“I don’t think I expected you to accept me,” he said at last. “It’s Hew, isn’t it? I think I’ve known that right from the beginning.”
She could not contradict him, and after a moment he said:
“I can’t pretend I’m not envious, but I know you’ll make him happy.”
Elizabeth drew her hand away, covering her face with it.
“There’s—nothing like that,” she told him in a choked voice. “Hew isn’t in love with me. He can’t forget Caroline.”
Always Caroline! Caroline’s name creeping in, even here, with the power to disrupt the utmost peace, even at a distance.
“He may not be able to forget her,” Stephen said slowly, “but he’ll never marry her. Not now.”
He seemed so convinced, so utterly sure that he knew what was in Hew’s mind, but Elizabeth could not be convinced. She could not forget that scene at the Castle on the night of the barbecue, nor drive Caroline’s words from her mind. She sat watching the last rays of the sun being drawn down behind the darkening shoulders of Ben More until a pale wash of lemon was, all that remained of the sunset’s gold—the glory they had seen—and then Stephen said, with a strange sort of finality in his voice: “Well, we have to get back now. Let’s hail the children!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
HEW did not put in an appearance at the Yacht Club dance until it was almost over.
Elizabeth, dancing with Stephen and Tony and several other members of the Club, tried to pretend that she had scarcely noticed his absence, but she could not pretend to her heart.
Caroline could get into a rage and flaunt her conquest of Tony to ease her injured pride when he did not come, but Elizabeth was not the sort of person who could do either of these things. She could only feel for Imogen and hate Caroline the more.
At supper they sat at the same table because Tony brought Caroline back with him after the supper-dance. He did not seem to see that he was hurting Imogen. It was not intentional. He was completely bewitched by his fair siren from Dromore, and Caroline made the most of her easy conquest.
“Have you drowned Hew in the harbour, Stephen?” she asked, when she could no longer restrain her impatience. “He hasn’t put in an appearance all evening. I know he’s not the dancing type, but he did come to the regatta and the Daimler is still in the car park.”
“We have to remember about his father,” Stephen pointed out. “It’s no time since Sir Ronald’s death, and, as you say, Hew’s not the dancing type, anyway.”
“But he’s the laird,” Caroline persisted, “and he has some sort of obligation to the occasion.”
“Hew won’t forget his obligations,” Stephen assured her quietly.
When Hew did come in Caroline and Tony were dancing together, circling the room, cheek-to-cheek, in a waltz, and Elizabeth saw his quick frown as he watched them.
“When did you get in?’ he asked Stephen.
“Shortly after nine. We went across to Loch Spelve.”
“I see.” He glanced quickly in Elizabeth’s direction. “Would you care to dance?” he asked conventionally.
She stood up with a small, wavering smile.
“If it’s only a duty dance, Hew, I don’t mind sitting it out,” she said half bitterly as he guided her across the floor.
Angrily his arm tightened about her, like a steel band pressing her to him, so that there could be no way of escape.
“I don’t do this sort of thing out of a sense of duty,” he told her. “Did you enjoy your afternoon with Stephen in his pirate’s hideaway?” he demanded.
She was forced to laugh at that.
“I thought it was very beautiful,” she confessed, “and kind of Stephen to take me.”
“Kind?” He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Yes, very kind. Stephen has the right background for that sort of thing.”
“Do you know Loch Spelve?” It seemed a foolish sort of question to ask, but she had to say something because she could not understand him in this present, almost belligerent mood.
“Quite well,” he told her dryly. “It has always been the perfect setting for romance.”
She caught her lip between her teeth.
“Are you going to marry Stephen?” he asked.
“No.” He must have felt her quiver, for the pressure of his supporting arm tightened again. “I’m not going to marry anyone, Hew.”
He guided her half-way round the room before he spoke again.
“What makes you so sure of that?” he demanded.
“How is one sure? If you are in love with someone you don’t marry anyone else.”
“That’s entirely a woman’s reasoning”—curtly.
“It’s sound reasoning,” she tried to convince him.
“To go through the remainder of your life in a sort of half light, weeping for first love when a second, deeper passion might be there for the taking?”
“I’d—have to be convinced of the deeper passion first.” Her voice had quivered a little, but she forced herself to add: “Why are we talking like this? It doesn’t concern us—”
“It concerns me, because I’m going to ask you to marry me,” he said.
Elizabeth stiffened in his arms. She could not believe what she had heard.
“It’s—hardly the sort of thing one wants to joke about,” she said in a strangled undertone. “I—do you mind if we do sit this out, Hew? It’s so warm—” Without further question he led her away from the dancing throng across the carpeted outer lounge to a secluded corner beside a banked array of flowers— hydrangeas and carnations and roses that made a sea of colour before her swimming eyes.
Battling against tears, she sat down on the velvet divan along the wall.
“Can I bring you something to drink?” he asked. She shook her head.
“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” he said, seating himself on the edge of the divan and half turning to face her. “Consider it unsaid.”
“How can I?” Her voice was broken, submerged in bewilderment. “You can’t just—scrub out a thing like that and—and forget about it.”
