When she was free of her chores and when the Reverend, whose eyesight was failing, didn’t need her to read to him, one of the best ways Daisy had found to feel close to Kit was to walk down to the cove and wander along the shore. Here she would skim pebbles across the cold water or collect pieces of sea-smoothed glass from the sand, her favourites being the ones that were as vividly green as Kit’s clear gaze. It was here in the solitude, with just the sigh of waves and the call of gulls for company, that Daisy could think about the time they’d spent together. They’d been snatched moments, but nonetheless they’d been the happiest ones of her life. Often she would sit on the rock at the far side of the cove, smiling at the memory of the day they’d first met, when Kit had fetched his jacket to cover up her wet undergarments. She could almost believe that at any moment he would appear at the foot of the cliff path waving and smiling.
One Tuesday, when she had a rare afternoon to herself, Daisy was seated in this exact spot with her arms wrapped around her legs and her chin resting on her knees. The May afternoon was chilly and stormy. The sea and sky seemed to meet in one heavy leaden line and the sulky sun slipped in and out of the clouds whenever the mood took it. She’d brought with her a brown paper parcel containing a ham sandwich, and a book was open on her lap, but Daisy wasn’t really in the mood to eat or read. Wrapped in her shawl, she felt as unsettled as the weather. When the capricious sun slid out from behind the clouds again, she thought it was just a trick of the light making it seem as though a figure was emerging from the cliff path.
The figure descended the final few feet and then crossed the rocks with ease, his long legs striding over the sand and his arms swinging casually. Daisy frowned. He was dressed in khaki and wearing a peaked cap. He looked like a soldier, and she’d seen lots of soldiers since the war had started, but on a beach? And one as hard to reach as this?
The soldier was walking towards her. She blinked. Surely not? It couldn’t be…
He would have written.
Or told her.
But it was!
Daisy leapt to her feet. The sandwich and book tumbled to the sand, but she didn’t care because she was running towards him with the blood rushing in her ears and her heart pounding. Then she was in his arms and he was holding her close, one hand stroking her hair as she pressed her face into the scratchy fabric of his uniform. He was here! He was! The buttons on his uniform were hard against her cheek; she wouldn’t feel these if this moment wasn’t real, surely? Neither would she shiver at the rasp of his stubble against her scalp as he buried his face in her hair.
“You’re here,” she sobbed, undone by being held by him again after so long apart and so many nights spent in fear. “You’re really here!”
His answer was to tighten his arms and pull her even closer, until she could feel the drumming of his heart against her skin and his lips kissing away her tears.
“Didn’t I promise I’d come back to you, Daisy Hills?” said Kit Rivers.
Chapter 12
Daisy, May 1916
Kit had only been granted six days’ leave and two of these were dedicated to travelling, which made every moment doubly precious. His parents were overjoyed to have him home and Daisy was adamant that his time with them mustn’t be tainted by family conflicts, especially now that Colonel Rivers was so unwell. Besides, Kit and Daisy would only be able to have a few snatched hours together; she didn’t want to squander so much as a second by getting into any disagreements.
“I don’t want you to mention us,” she’d told Kit as, hand in hand, they’d followed the line of the tide. “There isn’t time to resolve it all now and I don’t want your leave ruined by arguments.”
His fingers had tightened their grip on hers. “I want to marry you, Daisy. I want you to be my wife.”
“And I will be when the war’s over and you’re home for good. Please, Kit, don’t let’s spend what little time we’ve got now fighting with your family. I love you and you love me. Isn’t that enough?”
He’d shaken his head. “No. I want it to be official. You’re my girl and I want everyone to know how we feel about each other.”
“We know. Isn’t that all that matters? The rest we can deal with when the time’s right. And, Kit, with only a few days’ leave and your father so ill, this isn’t the right time.”
Kit hadn’t looked happy at this, but he’d nodded reluctantly. “You’re right, Daisy, but I wish to God you weren’t. I wish that things were different and that we had more time. Sometimes I’m so scared there isn’t going to be enough for you and I.”
