Theirs to Eternity

by Barbara Cartland

  The driveway stretched out ahead of her. At its far end, a figure on horseback came into view. She struggled to control the sudden surge in her blood. The figure might be Lord Delverton – it might not – what did it matter either way? He could not fool her again. She knew now what manner of man he was.

  Yet her heart would not be silenced.

  The figure drew near. A black horse, an upright figure.

  Davina breathed against the glass.

  I will marry you, she suddenly decided. Whoever you are, riding towards me, I will marry you. Let fate decide in whose arms I lie.

  “I will be yours to eternity, whoever you are.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The woods were dense around Esmé’s cottage and Charles’s progress was slow. Now and then a bird called from a low bough, or a squirrel pattered up the bark of a tree. Faro pricked up his ears at these sounds but otherwise plodded on with his head down.

  He marvelled that Esmé was unafraid to live alone amid such silence.

  He crossed a stream and found a rough track on the other side. This seemed at last a contact with that outside world from which he felt he had been in exile.

  He wondered whether he would ever have left the unhurried life of the forest had it not been for the memory of Davina. The call of duty was strong, but so was the call of paradise. The call of love, however, was stronger than either.

  The trees had thinned and dappled afternoon sunlight fell across his path. The pale, golden hue of the air made him think of Davina – the curls on her forehead, the tresses that fell about her white neck.

  Faro tossed his mane and quickened his pace, as if in answer to the sudden urgency in his master’s blood.

  Horse and rider moved as one, travelling eagerly now towards home.

  The sound of a shot ringing out nearby brought Faro to a sudden halt.

  He half reared and Charles ducked quickly to avoid the low boughs.

  Swearing quietly to himself, he straightened in the saddle and peered ahead.

  A moment later the figure of a man emerged from the trees, a bloodied rabbit swinging in his grasp. The man froze in his tracks at the sight of horse and rider on the path. Charles raised an eyebrow when he recognised the figure.

  “Good day, Jed,” he said coolly.

  Jed, dumb-struck for a second only, spat out a wad of tobacco.

  “And if it ain’t Lord Delverton,” he grunted. “You’ve kept yerself – quiet this last fortnight. No letters nor nothing.

  Your aunt was starting to fret.”

  “She is well, I hope?”

  “Aye. Well enough.” Jed plucked a string of tobacco from his lip, keenly watching Charles all the while.

  “And my brother?”

  “He’s kept hisself – occupied.”

  Charles wondered if this meant that Howard had been gambling again, but decided not to pursue the matter for the moment. He gestured towards the rabbit carcass.

  “I trust it is my land you are shooting on?”

  Jed gave him a curious look. “Your land? We’re a good few miles off your land here. Don’t you know where you are, then?”

  “No, Jed, I don’t,” he replied simply. “But I am, I hope, on my way home?”

  “More nor less.” Jed spat again. “I’ll go on with you and show you the way. My business is done for now.”

  “Your business?”

  Jed gave a short laugh. “That’s right. My business.

  Putting food in the Delverton larder.”

  Charles could not but flinch at this, although he would have been well within his rights to reprimand Jed. He sat in silence while Jed fetched his horse, which was tethered nearby. Jed threw the rabbit into a sack that hung from the saddle and then mounted.

  The track was narrow and Charles permitted Jed to ride in front. For one thing, Jed was the more acquainted with the route, knowing which fork to take whenever the path diverged. For another, he had long harboured an instinctive dislike of having Jed at his back.

  “Been in London all this time, have you?” Jed asked over his shoulder.

  Charles knew that the attack upon his person was an event that would be of concern to everybody and must therefore be recounted. There seemed no reason not to begin with Jed.

  “I never reached London, Jed. The night I left Priory Park, after escorting my aunt to her door, I was attacked on the road.”

  Jed gave a low whistle. “Attacked and never reached London, eh? Did You – did you happen to see who it was?”

