06.The Penniless Peer (The Eternal Collection)

by Cartland, Barbara

  She had only to think of it to feel again that strange rapture which was unlike anything she had ever imagined she could feel.

  She had always thought it would be wonderful to be kissed by Periquine, but she did not realise that the thrill of it would sear its way through her body, or that she would feel as if a sudden flame awoke something within herself so fierce, so passionate that she was almost afraid of its strength.

  ‘It was wonderful!’ she whispered to herself, and then questioned whether it had meant anything to Periquine.

  Had he too felt that strange magnetism which had held their lips spellbound so that neither of them could move? Had he also known the magic which had made her completely his captive, so that she felt she was surrendering to him not only her lips, but her heart and her soul?

  Then like a bitter blow she remembered that Periquine was in love with Hetty.

  What she was feeling now must be the emotion which he felt when, with that exquisite pink and white face raised to his, he kissed those perfect rose-bud lips.

  ‘How can I be so foolish as to imagine for one moment that I could mean anything to him!’ Fenella thought. ‘How can there be any comparison between Hetty and myself?’

  She knew only too well what she looked like with her worn-out faded dresses, the freckles powdering her small nose, her dark-red hair curling riotously over her head, instead of being elegantly arranged by a fashionable hairdresser.

  ‘Stop being so idiotic!’ she told herself severely. ‘You are just Periquine’s cousin, a girl for whom he has a warm affection but whom he regards as nothing but a romp. A child he has known all his life, for whom he has the same sort of love as he would give to his sister.’

  Because she felt so weak the tears came into her eyes at the thought of how far removed he was from her in spirit, however close they might be in reality.

  ‘Tomorrow I will go to the Priory,’ Fenella told herself. Periquine’s bed-room will be in a nice mess by now and I am sure old Barnes will have forgotten to press his cravats, Mrs. Buckle will have cooked him the same dish over and over again, because she always forgets what she had served the day before.’

  She was planning how she would get up early and would ride over before Periquine had time to leave the house.

  He had taken to going first thing to see the farms that were being repaired, and she also had a suspicion that either today or tomorrow he would go back to Hellingly to see what had happened to the cargo.

  It would not have been wise to go before.

  The military would still be making searching investigations along that part of the coast, perhaps questioning Mr. Renshaw and anyone else they could find in the village.

  They would learn nothing, Fenella was sure of that, because the villagers of Hellingly had been involved in smuggling activities all through the war and were far too careful of themselves to turn informer.

  There were horrifying tales about the brutality of smugglers to those who denounced them to the authorities or even to those who had been bullied into disclosing the whereabouts of a hidden cargo.

  Fenella was sure that all who lived in the Hellingly dis trice would be far more frightened of Mr. Renshaw and the smugglers than of the soldiers.

  At the same time it would be dangerous for Periquine to be seen there, and she only hoped he had been sensible enough to keep away.

  Anna had told her that he had called to enquire how she was both yesterday and the day before. But her mother would not permit him to come up to her bed-room.

  This was a somewhat belated effort of propriety on the part of Mrs. Lambert, but it made Fenella realise that at least the fact that she was grown up had percolated into her parent’s mind.

  “I want to see Lord Corbury, Anna,” she had said to the old maid.

  “I’m not bringing him up the back-stairs without your mother’s knowledge,” Anna had declared. “He’s done enough damage to you already, without getting you into any more trouble.”

  “I have some very important matters to discuss with him,” Fenella pleaded.

  “Then they’ll have to wait!” Anna said with a determination in her voice which Fenella knew was final.

  ‘Today I shall be able to see him,’ Fenella told herself and felt he was sure to call.

  Then despondently she thought that perhaps he was not missing her company and would be too engaged on other matters to make enquiries about her health for the third time.

  ‘He will not be pleased,’ she thought miserably. ‘that his plans have gone awry.’

  At the same time, once the soldiers had moved away, they could salvage the boat and Mr. Renshaw would arrange for the brandy and tobacco to be fetched by the ponies.

  The thought was cheering, and then almost like a cold hand clutching at her heart, Fenella remembered that this would not be the end of Periquine’s smuggling activities.

  If he received even more than £5,000 for this cargo, it would still not be enough.

  They would have to go to France again and yet again, and at the thought of the dangers of such journeys Fenella felt almost faint.

  It seemed to her inevitable that sooner or later they must be caught.

  The odds were against them. However could they slip through the mesh every time with preventive boats and soldiers waiting at every creek all along the coast and being permanently on the alert!

  ‘I cannot bear it, I cannot,’ she whispered to herself.

  She shut her eyes against the thought of being rowed backwards and forwards across the Channel expecting every moment to hear a voice coming to them out of the mist commanding them to ‘Heave to’, and then as they dashed for safety the bullets whizzing over their heads! Perhaps the next time one would strike Periquine rather than herself!

  Her eyes were closed, but Fenella was suddenly aware of someone standing beside her chair.

  She looked up, hoping it was Periquine, and saw Sir Nicolas looking down at her. A faint smile came to her lips, but before she could speak he said harshly,

  “Your maid tells me you have been wounded in the arm. What has that young jackanapes done to you now?”

