For All Eternity

by Barbara Cartland

  “I told you that you are wonderful!” Charis said, “and now I think you are the nicest man I have ever met!” “That’s enough, Charis!” Ajanta scolded sharply.

  As she spoke, she rose from her place at the end of the table, picked up her plate and Darice’s and put them on the sideboard.

  Then she carried out the dish that had contained the rabbit without looking at the Marquis.

  He had the feeling that, as she left, there was a flounce of her cotton skirts, which amused him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  By the end of luncheon the Vicar was regaling the Marquis with an extremely interesting account of the book he was writing on the Moslem religion.

  “I only wish there was somewhere near here where I could find the reference books I require,” he said. “I would like to pay a visit to Oxford, but I am afraid – ”

  Before he could go any further Ajanta interrupted, “That is something, Papa we cannot – ”

  She stopped.

  As if she was suddenly aware that the Marquis, a stranger, was listening to their private affairs, she added in a somewhat repressive tone,

  “We will speak about it later, Papa.”

  “Yes, of course,” he agreed, as if he realised that he had been indiscreet.

  Ajanta turned to Charis.

  “Hurry up, Charis,” she said. “You know you have a great deal of homework to do before Mrs. Jameson comes to you at five o’clock.”

  As she spoke, Ajanta removed the remains of the treacle pudding from the table and put it on the sideboard.

  She then looked at her father who she knew was longing to continue his conversation on what was at that moment the subject that absorbed him to the exclusion of all else,

  “Papa,” she suggested. “I think you should be getting ready for the funeral. They will expect you to be at the Church gate to meet them when the coffin arrives.”

  “Yes, of course. You are quite right, my dear,” the Vicar agreed.

  He rose from the table and, as the Marquis rose too, he held out his hand.

  “I am very pleased to have met you, Mr. Stowe. I only wish we could continue our most interesting conversation. It is not often I meet anybody these days who knows anything about the East and their extremely complex religions.”

  “I too have enjoyed our talk,” the Marquis replied.

  Ajanta was already leaving the dining room pulling the reluctant Charis with her, who was looking back over her shoulder at the Marquis.

  When they reached the hall, she managed to free herself from her sister’s grasp and, going to the Marquis’s side, she remarked,

  “You have some magnificent horses, Mr. Stowe!”

  “I thought you would appreciate them,” the Marquis replied with a smile.

  Charis hesitated for a moment. Then she said in a somewhat lowered voice,

  “I have written a poem about a horse. Would you like to have it?”

  “That is very kind of you.”

  He realised as he spoke that Ajanta was frowning at this interchange and it amused him to annoy her.

  Charis made a little sound of delight and started to run up the stairs as quickly as she could.

  The moment she was out of hearing Ajanta said to the Marquis with a sharp note in her voice,

  “Please, Mr. Stowe, don’t encourage Charis. She is only sixteen and imagines herself to be in love with every man she meets.”

  “Is that such a distressing thing to happen?” the Marquis enquired.

  “It is to us,” Ajanta replied simply. “When Charis is infatuated with some stranger she has met by chance, she will moon about for days, paying no attention to her lessons, which is hard on the rest of the family who have to pay for them.”

  She spoke with a note of acidity in her tone and clearly resented what she thought was a mocking smile on the Marquis’s face.

  He, however, noted that her blue eyes seemed to flash at him in a way that he had never seen before.

  “I appreciate your problem, Miss Tiverton,” he said, “and therefore I will say goodbye immediately and thank you for a delicious glass of cider.”

  He held out his hand as he spoke, but Ajanta appeared not to see it, as she was moving towards the front door as if to speed his departure.

  He was following her when there was a cry from the stairs and Charis came running down towards them.

  Ajanta turned at the front door and now she held out her hand and, thinking that, as he was alone, his wife must be unwell, she said, “Goodbye, Mr. Stowe and I do hope that your wife will soon be better. You must be very worried about her.”

  Both the Marquis and Ajanta were aware as she spoke that Charis had stopped halfway down the staircase.

  For a moment she seemed indecisive as to whether she should go forward or retreat the way she had come.

  Then she quickly dropped the piece of paper she had been holding and came down the last steps into the hall without it.

  The Marquis looked at her enquiringly and she said, “I could not – find the – poem.”

  Without waiting for his reply, she went through the front door and outside to where Darice was already patting the horses and telling Ben how magnificent they were.

  “First round to you, Miss Tiverton!” the Marquis said to Ajanta as he passed her.

  He climbed into the driver’s seat and, as he picked up the reins, Ben ran to jump up behind.

  “Goodbye! Goodbye!”

  The two younger girls stood waving as the horses went down the drive.

  When the Marquis had manipulated his team through the narrow gateway, he looked back to see that there was only Darice standing on the steps watching him go.

  He was smiling, as he drove on, thinking it had been an amusing incident in what otherwise had been a disastrous day.

  He would never see the Tivertons again, but he could not help thinking that the beauty of the three daughters of an obscure country Parson was something unique to remember.

