“I am twenty-four.”
“And you?” he looked at Rena.
“I am twenty-two, and have no family.”
“Then I can marry you now, if that is your wish.”
“Yes!” The four of them said it together.
“Then bolt the doors,” said Adolphus robustly. “Let no-one enter until our work is done.”
They were the strangest wedding ceremonies Rena had ever seen, yet she had no doubt that they were safe in the hands of this holy man. Apart from her father, no man had ever impressed her so deeply with his power for good.
By common consent Matilda and Cecil married first, since they had the most to fear from her father. Or, as John put it to his beloved,
“Wyngate cannot harm us now.”
They married with curtain rings which Adolphus ‘just happened’ to have slipped into his pocket, at about the same time that he asked Rena about the status of the chapel.
John stood groomsman to Cecil, and then he and Rena signed the register which they had found in the vestry only half an hour ago.
Then the newly married Cecil became groomsman to the Earl, while Mrs. Cecil Jenkins was Rena’s attendant, both of them covered with dust but full of joy.
“Wilt thou take this woman – ?”
“I will.”
“Wilt thou take this man – obey him and serve him, love, honour and keep him – forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, as long as ye both shall live.”
With profound joy, Rena responded, “I will.”
“With this ring, I thee wed – ”
Before John could say more there was a thunderous knocking on the door outside.
“Let me in!” bawled Wyngate’s voice.
The door shook under his assault. But it held.
John’s hand tightened on his bride’s in silent reassurance, while his voice continued steadily reciting his vows.
The noise retreated from the door, and they heard footsteps climbing. The next moment Wyngate had appeared in the gallery high above, his face contorted with rage. He could see them, but not get to them.
“Stop this!” he screamed. “I demand that you stop!”
“Never fear,” said Adolphus. “He has no power here.”
He raised his voice.
“Forasmuch as John and Rena have consented together in holy wedlock – ”
“No–oh!” shrieked Wyngate.
Adolphus made his measured way through the words, almost as though he could not hear the howls of rage and frustration coming from above.
“ – I pronounce that they be man and wife together.”
Now Wyngate had stopped screaming. In the silence he sent them a look of such malevolent hatred that Rena was startled.
“You’ll pay for this,” he snarled. “You think you can defy me and get away with it? Nobody has ever done that. I’ll ruin you.”
“You cannot ruin us,” John called up to him. “We no longer need your money to safeguard the people or restore the house.”
“The house,” sneered Wyngate. “You think you’re going to enjoy the house? This should have been my house. Nobody shall take it from me.”
He turned sharply and the next moment he was gone. Distantly they could hear the sound of voices, shouts of warning, Simpkins calling,
“Not up there, sir. It isn’t safe.”
“The roof,” said John.
Hastily Adolphus pulled back the bolts and they all rushed out. From the gallery Wyngate had a good head start, and they could already hear him above them.
The next moment something went flying down past the window, to land with a crash on the terrace outside.
“It’s a piece of stone from the turrets,” said John. “He must be trying to destroy the house. Rena, stay here. Don’t go outside whatever you do. It isn’t safe.”
“I’m coming with you,” she cried, fearful for him.
“No darling, I want you to stay here.”
“But – ”
He gave her a faint smile. “Only a few minutes ago you vowed to obey me. Where’s Adolphus?”
“He’s gone up ahead.”
Another crash as more stone came down. John raced after Adolphus, but the old clergyman had already reached the roof ahead of him, and was standing, facing Wyngate.
“Get away from me,” Wyngate shrieked.
“It is over, my son. You can harm these people no more. The Earl is married, your daughter is married, and they have gone beyond you.”
“This is your doing.”
“No, it is your doing. You have driven away everyone who loved you, until only I am left. I am still your father.”
“Keep your distance from me,” Wyngate repeated, taking a step backwards.
“Don’t go too near the edge,” Adolphus cried. “The stone is missing there.”
“This is mine,” Wyngate said fiercely. “I will not give it up. I shall fight them for it. Look out there – ” he swept his arm out in the direction of the estate. “Land fit for a king. Fit for me. Mine. Mine!”
“Nothing is yours,” said Adolphus. “You have thrown away everything that matters, and now nothing is left.”
Silence.
Only the wind.
They faced each other over several feet. Neither moved, but Adolphus saw in his son’s eyes that he had understood.
“Nothing – ” Wyngate repeated hoarsely. “Nothing is mine. Nothing is left. Nothing.”
He looked out over the inheritance he had fought so hard to steal, and which now would never be his.
The next moment he had vanished.
From below came shouts of horror as he dropped sixty feet to land on the flagstones below.
No man could survive such a fall.
John, bursting out onto the roof, saw Adolphus standing there, stock still, his eyes fixed bleakly on the distance.
“Adolphus, are you all right? Where is Wyngate.”
