Love Is the Reason For Living

by Barbara Cartland

  “What is that, my dearest?”

  “You do know, do you not, that I am not in the slightest bit interested in your assets? I have a large, personal fortune thanks to my father’s will and I have no designs on being the Lord of Crownley Hall.”

  “Darling, I know that!” cried Novella, squeezing his hand.

  “Now, I think it is time that you retired, you are looking a little fatigued. It has been a most difficult day for you.”

  “Yes, you are right,” sighed Novella, for in spite of all the excitement she felt at her new love, she was very very tired.

  “Your room will be ready for you – now go – I will see you in the morning.”

  He kissed her eyes gently and rang for the maid so that she could show Novella upstairs.

  Sir Edward walked as far as the landing with Novella and then kissed her once more.

  “Goodnight, my darling one,” he whispered, “until tomorrow – sleep well.”

  “And you too,” murmured Novella before moving towards her room.

  “And do not forget – you are no longer on your own, you have me by your side and now your stepfather has me to contend with as well.”

  Novella smiled to herself still unable to believe how fortunate she was to have found love with a man like Edward.

  ‘Papa and Mama would have adored him,’ she thought, as she watched the maid turning back the bed and making sure that there was enough water in the jug.

  ‘I do so hope that they are looking down on us and giving us their blessing.’

  And that thought comforted her immensely.

  *

  Although excited, Novella quickly fell asleep and, before she knew it, the maid was pulling back the curtains and letting in a stream of brilliant sunshine.

  Rubbing her eyes, Novella wondered if she had indeed dreamt everything that had happened the previous evening. After such a hideous run of luck, it all seemed too good to be true.

  But as soon as she entered the dining room for breakfast and saw Sir Edward, so anxious and so nervous, she knew that she had not imagined it.

  Running towards her, he took her hand and kissed it many times over.

  “My darling, how did you sleep?”

  As he gazed at her, loving and attentive, Novella felt overwhelmed.

  “I was asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow,” she said, not letting his hand go. “And now, I am quite hungry.”

  “Jean-Charles has made some kedgeree, would you care for some?”

  “That sounds wonderful, thank you.”

  Novella seated herself at the table as Sir Edward took it upon himself to pile up a plate from the buffet for her. His butler stood by, with an amused look on his face at having been temporarily relieved of his duties.

  “What will you do this morning?” asked Sir Edward looking concerned.

  “I must return to the Hall as soon as I have eaten,” replied Novella, savouring the tasty dish, “I want to search for that secret hiding place that Mr. Rumbold told us about. I feel sure that Lord Buckton will have ransacked the place already searching for what remains of Mama’s jewels.”

  “And you are still certain that you wish to return alone?”

  Novella felt torn. It was a most attractive offer – for she knew that facing her stepfather again would be difficult – but she knew she had to face him on her own.

  “Yes,” she answered after a long pause, “it cannot be any other way.”

  “I will be at your immediate disposal should you require me,” offered Sir Edward.

  Novella longed to cry out ‘Yes! Yes. Come with me,’ but she knew that would only make what she needed to do more difficult. She had no wish to draw attention to herself in her hunt for the secret hiding place.

  “We should also keep the news of our engagement a secret until after the funeral,” murmured Novella, aware that it was bound to cause a sensation in any eventuality.

  But she did not care for convention – as soon as her Mama’s funeral had taken place, she would have no compunction in making the announcement.

  “I agree,” said Sir Edward, rising from the breakfast table. “Now, I will have the carriage made ready for you.”

  Novella left to put her few things into an old tapestry bag that had belonged to Sir Edward’s sister and then steeled herself for the return journey home.

  Downstairs, the carriage was ready and Sir Edward’s coachman was seated on the box, holding the reins of a fine pair of black horses.

  “I think it would be best if I kept Salamander stabled here until such time as it is safe for him to return,” Sir Edward told her as they embraced for one last time. “And you are to send word to me the instant you require me. Send Ned on Bluebell – she can still kick up the turf like a young mare.”