“If we had a thousand lifetimes it wouldn’t be enough,” she’d told him, her heart bursting with love and fear. “There’s never enough time when it comes to being with you. Let’s just make the most of what we do have.”
And never had she spoken a truer word, Daisy thought four days later. How was it possible that four days could fly by like four minutes? Time had been doing some odd things since the war had been declared. Since August 1914 it had seemed to limp by, with one day seeming much the same as another; it had been an endless round of duties and tasks, although there’d also been the dreadful scanning of the casualty lists, her breath held in case Kit’s name was there. However, the past few days had rushed past at the speed of bullets. When the final morning of Kit’s leave had dawned, Daisy had wanted to burrow back beneath the counterpane. It was the nightingale singing and not the lark, she’d told herself over and over again. The sun wasn’t rising: it was still night-time, and Kit’s final day of leave hadn’t arrived.
They’d squeezed a lifetime of love and memories into the past few days. In between seeing his family, Kit had met with Daisy and together they’d walked miles over the cliffs and wandered through the woods. Everything was sodden, as though the whole world was weeping, and eventually they’d surrendered to the weather and hidden from the rain in one of the barns on Home Farm. Here, in the hay, they’d held each other close and talked away the rainy hours in their own sweet-smelling kingdom. If the Reverend Cutwell had wondered where his goddaughter was going in a downpour or Mrs Polmartin had been curious as to why Daisy was packing a picnic basket on a wet day, neither had said anything – and for this Daisy was grateful. Time was compressed, the usual niceties swept aside by circumstances, and there was a sense of freedom that she hadn’t experienced before the coming of the war.
“I’m tired of hiding in the shadows,” Kit had said, kissing her softly as he’d stroked the hair away from her flushed cheeks. “I want the world to know I love you, my beautiful, wonderful Daisy.”
Daisy wanted nothing more too. Would there ever be a day when that was possible? She could only pray so.
Eventually Daisy had to admit that it was Kit’s last day and that she had to rise, help Mrs Polmartin prepare the Reverend’s breakfast and then clear everything away. By the time Nancy was washing the plates, the weather had cheered up and the rain-washed world outside was new and sparkling. The sea was blue rather than the dishwater grey Daisy had become accustomed to, and the sky was clear. Maybe it was a good omen, she thought as she sat in the drawing room writing a letter to Eddie. Maybe everything would be all right after all? Her godfather had just departed in the dog cart, bound for Bodmin, which meant that she was free for the day. Hopefully she would spend some of it with Kit. Daisy had checked Kit’s tower window and, having seen the white handkerchief fluttering from it, was hoping to meet him at the cove. Beyond that she didn’t dare think; the imminent parting filled her with terror and she didn’t want it to cast its shadow over their last day.
She was hunting for some blotting paper when she heard the scrunch of wheels outside on the gravel and, through the window, saw a smart blue Rolls Royce pull up in the lane. Her eyes widened as Kit climbed out, dressed in his uniform and looking so handsome that her pulse skipped. Kit was calling here? That was bold!
Moments later, Nancy came to the drawing room looking more animated than Daisy had seen her for months.
&nb
sp; “Captain Christopher Rivers, Miss,” she said, her lips twitching with suppressed amusement. “Whatever can he want?”
Daisy arranged her features into what she hoped was a nonchalant expression.
“I have no idea,” she replied. “You’d better show him in, Nancy. We don’t want to leave Captain Rivers waiting.”
Kit strode into the room with his cane and cap tucked under his arm. He bowed formally and Daisy, who only the day before had been picking hay out of his golden hair, smiled at this.
“Can I offer you some refreshment, Captain?” Nancy asked, while Daisy said nothing.
Kit shook his head. “Regrettably I don’t have time. I have an appointment in Truro. I was wondering if the Reverend Cutwell would like to accompany me there for luncheon? And maybe you too, Miss Daisy?” As he said this, he gave Daisy the ghost of a wink and she knew at once that Kit had waited until the Reverend’s dog cart had bowled safely past before turning the Rolls Royce towards the Rectory. Excitement fluttered in her belly.