  There was so much anger in his tone that Fenella looked at him in surprise.

  “Anna should have told you nothing of the sort,” she said weakly, “it is a secret.”

  “Then it should not be one,” Sir Nicolas snapped. “Corbury should be told to behave himself. I always thought he was irresponsible, but I imagined he was sportsman enough to be able to carry a gun without injuring anyone - least of all you! “

  “You must not blame Periquine !” Fenella said hastily.

  “I do blame him!” Sir Nicolas retorted. “And I intend to tell him what I think of him. It is time someone put an end to his rampaging about like a wild bull.”

  Fenella would have smiled at his words had she not been worried that he was blaming Periquine unjustly.

  “It is not what you — think,” she said. “Please do not be — angry with Periquine.”

  “Angry? I am completely disgusted by his behaviour! How could he have shot you? What was he doing out with a gun at this time of year?”

  There was so much suspicion in Sir Nicolas’s voice that Fenella found herself saying weakly,

  “It was not — Periquine who — wounded me.”

  “Then who was it?” Sir Nicolas enquired.

  “A Revenue Officer.”

  “Good God! “

  Sir Nicolas ejaculated the words, then sat down on a hard chair as if his legs could no longer support him.

  He was exquisitely dressed as usual, the points of his collar beneath his white cravat high above his chin, his coat fitting superbly over his shoulders.

  His fob glittered in the sunlight against the pale yellow of his skin-tight pantaloons, and the high polish on his Hessian boots made Fenella long to bring Periquine’s boots up to the same pitch of perfection.

  “What did you say?” Sir Nicolas managed to gasp after a moment’s pause.


  Fenella gave a little laugh.

  “I am trusting you with our lives, since I somehow believe that you are a friend.”

  “You mean that you were smuggling?” Sir Nicolas asked, the words coming almost in a strangled manner from in between his lips.

  Fenella nodded.

  “We had brought a cargo back safely across the Channel,” she explained, “but when we reached the creek from which we had set out, we had to sink the boat. The soldiers were looking for us and Periquine and I only escaped by a miracle.”

  “Corbury must be demented ! “ Sir Nicolas exclaimed. There was so much horror in his voice that Fenella could not help laughing.

  “I thought I had to tell you, Sir Nicolas, not only to excuse Periquine, but because I knew how shocked you would be,” she smiled, “but all is well. The bullet from the Preventive Ship only just grazed my arm. But naturally l could not tell Mama what had happened.”

  “If you dial, perhaps she would have the good sense to hand that young fool over to the authorities,” Sir Nicolas Said grimly.

  “Do not forget that, if Periquine is transported, I shall have to go with him,” Fenella said provocatively. “That is why I am quite sure, Sir Nicolas, you will not betray our secret.”

  “I have a mind to give Corbury a good thrashing,” Sir Nicolas said, “which is what he deserves!”

  Fenella laughed again.

  Sir Nicolas was a tall up-standing man, but Periquine was taller and certainly broader of shoulder. She was quite certain who would be the winner if it came to a trial of strength.

  “We were not caught and my wound is better already,” she said consolingly. “In two or three days there will be only a mark on my arm to show what happened.”

  “How could you risk your life in such a foolish manner?” Sir Nicolas asked.

  There was a different note in his voice now, and Fenella’s eyes fell before his as she said,

  “I had to go. Periquine could never have managed the bargaining without me.”

  “I forbid you to do this again! “ Sir Nicolas said. “Do you hear me, Fenella, I absolutely forbid you!”

  Fenella’s eyes opened in surprise and as she looked at him enquiringly, he said,

  “You need someone to look after you, Fenella, Will you marry me?”

  “Sir Nicolas !”

  There was no doubt that Fenella was astonished.

  “I never — thought,” she murmured, “I never — dreamt”

  She stopped and said quickly,

  “But you want to marry Hetty.”

  “I never really wanted to marry her,” Sir Nicolas replied. “I considered the idea because she is so beautiful, and I thought that she would look well in the family diamonds. But that was before I met you.”

  “But I am the last person you could possibly want as a wife,” Fenella protested. “You know that I say just what comes into my head. I have not an air of consequence or any of the attributes that you think so important.”

  “I did think them important,” Sir Nicolas answered, “but since I have known you, Fenella, I have realised that all my values were wrong.”

  He leant forward as he spoke and took her hand in his.

  “It was meeting you,” he said quietly, “that showed me how much I am missing in life.”

  “What are you missing?” Fenella asked curiously.

  “Laughter, gaiety, a joy of living such as you have and which I have never found in anyone else,” he replied. “Perhaps I have never known that it existed. You see, I realise now, Fenella, that I have been brought up in a golden cage.”

  “Too much money?” Fenella said softly.

  “And not enough love,” Sir Nicolas went on. “My mother died when I was very young and my father was determined I should be worthy to succeed to his position when he was no longer there. He was obsessed by the importance of our family.”

  Sir Nicolas drew a deep breath.

  “I know now how lonely and perhaps in many ways unhappy my childhood was. I was not allowed to go to school.”

