For All Eternity

by Barbara Cartland

  The Vicar was so excited with the thought of the research he could do on his book and the friends he would see again that he talked of little else all through tea.

  It was difficult for Ajanta to concentrate on what was being said, for she was thinking of the Marquis and realising the predicament he was in.

  ‘He should never have suggested a – pretend engagement – in the first place,’ she told herself.

  It had seemed a sensible idea at first and it was only Lord Burnham’s instinct that told him however convincing they had sounded, there was something wrong.

  So now at the very last moment, he had played a trump card on the Marquis’s ace.

  ‘What am I to do – now?’ Ajanta asked herself. ‘What – am I to do?’

  It seemed as if the question turned itself over and over again in her mind and, however hard she tried, there seemed to be no answer.

  At last tea came to an end and, as there was no sign of the Marquis, Lyle said he would take Charis and Darice up to the top of the house and onto the roof.

  “You will take care of them!” Ajanta warned. “It might be dangerous.”

  “They will be safe with me,” Lyle answered confidently and left the drawing room with his younger sisters chattering excitedly beside him.

  The Vicar moved vaguely away and, knowing that he was returning to the library, Ajanta decided that she must speak with the Marquis and ask him what he intended to do.

  She knew that he would have gone to his private room, which was exclusively his own and to which guests dared not intrude unless they were specifically invited.

  She had heard him talking about this with her father and saying that, if he had a study, he had one too.

  “Actually,” he had confided, “it is where I read the newspapers and have a rest from the chatter of tongues and the tinkle of glasses.”

  The Vicar had laughed.

  “You are very wise. Every man with any brains must have time to be alone with his thoughts and not be distracted by trivia.”

  “If you are referring to us, Papa,” Ajanta interposed, “I resent being called ‘trivia’!”

  Her father had patted her arm.

  “You know I like being alone with you, Ajanta, when we can talk seriously, but I find my family en masse somewhat distracting.”

  Ajanta was sure that the Marquis now was avoiding all distractions while he thought things out and she walked rather nervously to where she knew his private sitting room was situated.

  Because she felt that she was intruding, she knocked on the door and, when she heard his voice, opened it and went in.

  He was sitting in a high-backed armchair by the fireplace and, when he saw her, he looked surprised and rose to his feet.

  “I thought I – should come and – talk to you,” Ajanta said hesitantly.

  “I was in fact going to suggest that you did that,” the Marquis replied. “Come in, Ajanta and sit down.”

  She sat down on a chair facing his and he said,

  “You understood what Burnham said as he was leaving?”

  “I think he meant,” Ajanta answered in a low voice, “that if you do not – marry, then he will go – ahead with his – divorce.”

  “Exactly!” the Marquis agreed.

  “I am sorry – really sorry that this should have – happened,” Ajanta said, “and Lady Burnham says she will – kill herself if she is – divorced.”

  The Marquis was astonished.

  “You have seen her?”

  “Yes,” Ajanta replied. “She sent me an unsigned note this morning saying that you were in danger and asking me to meet her on the other side of the wood in the Park.” “So that was why you took Mercury out alone!” Ajanta nodded.

  There was silence for a moment and now the Marquis said,

  “You are now aware why I asked you to become engaged to me. I thought this afternoon, after Burnham had seen you that I had won and Lady Burnham and I would survive.”

  “That is – what I – thought too.”

  Ajanta gave a little sigh. And then she added,

  “I suppose Lord Burnham really – meant what he said?”

  “He will certainly start divorce proceedings if I do not marry,” the Marquis replied. “I can assure you it will give him immense pleasure to do so.”

  “Even though it will – hurt and perhaps – destroy his wife?”

  “Burnham is thinking of nothing at the moment but destroying me!”

  “What can – we do?” Ajanta asked in a frightened voice. Then before the Marquis could speak she said, “I have an idea, although it might be difficult.”

  “What is it?” he asked in a somewhat uncompromising tone.

  “As we have told so many lies,” Ajanta answered, “I feel one more will not matter. I thought if you announced our marriage had taken place in Paris or somewhere else abroad, you could wait for Lord Burnham’s papers to arrive. Then you could say I had had an – unfortunate accident – and I was – dead.”

  The Marquis stared at her.

  “It would not be – very different,” Ajanta went on. “We could have to take the family into our confidence, at least Papa and Lyle, but, if I went back to live quietly at the Vicarage, I am sure that Lord Burnham would not know where to find me.”

  “What would be our reason for being married abroad?”

  “That’s easy,” Ajanta replied. “You could say we did not want all the fuss of a large wedding, which would have to be held here as my home is too small.”

  She thought for a moment. Then she continued,

  “Your friends will all think quite reasonably that I am embarrassed at knowing so few people because I am of so little – consequence.”

  She made a rather helpless little gesture with her hands.

  “It will take a lot of – thinking out – but I am sure you could – organise something like that very successfully – and once I am – presumed dead Lord Burnham will no – longer be able to – menace you.”

  The Marquis rose from his chair and walked across the room to stand at the window.

