The cottage door swung open and a gust of rain swept in. Out in the wet night, a wild haired figure cackled at the sight of the gypsy supporting Lord Delverton back to his bed of straw.
*
Concerned at the increasing listlessness and pallor of his daughter, Lord Shelford decided that what she needed was more fresh air and exercise.
Accordingly he had approached Howard Delverton for advice on purchasing a pony for Davina to ride.
“My own horses are rather too large and highly strung,” explained Lord Shelford.
“I have the very fellow to help you!” said Howard. “Jed Barker. He knows a great deal about horse trading. He will find you a pretty and well behaved little animal.”
The very day after the storm, Jed and Howard rode up the driveway to Priory Park together, Jed leading a high-stepping white mare on a halter.
Lord Shelford was delighted and called for Davina.
“There, now, Davina,” he said. “I don’t know what ails you, but a trot out on that little creature will surely lift your spirits.”
Davina, concerned that her father was so worried about her, forced a smile. “Why, Papa, how thoughtful of you! She’s – she’s delightful.”
“Why don’t you try her out immediately?” suggested Howard. “I would gladly accompany you for the ride.”
“I am not dressed for such an excursion,” murmured Davina.
“Mr Delverton will wait in the library until you have changed,” urged her father. “And his man can wait here with the horses.”
“Begging your pardon, Lord Shelford,” broke in Jed darkly. “I am not a servant.”
There was an uncomfortable pause. Then Lord Shelford gave a bow.
“My apologies,” he said. “You are of course welcome to join – Mr Delverton and myself for refreshment.”
Davina, embarrassed for her father, thought no more of resisting his blandishments that she ride out. She hurried to her room, where Jess helped her into her riding habit.
“He’s a handsome one, he is!” said Jess as she adjusted the veil on Davina’s hat.
“Whom do you mean?” asked Davina abstractedly.
“Why, that Master Howard,” replied Jess.
“Oh,” said Davina. “I suppose he is.”
“Suppose, miss? Why, there isn’t a young lady from here to Lalham wouldn’t give their best bonnet to be in your place today, riding out with him.”
“Would they feel the same if it was – his brother?”
“Oh, he’s far too serious!” laughed Jess. “A girl wants someone who’s ready for a laugh and a dance.”
She could not read Davina’s sad expression through her grey veil.
When Davina presented herself downstairs, Howard rose in delight.
“Upon my word, what an elegant figure you cut, madam.”
Lord Shelford looked taken aback at this rather forward remark, but had to admit that he agreed.
“Very like her dear mother,” he said fondly.
Jed drained his glass of whiskey and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, saying nothing.
It was a fresh morning after the torrent of the night. The grass smelled sweet and damp and the hedgerows still glistened with beads of rain.
“What will you call your pony, Miss Davina?” asked Howard, trotting at her side.
“I haven’t thought,” replied Davina. “She is – very pretty. Such a dazzling white.”
“Call her Gypsy, why don’t you,” growled Jed from behind. Howard gave an awkward laugh.
Davina glanced backwards. She was uncomfortable at the presence of Jed and wished Howard had sent him back to Lark House rather than have him ride with them. Jed made her think of a brooding animal – a dangerous animal, that lurked in forests, in shadows.
She was confused by his ambivalence towards her. One minute he regarded her with seeming contempt, another he flashed her a look of cold-eyed appraisal. She had the curious sensation of being somehow in his sights, like a forest creature that he surveyed down the barrel of his gun.
Shaking off these morbid thoughts, she patted her mount’s white neck.
“I think I will call her Blanche,” she decided.
“That’s a pertinent name,” smiled Howard. “We had a racehorse once called Blanche.”
“You mean – your brother and you?”
Howard exploded with laughter. “I mean Jed and me. Charles buy a racehorse? He’s more likely to buy a carthorse. It’s all work for Charles.”
Davina’s brow creased. “But you said he spent all his money – on the ladies?”
“Ah, yes,” responded Howard quickly. “Since he got back from Africa. It seems to have shaken him up out there. Hasn’t it, Jed?”
“That’s right,” said Jed with a stifled snort.
Davina turned her head and was startled to see that Jed had urged his horse forward and was now riding abreast of her, on her right. With Howard on her left, she suddenly felt hedged in.
“Indeed,” continued Jed, “I heard Charles got hisself somewhat involved out there. With the daughter of a local chieftain. If he hadn’t left when he did, he might have woken up with his throat cut.”
Davina closed her eyes in horror.
“Jed!” called Howard sharply. “Can’t you see you’re upsetting the young lady? Why don’t you ride on to the smithy’s and see if he’s finished shoeing the carriage horse?”
Jed dug his heels so deeply into his steed’s flanks that it reared up with pain. “As you wish, Delverton!” he leered, and spinning his horse round, set off at a gallop across the heath.
“Was that true?” asked Davina in a low voice. “About – Africa?” Howard was silent for a moment. “My brother is a – an enigma,” he said at last, in a somewhat uneasy tone. ‘It must be true, if he does not wish to discuss it,’ thought Davina miserably.
