by Lacey, Lilac
Tara stared at the closing door in disbelief. She had known it would be inappropriate for her to ask Leo to work for her, but she had not expected him to be so extremely offended. At the very worst she had thought all he would say was no, that he was not interested in farming and he only wished to paint. Then they could have discussed how he might make time for both, over the next three years, until Richard were old enough to take up the reins. Then if Leo had still not wanted the job she would have accepted it with no hard feelings. But instead he had taken her offer so very, very badly that he planned to leave Penge in the morning without even saying goodbye!
Tara felt a sort of shocked numbness. She couldn’t believe that in a few words Leo could discard everything that was between them, that he could discard her. Surely he would have cooled down by morning, he couldn’t go without giving her a chance to explain that she had meant no kind of insult by asking him to take the job. Despite what he had said she resolved to get up early and catch him before he left, then she thought the better of it. He had stormed out on her, she wasn’t going to go running after him. She would let him come to his senses on his own, and if he did not, so be it. Sternly she pushed down the cold wave of feeling that threatened to engulf her at the thought of life without Leo. Then she went to bed, but she did not sleep for hours and when she did she tossed and turned with dreams of Leo galloping away from her on a black stallion, while all the while the words surely he won’t leave in the morning drummed through her brain.
Chapter Eleven
Leo woke up with the sun, which did not surprise him because he had only slept in fits and starts all night. Tara’s offer had plagued both his waking thoughts and his dreams, and as the sun rose he felt more than ready to leave Penge and his humiliation behind. She didn’t respect him, that was the crux of it, she saw him simply as a man struggling to make a living, not an artist, determined to paint whatever the cost, and certainly not as an eligible bachelor. Right at the moment the cost of his ambition seemed very high, so he would throw himself into the one thing that made life worth living - he would paint and paint until he had enough landscapes to mount an exhibition. Then he would sell them and become the talk of the town, and Tara would see just how far from the mark her plans for him were.
He packed hastily and left Penge without a backward glance, he did not want to turn and see Tara looking out at him as he left, or worse, rows of empty windows showing him how inconsequential he was in her life. The village was only a mile away, Leo walked the distance easily. Uncaring about how early the hour was, he rapped hard on the ostler’s door to wake him up. He heard a sleepy grunt from within and then a dishevelled looking man opened the door.
‘I need a horse,’ Leo said abruptly. He heard the clink of a kettle being hung over the fire. ‘And some breakfast,’ he added.
A scant half hour later he was the owner of a chestnut gelding, not the most spirited horse he had ever owned, but a steady mount who looked as though he would manage the distance in between Penge and Bournemouth where Leo’s cousins lived. He had decided to visit the Reeves, the relatives who would have taken him in after his father died had he so desired it. He had not seen them more than once since, but he was sure he would be welcome for a few nights and he felt the need to be with people who took for granted that he was of their own social class.
Tara knew, before she even opened her eyes, that Leo had gone and that last night had not been all a bad dream. Her resolution not to run after him suddenly seemed like childish obstinacy and she sprang out of bed and dressed rapidly without bothering to summon her maid. The long driveway which ran from the road to the house was clearly visible from her widow and she pressed herself against the glass trying in vain to spot Leo in the distance, somewhere on the road. But the highway was empty of all traffic and her only hope was that he had not made good his threat to leave.
In the corridor outside her room she paused, uncertain. She could go down to breakfast and hope to catch Leo there, or she could make her way to the west wing of the house, to the green guestroom in which he had been sleeping which would lead to one of two outcomes, neither of which was desirable. She might find him there, in which case she would be breaking with all propriety by accosting him in his bedroom, or, worse, she might find him packed and gone and then she would have lost all hope. It was far more sensible, really to go down to the breakfast room.
