Theirs to Eternity

by Barbara Cartland

  “If you will excuse me, Papa, I shall go to her at once,” she said.

  “By all means, do go and try to cheer her up!” said Lord Shelford. “I shall look after the Duke and – Mr Crouch.”

  Peeling off her travelling gloves, Regine hurried into the hall and up the wide staircase to Davina’s suite.

  She found Davina sitting with one elbow on her dressing table, chin propped in her hand. Before her lay sheets of white paper, on which she seemed to be doodling.

  “Davina?” she ventured.

  Davina raised her eyes. “Oh, Regine. You have arrived.”

  Regine tried to ignore her sister’s less than enthusiastic greeting. She bustled forward and, laying her gloves over the top of the mirror, began to remove her hatpin carefully.

  “What a journey! Listening to that dreadful Mr Crouch and her complaints. I should like to have left her behind, but then I would have had to travel in a separate coach to the Duke, which wouldn’t have been at all cosy. Although I was hardly able to enjoy much of his company, for the moment he is in motion, he falls asleep. He even falls asleep on horseback. Well, at least he was spared the worst of Mr Crouch.”

  All the while she was discoursing, in an apparently carefree manner, Regine was busy examining her sister’s reflection in the mirror. Now her gaze dropped to the drawing paper and her eyes narrowed.

  “What are all those faces, my dear?”

  Davina stared down at the paper. “Those? Oh, they are – gypsies.”

  “Gypsies?” repeated Regine in amazement. She reached down and shifted the uppermost sheet towards her so that she could see it clearly. “All females, I see. And who is this – Esmé?”

  “That’s – the name. Of the gypsy.”

  “Oh, you’re preparing a portrait? But the faces are all so different.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s not a portrait of a real person then? Well, silly me, why would it be? Where on earth would you have encountered a gypsy!”

  “She – is a real person,” replied Davina slowly. “I just – haven’t ever seen her.” Regine stood poised with the hatpin in her hand. “Then why, pray, are you attempting to draw her?”

  “I – just want to know what she looks like.” Regine took off her hat and thrust the hatpin through it firmly. “Let me clarify. You are attempting to draw the face of a gypsy whom you have never seen, because you would like to know what she looks like?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “My dear, you are a quirky goose! I do hope you will not display too much of this originality in the presence of my fiancé. I hope you will conduct yourself – comme il faut –when you meet him.”

  “I shan’t mind if I don’t meet him at all,” said Davina truthfully. “I am not at all in the mood for company.”

  “Davina, what is the matter?” she asked at last in gentler tones than she had hitherto used.

  Tears welled in Davina’s eyes as she replied.

  “I can’t tell you. But if I knew – what she looked like – this Esmé – I think I would understand more.”

  Regine wondered what this obsession with Esmé signified. “Davina,” she said carefully. “Are you feeling at all doubtful about Howard Delverton’s affections? Because it is not too late to withdraw from this engagement if there is anything – amiss. However, I must point out that this Esmé you are so concerned with is nothing more than a gypsy, while Howard is a gentleman. I am sure he would never have anything to do with – such a creature.”

  Davina listened with her head down. How could she explain that it was Lord Delverton’s involvement with Esmé that troubled her, not Howard’s!

  Indeed, she was no longer certain that Howard had anything at all to do with Esmé. It was Jed who had uttered the name of the gypsy during that – unseemly brawl yesterday in the wood.

  And it was Jed who had taunted Lord Delverton about the ‘gypsies in the wood’. Was it not conceivable that, encountering Howard by accident yesterday, Jed had proceeded to defame him, thereby prompting Howard to defend his brother’s character?

  “Davina?” frowned Regine.

  Davina shook herself and looked up.

  “It is not at all as you imagine,” she said slowly. “It’s just that I heard – Jed Barker – declare this gypsy to be more beautiful than any society lady could ever be. And Howard begged to differ. I think they have laid a wager of some sort and I – am afraid that Howard is going to lose.”

