Sylvia Andrew

by Lord Calthorpes Promise

  For the scene with Adam was still vividly in her mind. Apart from the occasional sign of irritation he had always before been so cool in her presence. She had always found the very qualities which had made him such a successful Army commander—a strong sense of duty, a cool head and an iron will—at the same time admirable and irritating. And she realised now that, during that last scene with him, consciously or unconsciously, she had been goading Adam throughout until his self-control had finally snapped. What sort of a girl was she? And what had she gained? She already knew that Adam Calthorpe would never be ready to risk all for love. For honour, for a promise made to a dead man, to protect the weak—for all of these Adam Calthorpe would fight to the death. But not for love. That had gone with Julia Redshaw.

  However, Katharine had begun to hope that Adam might one day ask her to be his wife because he wanted to, because he liked her for herself. So, when he made it so clear that he would marry her simply to satisfy his obligation to Tom, simply to save her from making idiotic mistakes, never because he wanted to, she had been left with a desire to hurt him, to make him angry. As she had. And what had been the result? Adam was convinced that she disliked him, and she…? She had been left not only with the sadness of love which was not returned, but also with an aching desire for more of Adam’s kisses, more of Adam’s embraces—a desire which was most unlikely ever to be satisfied.

  The tears could not be held back. They rolled slowly down her cheeks, and because she fought them ugly red blotches appeared on her face. She couldn’t even cry as beautifully as that wretched woman!

  ‘Kate! Oh, my dear child, what is it?’ Mrs Calthorpe had slipped into the room unnoticed.

  ‘Nothing!’ said Katharine, frantically scrubbing her face with her sleeve.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous! Look at you! I’ve never seen you in such a state. Come with me. We can’t have you sitting here in the library looking like that. Adam went out some time ago, but he might be back at any moment. We’ll go to my dressing room.’

  Once installed in the little room which she had made into her private chamber, Mrs Calthorpe bathed Katharine’s face and gave her a clean handkerchief. She ordered some tea to be sent up and told the servant they were not to be disturbed.

  ‘Now,’ she said. ‘Was it Walter Payne? I was on my way down to see you when he arrived. So I waited. And just when I was thinking you might need support, I heard him leave. Was he…importunate?’ Katharine was still coping with sobs and couldn’t answer, but she shook her head.

  Mrs Calthorpe said with sudden anxiety, ‘You haven’t said you will marry him, have you?’

  ‘No, no!’

  There was a silence. Then Mrs Calthorpe said slowly, ‘It was Adam, wasn’t it? What did Adam say to you?’

  The tears broke out afresh. ‘He…he didn’t ask me to marry him!’ sobbed Katharine.

  Mrs Calthorpe looked completely bewildered. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘He fully intended to. What stopped him?’

  ‘He s…s…aid it wasn’t necessary!’

  Mrs Calthorpe waited till Katharine was calmer again, then said, ‘Kate, I’m sorry to press you, but…did he explain what he meant? Dear child, I think you had better tell me the whole. For when Adam left me he was fully determined to make you an offer.’

  Katharine now had better control of herself. She said, ‘I don’t know why Adam thought I would really want to marry Walter Payne. And even less why he brought Lord Trenchard into it. I told him that I liked Lord Trenchard, but was never in any danger from him… And then I said that I had never had any intention whatever of marrying Walter. That was when Adam became quite angry.’ She stopped and looked slightly guilty.

  Mrs Calthorpe waited until Katharine went on, ‘You see, last night Adam had annoyed me and I wanted to worry him. I…I pretended to be more tempted by Walter’s offer than I was… I think it did worry him.’

  ‘Yes, I think it did, too!’

  ‘I thought he knew me better than that! But it seems that I had made him really anxious. So when I told him today that I had never had any intention of marrying Walter, he grew angry and called me the most provoking girl he had ever met. That was when he said that he had been going to ask me to marry him.’ She paused, then said forlornly, ‘But then he said that it wasn’t necessary any longer.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have believed that a son of mine could be so stupid! What did you say to that?’

  ‘I got angry, too, and said that that was just as well, for if he had asked me I would have refused him!’