  But now his own problems enveloped him like a dark cloud and he drove his horses as fast as possible because he was in a hurry to reach Dawlish Castle.

  *

  Sitting in the large, draughty, rather ugly dining room, the Marquis was aware that his plans so far had been upset in a way he had certainly not expected.

  He had planned that when he arrived at The Castle he would speak to the Duke immediately.

  He would tell him that he had decided it was time he married and, in view of their long acquaintanceship on the Racecourse and in their Clubs, he could not imagine anything more suitable than that their families, both of great significance in the history of England, should be united by marriage.

  He had planned his words with care and he was certain that the Duke would be delighted at his suggestion and not only because he was so wealthy.

  It was as well to like one’s in-laws, the Marquis thought, otherwise he could imagine hours of boredom when he would have to entertain them at Stowe Hall and perhaps attend family festivities at Dawlish Castle.

  His plans, however, had been upset, when on arrival, he was shown into the library to find to his surprise that the Duke was not alone, but had three of his closest friends with him.

  As the Duke held out his hand with a smile of greeting, Harry Strensham, whom the Marquis had seen only two days previously in White’s exclaimed,

  “Dammit, Quintus! We tried to keep the sale from you and I swear it was not I who let the cat out of the bag!”

  “I am not guilty,” another friend exclaimed. “I have not seen Quintus for a week!”

  “I have been deliberately avoiding him!” the third announced.

  “What is all this about?” the Marquis asked.

  “Now, come on, Quintus! You need not play the innocent with us,” Harry laughed. “You have obviously heard about the Trevellyan sale and we were hoping because he is such a greenhorn that he had omitted to invite you!”

  As his friend spoke, the Marquis understood exactly what h
e was talking about.

  When Lord Trevellyan had died, it was rumoured that his son, who was living abroad, might be thinking of selling up his stable.

  The Marquis had, however, heard nothing about a sale and, as nobody had mentioned it to him, he assumed that the new heir would carry on racing the horses on which his father had spent so much time and money.

  However, because the new Lord Trevellyan had no knowledge of horseflesh and was not interested in the ‘Sport of Kings’, he had arranged to have a private sale.

  The Marquis’s friends had thought, because he did not mention it, that he had not been invited and they knew they had a better chance of obtaining bargains than if he was bidding against them.

  It was just part of his usual luck where horseflesh was concerned, the Marquis thought, that quite by accident he had stumbled on a plot to exclude him which would in fact, if he had not had more important matters on his mind, have annoyed him considerably.

  Lord Trevellyan’s stable contained some very fine animals which he would be glad to add to his own and now he had learned what was going on, he had every intention of taking advantage of the fact.

  “I must say, I think it was extremely underhand of all of you,” he said when, with his usual quickness of mind, he had grasped the situation.

  “All is fair when it comes to women and horses!” Harry laughed. “As you have beaten us to the post far too often where both are concerned, we believed that for once we had a sporting chance.”

  “I will make you pay for this, Harry!” the Marquis countered good-humouredly.

  “I thought it unlikely that you of all people, Stowe, would not have your ear to the ground, when it concerns anything to do with racing,” the Duke said. “So as soon as I received your note I knew quite well why you wanted to come here today.”

  “Is no one else joining us?” the Marquis asked.

  “Only Eddie,” Harry replied, “and we have all agreed that, as he is so hard up, we will let him have one horse without bidding against him.”

  “I am certainly prepared to concede that,” the Marquis said. “But I shall run you up quite considerably, Harry, for the way you have treated me! You are supposed to be my friend.”

  “I am,” Harry replied, “but your purse is a great deal longer than mine, as you well know!”

  They all laughed and until it was time to dress for dinner the conversation was exclusively about horses and their merits.

  Now sitting on the Duchess’s right with Lady Sarah, the remaining unmarried daughter, on his other side, the Marquis found himself thinking how incredibly dull the dinner would have been if it had not been that three of his friends were fellow guests.

  The Duchess could talk of nothing but the iniquities of her neighbours who had not contributed to the restoration of an ancient Abbey she considered an historic monument.

  She droned on in a monotonous voice, which made it impossible for the Marquis to concentrate on what she was saying.

  On his other side, Lady Sarah in contrast had apparently nothing at all to say.

  He had had a shock when he first saw her.

  Because the Duke was quite a fine looking man, he had somehow expected that his daughter, if not a beauty, would certainly be pleasant to look at.

  But Lady Sarah was plain, dumpy and had, as far as the Marquis could see, nothing to recommend her except that she did not ramble on like her mother.

  Because he was determined to make an effort where she was concerned, as soon as the Duchess began to bore Harry who was on her right with her complaints, he said to Lady Sarah,

  “Are you coming with us to the sale tomorrow?”

  “No,” she replied. “I don’t like horses!”

  The Marquis was astonished.

  “What do you mean – you don’t like horses?” he asked, thinking it was something no woman had ever said to him before.

  Even those who were not keen riders and had no wish to hunt always expressed an interest in the horses the Marquis rode and those he raced.

  “I am frightened of them,” Lady Sarah admitted.