“He fell,” the old man said through his tears. “He was standing by the edge and – he fell.”
Cautiously John went to the edge and looked over. Down below a crowd of workmen were standing in a circle around Wyngate, but still they kept their distance, as though even in death Wyngate was terrifying.
He lay on his back, staring up to the sky, his eyes open and blank.
John turned back to where Adolphus stood, still motionless.
“Let’s go down,” he said gently.
“He was my son,” Adolphus said softly. “He was my son.”
*
The coins fetched slightly more than Adolphus’ prediction, and John immediately put the work in hand, not only on his own house but on the cottages that dotted the estate.
Now there was accommodation for his workers, and jobs for everyone who needed them. Mr Simpkins was summoned back to do a new set of plans, and the house rang with the sound of workmen.
Best of all it was early enough in the year to revive the farms and sow this year’s crops.
“There’s a lot more to be done,” the Earl of Lansdale told his Countess as they strolled together by the stream when the harvest had been gathered. “It wasn’t a large harvest this year, because we were so short of time. But next year will be an even greater success.”
“And the year after,” said Rena, “and the year after that, and all the years to come. Nothing matters, except that we’ll be together.”
Their walk had brought them to the cross, sturdy and upright since a group of workmen had dug new foundations and settled it securely in the earth.
“I’m glad we asked Adolphus to bless it,” said John.
“Yes, now it speaks of him as well as Papa.”
“I think he’s going to be all right.”
“I’m sure he will,” said Rena. “Matilda writes to me from London that for a while they feared for his reason, so deep was his grief. But when he knew that he was to be a great grandfather he came back to life.
“But what I think pleased him most was the news that Matilda planned t
o use only a small part of her vast inheritance, just enough to set Cecil up in his own business. The rest will go to making reparations to those her father injured. It was only then that Adolphus agreed to live with them.”
“I had hoped to persuade him to spend a little time with us,” said John.
“But of course,” Rena assented eagerly. “Who else could baptise our child in the King’s Chapel?”
“Our child,” he said tenderly. “Are you quite certain?”
“Quite certain. In the spring. And then we will have everything.”
“No,” he said, taking her face between his hands. “When I think of what could have happened, how we might have lost each other, then I know that I have everything now. Whatever else befalls us in life, you and you alone are my everything. And that is how it will be forever.”
“Forever,” she murmured. “It has such a beautiful sound.”
“Yes,” he said. “And it will be beautiful, in this life and the next, because we will have the love that God gave us. Forever. Until the end of time.”
Love in the Highlands
Lavina took her hand from his, but she had the strange feeling that he released her reluctantly.
She went into the corridor, and once again played the tunes which she loved herself, and which she felt expressed in music what she felt when she was riding, dancing or just looking at the sun.
She knew now that her music spoke to the man she loved, and that the things it told him were vital for them both, and the future.
“You must get well, completely well,” she told him in music. “I love you more than I can ever say, except in this music which seems to come down from heaven and not belong to the world.”
After a while she thought she would see if he was asleep or awake. She went into the room very quietly and found his eyes closed.
She knelt beside him, praying that he would soon get well, closing her own eyes as she did so. When she opened them she saw him looking at her.
LOVE IN THE HIGHLANDS
BARBARA CARTLAND
Barbaracartland.com Ltd
Copyright © 2004 by Cartland Promotions
First published on the internet in 2004 by Barbaracartland.com
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronically or mechanically, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval, without the prior permission in writing from the publisher.
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CHAPTER ONE
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1876
The letter was full of warmth and affection.
It seems a long time since we’ve seen you, Cousin Edward. Much too long, my dear wife says, and I agree with her.
“So do I,” the Earl of Ringwood murmured, a smile spreading over his broad, kindly face. “I should like nothing better than to see my family after so long, and Scotland is very beautiful.”
When he thought of the splendid highland scenery the walls of his library seemed to crowd in on him, making him long suddenly for wide open spaces.
He loved his magnificent London home, and the life he led there. He enjoyed his place at court, his status as a trusted adviser, almost a friend, to the Queen.
He also enjoyed the fact that his beloved daughter, Lavina, was the belle of the ball wherever she went. Beautiful, fashionable, elegant and superb, she made him burst with pride.
She had already rejected five proposals of marriage, one of them from a Duke. Secretly Lord Ringwood was relieved as, since the death of his beloved wife, four years earlier, Lavina, his only child, was all he had to love.
Their life was here in the centre of glittering society, and they would not change it for the world.
And yet, something about the letter he was reading, with its hint of heather and rivers, mountains and lakes, brought a wistful look to Lord Ringwood’s face.
Of course I know that Scotland is a long way from London, wrote his cousin Ian, and you have your duties in attendance on Her Majesty. But I live in hope that one day you and Lavina, who must be grown up by now, will give us the pleasure of a visit.