The more she learned of Lord Delverton, the more she realised that her image of him had been a chimera.
Would she ever learn to see a man as he truly was and not turn him into a figure of romance and fantasy?
*
Charles had relapsed into a feverish state of semiconsciousness. He had perhaps risen too soon and thus set back his recovery. He was aware of the gypsy once again tending him, bringing him strong smelling potions, placing dampened flannels on his body to cool him, changing the dressing around his brow. Finally she removed it altogether and it was at that moment that Charles opened his eyes to gaze at her.
“Your name? What is your name?” he murmured. “Esmé.”
“Esmé. Esmé,” he repeated. “Is that all?”
“That is all.”
Esmé made to turn away, but Charles caught at her hand and raised it to his lips.
“Whoever you are,” he muttered, “you will always have the gratitude of the Delverton family.”
To his surprise, Esmé drew back her hand as if she had been stung.
Charles’s arm dropped to his side. “W-what is the matter?” he asked weakly, his eyes half closed.
“Nothing.” Esmé, biting her lip, turned away and moved to the door.
“Sleep,” she called over her shoulder. “Sleep will heal you. Sleep.”
The door closed behind her.
How much longer he did indeed sleep Charles had no way of knowing, but the hour came when at last his mind felt clear and he was once again master of his thoughts.
It was a bright morning. Birds were singing in the eaves of the thatch and a ribbon of sunlight lay across the beaten earth floor.
Into the recovered clarity of his mind came rushing memories of the recent past. The death of his father – problems with the estate – altercations with Howard – Aunt Sarah’s machinations – the ride to Lalham so cruelly interrupted by the attack. All of these memories were softened by the image of Davina, languishing in his arms after she had fainted.
For this alone, he would have been glad to survive.
He ran his hand over his chin and grimaced ruef
ully. He had grown something of a beard. He wondered what he looked like after so many days out of the world!
He rose and made his way to the other room in the cottage.
Something was gently bubbling in the pot over the fire. Peering in, he determined it was porridge. His pangs of hunger surprised him. He was most certainly on the mend, if not fully recovered.
“Good morning,” came a voice from behind him.
Esmé stood in the open doorway, green boughs swaying beyond her. She carried two pitchers of water.
Charles bowed. “Good morning. I feel I must apologise for looking so – unkempt.”
In response, Esmé crossed the floor and emptied the pitchers of water into a large tub standing on a stool.
“For you,” she pointed. “Give me your shirt and breeches and I will wash them.”
Charles hesitated. “This – sling.”
Esmé approached and swiftly untied the sling from around his neck.
He gingerly straightened his arm and clenched his fingers. He realised with satisfaction that he would not need to put on the sling again.
“Your clothes,” Esmé reminded him.
Still Charles hesitated. Esmé gave him a mocking smile, took down a cloak from a hook and tossed it to him. Then she turned her back while he removed his clothing and dropped it all into a bundle.
“I will take these to the stream,” said Esmé, picking up the bundle. “When I return I will serve breakfast.”
He plunged his hands into the cold water. He felt as if he was washing away the fever and confusion of the last few days.
He was sitting wrapped in the cloak when Esmé returned. He watched her drape his wet clothes over the bushes outside. Then she entered the cottage and ladled out the porridge.
“This is delicious,” he marvelled.
Esmé said nothing. She ate quickly, her eyes always on him, as if he might escape her if she looked away.
Charles felt her searching gaze. “It is strange to be eating together like this,” he said, “when you do not even know my name.”
“But I do know your name.”
“You do?” He was momentarily taken aback.
“You said it to me. When you were feverish. You are a – Delverton.”
“Ah, yes. I remember. Well, I am indeed a Delverton. Charles, Lord Delverton.”
“There are no Lords in the forest,” replied Esmé in a flash.
He looked beyond her, to the green, peaceful world visible through the open door. The sight of his breeches and shirt undulating on the swaying boughs made him smile.
“You are right,” he said. “There are certainly no Lords in the forest.”
He put his bowl down and gazed at his companion.
“You are always alone here, Esmé?”
“Yes.”
“You are never with – your people?”
A shadow crossed Esmé’s brow. “No.”
Charles mused for a moment. “So when did you come here?”
Esmé raised her large jet black eyes and spoke with complete frankness, “Two months ago. I was without a home. I found this cottage.
“It was empty and neglected and I made it my own. But it seems another considered it hers, for I returned one day to find a half mad creature – the woman you frightened from the hearth – sleeping in a corner. She never cared that I was here too and comes and goes as she wishes.”
Charles nodded. “Well, it is lucky for me that you were here. How did I find you?”
“You did not. I found you.”
He looked surprised. “You found me? I imagined that I was – injured in an attack and somehow stumbled to your door.”
“You were attacked, but some miles from here. I was out hunting – ”
‘For which read poaching,’ thought Charles, but he was not about to say anything.
“– and heard cries,” continued Esmé. “I crept through the trees to see what was happening. Four or five masked men were beating you. I cried out and came forward with my knife and they all ran away.”
“Your knife?” exclaimed Charles.
“Of course. I use it for hunting.”
