The Cavendon Women

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  “What is it?”

  “She wants to have a title, to be a countess, and so she’ll try to cling on. When Papa had his heart attack last year there were moments when I thought she was positively gleeful, anxiously waiting for him to pop off and clear the way for me. And for her, of course.”

  “But how awful that is, Miles! Horrid.” Cecily sounded aghast.

  “You don’t say! It was preposterous, especially since we were separated by then. But I shall win, I’m quite certain. Papa has spoken to his solicitor, and the way through this is for me to take the blame, provide evidence of adultery, so that she can sue me for divorce. If she won’t agree to that, I might well have to divorce her. According to Mr. Paulson, Papa’s solicitor, I do have grounds. Not of adultery, but of abandonment. You see, she packed all of her things and left me here at Cavendon. In other words, she left the marital home.”

  Cecily leaned back in the chair, thinking of the last six years. For Miles they had been wasted, in a certain sense. But for her they had been productive, because she had started her fashion business, and it was thriving, making money.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Miles said quietly, watching her carefully.

  “I was thinking of all the years you lost,” she murmured, as honest as usual.

  “I know. On the other hand, I did learn a lot about agriculture, livestock, the land, the grouse moor, running the estate. And I keep on learning.” He leaned forward and focused his eyes on her intently. “When I’m finally free, divorced from Clarissa, would there be any chance for me?”

  “What do you mean exactly?” she asked, her mouth suddenly dry, a feeling of alarm running through her.

  “You know very well what I mean. But I’ll spell it out, clarify it. Is there a chance for me with you, Ceci?”

  Cecily was not surprised by this question, because she knew he still loved her, just as she loved him. Nothing would ever change their feelings. There would never be another man for her, and she knew he felt the same way. But he was different in one thing. He was the heir to an earldom, and his father would most decidedly want an aristocrat for a new daughter-in-law. Not an ordinary girl like her. DeLacy had pointed that out to her six years ago, when she had blurted out that Miles was getting engaged to an aristocrat. “He could never marry an ordinary girl like you,” DeLacy had said, and Cecily had never forgotten those words.

  “You’re not answering me,” Miles said, his blue eyes suddenly filled with love for her. That awful sadness was now expunged.

  The way he was gazing at her, his face so full of yearning, touched her deeply. His expression was signaling so much to her, and it reflected what she had felt for years. She said slowly, “When I was twelve, you proposed to me and I accepted. But we were too young. When I was eighteen you proposed again and I accepted. However, you married another woman. What are you saying to me now, Miles? Third time lucky?” An eyebrow lifted quizzically.

  He nodded, and a smile broke through his gravity. “Yes, third time lucky indeed! So you will marry me when I am divorced?” He sounded excited and his voice was lighter, suddenly younger.

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “Actually, I don’t think so. I’ve changed in many ways, and so have you.” She paused, took a deep breath. “But the situation hasn’t. I’m still an ordinary girl. I can’t make that kind of commitment to you now, Miles, nor should you to me,” Cecily finished, being truthful and sincere.

  “You still love me, Cecily Swann. Just as much as I love you. I’ve never stopped loving you, and you know that.” He sat back, a reflective look crossing his face, and then he said in a low, tender voice, “We belong to each other, and we have since we were children.”

  She was silent, her face wiped clean of all expression. But inside, her heart clenched. She wanted to say yes to him, to tell him she did belong to him, but she did not dare. She could not expose herself to him. Because it was his father, the Earl of Mowbray, who would ultimately have the final word in the end, not Miles.

  Almost as if he had read her mind, Miles announced, “First things first, Ceci. I must get my freedom, and then we will talk again and sort everything out. Will you agree to that?”

  Cecily could only nod.

  Miles said, “Now, let’s get down to the business of the next few days, the events. This is what I thought we should do about Saturday evening.”

  He began to outline the initial plans, but inwardly he smiled. He was going to have Cecily for himself, whatever she believed. The Ingham men and the Swann women were irresistible to each other, and they were no exception. It was meant to be.