  “Three or four men. They were masked, as I recall. I can only assume they were the robbers who have been plaguing the area. They left me for dead.”

  Jed twisted round in the saddle and regarded him narrowly.

  “You’re not dead, though, are you? Not even scratched, I’d say.”

  “I was badly injured, but – I was found and nursed back to health.”

  “Was you, then?” Jed gave a laugh and turned to face forward again.

  “The luck of the devil, I’d say! And who was it found you?” Charles drew in his breath, remembering his promise to Esmé.

  “A – woodsman’s daughter.”

  “Oh, aye? Pretty, were she?”

  “As plain as a loaf,” replied Charles quickly.

  Jed’s insinuation alerted him. He had no desire to have Jed – and Howard, always hapless in his friend’s wake – scouring the woods with a pretty girl as their prey. Esmé and her cottage were sacrosanct and he would do as much as he could to protect her privacy.

  “You will hear all when I am back home,” he continued, anxious to forestall any further questioning.

  Jed merely shrugged and rode on.

  Another forty minutes or so brought the two riders to the edge of the woods. To his astonishment, Charles recognised the view that opened up before him.

  “Why, that’s the lake of Priory Park!” he exclaimed.

  “That’s right,” said Jed.

  “So these are Shelford’s woods?”

  Jed shrugged. “Some of them, yes. But there’s miles and miles of woods t’wixt here and back where we met. Who’s to say who they all belong to?”

  Jed was obviously eager to justify his evident poaching that morning. But Charles’s thoughts were on other matters entirely. All this time he had been no more than an hour or so’s ride from Davina. All this time he had been a fugitive in her own father’s woods.

  All this time, Esmé the gypsy had been the unwitting and unacknowledged tenant of Lord Shelford, sheltering in one of his cottages, feeding from his own land.

  Poaching his deer and rabbits! It was an irony that he could not for the moment fully encompass.

  “Which way do you propose to go now?” he asked Jed.

  “We can skirt the lake and go east, but that’s the longer route. It’s quicker by the road.”

  “Which we can only reach by riding across Shelford’s lawns?”

  Jed nodded. “Aye.”

  “Then that is the way we will proceed,” said Charles.

  “We can be sure that Lord Shelford will not protest.”

  It was not so much a desire to reach his own home sooner that he had decided to cross the Priory Park estate as the secret hope that he might encounter Davina en route.

  She could be walking in the rose garden or strolling in the drive that led to the gates. His hunger to catch even a glimpse of her was his over-riding desire.

  The two men rode around the southern tip of the lake and galloped towards the house. As they drew near Charles became aware of a figure seated on the terrace. Nearer still and the figure rose to watch their approach.

  It was Lord Shelford, cigar in hand.

  “Delverton!” he exclaimed. “Well, well. Just back from London, eh? This is most unexpected. We have all been wondering at your – silence.”

  Charles was too impatient for news of Davina to wish to plunge directly into an account of what had happened to him.

  “I am afraid I was – unexpectedly
detained – ” he replied, his eyes flicking to the windows of the house in hopes of seeing Davina.

  “Were you, indeed? Well, London is one long diversion, of course.”

  Charles’s attention snapped back to Lord Shelford, stung by the implication that he had neglected to keep his promise to Davina merely because he had been otherwise amused. Before he could respond, Lord Shelford turned and called towards the house.

  “Parfitt!”

  Parfitt appeared at the open French windows. “Sir?”

  “More glasses, please!”

  Charles now noticed champagne in ice standing on a low table. His heart suddenly lurched with misgiving.

  “Champagne?” he enquired. “What is the – occasion?”

  Lord Shelford drew on his cigar and blew out a plume of smoke.

  “That, Lord Delverton, you will presently discover,” he answered, in a voice unmistakably tinged with regret.

  Charles dismounted slowly.

  There were voices from within and two people burst out onto the terrace.

  He stiffened as he recognised Howard and – Davina.

