bring swimwear so she was all prepared and from the photograph, the indoor heated pool with floor to ceiling windows on the two longest walls looked amazing.
“Now,” added Richard, opening the door opposite that from which they had entered the green drawing room, “through here is the Italian room … Father’s pride and joy.”
“Oh, wow,” gasped Ruth, as Richard flicked the switch by the door and the majestic Venetian cut-glass chandelier in the centre of the ceiling instantly twinkled and glistened, its delicate beauty simply breath taking. Ruth followed Richard to stand beneath it and admire it more closely before turning her head to appreciate the glorious artwork on the four walls. There were three easily recognisable, stunning scenes of Venice by Canaletto. Ruth recognised a painting of the Madonna by Bellini, an Italian landscape by Giorgione, a scene with Mary Magdalene outside the tomb at the Garden of Gethsemane by Tintoretto and in pride of place over yet another marble fireplace, was a Titian portrait … but of whom Ruth had no idea. Venetian cut-glass vases adorned the side tables and in a corner bookcase rested book upon book about various aspects of Italian life, food, music, travel and the language itself.
“Oh,” Ruth exclaimed again. “This is stunning … absolutely stunning.”
“Richard! There you are and I take it this must be Miss Barrett,” boomed a voice behind them. “I am so pleased to meet you, my dear. Welcome to Canleigh.”
Ruth turned to see the distinguished figure of the Duke of Canleigh bearing down on her with a smile of pure delight on his face. Richard had been right. His father, now fifty years of age, looked quite different from the photograph in the green drawing room. He was an inch or two taller than Richard and looked relaxed and healthy, not an inch of superfluous fat on his body due to his daily routine of swimming each morning before breakfast.
Realising how nervous she was, his dark brown eyes twinkled kindly as he took her hand in his and shook it. His touch was electrifying and as their eyes locked, it seemed for Ruth as if time stood still. She suddenly felt so warm and safe; standing beside him, her hand in his. It was an overwhelming peaceful sensation … just like coming home.
Acutely aware of Richard beside them, she searched desperately for something suitable to say, convinced the Duke would think her terribly gauche and stupid.
“How do you do, Your Grace?” she managed to get out.
Charles had to mentally shake himself too, shocked and surprised at the sudden magnetic attraction between them. Not only was Ruth delightful to look at but she radiated an inner beauty, a warmth of spirit, a kind of peaceful serenity that was rare in women of her age. Charles was suddenly very glad Richard had brought this young woman to Canleigh and when they had talked earlier mentioned there was nothing between them apart from friendship, although he began to think his son was rather crazy if he was going to let Ruth slip through his fingers.
Reluctantly Charles withdrew his hand from hers, unaware that she too felt quite bereft at the action. He smiled warmly. “Please … call me Charles … and I do hope I can call you Ruth.”
Ruth nodded shyly as Charles pulled himself together.
“Richard tells me that you’re interested in art … and that you paint a little yourself.”
“Yes … but I only dabble. I love watercolours … and I’ve just started experimenting with oils but I’m not much good, probably because I simply don’t have the time to concentrate on it and,” she swept a hand in the direction of the Italian masterpieces and her laugh tinkled merrily, “I don’t think my creations would be much competition for the likes of these. It must be marvellous to possess such skill, such heart and soul.”
Charles smiled. “You appreciate my Italian collection then, of which I make no apology for feeling very proud.”
“They’re marvellous … especially the Bellini,” she replied, eyes shining enthusiastically.
Charles wasn’t surprised Ruth was drawn to that particular painting. He could just imagine Ruth serenely holding a child in the same loving manner as the Madonna. Good heavens, what was the matter with him? He’d only just set eyes on the young woman and here he was imagining her with a baby … and not any baby … his baby. Lord, he was cracking up. He really would have to pull himself together.
“I know Richard was guiding you around our lovely old mansion but I’m sure he won’t mind if I pull rank and take over … would you, Richard?”
