In his palatial house in Grosvenor Square, Colonel Thornhill was pacing the floor of his library, listening for the sound of carriage wheels that would announce his daughter's return from the ball.
Now and then he glanced at the luxury surrounding him with a kind of dissatisfaction. He was one of the richest men in London, perhaps in the whole country. For years he'd been able to buy whatever he set his heart on.
But now he'd set his heart on something that seemed to be elusive.
A great title for Rowena, and the entrée into high society for himself.
It didn't seem much to ask. Other men bought Earls and Marquises for their daughters, men whose wealth wasn't half of his.
Yet Rowena's first season was passing without a single 'catch'.
Somewhere behind the Colonel a small, elderly man was pottering about the library, occasionally stopping to refill his brandy glass.
This was the Reverend Adrian Farley, his father-in-law. He was a vague, gentle creature who lived with his brash son-in-law solely because he loved his grand-daughter.
The Colonel had taken him in as a duty, but his wife's father made him uneasy. Although now retired, the Reverend Farley was still a man of the cloth. He disapproved of his son-in-law, and often made ironic comments about his ambitions, with what the Colonel thought was a most unclerical relish.
"No sign of her yet," Mr. Farley said now, joining him at the window.
"I don't really expect her so early," said the Colonel. "Not if the ball was a success."
"Rowena is always a success," the old man said, "as far as she can be."
"What the devil do you mean by that?"
"I mean having her chaperoned everywhere by your sister. Got nothing against your sister, mind. Always very civil to me. But if you thought she could sponsor Rowena into high society you were fooling yourself."
"Lady Pennington has effected a great many notable introductions – " the Colonel started to say but was stopped by a cackle.
"Lady Pennington is the wife of a knight, no more," Mr. Farley said bluntly. "Couldn't get Rowena presented at court, because she hadn't been presented herself."
"I managed that without her help," the colonel riposted.
"Oh yes, Lady Childen. Tell me, just how many of her son's debts did you have to settle before she agreed?"
"That is beside the point," the Colonel said stiffly.
"Very much to the point if you ask me. Especially as she diddled you. She was supposed to take Rowena to some fancy parties, wasn't she? But the minute the presentation was over she dropped you."
Mr. Farley guffawed. "That must make her the only person ever to pull the wool over your eyes."
"I'm surprised by your interest," the Colonel said frostily, "since you lose no chance to tell me that you think my ambitions for Rowena are absurd."
"They are absurd. And your ambitions aren't for Rowena, but yourself. You want something only that sweet girl can give you, and you make use of her under the guise of doing the best for your daughter."
"That is an outrageous suggestion," said the Colonel through gritted teeth.
"Yes, it is," Mr. Farley observed amiably. "Totally outrageous. But it is also true, and I see it, even if poor little Rowena doesn't."
"Then it amazes me that you should be so concerned at what you see as my sister's deficiencies as a chaperone."
"Not concerned at all," Mr. Farley retorted. "All to the good, if you ask me. Just thought I'd mention that you don't know what you're doing, that's all."
"You lose no occasion to insult me," the Colonel snapped.
"It's not insulting you to say you don't know what you're doing, m'dear fellow. Plain fact. You're not in the army now, you know. No use conducting a marriage market like a military campaign. Although I must admit it gives me a lot of innocent pleasure to watch you bang your head against a brick wall."
"You appear to believe that you have the right to behave as you please in my house. How if I demand that you leave?"
"How if I tell Rowena that you're throwing me out? And why."
This effectively brought the conversation to a standstill. The Colonel knew Rowena was deeply fond of her grandfather and would ask awkward questions about his departure. Nor did he relish the thought of Mr. Farley expressing his opinions too freely to her.
Meeting Mr. Farley's cynical eye, Colonel Thornhill knew he had been checkmated.
For the moment, he promised himself. Only for the moment.
"I need some more brandy," he snapped. "Be good enough to ring for the footman."
Instead of complying, Mr. Farley brought the brandy decanter himself.
"Load of tomfoolery," he said. "Ring for the footman, when the decanter's standing just a few feet away."
"It is the correct thing to do," the Colonel said between gritted teeth.
"Then the correct thing to do is nonsense," said Mr. Farley, not in the least perturbed. "I wouldn't mind if you kept your nonsense to yourself, but you're spoiling that lovely girl with your daft ideas.
"You used to be a decent fellow, a soldier, solid and upright. Then you made a lot of money and turned soft in the head."
The Colonel pretended not to hear this. Since he couldn't silence Mr. Farley, the only thing to do was become deaf.
To his intense annoyance, he realised that there was much in what his father-in-law said.
He had no illusions about himself. He was a soldier, a rough diamond, who'd made most of his money in America after he'd left the army.
It was a young country, vibrant and full of new ideas. Great things were invented almost every day, and there was money to be made in their development.
As he had grown older and cleverer he had managed to invest in a number of these inventions.
It had been, as Colonel Thornhill had once said, like a volley of guns going off one after another and each one being louder than the last.
Whatever they had discovered or invented in America had made it a nation of rich men. And he had been in the forefront.