  Seeing his brother, Howard stopped short and exclaimed aloud.

  “Charles! Dear fellow!”

  There was constraint in his voice but he barely noticed. His eyes were on Davina, who had turned unaccountably pale at the sight of him.

  “Madam,” he bowed.

  Davina did not curtsy in return, but began twisting a handkerchief in her fingers. Charles recognised it as the very one he himself had given her on the day he had called at Priory Park and found her indisposed. Sensing his stare, she blushed, and tucked the handkerchief quickly in her sleeve.

  Howard’s eyes narrowed.

  “You have been gone a devilish long time, Charles,” he said brusquely. “What kept you away?”

  Charles was saved from making what must have been a lengthy reply by Parfitt, who appeared carrying a tray of extra glasses. The group on the terrace watched in silence as Parfitt made his way to the table. Jed meanwhile dismounted and stood with one foot resting on the lowest of the terrace steps, watching the proceedings from under his thick, black brows.

  The pop of the cork sounded like the report of a gun in the strange silence that had overcome the company. As Parfitt filled the glasses, Howard leaned forward and took one from the tray.

  “Here you are, Davina,” he said, turning.

  Charles started. Davina. He wondered at hearing this sweet name, the name that he had uttered so often to himself, spoken aloud in such an intimate fashion by his brother.

  Everyone now held a drink.

  “And what is the toast to be?” came Jed’s dark voice.

  Lord Shelford glanced at Jed with distaste. “I think it is for Howard to enlighten us on that subject.”

  Howard grinned uneasily. “That’s right. And the first thing I have to tell you is – I am delighted that you are all here – and particularly delighted, Charles, that you are here. Yes. The truth is, you could not have arrived back at a more auspicious moment.”

  There was a pause. Charles tried to still his racing heart as he looked at his brother. “Indeed?”

  “Indeed, old fellow. You can be the first to congratulate us.”

  Charles’s eyes flickered to the waters of the lake, where a swan glided mournfully through the reeds.

  “Congratulate you?”

  “What! You can’t guess?”

  Howard caught at Davina’s hand and drew her towards him. She stood, eyes lowered, trembling at his side.

  “This morning I asked Miss Shelford for her hand in marriage and – divine creature that she is – she said yes. Do you hear, brother? Miss Davina Shelford is to be my wife!”

  *

  The drawing room at Priory Park was quiet. Davina sat in one of the window embrasures, her hands in her lap. With neither book nor embroidery to absorb her, her attention was focused on her father, who stood with his back to the blazing fire.

  As the grandfather clock in the hall chimed the hour of seven, Lord Shelford took his gold watch from his waistcoat pocket and peered at it closely. Satisfied, he returned it to his pocket and stood waiting with his hands clasped behind his back. He was soon rewarded by the sound of wheels approaching the house. The local gentry had elected to come to Priory Park that evening to discuss the recent spate of robberies in the area. No one felt safe, particularly after the most recent attack on Lord Delverton.

  Lord Shelford did not learn of the attack until two days after Charles’s return. It had not been alluded to that day on the terrace. Lord Shelford surmised that this was because he had considered it too indelicate a matter for the occasion.

  Once he heard about the attack, Lord Shelford was deeply ashamed of his uncharitable suspicions regarding Charles’s character. He really should not have made that remark about London being one long diversion. He had been thinking that if Charles had not gone away – or if he had written as he had promised – Davina would not have been swayed by the charms of the younger brother.

  He had been astonished when she professed her desire to accept Howard’s proposal of marriage.

  He could have sworn she was more partial to the elder brother but, he supposed, that was young women for you!

  He had written immediately to Lark House to express his outrage at the incident and to offer any assistance required in apprehending the culprits.

  It was generally agreed that some action had to be taken.

  Davina listened as the doorbell sounded. Even as the door was opened more carriages were heard bowling up the drive.