“No, of course not. Lead on, Father,” Richard said, opening the door by the window and standing aside for Ruth and Charles to pass. “Although we’d better get a move on. It won’t be long before Hardy is banging his gong.”
Ruth had a terrible urge to giggle but managed to stifle it when the warm enveloping feeling of security returned as Charles took her arm and guided her into the next room.
Father and son exchanged a smile at Ruth’s inevitable gasp of delight as she gazed spellbound at the rich luxury of the room in which they now stood, the windows facing north and east still providing adequate light in which to view the opulent magnificence contained within.
“This is the gold drawing room … nothing else you will see at Canleigh will compare with this,” smiled Richard. “The first Duke wanted it this colour and it has remained the same ever since.”
Ruth found it hard to take in, staring with awe at the gold silk walls, carpet, window drapes, and the Chippendale chairs. Even the table lamps possessed gold shades. Two Waterford crystal chandeliers hung suspended from the plaster ceiling inlaid with decorative patterns in gold leaf. Heavy gilt mirrors hung on the wall opposite the east window while the inner wall boasted a marble fireplace, the intricate carvings on the grey-white rock far superior to those she had ever seen on visits to stately homes.
“Oh, that’s magnificent,” Ruth sighed, staring at the painting above the fireplace. The imposing gilt-framed landscape, elongated to cover nearly the entire higher part of the wall, boasted high mountains, lush greenery, waterfalls and a meandering river, making the observer ache with longing to be in such idyllic countryside.
“Scotland … as I am sure you must have guessed,” smiled Charles, more pleased than he could say at Ruth’s reaction to a painting that gave him immense pleasure every time he looked at it. “Mother commissioned it . . . she was brought up at Blairness Castle, right near that particular spot and when she married Father and came to live at Canleigh she wanted a reminder of the beautiful countryside in which she grew up. I spend a lot of time up there now and walk in that beautiful scenery most days.”
“Gosh,” Ruth exclaimed. “You are so lucky.”
Charles smiled. “Yes, I suppose I am … but you must come up to Blairness, Ruth. I insist. As soon as you have some free time let me know and I’ll be delighted to have you stay.” As he said the words, he hoped he hadn’t sounded too eager and alarmed her in any way and that Richard would think he was just being polite and hadn’t guessed how keen he was to spend more time in Ruth’s company.
“That’s very kind … I …,”
“How about in August, Ruth? Father is always to be found at Blairness then and we could have a week up there with him,” jumped in Richard, somewhat perplexed by the invitation and feeling mysteriously jealous at the idea of Ruth being alone with his father in such a remote part of the world. He was pleased Ruth was being made so welcome but wasn’t it just a bit intense and the old man’s behaviour certainly odd? He was usually quiet and unrespons
ive in female company but he was actually animated now, taking Ruth’s arm, chatting happily and then an invitation to Blairness! He had never invited anyone up there before. It was baffling and Richard actually began to feel uncomfortable and wished he hadn’t said there was nothing between him and Ruth romantically. His feelings for her had been growing for a long time but he had known as soon as she stepped into Canleigh that she was definitely the one for him. Although dreadfully nervous she looked so right here and his feelings took on a new dimension and he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was in love with her and had every intention of making her his … but now, to his utmost horror, it seemed his own father was muscling in and Richard didn’t like it. Not one little bit.
“Well, yes. Of course. Both of you must come. It will do you the world of good up there, my dear. The air is so fresh and the perfect peace gets right into your soul. It rains quite a bit, of course,” Charles laughed, “but we don’t mind.”
“That’s very kind of you. I would love to. I’ve never visited Scotland so it will be a real pleasure,” replied Ruth, smiling widely at both men, thrilled and amazed at the invitation, knowing there was no way on earth she would refuse it. To spend a week in idyllic surroundings with this lovely man, and Richard of course, would be something to really look forward to and August wasn’t very far away. There wasn’t long to wait.
