“It will be a pleasure to do so,” she vowed.
He rose, holding out his hand to draw her to her feet.
“I am obliged to you, sir, for your good advice.”
“You are welcome to all I can do for you.”
She clasped his hand, smiling and saying,
“If I ride this way the day after tomorrow, perhaps we will meet again.”
He smiled.
“I feel fairly sure that we will. Goodbye – for the moment.”
*
Nobody dared to tell Mr. Drayton about his daughter’s ride and he remained in happy ignorance.
Next day it was a pleasure to him to see how diligently Lexia prepared for her meeting with the Marquis. He had feared that her rebellious mood might spoil her chances.
Instead to his great satisfaction, she spent the morning ‘primping herself’ as he put it.
This involved an hour in a scented bath, followed by another hour choosing the correct attire.
It was a difficult choice with subtle nuances. To appear at her best, without seeming as though she was putting herself out to attract him, was a task that might have taxed the skills of King Solomon.
At last Lexia and Annie settled on a supremely elegant gown of greyish-green silk, tight at the waist and flared at the hem. Tiny flowerets of green velvet adorned the front.
The hat which completed this outfit was green straw with a grey ribbon and small black plumes at the back.
It took another hour before Annie had achieved the perfect hair style on which this hat should sit. When she had finished, all Lexia’s beautiful fair hair was swept up onto the top and sides of her head.
Finally, the important choice of jewellery. One perfect pearl glowed against the cravat and two matching pearls adorned her ears. They were simple, but fabulously costly.
Annie handed her a parasol of green silk trimmed with lace.
Now she looked as she wanted to look. Magnificent. Splendid. A woman who was not to be trifled with.
Her father was waiting for her as she descended the stairs into the hall.
“Excellent,” he purred. “You look just as I had hoped.”
“I am glad that you feel I do you credit, Papa,” she said demurely.
“You would do any man credit,” he declared. “Come, my dear! Let us go out and conquer the world.”
CHAPTER THREE
“You look so lovely,” her father told Alexia as the carriage bowled along. “I think any man would fall at your feet.”
“I am not going to listen to you,” she replied firmly. “I want to enjoy the sunshine and the beauty of the countryside and not think of having to marry a man who I haven’t even met and who doubtless will look down on us.”
Her father stiffened and she knew he was going to make a violent response, so to prevent him from doing so she slipped her hand into his.
“I love you, Pa, and I want you to be happy. But you will find that women are more difficult to move about than pounds and shillings, so you must give me plenty of time before I make up my mind.”
He did not answer and she added coaxingly,
“And I am not in a hurry to leave you.”
She knew by the way her father looked her that he was touched and she felt his fingers tighten against hers.
“You are very sweet, my darling,” he muttered gruffly. “You must forgive me if I seem in too much hurry, but I do want you to be happy and I want you to have everything you want in life.”
Lexia smiled and then she lifted his hand and kissed it.
“I do love you, Pa,” she sighed, “but you of all people must realise that each of us has to fight for what we think is right for us. So do not be too harsh on me. Give me time to breathe and find my own destiny and don’t forget, I am your daughter, which means I have to think for myself, just as you have always done.”
Her father chuckled.
“That’s true. I remember my father saying to me, ‘you will do as I tell you,’ but I thought, I’m damned if I will and I did not!”
Lexia laughed too.
“Well, if I said, ‘I’m damned if I will,’ you might be displeased with me.”
“I certainly would.”
“But I will say that I have a lot of you in my blood, so I have to do what I think is right, as well as what you think is right.”
Her father laughed again.
“I love you too, my dearest,” he said, “and I am very proud to have such a clever daughter. It is only natural that you should want some freedom of choice. I am not a tyrant.”
They drove on in silence, but Lexia knew that her father had understood only a part of what she had said. Despite everything he still believed he could arrange matters so that she would choose the Marquis.
She had freedom of choice – as long as she chose according to his wishes. And that was no freedom at all.
‘And he doesn’t know what I know about the Marquis,’ she thought, remembering what Frank had told her that afternoon.
‘Proud, arrogant, thinking himself above the world.’
But at least she had been warned, thanks to Frank, who had already been a good friend to her. She would now pursue her own strategy – to make him fall at her feet, while not falling at his.
And perhaps she would see Frank tomorrow, tell him how matters had gone and receive his further advice.
The thought of meeting him again brought a smile to her lips. He had been, she recalled, extremely good-looking.
Closing her eyes, she summoned up his face again, the dominant nose, the firm chin, the dark hair with a touch of red.
His mouth too she remembered very clearly. It had been wide and generous, a mouth made for kissing.
Then she checked herself. Frank was a servant, an employee on the Marquis’s estate. She pictured her father’s reaction if he could read her thoughts and shuddered.
But an independent spirit made her say,
“You know, Pa – Papa, I learned many lessons in America and one of them was the idea that all men are equals.”
