For some time after her talk with the Dowager, Celina wanted only to be alone with her thoughts. What she had heard and what she had said in reply was so momentous, that she could not bear anyone else’s company.
“I want you to marry my son.”
That was what the Dowager Countess had said and for a moment Celina’s heart had leapt. After all this time he wanted her and had asked his mother to make the proposal for him.
But then her delicious haze had cleared and she had realised that he knew nothing about this idea. It was not he who wanted her, but the Dowager, anxious to see him settle down.
“Ma’am, please stop and think,” she had said when she could control her sick disappointment. “He will never allow you to choose his wife.”
“He will never choose one for himself if I don’t act soon. I am persuaded that Robin will not marry for love. He has too many strange notions about love and marriage.
“Very well. Let him marry for friendship. Some of the best unions are made that way. And what woman is a better friend to him than you?”
Celina was silent, tormented equally by hope and doubt.
“I do not pretend that it will always be easy,” the Dowager continued carefully. “We both know what he is like and he is certainly not going to change overnight.”
“You mean he will not be faithful, ma’am?” Celina asked bluntly.
“It is not part of any man’s nature to be faithful, even when they do marry for love,” the Dowager replied. “We must be realistic. There is much to be said for harbouring no illusions on your wedding day. It saves a great deal of heartbreak later.”
“So I imagine,” Celina murmured wryly.
“And you are a sensible girl. I know I can entrust him to you. And you can run the estate for him, as I have done.”
“Thus enabling him to return to Paris and leave me alone?” Celina queried lightly. “I thought you said he was beginning to recognise his obligations?”
“He is indeed,” she declared with more hope than conviction. “He knows he must have children, and I am sure that whenever he departs for France you will always be with child.”
She seemed to find nothing wrong with this picture, so Celina forbore to say that it sounded a very bleak marriage.
She merely observed, “I will need time to think about this, ma’am.”
“Of course, my dear. But I am sure that when you have considered everything you will see what an excellent notion it is. You will have a fine home, rank and children. Better that than be a lonely old maid. Also,” she added hopefully, “as Robin grows older, he will probably slow down a bit.”
‘Slowing down’ would probably mean chasing females in this neighbourhood. Of the two Celina thought she might prefer Paris.
She had returned home sunk in thought. Her first thought was to reject the proposal utterly. She loved Robin with all her heart and soul.
She had dreamed of seeing the light of love in his eyes, of standing beside him in Church as he slipped a ring on her finger and made her his wife.
Now she was offered the loveless shadow of her dream – to become his wife, knowing that she meant nothing to him. How could she endure it? But then she thought of the life that lay before her if she refused.
She knew that her uncle would not live for very many more years. She would inherit his property which was comfortable but not luxurious and then spend the rest of her days alone.
Perhaps, in time, she would see the man she loved wed to another woman and still wish she had taken the chance when it was offered.
She would be lonely and often jealously miserable, but she would be the mother of his children. She could seek her happiness in them.
And perhaps, in time, her husband might become attached to her. It was little enough, but it was more than she had dared to hope for.
After two days of torment and indecision she returned to Torrington Castle.
“I will do as you wish, ma’am,” she agreed quietly.
“I knew you would, my dear.”
This made Celina feel, wryly, that it would be better if the Dowager had not been quite so certain. But, as the most important lady in the district, she was used to being able to order everyone’s life, except her son’s.
As if she could read her young friend’s mind, the Dowager said placatingly, “I meant only that I know how sensible you are. And this is really the most sensible choice to make, both for you and for him. Good sense is always best – in the end.”
Good sense. With those two words she dismissed the dreams that had brightened Celina’s life for years. She would attain her goal while losing the very thing that made it beautiful.
“Yes, ma’am,” she said quietly. “I am sure you are right.”
“Good, now everything is settled, we must start to make plans.”
“But surely, everything is not settled? Your son still has to agree to this marriage. Perhaps he will not want to marry me?”
The Dowager smiled.
“You can leave that to me,” she stated firmly. “Yes, what is it?”
The question was addressed to a footman who entered the room bearing a silver tray, on which lay a letter, the envelope of which was addressed in a very large, distinctive writing. Celina, who had seen it before, recognised the hand of her Ladyship’s sister, Clarice.
Evidently the Dowager also recognised it, for she seized up the letter with a little mutter of pleasure and tore it open. After reading a few lines she tossed it aside apparently pleased with what she had read.
“Now,” she said, “I want you to talk to my dresser about your wedding gown. She tends to every detail of my appearance, mending, lace-making and sometimes designing clothes. She has your dress all planned.”
“I am sure she has,” Celina murmured, in a daze.
“Then off you go. She is upstairs.”
Celina bent to retrieve the letter which had fallen on the floor. Without meaning too, she could not help reading the first line.
‘I have done just as you instructed – ’
Hastily she set the letter on a low table, careful not to read any more and hurried from the room.
