203. Love Wins

by Barbara Cartland

  “It seems all very clear,” Lord Heywood was saying. “I really see no reason why I should not sign it immediately.”

  He was thinking as he spoke that he had no desire to go to London again and leave Lalita.

  “I assure you, my Lord,” Mr. Walton said, “that it is a very fair lease, which will benefit both our clients and your Lordship.”

  “I am fully aware of that,” Lord Heywood responded.

  He looked up as Lalita crossed the room and said,

  “I will just read it through again. Have a drink of this very delicious fruit juice. It is made from the peaches in my garden and I am sure that like me you will think it is unusual and very refreshing.”

  “I don’t believe that I have ever tasted peach juice before,” Mr. Walton commented.

  Lalita had taken a tumbler from the tray in the corner of the room and now she put it down on the desk and tipped some juice from the pitcher into it.

  Mr. Walton watched her and only as the glass was nearly full did he suddenly exclaim,

  “Where did you find that pitcher?”

  He spoke so loudly that both Lalita and Lord Heywood started and then stared at him in astonishment.

  “I cannot believe it!” Mr. Walton went on. “It must be a fake! But if it is, it is a very good one.”

  He put out his hand across the desk as he spoke to touch the pitcher that was in Lalita’s hands.

  And then he came round beside her to take it from her.

  “I cannot believe it!” he said again. “I just cannot believe it!”

  “What are you saying?” Lord Heywood asked.

  Now as he spoke both he and Lalita were looking at the pitcher, realising that they had hardly noticed it before.

  It was a large pitcher in an ordinary shape with a handle and was decorated in what Lalita thought was a rather ugly geometric design in reddish brown and black.

  It had a certain glaze about it, but otherwise there was nothing, Lalita thought, very distinctive to make Mr. Walton so excited.

  Now he was running his fingers over the outside of the pitcher until finally he said,

  “I am sure it is authentic and I should think one of the best examples in existence!”

  “Examples of what?” Lord Heywood enquired.

  “Athenian Geometric pottery made about 750 B.C.”

  Lalita gave a cry.

  “Do you mean that it is valuable?”

  “Very very valuable,” Mr. Walton replied, “and it is madness for it to be used, as you appear to be doing, as an ordinary jug.”

  Lalita looked at Lord Heywood.

  “I think,” he said, “Mr. Walton will be happier if the peach juice is placed in some more ordinary vessel.”

  “I would indeed,” Mr. Walton smiled.

  Lalita was not listening.

  Instead she said breathlessly,

  “I know that the pitcher is not included in the inventory.”

  “No, there is nothing listed that is Greek,” Lord Heywood nodded.

  As he spoke, he pulled open the drawer of his desk and took out the inventory, which they had carried around the house when they were trying to find something that could be sold.

  Then, as he put it down on the desk, he remarked,

  “I remember my grandfather went to Greece when he was quite old and I do believe that this inventory was made before what was actually his last journey.”

  “In which case,” Lalita said quickly, “there may well be other Greek treasures in the house.”

  “Others?” Mr. Walton enquired, his voice rising. “Do you mean to say that there are other pieces of pottery as good as this?”

  “I am afraid I really don’t know,” Lord Heywood admitted. “But we can certainly look. Where did you find this, Lalita?”

  “It was in the Flower Room with the vases.”

  Mr. Walton gave what was almost a groan of horror.

  “It might easily have been broken,” he said with a note of deep concern.

  Lord Heywood rose to his feet.

  “I think the best thing we can do,” he said, “is to have a look at the Flower Room right away.”

  “It is something I am very eager to do, my Lord,” Mr. Walton said.

  As he spoke, he placed the pitcher for safety in the very centre of the desk.

  “To think that your Lordship did not realise the value of this exquisite piece of Grecian pottery. It makes me shudder to think what might have happened to it.”

  “Let’s see if there is anything else being treated in such a casual manner,” Lord Heywood proposed.