Charles and Ruth turned reluctantly from the Scottish painting and Richard, with an impatient look on his face, stood beside a double mahogany door in the corner of the room by the east window. Ruth noticed it was possible to see quite a way up the main drive as she and Charles passed the two large sash windows facing north but as she neared the east window, she could see the huge domed swimming pool outside.
“There’s the pool,” Charles remarked, following her gaze. “I swim every morning around 6.30, usually for around an hour, sometimes longer. If you are an early riser, please feel free to join me. I understand Richard advised you to bring swimwear.”
“We had intended to swim in the morning but am not quite sure if we will make it that early,” grinned Richard, looking at Ruth. “I was thinking more around eight o’clock?”
“Yes. I think so,” laughed Ruth. “I like to get up early but that bed upstairs is extremely comfortable and I’m not quite sure if I shall want to leave it in the morning.”
Charles smiled and took Ruth’s arm again, much to Richard’s annoyance. “Come and see the ballroom. You’ll love it.”
In a grand gesture, Richard threw back the double mahogany doors and the ballroom was revealed in all its glory. Eight floor to ceiling windows flooded the room with light and three marble fireplaces and row upon row of valuable paintings decorated the inner wall. The oak floorboards were highly polished, as were the occasional tables. The ceiling was awesome and Ruth could feel the tension in her neck as she gazed at the beautiful artwork created so long ago but which still retained perfection. Three more enormous chandeliers graced the room and Ruth could just imagine grand dances being held, could almost hear the chatter, the enchanting music and the rustle of the women’s skirts as they swirled gaily from one end of the room to the other.
“Come back to us,” urged Richard, noticing the far-away look on Ruth’s face.
Ruth laughed. “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself. It must have been a wonderful experience attending a ball here. Have you ever held any?” she asked Charles.
“My parents had several when I was a small boy. I used to stand and watch the guests arriving. They were grand, auspicious occasions … and Mother always looked so beautiful and regal … but since then … no … but we were planning to hold Delia’s wedding reception in here.”
“Oh, yes. I was so sorry to hear the wedding has been cancelled. Delia must feel dreadful.”
Charles grimaced. “Yes, I am most sorry too. Philip and my strong-willed daughter have been together for a very long time. Goodness knows what she will do now … have you met Delia yet, Ruth?”
Ruth nodded, avoiding his eyes. She didn’t want him to guess her first meeting with Delia hadn’t been a particularly pleasant one but Charles wasn’t one to be fooled and he knew Delia well.
“I see,” he remarked. “Not too good then. Don’t worry, Ruth. Her bark is worse than her bite,” repeating Hardy’s words, “and if she does give you any trouble, you just let me know. She might ride roughshod over everyone else but where I’m concerned she knows where to draw the line … and I flatly refuse to allow her to intimidate any guest of mine.”
Richard threw Charles a questioning look. ‘Guest of mine.’ Richard was under the impression Ruth was at Canleigh at his invitation. He watched them cross the ballroom and enter the blue drawing room further on. They seemed perfectly at ease with each other, Charles smiling and chatting happily, Ruth transfixed, although that could be attributed to nerves. Richard shrugged, surprised at how irritated he was by the instant friendship between the pair and how he was being made to feel almost de trop.
By the time Richard caught up, Charles and Ruth, whose pace had increased as the time for dinner drew near, had reached the south side of the Hall, passed through the turquoise drawing room, the dining room where the beautifully polished table was laid for dinner, the music room with its grand piano, and into the library.
Charles guided Ruth to a sofa and stood beside her while Hardy was busy preparing aperitifs at the drinks’ cabinet in the corner of the room. It was a warm evening and Richard moved to the French windows to gaze out over the lake, glistening in the sunshine, trying to dismiss the niggling feelings of jealousy. He wanted to go over and push his Father away from Ruth but of course, he couldn’t … and he was being totally absurd. Father was just showing courtesy towards a guest. It couldn’t be anything else. Ruth was years younger than Father. She could be his daughter for goodness sake. No, he was being paranoid. Of course he was.