  Mrs Calthorpe bit her lip. There was a slight quiver in her voice as she said, ‘So the situation is this… My son nearly asked you to marry him, but didn’t, and you would have refused him, but didn’t have the chance. Is that right?’ When Katharine nodded she continued, ‘And that is why he has gone out in the worst temper I have seen him in for years, and you have been crying your eyes out?’

  Katharine looked down. ‘It’s not as simple as that,’ she said unhappily. ‘I made Adam really angry after that. Something I said… He…he…’

  ‘Adam kissed you?’

  ‘Yes. Because he wanted to punish me, I think.’

  ‘My dear girl, I have never subscribed to the ridiculous idea that men kiss us to punish us! They wouldn’t do it if they didn’t enjoy it! And Adam is not the sort of man—at least I don’t think he is—who would hurt someone for pleasure. Don’t deceive yourself—if Adam kissed you it was because he wanted to. May I ask—did you respond?’

  ‘Not more than I could help,’ said Katharine earnestly.

  Mrs Calthorpe nodded. ‘I remember the feeling,’ she said sympathetically.

  ‘But then he laughed at me! He was so…so sure of himself! He was so sure I would marry him after all.’

  ‘The stupid fellow,’ exclaimed Mrs Calthorpe. ‘Really, I could lose patience with my son! What did you do?’

  ‘I slapped him.’

  ‘Quite right! He deserved it. Did he kiss you again?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That’s a pity!’

  ‘And now he thinks I dislike him,’ wailed Katharine, bursting into tears again.

  ‘I can see that he might,’ agreed Adam’s mother. ‘My dear, forgive me if I seem impertinent, but am I right in thinking that you do, in fact, love my son?’

  Katharine nodded her head. ‘I didn’t realise it myself till last night,’ she said miserably.

  ‘Well, it is my opinion that he is very likely in love with you.’

  ‘Oh, no! I am not at all the kind of woman he admires. I know that. He likes my cousin. Or…or Lady Balmenny.’

  ‘I think you are wrong. He is no longer in love with Julia, certainly. And I think he is just beginning to realise that he needs to look for something more than a pretty face. But he is sometimes so blind… Now, may I suggest that you put yourself in Kendrick’s hands? Get her to make you pretty again, and wear one of your new dresses for dinner tonight. You mustn’t let Adam think you are unhappy.’

  The new dress suited Katharine very well and Kendrick’s ministrations removed all traces of the afternoon’s distress. But Adam was not in to dinner to see her. He left a message to tell his mother that he would be out for the evening. And from then on they saw rather less of him, as he appeared to lose interest in the social scene. His mother noted, however, that he always seemed to know where she and Katharine were going each night, and that he often appeared wherever it was for a while before leaving again, apparently in pursuit of his own pleasures. And she knew that the servants all had strict instructions to accompany either of the ladies whenever they went out. Adam had not abandoned his obligations.

  The supper parties, the balls, the evenings at Almack’s continued as the London season entered its last few weeks. Katharine had at first enjoyed life in town more than she had expected, but she was now heartily sick of it. She smiled, conversed, danced as charmingly as ever, but without Adam’s attention the evenings had lost their zest. Even when he esco
rted them he avoided her company, and when he was forced to dance with her his touch, like his conversation, remained impersonal. The Adam who had tried to dominate, who had quarrelled with her, taught her to dance, forbidden her to ride Sholto, bought her Cintra instead, that Adam had vanished and in his place was Major Calthorpe, the complete officer and gentleman, a perfect member of the Duke of Wellington’s staff. It was sometimes almost more than she could bear. As the weather grew warmer and the streets dustier Katharine began to long for the fresh air and cool breezes of the countryside. She grew pale and listless, and that special smile of hers, the one which transformed her into a beauty, was seen less and less often.

  Mrs Calthorpe looked on in concern. She had tried several times to talk to her son, but he was as courteously unresponsive as she had ever known him. Using the expertise gained in the Duke’s service, he fended off all her careful attempts to discover the state of his mind with an easy switch in the conversation, or some skilful diversion of her attention. She suspected that he was every bit as unhappy as Katharine, but could never get near enough to him to find out.