“The sooner you drive that nonsense out of your head, the better!”
“But is it nonsense? Suppose I was to choose a really fine man, who didn’t have a title?”
He turned his head to stare at her, aghast.
“What did you say?”
“I want to fall in love as you fell in love with Mama. Whether a man is a Duke or a road-sweeper what matters is whether I love him or not.”
Her father breathed hard.
“If you think you are going to throw yourself and my money away on a nonentity, you are very much mistaken.”
Lexia sighed.
“Yes, Papa!”
“Let me tell you one thing, my girl. Whatever people say about equality, I have discovered that the top of the world is much more comfortable than the bottom. And don’t you ever forget it.”
“No, Papa.”
“I had thought we settled all this last time we talked.”
“Last time we – ?”
“You know who I am talking about,” said Mr. Drayton darkly.
Since she had no idea who he was talking about, Lexia could only gaze at him blankly, which made him say,
“Don’t give me that innocent look, my girl. Wayne Freeman, that’s who it is! You should have got over him by now.”
“Wayne – ?” echoed Lexia.
She had met him at a ball in New York, about six months ago and liked him. Wayne was a big, booming young man with a heart of gold and nobody could have called him sophisticated, but he had the charm of a boisterous puppy and Lexia had enjoyed his company.
In fact she had enjoyed it so much that her father had become worried and declared he would never allow her to marry him.
But Wayne had never once proposed and she would not have accepted anyway. He was more like a big brother who she was very fond of and it was exactly because he was not trying to wheedle her into marriage that she found his company pleasant.
But her father could not believe this and lectured her endlessly about ‘giving him up’. It was about that time that he had begun to hint about coming back to England.
“You would not have been happy with him,” he returned to the fray now.
“Pa, I never – ”
“He was just a rough diamond.”
“And what, pray, is wrong with a rough diamond?”
“Nothing, in its place – ”
“But you don’t think his place is with your daughter?” she challenged, her anger flaring in defence of her friend.
“Not going up the aisle, no,” her father asserted firmly.
“Really! Well, let me tell you that Wayne Freeman is a good man, a man any woman would be proud to love – ”
“I told you to forget him,” snapped her father. “Now, you do as you are told and forget him. I won’t let you marry him and that’s final.”
“Rather him than this horrible Marquis, any day,” she snapped back.
“That’s enough. I don’t want to hear another word. I did the right thing in bringing you home and it seems I did it just in time.”
Lexia subsided, seething and wishing she had controlled her temper a little better.
Fond as she was of Wayne, she had not the least desire to marry him. A more subtle man than Mr. Drayton would have realised as much, but he had blundered on, annoying her until she leapt to Wayne’s defence.
Now he was more convinced than ever that she had lost her heart to her American friend, but that might be useful, she realised, in the coming battle about the Marquis.
So she said no more and began to look out for the Marquis’s house, for she was sure she recognised some of the scenery she had seen the day before.
Suddenly the carriage turned a corner, the trees seemed to part and there was the great honey-coloured building glowing softly in the sun.
It looked even more beautiful than she remembered from yesterday and she gazed at it entranced.
In America she had become used to everything being large, huge buildings and great distances. Now she saw grandeur and she thrilled to it.
Then she remembered that to have the house she would have to accept the dreadful Marquis and decided that she would do without the house after all.
Now they were on the last stretch, heading for the front door and Lexia had a sudden feeling that everything was going too fast.
There were nearly at the front door and she felt a sudden conviction that she was going into danger.
If she were wise she would make some excuse to keep away, but now it was too late, as the horses drew up outside the front door.
It was already standing open and she saw there was a butler waiting for them and two footmen wearing very smart uniforms.
‘Please God, help me,’ she prayed in her heart.
Her father gave their names to the butler, who inclined his head and led them through the front door into the Great Hall.
“I will inform his Lordship of your arrival,” he intoned and sailed loftily away.
Mr. Drayton looked around him at the hall with its huge staircase rising up for three floors. Lexia heard him give a sigh of contentment and knew what he was thinking.
It was certainly magnificent, but she could see that work needed to be done. The wallpaper was in poor condition and so was the paintwork, but beneath the shabbiness there were still the remains of splendour.
The walls were covered with pictures, climbing up to the ceiling. There were ladies in ruffs and farthingales and men in embroidered satin coats and knee breeches. Some of them wore the powdered wigs of the eighteenth century, while others showed their natural hair, a dark red.
Looking at that hair, Lexia felt the first stirring of uneasiness.
Then she noticed that the features of all these men had a remarkable similarity. The wide generous mouth that told one story, the stubborn chin that told another, the glint in the dark eyes that told a story of its own – these features were common to all of them.
And she had seen them before.
“Who is this man?” she casually asked one of the footmen.
“That, miss, is Francis Bernard Charles Wickham, the fourth Marquis.”
“And the man next to him?”