She was not really surprised to discover that Mrs. Ragley, the dresser, had prepared some sketches and chosen the material, a glorious white satin. The veil was a Torrington family heirloom.
“Yes, I guessed your size perfectly,” Mrs. Ragley enthused. “It won’t take me long to finish the dress.”
“Will you need me to come for a fitting?”
“Yes, but not for a day or two. Don’t worry, I will send for you when I am ready.”
Celina went meekly away and did not return until she received Mrs. Ragley’s summons two days later.
Within ten minutes she was on her way in the pony and trap.
No matter how hard she tried to cling to common sense, she was filled with delight. She was going to try on her wedding dress for the ceremony that would make her Robin’s wife, as she had always dreamed of being. How could she be anything but happy?
And when she reached the castle there was something else to increase her joy. A carriage stood at the front door and there, pulling out the baggage, was Stigwood, the Earl’s valet.
So he had come home. Suddenly her heart was full to overflowing and she began to hurry. The front door stood wide open and she was too well known in the house for anyone to challenge her, so that she was able to run directly up the stairs to the Dowager’s room.
But when she reached her door she stopped, held back by a sudden shyness. Robin might be in there, talking to his mother. How would she face him?
Suddenly she tensed, alerted by the sound of male laughter, coming from just behind the door which stood slightly ajar. It was Robin and he was clearly enjoying a very good joke.
At last he paused in his laughter.
“Celina?” he queried in a voice that held as much astonishment as amusement.
She drew in her breath, her heart pounding as she waited for wha
t he would say about her. At last he continued,
“Me, marry Celina? No really, that is too much!”
He began to laugh again and this time he did not stop.
Celina listened, frozen, as the sound of his mirth seemed to stream out, surrounding her, causing her to choke.
“Mama, what were you thinking of?” he demanded. “Celina’s a nice girl, but she’s been on the shelf for years.”
“She is twenty-five,” came his mother’s acid voice.
“I rest my case.”
“Twenty-five is not old.”
“It is if you are a countrified spinster.”
“On the contrary, she has recently returned from London where, I understand, she received several good proposals.”
“Did she tell you that?” he asked hilariously. “Poor Celina. She’s been unlucky, so I suppose she has to invent these tales.”
Celina gasped and put her hands to her mouth to choke back the tide of misery.
Then she heard his footsteps coming closer to the door. Her heart thundered with dread. He must not find her here.
Quick as a flash she turned and darted down the stairs, out of the front door and towards the stables.
In another moment she was in the trap, frantically urging the pony to take her home as soon as possible.
Afterwards she could never remember anything about that journey. She knew that her heart was breaking and she would gladly die, but she saw nothing of the road flowing beneath her or the trees fleeing past.
If only she could reach home quickly and lock herself away where nobody could ever see her again. She thought the road would go on forever, but at last she could turn into the yard and halt sharply.
Tossing the reins to a groom, she flew upstairs and threw herself onto the bed, sobbing her heart out.
*
“Mama, you really must forget this idea,” Robin said when he managed to stop laughing. “I am not ready to be wed.”
“I did not ask if you were ready. I ask you to give me the dearest wish of my heart before – before it is too late.”
His laughter faded abruptly. Something about his mother’s voice told him that things had changed.
“If I have to die,” she said, “and it may be very soon, I want to be sure that the Torrington family will carry on, in pride and honour, for many more generations.”
Robin bent down and kissed her cheek.
“I will do my best, Mama. I want you to be happy but I also want you, as you have always been, to be here looking after me and loving me, as I love you so much.”
“Yes, you do love me, I know,” she said, “and you would not want me to die unhappy.”
“I wish you wouldn’t keep talking about dying,” he said in alarm. “I am sure you are worrying about nothing.”
But then he remembered the doctor’s face and how gravely he had spoken and he felt uneasy.
He wanted to please her, but how could he possibly do what she asked?
He had expected his mother to have much to say to him when he returned home, but never in his wildest dreams did he think for one moment she would have arranged his marriage and found him a wife in his absence.
He was about to say that the whole idea was impossible, but then his mother said weakly,
“I do not expect, my dearest son, to live for very long. The doctor has told me there is nothing he can do and now I must think of what will happen after I am gone.
“It has been my dream to see you happily married to a nice girl with your children growing around you. Alas, I shall not see my grandchildren, but I can at least witness your wedding.
“Then I shall know that the grandeur and traditions of our house are safe with you and that our line will go on and on, becoming more and more glorious. But perhaps I ask too much.”
Her voice died away and Robin could not, for the moment, find anything to say.
He could only stare at her, thinking that it was impossible to do what she had requested. Even for her, he would not give up his freedom.
But then he realised how fragile she looked.
Could it really be true, what she was saying, that she would not live for very much longer?
It might even kill her now if he refused to do what she wanted. How could he face life with that stain on his conscience?