Trembling now from head to foot, she feared that he would see the misery and despair of her loving in her eyes, and she did not want him to see it and pity her.
“I meant what I said.” His voice did not waver and it held little tenderness. “You’ve just told me that you’re not going to marry Stephen—I’ve asked you to marry me. You need a home and I need someone to look after Ardlamond. What could be more—convenient?” The words struck across her heart like a blow.
“But what about Caroline?” she said, only loud enough for him to catch as he bent his dark head towards her. “What about Caroline?”
Above her she could see his face, cold and grim in the dim light of the shaded candelabra on the wall, and suddenly it seemed to be dark with fury and contorted with the agony of four years of suffering and disillusionment.
“Caroline walked out of my life four years ago,” he said. “You can hardly expect me to welcome her back now.”
She felt her heart beating stiflingly close against her throat. He had asked her to marry him, but he had uttered no words of love, made no real promise to guide her in the future. He needed her at Ardlamond. He needed someone in his home to be the proud mistress of that lovely old house, and she would be there often enough because Tony was his ward. What could be more convenient?
The echo of his words scorched her. A suitable way of saving his pride because he had vowed, all those long years ago, never to forgive Caroline for what she had done to him.
Her heart recoiled before the truth, for surely this was the truth? Vividly she recalled the scene at Dromore Castle when Caroline’s clear, concise words had floated out to them in the sunken garden on the night of the barbecue.
“It’s only your foolish pride that is keeping us apart, Hew,” Caroline had protested stormily. “You won’t accept me now because of my wretched money. That’s what you’ve been trying to say, isn’t it? But you w
ill marry—you must marry—in time. It will be expected of you. You’re the laird! That matters, I suppose!”
And Hew had said that it mattered. It mattered very much to him that he should have an heir to carry on the old family line. For five hundred years there had been Kintyres at Ardlamond, eight generations of them handing down their name and their responsibilities from father to son, and he was the last of the them.
Looking up into the proud, hard face with its set, almost ruthless mouth, she could only remember that final, passionate cry forced from Caroline in the bitterness of her defeat.
“Knowing you love me—knowing you will never be able to forget me as long as you live—you’ll make a marriage of convenience because of Ardlamond—because you need to provide an heir! But it won’t succeed! I’ll always be there—always in your heart, because I was there first!”
Desire and doubt, despair and love tore at her one after the other while he waited patiently for her answer.
“Take your time,” he advised. “There’s no need for you to make a decision all at once. But it would be a good thing for Tony.” He thrust his hands deeply into his pockets as he rose to his feet. “He needs your influence. When I am too harsh with him he would have you to come to for sympathy.”
“It’s—a strange reason for getting married,” she attempted to say lightly, but her voice quivered on the words, and he turned back to her instantly.
“Think it over,” he repeated more gently. “I’m sorry if I’ve rushed you too much, Elizabeth, but there didn’t seem any reason to wait. I know what I want and you’re undecided about the future. You’re not going to marry Stephen, and Tony needs you here. At least we could try an engagement.”
She stood up, swaying a little uncertainly on her feet.
“Oh, Hew—” she said, and was instantly in his arms.
His lips found hers, savagely, possessively, with a world of hurt in their demand, and she clung to him without reserve. She knew that she would marry him now, in spite of everything.
When he set her free he was quick to apologize.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have let you make your decision—alone.”
She held out her hand.
“I think I’ve made it already, Hew,” she told him. “It’s—yes, I’ll marry you.”
He looked surprised, but covered it up with a brief smile.
“Do you want me to announce our engagement when we go back?” he asked conventionally. “Or do you want to wait and think again?”
She remembered Caroline and her mouth grew hard. “I don’t think there’s any reason why we should wait, is there?” she said.
“None in the slightest.” He put his hand beneath her elbow, guiding her through the lounge to the open door of the ballroom. “Any reservations?” he asked. Elizabeth looked straight ahead.
“No,” she answered. “None.”
“Not even about the date of our marriage?”
“No.”
Caroline was still part of the group round their table. She was standing beside Tony, holding a glass of champagne and laughing at something he had said, but behind the laughter there was a watchfulness and an uneasiness which suggested that her high party spirits might not be quite so spontaneous as they appeared to be. Her eyes glittered in the bright light from the overhead chandeliers as Hew and Elizabeth approached.
“We wondered where you had gone,” Imogen greeted them, as if she had to say something to cover up her own unhappiness. “But we knew Elizabeth wouldn’t want to miss the last dance.”
Stephen was on his feet, looking at Elizabeth with a half-rueful smile, as if he had already guessed her secret.
“We’re going to be married,” Hew told them without preamble. “Elizabeth has just promised to be my wife.” The rather stilted, wholly conventional announcement dropped into a tense silence, broken only by the little background noises of the ballroom—the low-toned conversation, the muted laughter, the scrape of a chair on the polished floor, the sound of the orchestra tuning up for the last waltz.
Caroline stood with her glass half raised to her lips, like a figure carved in stone. There was no colour in her face and her nose looked sharply pinched as she drew in a deep, quivering breath. “Whom do we congratulate?” she asked at last.
“Both of us,” Hew said, looking fully into her narrowed eyes.