Tara slipped along the passages to the west wing, hoping not to alert any of the servants to her actions, she would prefer her foolishness to be conducted in private. Leo’s door was pulled to but not latched. Knowing what that meant before she looked, Tara pushed it open anyway, hoping against hope to find a room strewn with clothes and better still, Leo lying in the bed, waiting for her.
The room was barren. His single bag was gone and not even a stray sock remained to give any clue that this room had been so recently occupied. The bed had been stripped, military style and the used sheets deposited somewhere else in the house so not even the scent of him remained. Leo had gone and it struck Tara then that she had no idea when - if ever - she would next see him. Trying hard not to give into despair, she sat down on the edge of the mattress and dug her fingers hard into the ticking, refusing to give into the hollow feeling that threatened to overwhelm her utterly.
‘What’s wrong?’ Tara should have known that her mother’s sharp eyes would miss nothing, nevertheless she tried to bluff her way out.
‘Nothing’s wrong. Things couldn’t be better. Penge is in the black. The hay-making is taking place today, Jennings is overseeing it.’
‘Not your young man, then?’ Lady Penge demanded.
‘He…’ Tara took a deep breath and decided she would do better at addressing her mother if she looked out of the window. ‘He had to leave. He had some business elsewhere, he is an artist you know.’
‘Is he?’ Lady Penge sounded quite surprised. ‘Neither you nor he ever mentioned that.’
‘And he’s not my young man,’ Tara thought if she said it out loud it would serve to end her mother’s interest in Leo and would be the first step on her own road to accepting it. She was wrong on both counts.
‘He seemed very charming and had excellent manners, despite his background,’ her mother mused.
‘Really?’ Tara said coldly, still looking out the window through which she could see the men toiling in the hay field. ‘I thought his manners left a lot to be desired.’
‘And he really is very handsome,’ her mother said as if she had not spoken. ‘I know you are in love with him.’
‘I’m…’ suddenly she found she could not get out the rest of her denial, tears were coursing down her face, unseen by both the distant field hands or her mother, as long as she didn’t move.
‘You’ve quarrelled, haven’t you?’ her mother said almost gently. ‘It happens. Better to find out what a man’s made of before the wedding rather than after.’
‘I never had any thought of marrying Leo!’ Tara snapped angrily, turning away from the window but not yet ready to meet her mother’s eye. Perhaps if she had had such thoughts she would never have made her stupid request, Leo would be here still and there might be a future for them. But it was too late now.
‘You know better than to go chasing after him, I hope,’ Lady Penge said darkly. ‘He’ll either come to his senses or he won’t. There’s nothing you can do about it now.’
‘I know,’ Tara said quietly. But her mother had given her some hope. She could not follow Leo, for a start she did not know where he had gone, and secondly she was still needed at Penge, but she could write to him at his London address and apologise for the offence she had caused him. ‘I have some work to do,’ she said abruptly and left the room.
Tara sat down at her mother’s desk, snatched up a piece of paper and began her letter.
My dearest Leo, she began. I am very sorry to have caused you such offence by asking you to take the position of estate manager at Penge. Should she leave it at that, she wondered, or
would it be worth continuing with a defence of her actions. She dipped her pen and wrote You seem to set such a store by a man earning and honest living (remember your scathing remarks about my friend Philippe La Monte) and estate manager is both a responsible and respectable position so I feel you had no call to react as you did. Tara chewed the end of her pen wondering if she had expressed her opinion too strongly. She reread what she had written and concluded there was nothing in it to cause offence, Leo could hardly deny his assertion that Philippe should not consider himself above going out and getting a job. However she decided not to labour the point. I hope you take this apology in the spirit in which it is intended, she wrote, and that we can resume our friendship where we left off.
Yours faithfully,
Tara
She addressed the letter to Leo at his studio in London. Somehow she did not think he would be returning there immediately, but he might have some friend who would send on his mail. Temporarily satisfied that she could do no more at present to heal the breach between them, Tara summoned Betty to post the letter at once.