  Ajanta watched him, thinking how large and strong he looked. With his body silhouetted against the sunshine, he was also slim, athletic and she had to admit, very attractive.

  “There is a much easier way out of this trouble,” the Marquis said, “but I hesitate to suggest it.”

  “Why?” Ajanta enquired.

  “Because you may not like it.”

  “What is your solution?”

  “It is that you should marry me!”

  For a moment she thought that she could not have heard him aright.

  Then she said quickly without thinking,

  “No – of course – not! How could I possibly do – that when you – love Lady Burnham? And anyway, if you are to be married, it should be to somebody of – influence – someone from your – own world.”

  The Marquis did not reply, but only stood still with his back to her.

  As Ajanta finished speaking, she felt her heart beating in a strange manner and quite suddenly she was aware, almost as if she had been struck by lightning, that she would in point of fact like to marry the Marquis.

  She was so astonished at her discovery that for a moment she felt she must have been going mad.

  Then she knew that she loved him and had been irresistibly attracted to him from the very first moment she saw him.

  It was now an unbearable agony to know that he loved Lady Burnham and she could mean nothing to him – except as a lifeline to save them both from disaster.

  It flashed through her mind like a series of pictures that, when he had picked up Charis in the road after the accident, he had been on his way to Dawlish Castle!

  She was sure, without being told, that to save himself from the divorce case he had intended originally to marry Lady Sarah.

  By a million to one chance or perhaps it was the manipulation of fate, he had come to the Vicarage and decided a ‘pretence engagement’ was a conside
rably more pleasant prospect than being tied for life to a woman he did not love. ‘That is what happened,’ Ajanta told herself.

  Now everything had gone wrong!

  The third Act of the Marquis’s play was far from ending happily with the hero freed from his encumbrance and able to enjoy himself unrestrainedly.

  Instead he might have to marry the leading lady, although she was not the heroine and never had been!

  ‘How could I have become involved in such a tangle?’ Ajanta asked herself and was sure that the Marquis was thinking the same.

  She looked at him and knew, now that she had admitted her love for him, she had been very obtuse not to realise that everything she had told herself she felt about him was as false as their engagement.

  It had been an indescribable delight to duel with him in words and realise for the first time in her life that she was talking to a man as an equal and holding her own intellectually.

  At the same time she had been aware that her co-actor was the most attractive, and when he wished, the most charming man it was possible to imagine.

  ‘Of course I fell in love with him!’ she thought despairingly, ‘just as dozens of women as beautiful as Lady Burnham have done in the past and will do in the future.’

  Yet desperate to save the woman he loved and himself, the Marquis had now asked her to marry him.

  Ajanta suddenly thought how easy it would be to say ‘yes!’

  Even if he did not care for her, she would be near him – she would see him – and she would bear his name.

  Then she told herself it would not only destroy her dreams of love and her ideals, but also it would be a torture that she would rather die than endure.

  Because she loved the Marquis, he must never be aware of it. It would not only be the final humiliation for her, but it would also be extremely embarrassing for him.

  Having made what was to all intents and purposes a business deal, they must find a business-like way out of their difficulties, without anyone except herself, and she did not count, being hurt in the process.

  Because she found the whole idea so depressing Ajanta managed to say in a voice that trembled a little,

  “I-I think – my solution is the best – and I am sure – because you are so – clever – that you will find some way to – make it work.”

  The Marquis did not reply and she went on,

  “It is hard now that we are both – upset, to think clearly – but at least we have a little time – in which to do so.”

  She thought wildly as she spoke that no time could be too long as far as she was concerned.

  She could for the time being see him, hear him and she could stay with him either here or in London and it would be a wonder and a joy that she would be able to remember in the empty years ahead.

  ‘I love you!’ she wanted to shout aloud, ‘and it will not – matter to me – how long we have to – remain engaged.’

  It flashed through her mind that perhaps the Marquis could contrive to steal the incriminating papers from Lord Burnham.

  Then she thought they would be with his Solicitors, so that would be impossible.

  ‘We shall just have to go on pretending,’ she reflected.

  Because she felt she could not bear to discuss it any further and the Marquis did not turn from the window, she walked swiftly across the room and left him without looking back.

  She ran upstairs to her room feeling that for the moment it was a sanctuary where she could be alone.

  As she did so, she thought that, if she did stay with the Marquis for long, now that she loved him, it would be a very bittersweet pleasure.

  Sweet because he was there, bitter because, knowing whom he loved, she kept seeing Lady Burnham’s beautiful face in front of her eyes.

  ‘They are perfectly suited to each other,’ Ajanta thought, ‘and I suppose the best thing I could do would be to pray that Lord Burnham will die, then they could marry each other and be really happy.’

  It was the sort of unselfish wish, she thought, that anyone who was really good would have. But she knew that, although she loved the Marquis with all her heart, she did not want to think of him kissing and touching Lady Burnham.

  Altogether she felt unbearably confused and bewildered by everything that had happened.

  When she reached her bedroom, she found Elsie laying out an evening gown for her to wear.