“You are very brave,” he declared. “Those men had pistols.”
“I knew they were cowards,” said Esmé scornfully. “When I saw you, I thought they had killed you, but I felt your heart and it was beating. I brought you here on your horse.”
“My horse?” he broke in delightedly. “You have my horse?”
“Yes. It is in a nearby clearing. The robbers took everything else and so I had no idea of who you were.”
Charles was silent for a moment. “I owe you my life,” he said at last. “How can I ever repay you?”
A strange look came into Esme’s eyes. “I have saved you for your family. That is enough,” she replied. Before he could respond she sprang to her feet. “Come. Let us go and find your horse. He will be glad to see you.”
“Like this?” he exclaimed, indicating his beard and the cloak in which he was dressed. “I look like a monk!”
“Your horse will not care,” laughed Esmé. “And who else is there to see you?” She moved quickly to the door and looked enticingly back at him.
“Come!”
His horse, Faro, raised his head from the grass and neighed when they approached.
“He looks beautifully groomed,” Charles remarked in surprise.
“I have looked after many horses,” proclaimed Esmé proudly. “We were a circus family.”
There was such a look of longing on her face that he knew at once how he could repay her for saving him. He said nothing for the moment, however, only asking her if she had ridden Faro. She confessed she had. Indeed, she had been ‘practising’ her act on him. Charles was intrigued.
“Show me!” he urged.
Esmé needed no further encouragement. She leapt onto Faro and he immediately kicked his heels with delight and set out at a canter over the grass. In one clear move, she swung herself up to stand on his shining flanks.
As Faro circled the clearing, Esmé raised a leg and balanced with all the grace of a dancer on the other. Then she slid down again to a sitting position and grasping a handful of Faro’s mane, slipped sideways until she was almost under the horse’s body.
“Bravo! Bravo!” Charles applauded.
The sun glinting on the trees – the proud look in Faro’s eye – Esmé’s grace – her lustrous dark hair flying out behind her – the birds wheeling over his head – all this gave him a sense of freedom that he had rarely, if ever, experienced.
He almost wished he could remain here forever, where there were neither duties nor cares to burden him. Remain here with this unhindered spirit, Esmé. Leave Lark House to the ministrations, inept though they would be, of his brother Howard. What did status matter, when there was this? The sweet, exhilarating rush of liberty?
Yet even as these thoughts swept him, a vision of Davina rose to his mind. Alluring though Esmé’s dark eyes might be, they could not compare to violet – the rich ebony of her hair could not efface the memory of gold.
Of one thing he was now certain. This episode in the forest had taught him something. Life – and happiness – were to be grasped with both hands.
If status did not matter, then neither did pride. He would woo Davina, though he had little to offer her but his heart. He would woo her and make her his own.
Faro galloped towards his master and in one leap Esmé was at his side again.
“You admire me?” she panted.
Charles laughed. “I do admire you, Esmé. You are very skilful.”
“It is in my blood,” she replied simply.
The two of them started walking back to the cottage. Charles explained that he must soon return to his home, that afternoon if possible. Although his family and friends happened to believe he was in London, they must wonder why they had heard no word from him.
He glanced sideways at his companion.
“There is one thing I shoul
d like to ask you, Esmé.”
“Yes?”
“I understand that at first you could not send to my house because my identity was unknown to you. But once I had divulged my name – it surely would not have been difficult to send for my family and enlighten them as to my whereabouts?”
Esmé bit her lip and looked away. “It is many miles to your house. I could not leave you alone for long. I had to make many potions from the herbs I picked. You must not ask me, anyway,” she ended with such sudden and inexplicable anger that he thought it politic to probe no further.
By noon, his clothes were dry. Esmé, whose good humour was as easily restored as lost, insisted on shaving off his beard with her knife.
“You must not frighten your friends,” she laughed. At last she stepped back and regarded him contentedly. “There. You are a Lord again. Now you cannot stay in my forest.”
“I am banished?” he smiled.
He was astonished at the anguished look that crossed Esmé’s face.
“Banished,” she murmured. “Yes. Banished.”
She accompanied Charles to the clearing where he saddled Faro in silence. He tightened the girth and then swung himself into the stirrups.
“Esmé,” he said, looking down at her, “I am forever at your command.”
“At my command?”
“Yes.”
“Then there is one thing I command you. Tell no one about me.”
He inclined his head. “If that is what you wish.”
“It is.”
With that, Esmé was gone, vanishing through the trees.
Charles looked after her for a moment and then he and Faro set off in the opposite direction.
The road through the woods was dark but he knew his way lay south.
South to home and to one whom he hoped would be the joy of his heart.
*
Davina stood at her dressing table. Her sad, pale face looked back at her from the mirror. “YOU DO NOT LOVE LORD DELVERTON, YOU DO NOT LOVE LORD DELVERTON” she told her reflection, but the sad expression in the glass did not change.
Something must happen, she cried in desperation.
Something must happen to stop me thinking about him.
Quitting her room, she wandered the echoing house.
In the gallery that ran along the front of the house, she walked to the window and leaned her face against the glass.
Theirs to Eternity Page 6