  She almost blushed to see her sister’s frank gaze upon her. She had never told a lie to anyone, but she felt she could not possibly divulge the whole sorry truth.

  Regine gave a chuckle of relief.

  “And I suppose you are also worried that Howard will see this paragon of beauty and fall head over heels in love with her? Well, I have heard of this Jed from Papa. A savage, by all accounts. He could no more appreciate real beauty in a woman than he could appreciate bone china.

  “I would lay my money on this Esmé having as red and rude a countenance as – as Mr Crouch. And if you’re still worried about her, then I suggest you must somehow contrive to set eyes on her yourself.

  “Now. Brush your hair and come down to meet my Duke. Thank heaven he is only interested in breeding cattle and barely notices women at all!”

  Davina’s brimming eyes widened. For a moment she forgot her own concerns. “But – but he surely notices you?”

  Regine gave a hearty laugh. “Ah, yes, but you forget – I have the face of a heifer! Now, come along, little sister. No more moping!”

  Rising from the edge of the bed, Regine took up a brush and handed it firmly to Davina. As Davina began to tidy her hair, her mind, like a sparrow to its nest, returned to the matter of Esmé.

  She was too fair-minded and too romantic to console herself with the idea that no true gentleman could fall in love with a gypsy. However, if Esmé should indeed turn out to be – red and rude of countenance – then it would surely indicate such a weakness in Lord Delverton’s character and such a lapse of taste and judgement, that she, Davina, might be released from her misery!

  Lord Shelford was delighted when Davina came down to meet the Duke.

  The Duke was charmed. ‘Damn me if the gel didn’t have the look of a newborn colt about her!’ He insisted she sit by him at supper, where he spent the entire evening regaling her with advice on the various methods of breeding cattle. Davina listened with perfect, if subdued, composure.

  No one present could tell that, as the Duke droned on over his sherry, one thought and one thought only consumed her.

  How could she contrive to set eyes on Esmé, the mysterious gypsy in the Wood?

  *

  Next morning, a chill mist hung over Priory Park, wreathing the trees like cobwebs. The house itself was very quiet, save for the chink of scuttles as servants hurried to light the fires.

  Lord Shelford, the Duke and Mr Crouch all snoozed still in their respective beds. Only Regine was up and about, having set herself the task of overseeing the preparations for the engagement supper that night.

  Davina, in her green velvet dressing gown, sat alone in her room.

  Tonight she would see Lord Delverton and more than anything in the world she wanted to look upon him with – with contempt rather than longing.

  She had not slept well. All night images of Esmé had sifted through her mind, each one more outlandish than the last. Esmé had hair as coarse as marsh grass and eyes the colour of a puddle. She had fingers as thick as sausages. She had a wind-chaffed nose and skin like tanned leather. She looked like a butcher’s wife, a fishwife, a laundry woman.

  Only a man of debased tastes, such as those who frequented cockfights and low taverns, could be in love with her. If Lord Delverton was that kind of man then she, Davina, would be truly free!

  There was a knock at the door and Jess appeared with a tray of tea and biscuits. Davina had decided that she did not want to go down to breakfast that morning.

  “Jess.”

  “Yes, miss
?”

  “Are there any gypsies living in the wood?”

  “In the wood, miss? No. I don’t think so. They’re all camped out on Ledger’s field.”

  Jess placed a silver spoon on the saucer and handed the cup to Davina.

  “There used to be lots of ordinary folks lived in the woods, of course,” she continued. “Charcoal-burners and woodcutters. But gradually they drifted to town where work was more plentiful. So the cabins they lived in, which were only mud and thatch to begin with, just fell away. There’s nowhere left for anyone to live in now. Biscuit, miss?’

  Davina took one absently and laid it on her saucer.

  “Though Martha’s place might still be standing,” mused Jess.

  Davina looked up. “Martha?”

  “Martha Tolman. Evelyn Felk’s maid. She grew up in the forest. Her family lived there, though by the time Martha was working at Priory Park, they had gone to Laddleborough to work in the mill. Anyhows, their cottage was the only one built of stone, so it’s more than likely still standing.”