  He was speaking to Mr. Walton, but his eyes met Lalita’s and she slipped her hand into his. As she felt him squeeze her fingers, there was no need for words as they were both thinking the same.

  With Mr. Walton following them, they walked down the passage to what was known as the Flower Room, which was situated near the pantry.

  It was a small room where Lalita had found all the vases used for flowers placed on narrow shelves round the walls.

  In the centre there was a deal table where flowers could be arranged and, when she had wanted a jug to pour the peach juice into, she had simply taken the pitcher from one of the lower shelves.

  When they entered the small room, they stood back to let Mr. Walton look around.

  He walked eagerly from shelf to shelf and Lalita thought that he was rather disappointed until he gave an exclamation of excitement and lifted down what appeared to be a rather ordinary round bowl.

  Almost reverently Mr. Walton declared and it sounded rather like an incantation,

  “Longquan Celadon lotus petal bowl, Song Dynasty!”

  “You mean it is Chinese?” Lalita enquired.

  “A perfect example. Look at the pale green glaze.”

  He was almost ecstatic over his find and, when the last shelf in the room produced a pottery jar with black and brown glaze, which he said was Northern Song Dynasty, he was again so excited that Lalita did not like to say that she thought it rather ugly.

  “I think the Chinese bowls belonged to my grandmother,” Lord Heywood said ruminatively, “which is why they are not in the inventory. I vaguely remember her telling me that her father had visited China.”

  “How could we guess that they were so rare?” Lalita asked.

  She thought that Mr. Walton looked almost contemptuous of her ignorance, but nothing mattered except the satisfaction she knew without words that Lord Heywood was feeling.

  After Mr. Walton had begged them most earnestly to place the Chinese bowls with the pitcher in a place of the utmost safety, he announced that he must return to London.

  “You would not like to stay to luncheon?” Lord Heywood asked. “I am afraid it will be a very simple meal as my servant is not here, but you have brought me such good news, that I would like to offer you some sort of hospitality.”

  “It is most gracious of your Lordship,” Mr. Walton replied, “but it is imperative that I return with the lease, so that the partners can inform their clients of your Lordship’s very welcome decision regarding Heywood House.”

  “It is no less welcome to me,” Lord Heywood stated, “and I would like to thank you most sincerely for finding these treasures which I would wish you to sell as soon as possible.”

  “I know that Christie’s will be overjoyed to be entrusted with three objects which will excite curators everywhere.”

  “Why not take them with you?” Lord Heywood suggested.

  Mr. Walton looked horrified.

  “I would not take the responsibility, my Lord,” he replied quickly. “With your Lordship's permission I will send proper packers with a much more suitable vehicle than a post chaise to convey them to London.”

  “Perhaps you are wise,” Lord Heywood said. “To break them now after so many centuries would certainly be a disaster.”

  Mr. Walton was so horrified at the idea that Lalita felt that it was almost cruel to upset him.

  As he tucked the signe
d lease of Heywood House into his briefcase, he said ‘farewell’ to them with a new vitality that made Lalita think that he was longing to return to London and claim the credit for his finds.

  After admonishing them once again to take as much care as possible of such unique treasures, Mr. Walton drove off.

  Only as they watched his post-chaise speeding up the drive from the top of the steps, did Lalita realise what Mr. Walton’s arrival meant.

  She looked up at Lord Heywood and saw that the grimness had gone from his face, his eyes were shining and she thought that in some strange way he looked immeasurably younger.

  For a moment they stood gazing at each other.

  Then Lord Heywood put out his arms and drew her against him.

  “I think you are a witch,” he murmured. “You told me that everything would come right, and it has.”

  “You have won,” Lalita said softly.

  “I cannot believe it,” he replied, “after all the worry and the sleepless nights when I could see no possible way of solving our problems. Now I have a rent for my London house at what seems to me to be a very generous rate and there will be more from the sale of our strange-looking pottery.”

  Lalita laughed.