  Three

  It was a wonder, this garden, with its low privet hedges in front of the raised banks of glorious flowers. So beautiful, in fact, it took her breath away.

  A smile of pleasure crossed Charlotte Swann’s face, and she felt a rush of pride. Her great-nephew, Harry, had created this imaginative effect in the pale green sitting room of the South Wing.

  It reminded her of the indoor garden she herself had designed for this same room, some years before. Thirteen years, to be exact, and she had built it for the main summer event that year, the annual supper dance to which the aristocracy of the county was invited.

  The evening had been memorable in every way, and Lady Daphne had stunned everyone with her incomparable beauty, wearing a gown of shimmering blue-green beads the color of the sea. Everyone talked about it for weeks, and Charlotte had never forgotten how she looked.

  Her mind still on Harry, Charlotte suddenly thought what a pity it was he’d had a change of heart. He was such a gifted gardener, with a great eye for form and color, and his gardens outside were works of art, in her opinion.

  Unfortunately, he had lost interest in being a landscape gardener. Instead he wanted to be an estate manager, relished the idea of working with Miles, and learning from Alex Cope, who had replaced Jim Waters as estate manager at Cavendon two years ago.

  Harry’s rebellion had taken place at the beginning of the year, and it had shaken his father, Walter, who had felt betrayed when he realized his son was contemplating leaving Cavendon.

  His mother, Alice, hadn’t been quite so surprised. She had known from the moment Harry had returned from the Great War that he had been changed considerably, affected by the brutality and wholesale killing he had witnessed at the front.

  All the returning soldiers had been changed by their experiences, Alice knew, even her husband. Whilst Walter was more contemplative, her son had acquired an independent attitude, become quite ambitious for himself, and felt he was owed something by society.

  It was Cecily who had asked Charlotte to intervene, and she had. It had taken only a few words with Lord Mowbray, and then Alex Cope, for her to help Harry up the Cavendon ladder.

  “Is it all right, then?”

  Charlotte jumped, startled at the sound of Harry’s voice. She swung her head. He was leaning casually against the doorframe, a quizzical look on his face.

  “More than all right,” she answered. “It’s beautiful. Harry, you’ve outdone yourself.”

  “I think I inherited what bit of talent I have from you, Aunt Charlotte.”

  “Oh, you’re a much better gardener than I am, a true professional, and it was good of you to take the time and trouble to create it. Thank you, Harry.”

  “It was my pleasure, and my way of saying thank you to you for helping to sort things out with Dad,” he answered, and strolled into the room. “I’d like to ask you something…” He stopped, became hesitant, as if changing his mind. After letting his sentence trail off, he stood hovering silently next to her chair, obviously at a loss.

  She looked up at him, thinking what a handsome son of a gun he was. At twenty-eight he was tall, like his father, and had inherited the striking Swann looks, his features chiseled, the thick hair the same russet brown as hers. He even had her grayish eyes with that odd tint of lavender peculiar to the Swanns.

  “Is there something wrong, Harry?” she asked.
“You seem worried.”

  “Not worried, just curious, I suppose. I’ve been wondering why you asked Ceci to help Miles. With the upcoming events tomorrow, and on Sunday. Couldn’t he have teamed up with one of his sisters?”

  She shook her head. “Daphne is too busy, Dulcie too young, DeLacy too depressed. As for Diedre, she’s far too intellectual for such mundane matters as arranging events for a family get-together. Ceci was my only choice, because I think he needs backup.”

  “Poor Miles. I feel sorry for him, working with my sister. He’ll get frostbite.”

  Charlotte laughed, shaking her head. Harry’s tone had a pithy edge, but then he always had an appropriate retort on the tip of his tongue.

  “I did have another reason though,” Charlotte now volunteered.

  “I thought as much,” Harry answered. “He’s so worn-out, and damaged. Miles needs some kindness. And Ceci will be kind to him, even though I know that deep down she’s still angry.”

  Charlotte eyed Harry, thinking how astute he was at times. But then he knew his sister well, and he and Miles had been friends since boyhood, had grown up here.