  Novella smiled – how he loved the horses as much as she did. It made her adore him all the more.

  Climbing up into the carriage, she settled down with a feeling of apprehension. In truth, she did not wish to return home at all – but she had important discoveries to make.

  “I will keep Salamander in the top field out of the way of prying eyes,” promised Sir Edward, as he held her hand through the carriage window. “That way, Lord Buckton cannot come and take him by force.”

  “Thank you so much, my dearest. If I lost Salamander again after losing Mama, I do not know how I would cope. It is only you and he that keep me going.”

  *

  And so Novella returned to Crownley Hall.

  She was so nervous as she walked through the front door that she felt quite sick, but she was relieved and somewhat surprised to find that her stepfather was not at home.

  As she walked around the Hall, she could see that more items had disappeared.

  Returning to her room, it felt strange and empty.

  She was just about to start climbing up onto her bed to search for the hidden place, when Mrs. Armitage entered without knocking.

  ‘Bother,’ she thought, as she hastily climbed down. The last thing she wanted was for Mrs. Armitage’s curiosity to be aroused.

  “Ah, my Lady – you have returned at last. I am glad to see you safe and sound.”

  “I stayed with a friend – I am afraid that I needed to get away from the cares of the Hall for a while.”

  “You have made the funeral arrangements, I trust?”

  “Has my stepfather been asking?”

  “No, my Lady, he is in London on business. It is just that there have been many callers making enquiries.”

  “I shall send out the cards this afternoon,” said Novella with a sigh, “I believe there are some black-bordered cards in Mama’s room left over from Papa’s funeral. There is not time to have more printed – they are blank and will have to suffice.”

  “Shall I clean and press your best mourning clothes?” asked Mrs. Armitage.

  Novella gave her a look – how did she know that she had them? She must have been rummaging around in her wardrobe during her absence!

  “Thank you, Mrs. Armitage. The crepe on the bodice of my best dress may need replacing. Can I ask you to attend to it?”

  “Of course, my Lady.”

  “And I should like another veil ordered, can you send for one from Peter Robinson’s in London?”

  “Yes, my Lady. Will that be all?”

  “Yes, thank you,” replied Novella.

  But even so, Mrs. Armitage lingered for a moment longer, her eyes darting around the bed to see if she could fathom what Novella was up to.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Armitage!” repeated Novella, dismissing her. She was eager for the housekeeper to leave so that she could press on with her plans.

  *

  For the next few days, such was the amount that required Novella’s attention, that finding the secret cache had to take second place.

  There was so much to organise. She had the cards to write, announcing the day and time of the Countess’s funeral. Then there were the numerous trips to the undertakers to take locks o
f hair from her Mama to make into memorial jewellery – and next the visit to the jewellers to have the pendant made.

  Novella had no wish for a death mask to be fashioned and there was the matter of ensuring that every window in Crownley Hall was correctly shuttered.

  Novella lived and breathed mourning and funerals until the day itself.

  There had been mutterings in the village about the prolonged absence of Lord Buckton, but nobody was really very shocked.

  As Novella sorted through her mother’s effects, she was utterly taken over by bouts of weeping. Mama’s clothes still smelled of the cologne that she used to wear on occasions, mingled with the lavender bags that kept the moths at bay.

  She broke down completely when she found her Mama’s wedding dress. She sobbed into the soft silk of the skirt whilst kneeling in front of the wardrobe.

  ‘Oh, Mama! I wish you were here. I can only hope that you are able to see me from Heaven and that you know how I have found true love amidst all this sorrow.’

  In a way, Novella was grateful that her stepfather did not put in an appearance at the Hall but remained in London. At least it gave her plenty of time to do what was necessary.