  “Why not?” Fenella enquired.

  “My father wished to supervise my education himself. I had a succession of tutors until I went to Oxford.”

  “Where you not happy there?” Fenella enquired.

  “By that time I can see now quite clearly I had become a pompous bore,” Sir Nicolas said frankly. “I suppose in some ways my attitude was due to shyness and the fact that I had never been allowed to associate with boys of my own age. I was proud to the point of absurdity and naturally in consequence I made few friends.”

  “I can understand what you must have felt,” Fenella said, “but how could your father have been so cruel as not to allow you the ordinary interests and happiness that a child finds with other children of his own age?”

  “Looking back as I have been doing these past few days,” Sir Nicolas said, “I realise he was a very possessive man. I suppose in a way he was afraid that I might not be wholeheartedly loyal to him or might deviate from the course he was determined I should take.”

  “The Premier Baronet of Great Britain! “ Fenella said gently.

  “Exactly,” Sir Nicolas agreed. “It was drummed into my head from the time I was a baby that my blue blood made me superior to other people. I was not allowed to read fairy stories like other children. Instead I learnt the achievements of the Waringhams down the centuries, and of course the deeds of my mother’s ancestors also of which my father was equally proud.”

  “I am so, so sorry for you!” Fenella said impulsively.

  “I do not want your sympathy,” Sir Nicolas replied, “I want your help. I want you to marry me, Fenella, and teach me how to enjoy myself. I can give you every material comfort that you could ever want, and you could give me so much that is far more important.”

  His voice deepened and Fenella realised a little of what it must cost him to speak like this to her.

  She knew how reserved he was, how all his life he had been buttoned up and unable to express himself, controlled to the point when he must have thought any passionate emotion was slightly beneath his dignity.

  And now as if some dam had burst within himself he laid his heart at her feet.

  Instinctively, because she was so sorry, her fingers tightened on his.

  “What can I — say to you — Sir Nicolas?” she asked.

  “You will marry me?”

  She shook her head.

  “You know I cannot do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “It is quite simple,” she answered, “I do not love you. And I know that however kind you might be to me, however hard we would both try, you would never know real happiness with someone who did not love you for yourself.”

  “I had a feeling you would say that to me,” Sir Nicolas said, “but let me try to make you love me. I will be very gentle with you, Fenella. I will give you all the things you have never had. I will protect you, look after you, and I know that I will never love anyone in my whole life as I love you now.”

  Fenella drew in a deep breath.

  “I am honoured and proud that you should say such things to me,” she said, “but you know that, even while you say them, I cannot give you the answer that you want to hear.”

  “It is Corbury, is it not?” Sir Nicolas asked.

  “I have loved Periquine ever since I was a child,” Fenella answered. “But he has no idea of it, and as you well know he is in love with Hetty.”

  “How can he be such a fool when he might have you?” Sir Nicolas asked.

  “You must be blind if you ask that question,” Fenella replied.

  “Do you really think that Hetty with her affectations, her ambitions, her scheming and her all too obvious flirtations, can hold a candle to you?”

  Sir Nicolas lifted her hand as he spoke and raised it to his lips.

  “I never knew a woman could be so soft and sweet and feminine,” he said, “and at the same time so gay and gallant.”

  “Please do
not talk to me like that,” Fenella pleaded, “you make me want to cry! Oh, Nicolas, I wish I could love you, I like you so much. I want you as a friend, and I shall pray that one day you will find a woman who will love you as much as you love her.”

  “I want you,” Sir Nicolas said obstinately.

  His eyes sought Fenella’s and she was amazed to see how love had softened his hard features and the tight line of his mouth.

  He looked different, human, and his pomposity had vanished. He was just a man sincerely and very much in love.

  For a moment Fenella thought how comfortable life would be with him. He would be a considerate husband, she thought, and perhaps a very appreciative one.

  Once the barriers with which he had surrounded himself were down, he would be ready to give the woman he loved a gentleness, an understanding, and perhaps a deep passion he was not aware of in himself.

  Then Fenella saw Periquine’s eyes and face, heard the note in his voice as he ordered her about, felt again that strange, rapturous, ecstatic thrill that had run through her as his lips touched hers.

  “I am sorry — Nicolas, so very — very — sorry,” she whispered.

  He gave a deep sigh.

  “I expected it,” he said, “but I shall go on trying, Fenella. Perhaps one day you will need me and when you do I shall be there.”

  He kissed her hand again and rose to his feet.

  “I will come back and see you this afternoon. At this moment I have strict instructions from your maid not to stay too long and overtire you.”

  “You have not done that,” Fenella said, “and thank you for being so kind to me.”

  “I love you,” he said looking down at her, with a sudden light in his eyes. “Never forget that, I love you.”

  He turned to walk away across the lawn and Fenella sinking back against the cushions wondered for a moment if she had dreamt the whole conversation.

  Could it be true that Sir Nicolas Waringham, one of the richest men in England and quite the proudest, had asked her to be his wife and she had refused him?

  It was true, but she knew that no-one, least of all Hetty, would believe that was what had occurred.