Leo was pleased to find he had judged his horse correctly, the animal plodded sturdily onward in the direction of Bournemouth and he was sure he would get there by nightfall. At least he was a good judge of horseflesh, if not women, he thought sourly. Tara’s proposition had been so unexpected and he felt a fool for not seeing it coming. But there had been clues all along, he reflected, that she did not see him as an equal, most notably her incredible assumption that he came from a family of poachers, but also her unsubtle question at Freddie’s dinner party about whether he had been invited to make up the numbers.
Leo’s aunt and uncle’s house in Bournemouth did not compare with Penge or his old home, but it was still a large house commanding a spectacular view of the bay. In the twilight Leo could see little boats at anchor, their sails furled for the night, and he thought the panorama would make the appealing sort of painting that clients would like to buy. He resolved to paint it as soon as he had furnished himself with the necessary equipment and materials. He left his horse in the barn and knocked on the front door.
‘Leo!’ his cousin Mark said in pleased surprise as he was shown into the parlour by the maid. ‘You haven’t visited Bournemouth for years! I thought you were tucked away in London. Have you come down to escape the heat?’
‘Not exactly,’ Leo said, hearing bitterness creep into his voice and striving to keep it out. ‘I found myself in Wiltshire and at an unexpected loose end. I hope I may impose myself on you for a few days while I make plans.’
‘Of course,’ Mark said. ‘Mother and father will be delighted to have you with us. Please, make yourself at home. You are welcome to stay for as long as you like.’
‘Thank you,’ Mark really was a very affable fellow, Leo thought as he sank wearily into a chair, suddenly aware of the fact that he had been in the saddle all day. His cousin was very like Rodney in that respect, although in appearance he resembled Leo. They were both tall with unruly dark hair and eyes to match, but Mark’s eyes were milder, Leo had to admit, reflecting on his self-portrait. Tara would like Mark, he was sure, she would certainly find him attractive, while his accommodating and hospitable manner would be much easier to live with than his own forceful personality.
‘May I get you a drink?’ Mark was asking. ‘Wine, or brandy, no I forgot, you abstain, don’t you?’
Leo gave his cousin a long look, ‘Brandy would be very welcome,’ he said.
‘We can’t go on like this,’ Lady Penge said to Tara when she joined her in her room for lunch a week later. Tara looked sharply at her mother, Lady Penge was feeling stronger and was spending the morning out of bed and presently was sitting at her little table by the window, opposite her daughter, toying with an omelette.
‘What do you mean?’ Tara asked. ‘You can’t be thinking of taking over management of Penge again.’
Lady Penge shook her head impatiently and Tara noticed with concern that the bright sunlight picked out wrinkles on her mother’s face that hadn’t been there the last time she was home. ‘I mean you,’ she said, ‘you can’t go on like this. Penge is too much for one person and now that your brother is home -’
‘You can’t mean for Richard to take responsibility for the estate!’ Tara interrupted. ‘He’s much too young. He’s only fifteen!’
‘No, no,’ Lady Penge said. ‘What I meant is that it is time we appointed an estate manager, and Richard being home gives us the perfect opportunity, after all we must give the position to someone he feels he can work with over the next few years.’
Tara felt her mother’s words cut through her like a knife. Other than Leo she had never even considered anyone for the job, and since his abrupt departure she had done her best not to think about the painful topic at all. Perhaps, she hadn’t been very successful, she admitted to herself. Every night before she went to sleep she re-lived the last conversation she had had with Leo, wondering what she could have done to make the outcome different, and his face haunted her dreams. But by day she had put him firmly from her mind and since the day he had left she had studiously avoided talking about him with her mother. She did not want to consider appointing an estate manager now.
‘You needn’t be involved,’ her mother said coolly, when she said as much. ‘I have an obligation to preserve Penge for Richard, and naturally he will want to have a say in the appointment, but you have no such responsibility.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that!’ Tara snapped, stung by the comment. ‘I may not have devoted years of my life to Penge like you have, but I do care about it.’