  Davina put down her cup and stared at Jess. If the Tolman cottage was the only place left in the wood that a person might inhabit, then that was the likeliest place she would find Esmé.

  “Do you know where this cottage is, Jess?”

  Jess considered. “It’s way over near the marshland, I believe. Why do you ask, miss?”

  “Oh, just idle curiosity,” murmured Davina. She crumbled the biscuit on her saucer thoughtfully.

  Two hours later, Davina was trotting into the woods that bordered Priory Park.

  Mist still hovered, wraith-like, between the trees. There was no sound in the woods, not even a birdcall. All Davina could hear was the soft thud of her horse’s hooves on the mossy path. Her own heart seemed to beat in parallel time.

  There was no other thought in her head than the urge to set eyes on Esmé, but no strategy as to how she would proceed once she found her.

  She rode for a good while and then reined in. While Blanche drank at a stream she drew a paper from her sleeve and regarded it closely. She had spent the morning in her father’s library, consulting various maps of the area until she found one where the woods were depicted in detail, complete with various paths leading to clearings.

  One or two habitations were even marked and one in particular had drawn her eye. It lay in a clearing near that edge of the wood that bordered the marshland and there was a name printed beside it – Tolman’s cottage.

  She had hastily copied out the route to the cottage and now she studied it. She folded the paper and replaced it in her sleeve. Tugging on Blanche’s reins, she urged her forward.

  The sun was high in the heavens when the trees before Davina opened into a glade and she saw before her a stone cottage with a low thatch roof.

  Davina’s heart quickened. If this was Tolman’s cottage, then it was not deserted. Somebody lived there and who else could it be but Esmé?

  The cottage door was closed. She knocked and listened. There was no answer from within. Hardly aware of what she was doing, almost as if to escape the blood pounding in her temples, Davina slowly lifted the latch and stepped inside.

  The interior was dim, the window being small and set deep in the wall.

  She could however see that the floor was well swept and the small table well scrubbed. Two tin mugs stood on a shelf and a broom leaned upright in a corner.

  She began to make out one or two more colourful items. A hand-painted candlestick stood on the mantel. A red enamel pitcher stood on the table. A purple and gold shawl lay idly thrown over the back of a crooked chair.

  Hesitatingly, Davina picked up the shawl. It was of a soft weave and from it rose a faint scent of jasmine.

  “Who are you? What are you doing here?” demanded a voice from the doorway and Davina spun round in shock.

  No butcher’s wife or fishwife, no laundry woman with a rude, red countenance met her eye. Instead she saw a being as rare and exotic as – as a mountain orchid. In one miserable instant, she knew that this was Esmé.

  No wonder Lord Delverton and Jed were so infatuated with her! Esmé regarded her intruder imperiously.

  “You cannot speak?” she asked haughtily.

  “I am s-so sorry,” began Davina, feeling herself tremble now that she was face to face with the woman she had so assiduously sought. “I did not mean to – trespass. I was hoping for – some water. I have been riding for some time.” Her gaze fell as she saw Esmé’s eyebrow rise. “I – lost my way,” she ended limply.

  Esmé walked past her to the shelf. She took down one of the two tin mugs and walked to the red pitcher that stood on the table. She poured and brought the mug to Davina.

  “Water,” she said.

  Davina dropped the shawl and took the mug from Esmé who watched as she drank.

  “You rode into the woods alone?” she asked.

  “Y-yes.”

  “Where have you come from?”

  “F-from Priory Park.”

  Davina sensed Esmé’s sudden stillness and looked up at her, perplexed. She would have expected Esmé to react to the name of Lark House, where Lord Delverton lived, not Priory Park, where she, Davina, lived.

  “Do you – know it?” she asked carefully.

  Esmé’s black pupils seemed to constrict. “I know it. I have heard – there is to be a wedding at Priory Park,” she said.

  “There is,” admitted Davina in a low voice. “Mine.” It was humiliatingly obvious that Lord Delverton had discussed her and her affairs with this gypsy!