  “Oh, there you are, miss!” she exclaimed. “I was hopin’ you’d come upstairs early.”

  “Why?” Ajanta enquired.

  “Because her Ladyship’s arrived and is asking to see you, if it’s convenient.”

  “Her ladyship?”

  “His Lordship’s mother, the Marchioness,” Elsie explained. “She was to have been here when you arrived, but she wasn’t feelin’ well.”

  “But she is here now?”

  “Her Ladyship came over from the Dower House about half-an-hour ago. She went straight to her room and’ll be pleased if you’ll go to her, miss.”

  “Yes – of course,” Ajanta replied.

  She knew there was nothing she could do but agree, however, it would be embarrassing.

  Yet if she had to act a lie to the Marquis’s mother, it would be worse if he was present, especially at this moment when they were both stunned by Lord Burnham’s ultimatum.

  As Ajanta followed Elsie down the corridor to the South wing, the maid remarked,

  “These rooms are always kept ready for her Ladyship.”

  There was no need for Ajanta to reply for as she spoke Elsie knocked on a large mahogany door and it was opened a few seconds later by an elderly lady’s maid.

  “I’ve brought Miss Tiverton to see her Ladyship,” Elsie explained.

  “Thank you, Elsie. Will you come in, miss?”

  Ajanta stepped into a small hall and the maid opened another door.

  “Miss Ajanta Tiverton, my Lady!” she announced. Because sunshine seemed to fill the room it was difficult at first for Ajanta to see its occupant.

  Then she realised that in a bow window at the far end there was a woman with white hair, sitting in a wheelchair.

  Ajanta moved towards her, thinking perhaps after all she should have waited for the Marquis and his mother might think it strange for her to come alone.

  “I am so delighted to meet you,” a soft voice said. “You must forgive me for not being here when you arrived, but I have these tiresome bouts of pain when it is impossible for me to move about.”

  “I am sorry, ma’am,” Ajanta sympathised.

  She had reached the wheelchair by this time and, as she curtseyed and held out her hand, the Marchioness gave a little cry.

  “You cannot be!” she exclaimed. “And yet – you must be – Margaret’s daughter!”

  Ajanta stared at her.

  “In fact, you are so like her,” the Marchioness went on, “that I thought for one incredible moment that the years had rolled back and you were your mother!”

  “You – knew Mama?”

  It was difficult for Ajanta to speak, as she was so surprised. The Marchioness smiled.

  “We were at school together and she was my greatest friend. I was to be her bridesmaid when she ran away with your father.”

  Ajanta stood staring at the Marchioness feeling that in a day of surprises once again it was hard to think.

  As she was silent, the Marchioness went on,

  “I feel, because my son did not mention your mother, that she must be dead.”

  “Y-yes – she died two years ago,” Ajanta said in a low voice.

  “I am so sorry,” the Marchioness said. “I have thought of her so often and wondered what happened to her. You see, when your grandfather was so angry and refused to have her name ever mentioned again by the family or any of her friends, we had no idea what happened.”

  “Mama and Papa hid themselves after – Papa had been – threatened that he would be – horsewhipped.”

  The Marchioness gave an exclamation.

>   “That sounds very like your grandfather. The Earl of Winsdale was a very autocratic and intimidating man when he was young, but now he is old, nearly blind and rather pathetic.”

  Ajanta had been listening almost as if she was hypnotised by the Marchioness and now she said,

  “Please – ma’am – may I ask you – something? It is very – very important.”

  “Of course, dear. I hope nothing I have said has upset you.”

  “Actually it has,” Ajanta answered. “You see, ma’am, I am the only one in the family who – knows who Mama – was.”

  “You mean that your brother and sisters have not been told that she ran away with your father?”

  Without really thinking what she was doing, Ajanta knelt down beside the Marchioness’s chair.

  She thought as she did so that the Marquis’s mother had a very sweet and kind face. Equally it was beautiful even though lined with pain.

  “I expect, ma’am, you know,” she began, “when Papa fell in love with my mother, she was engaged to somebody very important, of whom her family approved.”

  The Marchioness smiled.

  “Yes, I knew about that.”

  “Mama asked her father if she could break off her engagement, but he was very angry.”

  The Marchioness nodded.

  “I am sure he was and the Earl’s anger was very frightening.”

  “Mama was terrified and, when Papa stood up to him and said they were determined to be married, he had him thrown out of the house bodily and threatened with a horsewhip if he ever returned.”

  “I did not know that,” the Marchioness said, “but I knew they ran away.”

  “Mama said that – nothing should come between them and their – love,” Ajanta went on, her voice softening, “and so they hid until Papa managed to persuade the Duke of Dawlish’s father, who had been kind to him when he was a boy, to give him a living on his estate. He did not know who Papa had married and the present Duke has no idea either.”

  “They were happy?” the Marchioness asked.

  “Very very happy and so much in love.”

  “And now Margaret’s daughter is to marry my son!” the Marchioness exclaimed. “I cannot tell you how happy that makes me!”

  As she spoke Ajanta was suddenly aware that this had brought a new complexity into her already complicated position with the Marquis.