Happily unaware of the tumult Richard was enduring, Ruth looked around the library with interest. There were rows and rows of leather-bound books on shelves completely covering two walls and on either side of the marble fireplace. Ruth wondered if they had all been read or whether they were just there to impress. A shy, discreet glance at Charles and she decided not. He had no need to flaunt his possessions; he was too self-assured and genuine.
Charles noticed Ruth gazing at the picture above the fireplace. “Mother,” he said.
Ruth smiled. “She looks lovely. You must have missed her a lot.” Richard had told her on the way up from Oxford about his Granny and how she had died.
“Yes. I did. We all did. She was a remarkable woman. Is this your first visit to Yorkshire, Ruth?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Yes, it is.”
“You’ll be impressed. The countryside hereabouts is some of the most beautiful in England and I’m positive you’ll form the same opinion once you’ve had time to see some of it. I believe Richard is taking you riding tomorrow … that will provide a splendid opportunity, although just a brief weekend is far too little time to explore such a vast county. You need to visit us for much longer.”
There he goes again, thought Richard crossly.
“I understand you’re having second thoughts about your medical career,” continued Charles as Ruth took the crystal glass of sherry Hardy offered her on a silver tray. She couldn’t swear to it but surely he had winked at her. She smiled back, remembering his earlier words of reassurance. He had been quite right. Charles was delightful.
“That’s why I invited Ruth to Canleigh,” Richard remarked trying to keep his tone casual. “She’s gone all wobbly on us … thinks medicine is not for her. We thought a weekend away from Oxford might help her come to a final decision.”
“And very right too. Is there something you would rather do, Ruth?” asked Charles.
“I’m really not sure at the moment,” Ruth replied, almost afraid to raise her eyes to his. Whatever was the matter with her? She had expected to be in awe of him but instead, she had this dreadfu
l urge to throw herself into his arms where she knew she would feel safe and protected from the world.
“Well, I’m sure whatever you decide to do, you’ll make a good job of it. You look a very capable young woman.”
Further discussion was temporarily abandoned as the library door was flung open and Delia swept into the room, resplendent in a vibrant long dark red dress, low cut and backless. Ruth couldn’t help noticing that along with plain gold stud earrings, necklace and gold watch, she was still wearing her sapphire and diamond engagement ring.
Pointedly ignoring Ruth, Delia smiled weakly at Richard and pecked her Father’s cheek.
“Hello, Father. Good journey?”
“Not bad. How are you?” Charles asked, looking at his eldest daughter with concern. Following Philip’s disturbing telephone call to advise him that the wedding was cancelled and Delia was taking it badly, confirmed by the nasty wound in the library door, Charles had tried to find her but she was no-where to be found and in the end he had abandoned his search and decided to speak to her after dinner. Charles could still remember how Delia had been so badly affected after the traumatic events when Margaret left Canleigh and Mother had died. He sincerely hoped Philip’s rejection wouldn’t bring about the same result.
Delia took the sherry Hardy offered and smiled brightly at Charles. “I’m fine. Why shouldn’t I be?”
Charles was spared having to reply as the door opened again and in walked Vicky, looking the picture of health with her bouncy short dark wavy hair and golden skin. A faint touch of green eye shadow above hazel eyes matched the knee-length emerald silk dress. Charles’s smile was radiant as he moved quickly towards his youngest daughter and swept her into a close embrace.
“Vicky, darling. You look really well.”
“Oh, Daddy. You really mustn’t worry about me. I’m better now, really I am,” throwing him a wide smile and showing her dainty white teeth.
Ruth glanced at Delia, noting the grimace of distaste at her father’s uninhibited gesture and the unmistakable display of real affection. Delia was obviously intensely jealous of her father’s affection for her younger sister.
Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama) Page 27