“Francis Michael Andrew Wickham, the fifth Marquis.”
“Another Francis?” she queried.
“It is a family name, miss. The heir to the title is always called Francis.”
“Indeed?”
She tried to speak normally, but the word almost choked her.
But she still fought not to believe it. English aristocrats were notorious for seducing the local maidens. Everyone knew that and the family face could probably be found all over the district.
And if his mother had called him Francis? That meant nothing.
So she argued valiantly with herself. Anything was better than the monstrous suspicion that was plaguing her.
It was impossible.
Simply impossible.
It had to be impossible!
She went on telling herself that right up to the moment that the Marquis of Wimborton advanced down the hall to greet them.
And it was Frank.
He was dressed differently now in an elegant grey frock coat with an impeccable cravat.
But it was undoubtedly Frank.
“Mr. Drayton,” he said, holding out his hand in welcome, “it is a pleasure to meet you at last.”
“Good afternoon, my Lord. We are delighted to be here and I have been admiring your great house all the way up the drive.”
“I am very proud of it myself,” replied the Marquis pleasantly.
“May I introduce my daughter, Lexia?”
“Enchanted,” muttered the Marquis bowing.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw that a footman was relieving Mr. Drayton of his hat. Taking advantage of his guest’s momentary distraction, he enclosed Lexia’s hand in both his own.
“I have been anticipating our meeting,” he said in a low voice, “with great interest.”
She took a deep breath.
“I’ll bet my bottom dollar, you have!” she seethed.
“Bet your bottom dollar?” he echoed, wrinkling his forehead. “I have never heard that said before.”
“You’ve never met anyone like me before,” she informed him in the same soft furious tone.
“I have no doubt of it. I take it the expression is American?”
“It certainly is and I have a few other choice examples for you.”
“How charming!”
“I am not feeling charming right this minute,” she snapped.
“No, I dare say you are feeling very angry with me.”
“Angry doesn’t begin to describe it! If I said I would like to boil you in oil, you might begin to get the general idea!”
He smiled ruefully.
“I think I realised that before you said it.”
“Good. Then we understand each other.”
“But that’s just the point, isn’t it?” he asked. “We do understand each other – much better than if we had met in the normal way.”
“I have nothing further to say to you,” she fumed.
“That’s just as well, because your father is beginning to stare at us. Shall we go into the drawing room and you can meet some relatives of mine?”
He ushered them into the next room, where two little old ladies sat. At the sight of the newcomers they looked up, bright-eyed with pleasure and expectation.
“This is my Aunt Letitia and this is my Aunt Imelda.”
In fact, as the ladies hastened to explain, they were really his great-aunts, the sisters of his grandfather. They lived somewhere in the great house.
“I’d be lost without them,” the Marquis said warmly. “As long as they are here, I am not living alone.”
The old ladies beamed at him contentedly.
Lexia guessed that they too were as poor as the church mice that they resembled and would ha
ve had no refuge if he had not allowed them to live in the nooks and crannies of his home.
It was Lexia’s first experience of a great English country house. Highcliffe was nothing compared to it. Here the high rooms, the ornate ceilings and the gilded chandeliers made her feel as though she was stepping onto another planet.
At first all she saw was the splendour, but then she noticed that the curtains were threadbare, the ceilings needed cleaning and so did the carpet. The wall-paper ought to be renewed and the chandeliers regilded.
Tea was served in the drawing room and Lexia realised that the tea set was the best Dresden china. But there were only two cups to match the teapot and the other three were all different, although still Dresden.
The ladies were overwhelmed at meeting someone who had actually come from America, which they appeared to believe was on the other side of the moon.
They bombarded Mr. Drayton with questions and he gave them all his attention, either from kindness of heart or because he wished to win the Marquis’s good opinion and knew how to do so.
Whatever the answer, he raised no objection when the Marquis suggested taking Lexia away to show her the house.
Lexia rose and followed the Marquis from the room, declining, however, to take his arm.
“You are still angry with me?” he enquired. “That surprises you?”
“I had hoped that the opportunity for reflection would have presented matters to you in a happier light.”
When she declined to reply he continued,
“May I congratulate you on your appearance, ma’am? It is everything I had hoped and you have no idea how it pleases me to see my advice taken.”
Remembering how he had advised her to dress and why, Lexia turned on him, cheeks flaming.
“You are insufferable! How dare you speak to me like this?”
“I merely complimented you on your gown.”
“Do not play the innocent with me, sir. You are reminding me of the utterly disgraceful things you said to me yesterday afternoon.”
“I seem to recall making some very rude remarks about myself – remarks that I am sure you now agree with.”
“I think no fate is bad enough for you,” she choked.
“So you said yesterday. In fact now I think of it, I was almost as uncomplimentary about myself as you were. Hatred and scorn were the kindest emotions you expressed about me.”
The Waters of Love Page 4