  Sir Vincent Clough was shown into the drawing room. He was soon followed by Lord Montley, Lord and Lady Criston, the Reverend Gee and a number of other gentlemen and their wives from the surrounding countryside.

  Everyone settled themselves on various sofas, chairs and chaises-longues arranged for the purpose. Drinks were served and canapés brought in. The fire was merrily aflame and anyone coming upon the scene might well have imagined it was a lively social gathering, were it not for the grim expressions on many faces.

  Davina remained apart, almost unseen in the unlit embrasure.

  Aunt Sarah hurried in, looking somewhat flushed. Although her nephews had ridden alongside her coach, she had insisted on carrying her father’s sabre with her for fear of being waylaid. She had barely allowed Parfitt to divest her of it in the hall.

  Following close on Aunt Sarah’s heels came Charles and Howard.

  Davina saw her father’s brow crease imperceptibly at the sight of Howard.

  She knew that her father had been puzzled and disappointed at her choice of bridegroom. She could guess at his opinion on the matter.

  Charles was not only the superior character by far, but it was he who held the family title!

  Sighing, her eyes followed Charles as he crossed swiftly to his seat.

  Howard meanwhile paused, searching for Davina. Lord Shelford signalled that she sat at the window and Howard came over to greet her.

  Discovering after a moment that she refused to be drawn from her discreet corner, he kissed her hand quickly and rejoined his brother.

  The drawing room door creaked open and a familiar figure slid through.

  Jed did not attempt to join the rest of the company, but positioned himself at the back of the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

  Davina had not set eyes on Jed since the day of her betrothal and the gathering on the terrace.

  His had been the first and strangest response to Howard’s announcement.

  “God gives to those who have, eh?” he had said with a sneer. He had quaffed his champagne in one go, then leapt onto his horse and dug his heels so hard into its flanks that it whinnied in pain as it took off.

  There had been a stunned silence broken only by Charles’s steady voice.

  “Felicitations, brother!” he had said, his glass raised. “And to my – sister-to-be. Felicitations.”

  Glasses had cli
nked but the champagne might as well have been ditch water for all the levity it produced.

  Charles had soon bowed stiffly and offered his apologies. He must ride home and, on his way, would convey the – happy news to Aunt Sarah.

  Since that day Charles had sought not a single second of Davina’s company. He rarely came to Priory Park and if he did happen to accompany his brother and aunt on a visit, he placed as great a distance between himself and Davina as was permitted by the laws of common courtesy. He would greet her coolly and pass on, to speak to no matter whom, as long as it were not she.

  “I have offended your brother,” she finally remarked miserably to Howard.

  Howard guffawed. “What? Charles? Oh, his nose is out of joint. He probably had his eye on some other match for me, that’s all.”

  Davina began to wonder if Charles considered Shelford blood not elevated enough for the aristocratic Delvertons.

  ‘He must have harboured that opinion all the time,’ she thought sadly, ‘even when he seemed to look on me with some favour.’

  Seeing her so downcast, Howard attempted to reassure his fiancée.

  “Charles has a talent for cutting himself off from a person when he wants. He’ll come round. Besides, this recent adventure he has had – he’s not been himself since, you know.”

  Davina was silent.

  When the story of the attack on Charles had first reached her ears, she had been mortified.

  How quickly she had rushed to condemn him for not writing to her as promised! She had never once considered that he might actually be prevented from putting pen to paper.

  During the days that followed, however, she had begun to wonder about this ‘woodsman’s daughter’ who had rescued and tended the injured Lord Delverton, particularly after she caught Howard winking at Jed and commenting on ‘Charles’s pretty nurse’.

  Jed had merely grunted in return but Davina was transfixed.

  She knew that Howard had no idea if the woodsman’s daughter was pretty or not, but she could not forget his remark.

  She tried desperately to convince herself that she no longer wanted Lord Delverton, but it was he who filled her daydreams, not Howard. It was he she longed to see and hear, not her fiancé.