  “What do you do with yourself when you are in the country?” the Marquis asked. “Your father has a good shoot here. Does that interest you?”

  “I think shooting is cruel!” she replied, “and I hate the noise!”

  “Then what do you do every day?” the Marquis persisted.

  “I don’t know really,” Lady Sarah said helplessly. “There always seems to be things to do with Mama.”

  The Marquis thought that this was very heavy going and rather like riding through thick mud.

  “Are you a great reader?” he enquired. “Your father certainly has a very fine library.”

  “I don’t have much time for reading,” Lady Sarah replied.

  The Marquis looked at her and came to the conclusion that she really was one of the most unprepossessing young women he had ever seen.

  She had a sallow complexion, her hair was mousy with a touch of red in it and her eyelashes were the same colour, which made him think of a ferret.

  Then he suddenly had a vision of Ajanta’s golden hair and her dark blue eyes sparkling with anger because she did not want him in the Vicarage.

  The way she had behaved constituted a challenge because it was very unusual for the Marquis not to be warmly welcomed wherever he went and anybody who entertained him tried to delay his departure rather than hasten it.

  He decided to make another effort with Lady Sarah and he enquired,

  “What do you do when you are in London? I can quite understand you prefer living there where you have balls to go to and lots of other parties.”

  “I don’t like balls,” Lady Sarah replied. “I have had dancing lessons, but I find it difficult to follow the way the gentlemen in London dance.”

  She spoke in a languid manner and the Marquis was aware that here was another subject that did not interest her.

  They sat in silence and the Duchess seized the opportunity to regale him once again with the iniquity of those who did not wish to preserve ancient landmarks.

  Suddenly he told himself that this was something he could not endure for the rest of his life.

  He could already see the years stretching ahead of him with the Duchess’s voice droning on and on and Lady Sarah, looking dull and frumpish at the end of his table, boring the unfortunate men who must sit on each side of her.

  “I cannot do it!” the Marquis said beneath his breath, then remembered the alternative.

  His chin went up and he thought that anything, even Lady Sarah, was better than the ignominy of being co-respondent in a divorce case brought by his most bitter enemy.

  ‘I will speak to the Duke after dinner,’ he told himself. But the opportunity did not arise.

  Immediately after dinner they all sat down to play cards and, when finally the Marquis rose from the table the better off by several hundred pounds, it was to find his host had slipped away without him being aware of it.

  “Where is the Duke?” he asked Harry.

  “His Grace is determined to have a clear head for the sale tomorrow. He has admitted that he cannot spend much money and he is not going to waste what little he can afford on some animal that has gone in the wind!”

  The Marquis laughed.

  “I am quite certain Trevellyan will have nothing like that in his stable.”

  “You can never be sure at these sort of sales,” Harry said. “Remember we are not dealing with Trevellyan, who was always as straight as a die, but his son, a ne’er do well from all I hear and quite capable of pulling a fast one over on us.”

  “Then we certainly must be careful,” the Marquis agreed.

  Only when he had reached his bedroom and was undressing with the help of Ben, who, when the Marquis did not travel in style, acted as valet, that an idea came to him.

  It suddenly struck him that he had been rather stupid in thinking that being married was the only way he could save himself.

  The
idea was right, but while the announcement of his engagement might spike Burnham’s guns and prevent him from going ahead with his case, there would be no need, if he was really crafty, actually to reach the altar!

  How could he find himself tied for life to a dullard like Lady Sarah?

  While he was thinking, he walked to the window to stand looking out blindly into the night while Ben, not having been dismissed, fidgeted about the room while he waited for his orders to retire.

  Finally the Marquis made up his mind.

  “Call me at six o’clock tomorrow morning, Ben. I want to ride Rufus and tell Jim to come with me on the horse that brought him here from London.”

  Jim was the groom who had ridden ahead with the Marquis’s letter to the Duke inviting himself to stay.

  “Very good, my Lord,” Ben said. “I understands from what I ’ears downstairs that your Lordship will be attendin’ the sale.”

  “That does not start until noon. I will be back for breakfast and will drive over to Lord Trevellyan’s house in the phaeton.”

  “Very good, my Lord.”

  Ben picked up the Marquis’s evening clothes and moved towards the door.

  “Goodnight, my Lord.”

  The Marquis did not hear him. He was still deep in thought.

  It was nearly an hour later before he finally climbed into bed and by then he had everything planned.

  His last thought before going to sleep was that he had been, even for him, unusually clever.

  He could certainly celebrate his intelligence by buying all the best horses obtainable at the sale tomorrow whatever they might cost.

  *

  Ajanta, on her knees scrubbing the floor, was humming a little tune.

  It was a lovely day and she was planning that, if she had the time, she would go and look at the bluebells in the wood.

  She knew there was just one week in every year when the wood behind the Vicarage was a carpet of blue, which she secretly thought was very much the colour of her own eyes.

  It was a very lovely sight and her mother had said to her once,

  “The beauty of the bluebells when I see them in the spring remains with me all through the year and, when I am feeling depressed or worried, which is not often, I think of them and they lift my heart so that I am laughing again.”