He'd stayed in America longer than he'd intended,
building up his fortune, seizing a chance that he knew wouldn't come twice in a lifetime.
Then had come the news that his wife was suffering from an incurable disease. He rushed back to England, arriving too late to see her before she died.
He was a hard man, but he had loved his wife, and his failure to reach her in time was something that still caused him grief.
He had found his daughter Rowena almost a stranger to him. After burying his wife, he sent Rowena to complete her education in a Swiss finishing school, and returned to America.
He only returned when Rowena was eighteen, ready to leave school and become a debutante.
In the last year, she had flowered, and he was astonished when he saw her to realise she had grown into an undoubted beauty.
She was someone, the Colonel thought, every man would stare at and, if he was wise, want to possess.
It was then that he turned his interests and ambitions to his daughter.
He wanted something. And Rowena could give it to him.
Then he began to realise that he had rather neglected her and that if he was to bring his plans to fruition, it would take a lot of careful planning, and cultivating the right people.
Mr. Farley had said the Colonel had gone about it like a military campaign, and up to a point he'd been right.
A campaign needed a base camp, so he bought a magnificent house in Kent which had formerly belonged to an ancient family which went back ten generations, and whose name had been intertwined with the history of England. Not only was the house palatial, but it was surrounded by a vast estate.
Now, he thought proudly, Colonel Thornhill and Miss Rowena Thornhill, were landed gentry. It was a start.
Next she must make her debut in London.
He bought a house in Grosvenor Square, making sure that it was the best and most expensive available. Then he had secured the services of Lady Childen to spons
or Rowena's presentation at court.
It had cost him a fabulous sum, but he didn't mind if he got what he wanted.
But he hadn't. After the presentation Lady Childen had refused to help any further. As Mr. Farley had vulgarly said, she'd 'diddled him'.
Rowena moved in society, but she had no title. She had no connections. She lacked the shared background of the aristocrats. Gradually the Colonel realised that there was something lacking in his plan of action.
He found that he could fill his house with all manner of guests – of a certain type. City men and the lower rungs of the aristocracy.
But these weren't the prey he was after. It was the Dukes, Earls, Marquises that he wanted. And their doors remained mostly closed to him.
The only place he could meet the higher ranks was at the Clipper Club, one of the best clubs in London. Its members owned sea-going vessels of all kinds, and the chief founder had owned a large clipper ship. Hence the name.
Even the Prince of Wales, an enthusiastic sailor, had been seen in their palatial establishment in Piccadilly. He wasn't a member, but he often appeared as a guest.
The members gave themselves airs and boasted that only the best was allowed to join. But the Colonel knew how much in debt each man was, how much they had paid for their gorgeous ships, and whether they could really afford it.
He bought up their debts, and when he presented himself for membership nobody dared to blackball him.
Now he met the crème de la crème of British aristocracy, and invited them to his house. Although some refused, many came, intrigued by the stories they'd heard of his enormous wealth.
They drank his brandy and smoked his cigars. Many of them sighed after his daughter's beauty. But they thought twice before offering marriage to a girl without a background.
That was the blunt truth of the matter, and the more the Colonel thought of it, the more he realised that he needed another strategy, one that would bring him everything he wanted.
CHAPTER TWO
At last the Colonel heard the sound of carriage wheels, and in a few moments his daughter had arrived home with her aunt.
Mr. Farley greeted his beloved grand-daughter affectionately, while the Colonel drew his sister aside for a report on the evening.
"I gather Rowena received a declaration tonight," Lady Pennington told him quietly. "And refused it absolutely."
"Without consulting me?" the Colonel demanded.
"Well, it was only Sir Cedric Humboldt. Scarcely a great catch. Rowena seems to have been rather annoyed with him."
The Colonel frowned. Certainly Sir Cedric wasn't the kind of title he wanted for his daughter, yet Rowena's independent spirit disturbed him. It would be as well to warn her of her duty, lest she throw away her chances.
So when his sister had departed and Mr. Farley had been persuaded to go to bed, he broached the subject.
"I would have preferred that you refer your suitor to me, before refusing him," he said, speaking kindly but firmly.
"But why Papa? I wouldn't dream of marrying such a silly man."
"I hope you weren't impolite to him. Tell me exactly what happened."
Rowena gave him only a very rough description of the scene, leaving out the fact that Sir Cedric had gone down on his knees, and that she had used her fan on him. Nor did she mention the strange man who had spoken to her so rudely. The memory still filled her with mortification.
When she had finished her father was silent awhile before saying,
"It has been a great wish of mine, for a long time, that you should make a fine marriage. I want you to be on the top of the social world and not, as we are at the moment, at the bottom."
Rowena stared at him. "Why are we on the bottom?" she asked innocently.
"Because my dear, we are of no particular importance except that I am a rich man. But if I could see you a part of the English aristocracy, married to a Duke or an Earl – "
Rowena stared at him. Then she laughed.
"Oh, Papa, you cannot expect me to do that!"
"Why not?" he demanded. "Behind their fine facades, the aristocracy is often deep in debt. Keeping up an ancestral home takes money, and most of them only know how to spend money, not make it."