  “It did strike me I might be playing a dangerous game, getting them together,” she said. “But then I realized they are both adults. Grown up enough to handle themselves, and their problems.”

  “I agree.” He moved away, went to look at the flower beds, took a deadhead off a bloom, put it in his pocket. Without looking at his aunt, he murmured, “You’re expecting some sort of trouble, aren’t you?”

  “To be honest, I’m not sure. A lot of mutterings and dire warnings perhaps, nothing we can’t cope with. On the other hand, I thought it better to be prepared. And there’s nobody like Cecily when it comes to taking control of a difficult situation. Also, she can be neutral, very calming and rational. I’ve always told her she would’ve made a good diplomat; she’s a really good negotiator, you know.”

  “Who’s a good negotiator?” Lady Dulcie asked from the doorway, and walked into the room, looking beautiful in a primrose-yellow summer dress. At eighteen she was very much the same person she had been as a child. Precocious and outspoken, with a quick, facile tongue. She was no longer afraid of Diedre, but cautious around her eldest sister, and automatically wary. Self-confident, sure of herself socially, she had a superior intelligence with a lot of brainpower.

  Charlotte had been like a mother to Dulcie. She had brought her up, alongside Nanny Clarice, and with Daphne’s help. These three women had been the biggest influences in her life.

  Gliding across the room, her face filled with smiles, Dulcie went straight into Charlotte’s outstretched arms. The two women hugged, and then stepped apart.

  Charlotte said, “It’s lovely to see you, I’m so glad you’re back. I’ve missed you. London was nice though, wasn’t it?”

  “It was, Miss Charlotte, and I really enjoyed staying with Aunt Vanessa. She helped me so much with my art studies, but I’m very happy to be home.” Glancing at Harry, whose eyes had never left her, she blushed slightly as she said, “Hello, Harry, it’s nice to see you.”

  He inclined his head, his face also full of happiness. “Welcome back, Lady Dulcie” was all he managed to get out. Inevitably, he became tongue-tied when the earl’s youngest daughter was present. She was so beautiful, he became light-headed whenever he was in her company. He adored her, secretly yearned to know her better.

  Charlotte took charge. “Look at the beautiful garden Harry created, Lady Dulcie. For the dinner tomorrow evening. It’s superb, isn’t it?”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Dulcie answered. Turning to Harry, she added, “Congratulations, you’re a true artist.” Then she laughed. “I remember now, I did see one like it years ago, when I was about five. I barged in here, all covered in chocolate, just before the big dance was about to start.”

  Charlotte smiled, remembering this incident herself. She hadn’t been present, but she had certainly heard all about it the next day.

  “Apparently none of the ladies were able to come near you, since you were covered in that chocolate. At least, so I was told. They were afraid of the chocolate getting on their gowns.”

  Dulcie grinned, then asked, “Where’s Daphne? Do you know, Miss Charlotte? I haven’t been able to find her.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be back in the conservatory by now. She told me she was going there, to check on all of her seating plans, and other matters concerning the next few days.”

  “Then I shall go there. Once you’ve told me who the good negotiator is.”

  “Why, Cecily, of course,” Charlotte answered.

  Four

  “Welcome back, darling,” Daphne said as Dulcie rushed across the conservatory and flung her arms around her favorite sister. “I’ve missed you,” she added, and then held Dulcie away, staring at her intently. “More beautiful than ever,” she pronounced.

  “No, no, no, you’re the renowned beauty of this family,” Dulcie exclaimed, and went on swiftly, “I couldn’t get here quick enough, I’ve so much to tell you. And mostly about Felicity.”

  Daphne nodded, and guided Dulcie over to the wicker love seat, where they sat down. Ever since their mother had left Cavendon, Dulcie only ever referred to her as Felicity, never Mama. Sometimes she even referred to her as “that woman who abandoned me,” and had a string of ridiculous and rather nasty nicknames for her.

  Daphne understood why. Felicity had been too preoccupied with her sister’s fatal illness, and her own personal problems, to pay too much attention to Dulcie when she was little, and the child had never forgiven her. Now that she was a young woman, that animosity still lingered.