‘I’m sorry,’ her mother said, and Tara looked at her in alarm. Her mother never apologised, she must be even more fragile than she appeared. ‘It’s only that I don’t think that I can manage by myself here any longer and I don’t want to see you sacrifice the remainder of your youth for your brother’s inheritance.’
‘I hadn’t any other plans.’ It slipped out before she could stop herself, but it was true. Tara could not imagine returning to her old life in London next spring, going to balls and parties and all the while knowing Leo was painting in his studio just across the river but was not part of her life. It seemed to her that she might as well be unhappy being useful at Penge than be unhappy and useless anywhere else.
‘That doesn’t sound like you,’ Lady Penge said, and looking up Tara found her concern for her mother mirrored in her eyes. ‘I think both of us need a change of scene,’ she said abruptly.
‘But that’s just not possible,’ Tara said.
Lady Penge shook her head decisively. ‘With the appointment of a reliable estate manager, and your brother home as well, it is. We could both use a few weeks away, by the sea. Now, have you any suggestions for the post?’
Tara was about to deny that anyone could step into Leo’s shoes when a conversation they had had sprung to mind. Jennings will know of a mason, I’m sure of it, Leo had said when they discussed the repairs needed to the paddock walls. He had consulted Jennings about the disposition of the bull calves and Jennings had arranged for the lads who were even now scything the hay field. Leo had respected and relied on their dairyman, perhaps she should do the same. ‘Jennings,’ she said.
Thoughtfully her mother stirred honey into her tea, then she looked up at Tara. ‘I think you might be right.’
As Mark had predicted, his parents had been delighted to see Leo and his younger sister Caroline had been thrilled. ‘My friend Lady Susannah Maxwell wrote to me and said you had painted her portrait,’ she said as they sat at the supper table. ‘Do you remember her?’
‘I remember her well,’ Leo said, far too well, those blissful days with Tara at Wallingford Manor had taken place all too recently and he couldn’t think of Susannah without Tara filling his mind. ‘She has just become engaged,’ he said, forcing himself to make conversation.
‘Really?’ Caroline’s eyes were huge. ‘She hasn’t told me. Who is she going to marry?’
> ‘Sir Rodney Hulme,’ Leo said and then found himself subject to an interrogation on all Hulme’s finer points. ‘He’s very cheerful,’ he told Caroline, unable to prevent himself from hearing Tara’s voice describing Rodney in his mind. ‘Straight forward. I’m sure your friend will be very happy with him,’ he added hastily, hoping to bring the subject to a close before the crushing feeling in his chest rendered him unable to speak.
‘Do you know him well?’ Caroline asked.
‘Quite well,’ Leo said and then realized he had sounded too abrupt. ‘I attended a house party he hosted a couple of weeks ago,’ he elaborated.
‘Does he live near here, then?’ Mark asked. ‘You said you were in the area.’
‘Lord Hulme’s seat is in Oxfordshire,’ Leo’s uncle put in. ‘That’s not what I’d call nearby.’
‘I… I was visiting a… a friend in Wiltshire,’ Leo said and hastily speared a piece of mutton and put it in his mouth.
‘You must be famished, Leo, after riding all day,’ Aunt Dorothy said. ‘Let him eat, everyone. Mark, tell him about the yachting fixtures which are coming up. Perhaps Leo will stay long enough to crew for you.’
‘What really brings you to Bournemouth?’ Mark asked some time later when he and Leo were alone again. The other members of the family had retired to bed, but despite his restless night and early start Leo had not felt himself yet ready for sleep.
‘I’m painting a collection of landscapes for an exhibition,’ Leo prevaricated. Until about this time the night before he had never even considered Bournemouth as a place to paint.
‘This friend, the one you were staying with until today, do I know him?’ Mark asked, swirling his brandy idly in his glass.