"And you know how to make it, Papa," Rowena said, nodding. "Everyone says you are a brilliant man and I realise they are referring to the fortune you made abroad.
"But dear Papa, you cannot expect every Englishman to succeed as you have. Of course I know that when they propose to me, they are also proposing to your money."
"Of course," the Colonel answered sharply. "Money! Money! That is all most men want. Well and good if it makes them play into my hands. If I have to buy my son-in-law, then I will aim for the best."
"But I don't want you to buy me a husband, Papa," she protested.
"It will have nothing to do with you. I know what's best for you, and you must trust me in this."
Rowena stared at him, slightly shocked. She had been treating the subject lightly, almost as a joke. Now she began to see that perhaps her father saw her as a commodity in a commercial transaction. His money for a great title.
She tried to push the thought away. It was surely impossible. But it left a shadow of unease and she soon made an excuse to go to bed.
Once in her own room she sat down in front of the mirror and stared at herself as if she had never seen her reflection before.
She would be very stupid if she had not known she was pretty. That her fair hair had touches of gold in it. Her eyes were very blue. In fact, she was what people called, 'an English beauty'. It was something she had been teased about at school.
Now as she looked at herself knowing without being conceited that she was lovely, she sensed, almost as if someone was saying it to her, that the men who were asking her to be their wife did not love her, but her father's money.
"Money! Money! Money!" she said to herself. "That is what they are seeking and that is what they think they have found in me. And Papa knew about this all the time."
She had always realised that her reputation as an heiress was one of her attractions, but it had never before occurred to her that her father might actually be plotting to make use of other men's weaknesses, scheming to sell his daughter to the man who could offer the greatest worldly advantage.
But tonight he had lifted the edge of a curtain and revealed an ugly truth.
He had a plan in place. Just as he had wanted an ancient house and estate, with its history going back for many years, he also wanted a son-in-law about whom he could say the same.
Then she recalled that rude man saying,
'I've no wish to be coerced into marriage. They've tried every trick in the book on me, but that would be one too many.'
It seemed that he too was being pursued for reasons that had nothing to do with love.
Was this, then, the truth about the marriage game as society played it? Was there nothing else but scheming for advantage?
'But I have no intention of making such a marriage,' Rowena told herself. 'I'll marry a man I love, or I won't marry at all.'
With her maid's help she undressed quickly and got into bed, where she lay in the darkness, a prey to troubled thoughts.
Why had she not told her aunt or her father about the strange man at the ball? It was almost as though he'd cast a spell which had kept her silent.
He'd been impolite, unflattering. In fact he'd behaved as no man of her acquaintance had behaved before, as though he cared for nobody's opinion. He would do and say precisely what he wished, and if people disapproved, he would defy them.
Every rule of delicacy she'd been taught told her that this was shockingly improper. Yet during those few minutes in his company, she had known a sense of electric excitement she'd never felt before.
It was as though all the bells in the world had started ringing together. And she had responded to those wild vibrations, whether she wanted to or not.
It was a disturbing memory. But in all l
ikelihood she would never meet him again.
After a while she heard a knock on the door, and knew that her father wanted to speak to her. But she didn't want to talk to him until she had thought some more about what he'd said. So she pretended to be asleep, and after a while he went away.
She lay awake staring into the darkness, wondering what the misty future held.
'Perhaps I am wicked to defy Papa,' she thought. 'If I was a sensible, well-behaved daughter I would do as he wished and marry a title without asking for more.'
Then as if she was controlled not by her own thoughts, but those which came from another world, she sat up in bed.
'No, I am not being wicked!' she told herself. 'I want only what every woman wants, and has the right to fight for – love, the real love which comes from the heart and when she finds the right man, she feels the same for him as he feels for her.
'That is what I will seek. Not social grandeur but love, love, love.'
She jumped out of bed and went to the window. She wanted to shout the words through the windows to the flowers. Then she told herself she must behave discreetly. If she was to save herself from being sacrificed on the altar of social ambition, she must be subtle.
But she knew however much she raged, however much she tried to remain herself, she would inevitably be pushed, pleaded, begged and ordered to marry the man her father had chosen for her.
'What am I to do? Oh God, what am I to do?' Rowena asked herself.
But the only answer was the soft breeze in the trees, and the moon peering at her through the branches.
*
Colonel Thornhill had certainly chosen his house well. Haverwick Castle was in Kent, not too far from Dover, where his new ship, The Adventurer, was moored.
When he decided to move to Kent at the end of the season, it was as though a tidal wave had been set in motion. Colonel Thornhill and his family travelled in a state that the highest nobility in the land might have envied.
The servants and the luggage travelled a day earlier, in order to prepare the house for their master's arrival. They left behind only a skeleton staff to minister to the family on the last day.
The following morning the Colonel, Miss Thornhill, and Mr. Farley, climbed aboard the Colonel's grandiose carriage. Two footmen climbed up behind, the coachman sat on the box, and they were ready to be conveyed to the railway station, to take the train to Dover.
The Ship of Love Page 2