  It was obvious to her that Lord Buckton had indeed been through her mother’s things – there were drawers with rumpled contents instead of being neatly folded and she found empty hat boxes and cases that had been forced open.

  But Novella still did not have the chance to search the bed as each time she attempted it, as if by magic, Mrs. Armitage appeared. It was as if she had been told to keep a close eye on her to see if she would reveal where the really important, saleable items were.

  Eventually, Novella decided that it would be best if she waited until after the funeral – with so many comings and goings at the Hall, she really did not have time for a prolonged search.

  And so, the day of the funeral eventually dawned.

  Sir Edward came to the Hall first thing in the morning and Novella could not help but admire how smart he looked in his black mourning suit.

  ‘He is more handsome than ever,’ she said to herself, as he stayed by her side while the mourners gathered in front of the Hall.

  At eleven o’clock, the hearse arrived. It was a glass carriage pulled by six black horses with plumes on their heads.

  Novella had been quite composed until the moment that she saw her Mama’s coffin inside the vehicle and then she began to cry profusely.

  Sir Edward took her arm and guided her towards his carriage that had been especially liveried in black for the occasion. Even his coachman was wearing a black overcoat instead of his usual dark green and gold.

  The funeral procession wound its slow way to the local Church and Novella was stunned to see that practically everyone in the village had turned out.

  “I did not think it was possible that Mama was so loved,” she said to Sir Edward as they climbed down from the carriage.

  Later, as they stood around the grave, there were mutterings from within the crowd remarking upon Lord Buckton’s absence. Although it was outrageous that he was not present, Novella was secretly pleased.

  She had not wanted her stepfather to be by her side throughout the service and around the grave – she was pleased that it was Sir Edward who held her arm and comforted her.

  ‘Goodbye, dearest Mama,’ whispered Novella, as she took a handful of dirt from the box and threw it into the open grave, ‘rest easy with Papa and I will see you one day again.’

  Leading her towards his carriage, Sir Edward suddenly turned to her,

  “Do you wish me to come back to the Hall with you?” he asked gently.

  “No, I would like to be alone and to rest,” she replied, feeling quite exhausted. The whole weight of everything that had happened lay heavy upon her.

  “Then you must take my carriage. I will go with Mr. Longridge in his.”

  Mr. Hubert Longridge had indeed attended the service and could be seen with tears in his eyes throughout. In fact, Novella could not think of a single friend or tradesman who had ever dealt with the family who had not put in an appearance.

  Reluctantly, Sir Edward saw Novella to his carriage and then took her hand briefly – he knew it would not be right to give her a kiss with so many people watching.

  “Darling, I wish I could cover your face with kisses, but it would not be seemly. Please look after yourself and send for me immediately should you need me.”

  “I will, my love,” she replied, gratefully, as the carriage began to pull away.

  *

  Novella’s heart was in her mouth as she approached the Hall. Travelling down the long drive, she could see that her stepfather had returned and that he appeared to be accompanied by a rough-looking man.

  As they drew up outside the front door, Lord Buckton turned to greet her.

  “Ah, Novella,” he called, “I am so sorry that I could not attend your Mama’s funeral, I have only just returned from London.”

  Stepping onto the drive, Novella gave the man next to him a long look. She waited for her stepfather to introduce them.

  It was then that she noticed that all the closed shutters in the house had been reopened.

  After a giving a nervous cough, Lord Buckton spoke,

  “Let us go inside, my dear,” he said, almost kindly, “I want you to meet Mr. Preston – he is waiting inside and is most anxious to speak with you.”

  Fear sprang up at once in Novella’s bosom. The man that Lord Buckton was speaking to when she arrived looked alarmingly like a builder.

  She could see that his hands were rough from hard work and he had the complexion of a man who spent a great deal of time outdoors.

  “What matter does he wish to discuss with me?” she asked in a cool tone.

  “I think that it is best if we go indoors and talk there,” insisted her stepfather, beginning to look irritated.