  Settling herself on the love seat, Daphne said, “So tell me everything, I’m all ears.”

  “I’ve been informed that Felicity is finished with Lawrence Pierce. Apparently, she’s thrown out that knife-wielding maniacal quack, and by the way, that’s not the only thing he wields. From what I understand, he’s quite the womanizer, wielding his manhood everywhere.”

  Dulcie sat down next to her sister, and waited for a reaction, her eyes fixed on Daphne’s face.

  Daphne burst out laughing, as always genuinely amused by Dulcie’s extraordinary use of language. Their father constantly said she had a unique way with words, and should have been a writer. Daphne thought the same thing.

  “Who told you this?”

  “Margaret Atholl’s mother,” Dulcie answered. “Lady Dunham. She also said there’s a rumor that the marriage is unhappy, and Felicity is planning to return to Cavendon. She won’t come back, will she, Daphers? I couldn’t bear to have that greedy, man-hungry creature here. Papa wouldn’t fall for her again, would he?”

  Shaking her head, the laughter bubbling inside her, Daphne answered, “She won’t even attempt it. And certainly Father is not interested in her one iota. This is just idle gossip you’ve heard. However, perhaps she is going to throw the surgeon out. I, too, have heard stories about his behavior.”

  “A flagrant, and very experienced adulterer, who thinks he’s the Don Juan of all Don Juans, impossible to resist. And very conceited about his … hidden charms, shall we say?”

  Daphne couldn’t help laughing again, and then she finally managed to say, “All surgeons think they’re God, according to Diedre. Because they save lives, I suppose.”

  “Or ruin them,” Dulcie shot back. There was a moment of silence, and then Dulcie moved closer, confided, “I think Aunt Vanessa might marry her artist friend. He’s awfully nice, by the way, and he’s from the very proper Barnard family, and well connected. He was very kind to me, helping me with my art history course.”

  Daphne was taken by surprise, and gave Dulcie a penetrating look. “Are you sure there’s an engagement in the wind?”

  “I’m not absolutely certain, but it looks like it to me. He practically lives at her house, and they’re never apart. They sort of … drool over each other.”

  “Papa doesn’t know. He would have told me. But
then Aunt Vanessa doesn’t have to report to him, since she’s in her forties and can do whatever she wants.”

  “Gosh, I wouldn’t want to wait so long to get married! Is that too old to have babies, do you think, Daphers?”

  “Perhaps,” Daphne answered.

  Dulcie, who was facing the door, jumped up when she saw her father standing there. He looked furious, and she wondered if he was angry with her. Because she hadn’t gone to see him first.

  Daphne also caught sight of him at the entrance to the conservatory, and instantly knew something had happened. The angry stance told her that. What had upset him? He was usually easygoing, genial. She cringed inside, prayed it wasn’t anything to do with the events planned for the next two days.

  “Hello, Papa,” Dulcie said, immediately after their father came to a stop next to them. “I just arrived,” she explained swiftly. “I was about to come and say hello to you, Papa.”

  A smile flitted across Charles Ingham’s face, and disappeared at once. He brought his youngest daughter into his arms, kissed her cheek. “Welcome home, darling. Glad to have you back, and also that you’re early.” He paused, released her, and asked, “Have either of your sisters arrived yet?”

  “Not that I know of; I think I’m the first. I wanted to get here in time for afternoon tea.”

  He nodded, and then turned his attention to Daphne, who had risen from the love seat. “I need to speak to you about something. Privately. And it is rather urgent.” He glanced at Dulcie. “Would you excuse us, Dulcie, please?”

  “Yes, of course, Papa. I must go up to my room. I left Layton unpacking my suitcases.”

  * * *

  Once they were alone, Daphne gave her father a questioning look. “Papa, whatever’s wrong? I can see you’re angry.” She felt taut, anxious, and endeavored to conceal this.

  “I’m angry, upset, and totally baffled. I went down to the lower vaults, to get something from one of the safes, and I discovered there are pieces of jewelry missing.”