“This is wonderful!” Tony cried, swinging round to shake Hew by the hand. “I had no idea—”
“Neither had anyone else!” Stephen backed him up loyally. “Hew, you old dark horse! You’ve been holding out on us!”
“Everything is happening at once!” Imogen said, forgetful of her own heartache for the moment. “But this is wonderful news! You’ll love it at Ardlamond, Elizabeth, and—you’re just the right sort of person for Hew!” She dropped a light kiss on Elizabeth’s cheek. Behind her Elizabeth could see Caroline standing close to the table, still with her champagne glass in her hand. She had looked stunned, but now slowly, slowly she was coming to life. A dark, burning colour swept into her cheeks and she bit her teeth into her lower lip. When she laid down the glass her hand was trembling. The champagne spilt from it in a little river that ran swiftly across the table’s polished surface to trickle on to the floor.
Everyone stared at it, not speaking for a moment, and then Caroline said:
“Come on, Tony, let’s dance this! It’s much too good a tune to miss.”
Something in the hard, clipped tone, something about the way she looked at Tony, turned Elizabeth’s blood to ice. Caroline had been defeated, but the battle was not entirely lost. Tony was easy prey—foolish prey—and through Tony she hoped to injure Elizabeth. She was humiliated enough to see that as the only way left to her, to take her revenge through Tony.
But how could she? How could she, if Tony would only be sensible!
“Shall we dance?” Hew asked. “Or would you like the last one with Stephen? He’s a far better dancer than I am.”
“I’m going to take Imogen home,” Stephen said. “She looks tired. Will you say good night to Tony for us?” He held Elizabeth’s hand a second longer than convention demanded, looking closely into her radiant face. “I don’t think I need say ‘be happy,’ Elizabeth,” he added quietly. “I think you are.”
Imogen kissed Elizabeth again without speaking. The quick tears of a keen disappointment were very near her eyes and her lips quivered a little as they touched Elizabeth’s cheek.
“Come to Ardlamond one day soon,” Elizabeth said, not quite sure whether she should have issued the impulsive invitation or not. “Tony and Hew will probably be too busy to entertain us, but at least they can join us for tea.”
Imogen did not promise, and Stephen slipped a protective arm about her as they moved through the crowd towards the door.
“Would you mind if I got my coat, Hew?” Elizabeth asked suddenly. “I feel that I’ve danced enough for one evening.”
“I’ll wait for you outside,” he said with some relief. “It’s stiflingly hot in here.”
He followed her through to the lounge, where he was immediately accosted by a group of yachtsmen coming from the cocktail bar.
“A word with you, Hew, before you go!” one of them greeted him. “We won’t keep you more than a minute or two.”
Elizabeth turned quickly into the ladies’ cloakroom, hoping for a word with Imogen, but she had already gone. The little room with its pink and grey decor was momentarily deserted. She passed in her ticket and waited for her coat, her heart beating swiftly at the thought of Hew and all the changes this evening had brought with it for both of them. It was impossible to think clearly yet about all that had happened—the day itself had been so full—and she did not attempt to question her swift decision about the future. She loved Hew and she would make him happy.
The attendant passed over her coat.
“It’s been a nice day, miss,” she ventured a trifle wearily.
“A lovely day,” Elizabeth respo
nded as the door behind her opened.
She turned, slipping into her coat, to find herself confronted by Caroline. And face to face with all the fury of a woman scorned.
Caroline stood with her back to the door, her eyes narrowed in the calculating way she had when she was very angry, her red lips curved in a cruel little smile which was more like a sneer.
“Do you expect to be happy living with a man who keeps a memory in his heart?” she asked beneath her breath. “If so, you’re being a greater fool that I take you for. Every time Hew sees me he will remember the past. You’ve caught him on the rebound, but it won’t last,” she declared with icy conviction. “It won’t last five minutes with the thought of me always there!”
Elizabeth caught her breath. She was trembling from head to foot. She was no real match for Caroline because she believed what Caroline said to be true, but she would not be browbeaten.
“I think I can blot it out in time,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry you feel this way about my marriage to Hew, but—but it can’t be helped. There’s only one thing, Caroline,” she added on an impulse which she was afterwards to regret in an agony of despair. “Please give Tony a chance. Please leave him alone.”
Caroline drew back, and in that moment Elizabeth recognized the mistake she had made. She had put a weapon into Caroline’s ruthless hand.
“Tony and I understand one another,” Caroline said smoothly. “Don’t worry too much about us, Elizabeth. You’re going to have enough to do, worrying about your marriage to Hew.”
She moved swiftly to collect her wrap, like a sleek panther, Elizabeth thought with a sickening feeling of despondency in the pit of her stomach.
She tugged at the door, hurrying in the direction of the lounge to find Hew. In the ballroom the orchestra was playing Auld Lang Syne, but the music seemed a world away.
Hew turned, saw her and came instantly to her side. “Shall we collect the rest of the family?” he asked.
“Tony was dancing,” she reminded him shakily. “But Caroline has gone for her wrap. He’s probably out in the car park.”
The Last of the Kintyres Page 15