  “Very well.”

  Lord Buckton took her into the library, by which time Novella’s heart was beating fast. She had just been through one dreadful experience and now it seemed that she was about to have another.

  What was more, her stepfather’s avuncular air was not the least bit in character and that alone was enough to worry her.

  “Sit down, my dear.”

  Lord Buckton offered her a comfortable chair and, reluctantly, Novella sank down into it.

  As she did so, she noticed that a second man was in the library already. She had not noticed him at first – although Heaven only knows how she did not, for he was dressed in a loud-checked overcoat with a pink silk waistcoat. Not quite smart enough to be a dandy, but Novella immediately began to suspect that something was afoot.

  She glared at the man, feeling that he was intruding upon her grief. The man shifted in his chair by the window, obviously uncomfortable.

  “My dear, this is Mr. Preston. He and his colleague have come to see what needs doing to Crownley Hall. I have it in mind to put the estate up for sale now that your Mama has gone. Now, if you will just be so kind as to sign this paper, we can conclude our business and Mr. Preston can be on his way.”

  Novella was so angry that she was shaking.

  ‘How dare he! It is not his to sell,’ she thought, but was unable to speak.

  “Mr. Preston has made me a very generous offer for the Hall and I have decided to take it.”

  “Enough!” shouted Novella, standing up, her eyes blazing. “May I remind you that it is not yours to sell? Crownley Hall is now mine. You know the terms of Papa’s will and I inherit everything upon Mama’s death – not you!”

  “You will have to excuse Lady Novella,” remarked Lord Buckton, in a patronising tone to Mr. Preston, “she buried her mother this morning.”

  “How dare you try and sell Crownley Hall from over my head!” she continued, standing her ground, “Mama is barely in her grave!”

  Mr. Preston turned red and looked down at his highly polished shoes.

  “Er-hem, I am sorry, my Lady, but there seems
to have been a misunderstanding. I was given to believe that it was Lord Buckton’s property to sell and of course, if it is not, then I do not wish to become embroiled in any family quarrels –”

  He rose to leave, taking his hat with him.

  “And I certainly did not realise it was the day of your mother’s funeral else I would not have even set foot inside the house. Please forgive the intrusion. Lord Buckton, I am sorry, but we no longer have a deal.”

  With a short bow, the embarrassed Mr. Preston quickly left the room.

  As he shut the door behind him, Novella turned to face her stepfather. She could see that he was beside himself with rage – his face was purple and his breath was coming in short noisy bursts.

  “You – will – pay – for this,” he spluttered, grabbing her by the arm so hard that his fingernails bit through the thin silk of her dress.

  Without hesitating, he dragged her out of the library and up the stairs to her room. Throwing her on to the bed, he strode back to the door and, with a flourish, took the key from the lock.

  “You will stay here until I see fit to let you out. When you have cooled down, we will talk about this matter again. I will sell Crownley Hall. It is mine by right!”

  With that, he locked the door behind him.

  ‘Oh, why didn’t I hide the key as I have been doing of late?’ wept Novella.

  But she had been so preoccupied with thoughts of her mother’s funeral that it had slipped her mind. And now, she was incarcerated once more.

  ‘What can I do? What can I do?’ she asked herself repeatedly, weeping all the while. Never had Novella felt so hopeless.

  ‘As if it were not enough that today is the day of Mama’s funeral, I am now a prisoner in my own home.’

  Looking up at the ceiling, Novella tried to fathom out what to do. She was certain that Charles would still be in the village, drinking to her mother’s memory with the rest of the stable boys and, without him, she had no chance of sending for Sir Edward.

  ‘Why, oh, why did I send him away?’ she cried, pummelling the bed covers. ‘I need him now more than ever. I was so foolish.’

  But there was nothing she could do and Novella realised that.

  Her eyes scanned the room until she was looking straight overhead up at her bedhead with its intricate carvings of acorns and leaves.