“It’s about time we did,” Lord Ringwood agreed, taking up his pen to reply.
But in the same moment the door opened and his butler announced,
“The Duke of Bradwell to see you, My Lord.”
Lord Ringwood rose to greet his visitor, delighted, for this was his oldest friend.
“Hello, Bertram,” he said. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”
The Duke was a tall, elderly man with an upright carriage. Despite his white hair he had an air of health and vigour, but now his face was troubled.
“I came to give you an urgent warning,” he said without preamble.
“It must be really urgent to bring you here at this hour,” the Earl observed genially. “I know you hate getting up so early.”
“I do,” agreed the Duke, “but there’s trouble ahead, and the sooner you know, the sooner you can act. I would have come last night, but I had a dinner party that I could not miss.”
“Sit down,” the Duke said, “and tell me the worst.”
His easy tone showed that he did not believe that things could really be so bad.
There was a pause before the Duke began:
“I was at Windsor Castle yesterday evening, in attendance on the Queen. After supper we all moved, as usual, into Her Majesty’s private room. I expected to discuss the local news and was prepared to be bored, when a messenger arrived with an urgent letter for her.
“She read it through, then said unexpectedly in a sharp voice, ‘Another letter asking me to provide a wife for a Balkan Prince, whose country is being threatened by the Russians.’
‘I’ve said many times that I cannot do any more for the Balkans. I have, as you know only too well, provided many English brides to give them alliances with this country.’“
“True enough,” the Earl observed. “Who is it this time?”
“Prince Stanislaus of Kadradtz. It’s a small place but significant. Herzegovina on one side, Albania on the other. Now they’ve got Russia breathing down their necks and they expect the Queen to produce a bride, as she has done many times before.”
“Well, it’s not for nothing that they call Her Majesty ‘the Matchmaker of Europe’,” observed the Earl.
He smiled as he spoke, but the Duke said,
“You won’t smile, old fellow, when I tell you what the Queen has in mind now. Did you know that her great-grandmother was connected with your family?”
“That? Good heavens that was generations ago. We’ve certainly never preened ourselves on our ‘connection with royalty’.”
“Unfortunately for you and Lavina, the Queen is counting on it now.”
“Lavina?”
At the mention of his beloved daughter the Earl’s smile vanished and alarm came into his eyes.
“What are you saying, Bertram? Don’t tell me Her Majesty is thinking of marrying Lavina to Prince Stanislaus?”
“She’s set on it. There were murmurs of dissent last night. Several of the men there had met the Prince and formed a very poor opinion of him. He’s a drunkard, a womaniser, and reputedly violent. But Her Majesty refused to listen. She’s made her mind up.
“You know how determined the Queen can be. Once she gives you her order you’ll be expected to obey.
“If you defy her you’ll lose your position at court, and your life will be made a misery. People have tried to stand out against her before, and have become outcasts in society.”
“It’s a nightmare,” the Earl groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “Whatever can I do? For God’s
sake, Bertram, tell me how I can save my daughter from being forced to marry this appalling man, and being sent away to a far country, living under the threat of invasion.”
“I know, I know!” The Duke replied. “I wouldn’t want to send a relation of mine there. I’ve come here to warn you that you will be summoned to Windsor Castle, so that she can tell you herself.”
“Damn it, Bertram, what shall I do?” the Earl demanded.
“I can see only two chances for you. One is to leave the country – although she’s quite capable of sending a ship to bring you back, or somehow get your daughter married or engaged, before you get the ‘Royal Command’.”
“How, in God’s name, can I do that?” the Earl asked. “Lavina has already turned down virtually every eligible man in London. We can’t go back to them now.”
“There’s one man who might help you, if he would agree to do so, and that is the Marquis of Elswick. If Lavina is already engaged, even the Queen would not expect her to break off her engagement.”
The Earl stared at his friend in astonishment.
“You want Lavina to marry Elswick?” he demanded, aghast. “A hard, cold, unpleasant man, without a shred of human kindness in him?”
“Of course I don’t want her to marry him. An engagement will do. It can simply be broken off later, when the Queen has found someone else, or sent the Prince about his business.”
“I don’t believe my ears,” the Earl said. “Old friend, I know you mean this kindly, and I’m grateful for the warning, but you must have windmills in your head even to think of Elswick!
“You know he’s always shunned all talk of marriage or engagements, after what happened last time.”
“I know his future wife abandoned him at the altar,” the Duke agreed, “but that was a long time ago.”
“But he has never forgotten it,” the Earl said. “He loathes women. His country house is only a mile or so away from mine, and it’s common knowledge that he’ll hardly have a woman in the place.”
“Yet he’s still the ideal person to help you,” the Duke replied. “As you say, he’s a curmudgeon, a harsh, solitary man who cares nothing for society, and very little for the Queen, I sometimes think.
An Introduction to the Pink Collection Page 14