“What a pity; you’ve just missed my godfather,” she said evenly.
“What a pity,” Kit echoed. “Well, while I’m here I don’t suppose you’d like a ride in the motorcar, Miss Daisy?”
Daisy glanced outside at the open-topped car and felt a surge of excitement. She’d seen motorcars, of course, but had never travelled in one. How would it feel to whizz down the lanes in this, with the wind rushing against her cheeks and the possibilities of the open road unravelling before her?
Behind Kit, Nancy was nodding dementedly.
Daisy smiled. “I think I would like that very much,” she said.
Kit beamed at her. “Marvellous. Let me warn you though, it may feel cold in the motorcar – so wrap up.”
Daisy flew upstairs to change. She put on her warmest clothes, including a winter coat and woollen gloves. Wherever they were headed, she didn’t want to arrive there frozen to death. When she joined Kit at the car, she saw that he was pulling on a long leather coat, a muffler and leather driving gloves, as well as a driving hat and goggles. She wasn’t overdressed then!
“Ever been in a motorcar before?” he asked.
Daisy shook her head. “No.”
“You’ll love it,” Kit promised. “It’s like being on a bicycle but even better; you’ll see. Mark my words – one day everyone will be driving motorcars.”
She laughed out loud at this. It seemed unlikely. Motorcars were so terribly expensive.
“Mock me if you want,” Kit said, “but I’m right, just you see. Now, put these on,” he added, handing her a pair of goggles and a driving hat and scarf. “And hop in.”
Daisy did as she was told and soon she was sitting inside while Kit solicitously tucked a rug around her and made sure her goggles were secure.
“Ready?” Kit asked shortly afterwards, jumping into the driver’s seat.
She nodded. “Ready!”
Kit was right: Daisy loved driving. From the sense of barely contained power to the thrum of the engine to the rush of air as they flew along the narrow lanes, to the way the gears worked, every second of their journey was a joy. She was almost sorry when they reached the city and Kit parked the car in the high street.
“So you really did need to go to town?” she asked.
He pulled an outraged face. “Of course! You didn’t think I’d bring you here under false pretences just to have my wicked way with you?”
An image of Kit’s face buried in her breasts darted in front of Daisy’s vision.
“I think we both know you don’t need to bring me all the way to Truro for that, Kit Rivers,” she murmured.
He chuckled and a flush spread over his cheeks. “Much as I would rather spend every moment hidden in coves or barns with you, I really do have some business to attend to. Can you guess what it is?”
Daisy, slipping off her goggles and untying her scarf, was mystified.
“See your tailor?”
“Not even close. Guess again.”
“Have lunch?”
Kit laughed. “Yes, of course lunch, but we could have had lunch at any number of roadside inns. I can’t keep it a secret any longer, Daisy. I’ve brought you to Truro because I want to buy you an engagement ring.”
“I thought we’d agreed that we’d leave all that until after the war?”
“We said we’d get married after the war’s over and deal with my parents then – at your insistence not mine, remember? I don’t recall saying anything about not buying my fiancée an engagement ring. I’ve seen the perfect one too. It’s meant for you. Now, are you going to sit in the car all day or are you going to come to the jewellers with me and try it?”
Daisy gave up arguing. Truth be told, she was thrilled to be in Truro with Kit. As they strolled arm in arm through the narrow streets, looking up at the cathedral soaring high above, she could almost believe that it was a normal day and that they were a normal couple. The war had never happened, her bad dream was just that, and Kit’s parents had given their blessing. It was a pleasure to be able to walk with Kit and not have to keep their relationship a secret. For all her protestations, for all the excitement of hiding places and stolen moments in secluded coves, Daisy was finding being a secret fiancée something of a strain. She couldn’t wait until the war was over and they could be married.