  In fact, Adam was more miserable than he had ever been in his life—even including the dreadful months after Julia Redshaw had rejected him. His youthful despair then had given way surprisingly quickly to enjoyment of his new life, and the new lands and people he was getting to know. But now nothing seemed worth the effort. He went through the motions of life in London, and pretended an interest he did not feel in the people round him. It seemed to him as he watched Katharine Payne that she continued to charm everyone around her as much as ever. Sooner or later she would find among her many admirers someone to love, someone who wouldn’t annoy her, who might even be willing to let her have her own way as often as she wanted it. And the poor idiot would be completely wrong for her! Why the devil couldn’t she have accepted his own offer of friendship and care? He and Kate would have had a good life together, he was sure of that.

  Whenever he remembered the scene in the library he was filled with regret. He had been a fool—so certain that Kate would accept his offer of marriage in the spirit it was meant. Perhaps if he had taken more trouble to explain… Had managed to keep his temper… But then he hadn’t realised himself until it was too late just how important Kate was to him. Though his behaviour at the end had been unforgivable, he couldn’t forget how sweet it had been to hold Kate in his arms, to feel her slender body pressed close to his, and, when he had sensed a response in her, he had suddenly felt like a king! He had laughed in sheer happiness at the thought of marrying her… How wrong he had been! She hadn’t felt the same. She had felt ashamed, had believed he was laughing at her. It wasn’t surprising that she disliked him. And now here he was, tied to a London which was like a desert, waiting for the season to end and his release. He could go then to Calthorpe and work this misery out of his system.

  Katharine had been in regular correspondence with Tilly ever since she had left Herriards. A little while ago she had been worried to receive a shakily written letter from her governess in which Tilly said she had a cold, but making light of it and assuring Katharine that she would soon be her normal healthy self. When Katharine didn’t hear for some time after she sent a note to Tilly’s neighbour, Mr Cruikshank, the surgeon, with an anxious enquiry about her friend. The reply was not reassuring. Tilly seemed to be unable to shake her illness off.

  Katharine went to Mrs Calthorpe straight away and showed her the letter.

  ‘I expect you would like to see for yourself how Miss Tillyard does, Kate. I’m sure something could be arranged.’

  ‘As soon as possible,’ said Katharine gratefully. ‘But I can’t ask you to leave London in the middle of the season. I can go alone.’

  ‘Of course you can’t! Sir James would never forgive me!’

  ‘But there really isn’t room for more than one visitor in Tilly’s little cottage, ma’am! And no suitable accommodation in the village for you. I wouldn’t dream of going anywhere near Herriards, even though the Paynes are here in London.’

  ‘Not so, my dear! They left London yesterday but not for Herriards—for Bedfordshire. Catherine and her family have accepted Lord Acheson’s kind invitation to stay with him at Souldrop. I rather think your cousin is about to announce her engagement to a most eligible parti.’

  ‘I didn’t know Lord Acheson had a son!’

  ‘He hasn’t. The parti in question is the noble lord himself.’

  ‘But my cousin is only seventeen and he’s forty if he is a day!’

  ‘And rather rich,’ added Mrs Calthorpe dryly.

  ‘Poor Catherine!’

  ‘Not at all—from what I have heard, she is delighted. But it means that your uncle and his family are all to be in Bedfordshire throughout July and August. You would be quite safe in your old home, if you wished to stay there.’

  Katharine instantly rejected the idea. ‘No! I wouldn’t dream of going back! Never!’ she said, sounding almost desperate. ‘I’ll stay with Tilly.’

  Mrs Calthorpe smiled sympathetically. ‘I quite understand. We must think of something else.’ She thought for a moment. ‘How would it be if I stayed with the Quentins once again? It isn’t so far away. I could come over whenever you needed me, and I’m sure they would be pleased to see me—I had a letter from Marjorie Quentin just the other day repeating her invitation.’

  ‘What would your son say to this?’

  ‘Ah, yes! Adam. I think he could quite easily be persuaded to agree. I have the impression that he is no longer enjoying life in London—any more than you are!’

  ‘You…you think Adam is unhappy?’

  ‘Yes, I do. But don’t ask me more, because I couldn’t tell you. When he wishes, Adam is even more successful than you at disguising his feelings.’