He had been selfish all his life, but he was not heartless and he loved his mother. With an effort which seemed to him to come from the very depths of his body, he said,
“Very well, Mama. I will do as you ask.”
“Oh, thank you, my son, thank you with all my heart. You have made your mother so very happy.”
In an ecstasy of relief she threw her arms around him. He hugged her back, truly moved.
“But of course,” he added, “it depends on whether Celina is willing.”
“How can you doubt it?” she asked with a faint touch of acid. “You seem to think that she is at her last prayers.”
“Well, I certainly don’t believe the story of her fighting off suitors. So you think she will be ready to put up with me, having no other offers?”
“A girl must make do with whoever she can find.” She eyed him. “However unimpressive.”
There was an ironic gleam in her eye that made him grin. It did not occur to him that it contrasted oddly with her feeble manner.
“Quite so, Mama! And I suppose there might be advantages to having a wife who knows me so well.”
“Yes, you won’t have to make pretty speeches or tell the usual lies,” she observed caustically.
Then she gave a sigh.
“Tonight I will dine in my room and you will join me. But leave me for now. I am weary.”
Silently he vowed that he would do whatever was necessary to please his mother while she was alive. He would marry and remain here, a devoted son and a respectable husband, as long as she wanted him.
But all his senses were telling him that this would not be for long. And then he would return to his true life in Paris.
Later that evening, as she had said, the Dowager and her son dined in her room.
“Since you seem to have everything planned you had better tell me what happens next,” he enquired mildly, pouring her a glass of wine. “Shall I visit Celina or is she coming to us?”
“I was rather hoping to see her today. Mrs. Ragley is making her dress and sent for her for a fitting. But she says Celina did not arrive.”
“She is making her dress?” he echoed. “You were very sure of my answer, were you not?”
“I want no delay to this wedding.”
“And if you had to choose some other bride, no doubt the dress could be altered to fit her,” he observed with a smile. “Mama, you are incorrigible.”
“Certainly I am. Nothing would ever be done in this place otherwise.”
“Perhaps Celina does not want to marry me?”
“Half of me wishes that were true. It would do you the world of good. However, you had better visit her tomorrow and settle the matter.”
His eyes gleamed with humour.
“Yes, Mama. No, Mama. Whatever you say, Mama.”
“Don’t be impertinent.”
*
Celina rose early next morning and, taking pen and paper, sat down by her bedroom window. Her head was aching from a sleepless night and her face was wet with tears as she wrote a brief letter to the Dowager.
She wrote
‘Forgive me, but I am unable to do as your Ladyship wishes. Mature reflection has convinced me that such a marriage could not succeed.
I hope you will manage to find a wife for Lord Torrington. His rank and wealth will always make him most eligible and there must be many females who will overlook his reputation, and various other matters, in return for those qualities.’
She signed the letter,
‘Your affectionate friend,
Celina Storton.’
Then she sent it off by a footman, hoping it would arrive during breakfast. Her Ladyship would r
ead it and almost certainly show it to her son.
Celina experienced an angry pleasure at the thought of Robin reading those last few lines.
Let him know that she spurned him, that he was no more than a reject, shopping for a wife among women whose desperation would make them settle for anything – even him.
Yes, even him, she thought, her anger subsiding into wistfulness. Even him, with his wickedly enticing smile, the devilish charm in his eyes, his taut, upright figure, his way of looking the world in the face and daring it to do its worst.
Yes, even him.
Then she pulled herself together and forced herself to remember the real situation. It was she who was the reject, a woman who could make the man she adored roar with laughter at the mere thought of marrying her. And she had better not forget it.
After that she concentrated on her day’s work and was settled in the library, going over the household accounts, when a cab drew up outside the door.
The angle of the house cut off her view, so she could not see the new arrival until the library door burst open and a voice, throbbing with melodrama, cried,
“There you are!”
“My Lord!” she exclaimed, jumping to her feet, astonished at the sight of Lord Delaine. “What are you doing here?”
The Marquis waddled into the room, puffing mightily.
“I came for you, Goddess!” he cried. “Picture my sensations when I discovered that you had fled. Imagine my anguish, my heartbreak!”
“I tried to make you understand – ”
But he was in full flight and too absorbed in his own drama to listen to her.
“‘It cannot be!’ I cried. ‘But so it was.’ You had gone, and I was desolate.”
Despite her unhappiness Celina could not suppress a smile. She hastily covered her mouth, but she was not in time.
“You laugh at me,” the Marquis shouted.
“No, truly – ”
“You scorn my passion, but I have a heart only for you. Let me lay it once more at your feet.”
“Please, you must not – ”
But he was already well into his rehearsed performance, drooping down onto one knee, just as before, producing the same diamond ring and seizing her hand.
“Look at it,” he cried. “Have you ever seen a ring like this one? So elegant. So large! How the other women will envy you! Think how you will take precedence over them – well, most of them.”
They Sought love Page 4