Kit took her by the hand and led her into a jeweller’s shop tucked away in a small alley deep in the cathedral’s shadow. There, on a bed of royal blue velvet, sat a delicate ring. Just as Kit had promised, it was perfect. It was a dainty daisy fashioned from diamonds and set into a gold band and, when she tried it on, the jewelled flower sat on her engagement finger as though it was made to be there. Daisy heard yet another click of Fate’s wheel, the same turning wheel that had brought her to Rosecraddick and to Kit. This ring, like their love, was always meant to be.
Once the ring had been purchased, they visited a photographic studio where they posed for an engagement picture as well as individual shots. As Kit stood still and serious and faced the camera, Daisy thought just how handsome he looked in his uniform. She wasn’t so sure that in her simple sprigged cotton dress she was his equal, but Kit made her promise that as soon as the pictures arrived at the Rectory she would send them on to him.
“I can see you whenever I close my eyes,” he said as they strolled back along the street arm in arm and with the sun making Daisy’s new ring sparkle, “but to have your likeness to look at would be wonderful. It will make the other chaps terribly jealous to see how beautiful my fiancée is.”
Daisy rolled her eyes. She knew she wasn’t beautiful. Red curls, freckles and bony limbs weren’t at all fashionable.
“Don’t you dare pull that face,” Kit scolded. “You are beautiful, Daisy. In every way. And today you’ve made me the happiest man alive. Come on, soon-to-be Mrs Rivers! It’s time to celebrate our engagement.”
They were outside a hotel with a white façade as elaborate and pretty as an iced wedding cake. The gleaming glass door was held open by a footman in a green uniform laced with gold braid, who doffed his hat at them when they passed through. This gave Daisy the giggles and made Kit grin.
“You’d better get used to all that when you’re Lady Rivers,” he said.
Daisy’s eyes widened. She’d not thought at all about what marriage to Kit meant, apart from being with him. He was just Kit and it came as a shock to remember that he was also heir to a big country estate, as well as being the future Lord Rivers. Small wonder his parents had wanted him to marry Emily Pendennys. Daisy could staunch a wound and discuss politics – but when it came to hosting society parties or going hunting, she was lost. For the first time since they’d decided to get engaged she felt a lurch of doubt.
“You’ll be the most wonderful Lady Rivers,” Kit whispered, raising her hand to his lips. “I’ll be the proudest man in the world to call you my wife.”
Daisy smiled at him and felt reassured. She could only pray that the day would come when her b
iggest concern was how to host a house party and which fork to use.
Kit was greeted effusively by the hotel manager and Daisy’s patched overcoat was taken to be hung with as much reverence as though it were mink. As she and Kit were escorted to the best table in the restaurant, Daisy tried hard not to gawk too much at the enormous chandeliers and the sweeping staircase with its crimson carpet. She supposed the Rivers family was accustomed to this kind of thing – a fact that reminded her of Colonel and Lady Rivers’ wealth and importance. Undoubtedly, Kit would have remained as out of reach as the moon had matters been left to his parents. She sent up a quiet prayer of thanks that they were still unaware of the relationship.
“We’d like some champagne, please, the best you have,” Kit ordered, and moments later a bottle was uncorked and two flutes were filled with foaming bubbles.
“Celebrating something, sir?” the waiter asked as he replaced the bottle in a metal cooler filled with ice.
“Oh yes, I think you could say that – ouch!”
Kit yelped as Daisy’s boot kicked him hard on the shin. She couldn’t risk him giving too much away. The Rivers family was clearly well known at this hotel.
“We’re celebrating my leave,” Kit said hastily, and the waiter nodded, shooting Daisy a knowing look which made her flush. He thought she was Kit’s fancy woman!
“You nearly gave us away,” she scolded when they were alone again.
In answer, Kit reached across the table and took her hand, his thumb tracing the newly placed ring. As he did so, a look of wonder bloomed on his face. “I don’t want to hide what I feel for you. I’m so proud you’re my fiancée, Daisy. I want to shout it from the rooftops because I’m the luckiest man alive.”
The Letter Page 24