  As a result of these plans Katharine spoke to Adam at some length for the first time since their argument. She naturally wished to leave London immediately, and tried hard to persuade the Calthorpes to let her go without them.

  ‘I should be perfectly safe,’ she said desperately. ‘And Tilly needs me now, not next week!’

  ‘If all goes well, we can leave quite soon,’ Adam said decisively. ‘I’ve already sent to the Quentins to tell them of our plans, and the groom will go on to Herriard Stoke to find out the present state of Miss Tillyard’s health. You surely don’t wish to arrive on Tilly’s doorstep before anyone knows you are coming?’

  ‘Adam is right, Kate dear. You mustn’t travel alone to Hampshire. What would Sir James do if something happened to you?’

  ‘I think you know very well what Sir James would do! He’d express his sorrow for a minute or two, grumble about the extra work my death would cause him for the next half-hour, then take to his bed.’

  ‘There’s something I’ve been intending to ask you,’ said Adam slowly. ‘Would you mind telling me the terms of the Frampton-Payne trust? For instance, what would happen to it if you should die?’

  ‘Adam!’

  ‘I’m not asking out of idle curiosity, Mama!’

  Katharine said reluctantly, ‘In that event, if I haven’t married, it returns to the Herriards estate.’

  There was a curious silence. Then Mrs Calthorpe said briskly, ‘This is a gloomy subject and, moreover, it is not one that will ever need to be discussed. Kate is not going to die, she is going to marry and be very happy. Now, Adam, stop asking unnecessary questions and tell us how soon we can travel.’

  ‘I should think before the end of the week. I have one or two things to see to, and we shall then be off.’

  Adam did not tell them that one of the things he was determined to do was to find out exactly when and where Henry Payne and his family were planning to be, in particular Henry’s son, Walter. But it seemed perfectly safe. The Paynes were all quite certainly staying with Lord Acheson at Souldrop Court, a full seventy miles from Tilly’s cottage. They would stay there at least six weeks, and it would be late August at the earliest before they would return to Hampshire
. There was no risk that Katharine would meet them at Herriard Stoke. Not for some time, at least.

  The one matter which was not discussed was what Katharine would do when she eventually left Herriard Stoke again, though it was a question which had occurred to all three of them. It was as if they were all waiting to see what the future would bring, for events to run their course.

  All arrangements were complete even before the day Adam had promised. Letters were sent and acknowledged, the London house shut up and the keys returned to the agent, the luggage packed, and Miss Kendrick given two months’ paid leave. There would be no place for her in Herriard Stoke, and Mrs Calthorpe had her own maid to go with her to the Quentins. Katharine was reluctant to dismiss Miss Kendrick altogether. She hoped that her own future would be clearer after two months, and she could decide then whether there was a role for Miss Kendrick in it.

  The Calthorpe party left London for Basingstoke early on Thursday morning. It was a bright, sunny day and they had an easy journey, the two ladies in the carriage and Adam riding alongside. All the same, though she put on a brave face, Katharine’s spirits were low. Tilly’s illness, her own uncertain future, and, most of all, the change in the man accompanying them made it impossible to stay cheerful. Adam Calthorpe seemed to have withdrawn into himself. An invisible barrier surrounded him that Katharine found impossible to cross, however much she wished she could. He remained courteous, helpful, concerned for her comfort, but the easy, natural companionship, which had become a feature of their acquaintance, had disappeared. Adam Calthorpe was not in any way an enemy, but he was no longer a friend.

  They arrived at the Quentins in the early afternoon. Mrs Quentin insisted on serving them a delicious meal before Katharine could leave again. But at last she set off in the middle of the afternoon on the last stage of her journey. Adam accompanied her.

  ‘Really!’ she had protested. ‘I don’t need your escort, Adam. It isn’t far, and I’m sure your men are trustworthy!’

  ‘I would rather come with you, all the same,’ he had replied, still in that coolly courteous voice. ‘I am sorry if you find the situation difficult if I do, but we don’t know what is waiting for you in Herriard Stoke. You cannot go alone, and my mother is too tired to come with us. But I assure you I will not bother you more than I have to. I’m afraid I must ride with you inside the carriage, if you don’t mind.’