  Esmé turned and regarded her.

  “Why are you not happy?” she asked scornfully. “Do you not love the man you will marry?”

  Davina drew in her breath, dismayed that Esmé could read her heart.

  “I hardly think – that is a question a stranger should ask.”

  Esmé gave a sudden, fierce laugh.

  “A stranger? You call me a stranger?”

  Swiftly she moved across to Davina and stood, glittering eyes fixed on her face. “I am no stranger. We have much in common, you and I!”

  ‘She knows,’ thought Davina in alarm. ‘She knows who I am and that I am drawn to Lord Delverton, for what else could we have in common but he?’

  Esmé was so close that Davina could detect the heady scent of jasmine from her hair. She imagined Lord Delverton here, in her place, so near this paragon, this wild, forest creature. How could he resist such allure?

  “Bah!” exclaimed Esmé, watching her closely. “Let us not pretend any longer. Your visit here is no accident. What is it you want from Esmé?”

  Davina faltered.

  “I w-want to know – how you f-feel.”

  “How I feel! I will tell you. Here.” Esmé beat her breast vehemently, “here in my bosom lies a love that will never die. Never! But what can you know from that? You – you are too pale and spoilt for such passion.”

  At the word passion, Davina’s eyes opened wide. Esmé drew back in surprise at their violet intensity.

  “You know nothing about me!” Davina cried. “Only that I am to marry and that I – that I love the man you love.”

  Esmé paled. “So you do love him?”

  The reply flew from Davina’s lips unchecked.

  “Yes. With all my heart. Yes.” She felt faint at this admission, barely made to herself before now, let alone to another.

  In one, unexpected move, Esmé pressed her hand over her face. “And he – does he love you?” she whispered.

  Behind her long, splayed fingers, Esmé’s flesh seemed drained of blood as she waited for the reply.

  Davina stared. Was Esmé then so uncertain of Lord Delverton’s affections? Had he behaved towards the gypsy as Howard intimated he behaved towards many women – inviting their affections and then withdrawing his? Was he really so cold and callous?

  She hung her head as she spoke what she now perceived to be the truth.

  “I do not think – he loves anybody,” she said mis
erably.

  “Can this be true?” moaned Esmé.

  She raised her other hand to her face and Davina started as she saw the glint of her red, ruby ring. Her blood chilled. There was no other way the gypsy could acquire such a costly jewel, but that it was given to her.

  Howard’s words on the subject of his elder brother rang again in Davina’s ears.

  “In the six months he has been back from Africa, he has squandered all his money on the ladies.”

  Her courage was suddenly spent. She had learned more than she wished to learn, admitted more than she wished to admit. Even to herself.

  “I-I must go,” she murmured in distress.

  “Wait!” Esme raised her face from her hands. Her features were drawn and her large eyes wet with tears. “It would be wrong – not to tell you – that there is danger for you – danger – ”

  Davina’s hands flew to her ears. “You are trying to frighten me! I will not listen to you, I will not listen – ”

  Esme’s expression changed in an instant. The tears in her eyes glittered now like splinters of ice.

  “Go then, fool that you are. Go. But do not believe it is finished between us. His heart is mine. Whatever you say. His heart is mine.”

  Without a backward glance, Davina stumbled past Esmé to the door. The chill mist outside seemed to mingle with the tears on her cheeks.

  She had only herself to blame but oh, how she wished she had not come within Esmé’s orbit! Lord Delverton was now so low in her esteem that she did not know how she was going to bear his company that evening at supper, how she was going to bear his company as her brother-in-law in the months and years that stretched ahead.

  Her mind teeming with such thoughts, she was well nigh at the copse where she had left her horse, before she realised that Blanche was not alone.

  A man stood leaning against the tree to which the reins were tethered. It was Jed. His own horse, head low, was cropping roughly at the damp grass.

  Davina hesitated and then walked forward slowly, blinking away her tears.

  “Well, well, and what brings you so far from home, Miss Davina?” Jed asked with a leer.