  “I thought that all three of them were rather ugly and I don’t regret in the very least your losing them, although I suppose I should not say so.”

  “Certainly not,” Lord Heywood said firmly. “It would merely convince those we know that we have no taste.”

  “I still cannot – believe it,” Lalita sighed. “Suppose we wake up and find they are just part of a dream and I have to go back to – The Manor and – Uncle Edward?”

  Lord Heywood drew her closer to him.

  “We are both of us so lucky, so unbelievably lucky.”

  Lalita moved closer to him still.

  “When – Carter comes – back – ” she began hesitatingly.

  Lord Heywood knew what she was asking and there was a smile on his lips, and a very tender one, as he replied,

  “I suppose now that you have no Guardian I will have to marry you and you have hopelessly compromised yourself by staying alone here with me.”

  Lalita put her head against his shoulder.

  “You do not – have to marry me,” she whispered, “if you would really – prefer to be free.”

  “Then what do you suggest I do with you?” he asked.

  “I could – stay here with you,” she replied, “and if you are – ashamed of me – when your smart friends come to visit you – I could always – hide as I offered to do before.”

  Lord Heywood laughed and it was a very happy sound.

  “You know quite well that I want what you want,” he said, “and now we can put things on a very much more traditional basis.”

  Lalita looked up at him in a puzzled fashion and he went on,

  “What I am saying, my precious darling, is that I can now ask you to marry me with a clear conscience. So will you, my adorable one, do me the very great honour of becoming my wife?”

  There was so much seriousness in his voice as he said the last words that Lalita put her arms around his neck.

  “That is what I wanted you to say,” she cried, “and you know the answer – Yes! Yes! Yes!”

  “I believe if you behaved correctly,” Lord Heywood teased her, “you would look shy and coy and say ‘this is so sudden’.”

  “If I did, I might give you a chance to escape,” Lalita retorted. “Oh, my marvellous wonderful Romney, all I want to do is to be with you for ever and – love you.”

  She paused before she asked a little anxiously,

  “You do – want my love?”

  “I want it more than anything in the whole world,” Lord Heywood answered.

  “And you are not – angry or – resentful because I am – wealthy?”

  “I suppose it is one of those tiresome things I shall have to put up with!” he replied, “and I daresay that it will come in useful in one way or another.”

  Lalita laughed.

  “I know that you are going to spend it on the farms and roofs and on pensioners and alms houses.”

  “I might let you have just enough to buy a new gown now and then,” Lord Heywood said, “or one of those provoking and very delectable nightgowns.”

  The way he spoke made Lalita blush as she replied,

  “You will have to – forget until we are – married tomorrow that you have ever – seen me in one.”

  “Tomorrow?” Lord Heywood asked. “Why should I wait until tomorrow?”

  “I-I thought,” Lalita replied, “that we – were to be married – ”

  “Tonight!” he said. “Carter said he would be back before dinner. Go and change, my darling. We will saddle our horses and ride down to talk to the Vicar.”

  “Do you – mean it? Do you – really mean it?” Lalita almost implored him.

  “Why not?” Lord Heywood replied. “If you think I can sleep with the communicating door closed between us, you are very much mistaken.”

  “It is the most sublime – glorious idea I have ever – heard for us to be married tonight,” Lalita breathed, “but first I must decorate the Chapel.”

  It struck Lord Heywood that the whole village would be talking about the death of Edward Duncan. It would be best for no one except the Vicar, whom he would swear to secrecy, to see Lalita or to know of their marriage.

  “I think it would be better,” he suggested, “if I went to see the Vicar alone.”

  “Yes, of course, and, darling, I have an – idea if you will agree.”

  “What is that?”

  “I have nothing special to be married in – but I have – found your mother’s – Wedding gown.”

  “Where?”

  “In a cupboard in one of the rooms where there are a lot of other clothes including some of yours when you were a boy.”

  “My mother’s Wedding gown,” Lord Heywood said reflectively. “Are you sure and how do you know it will fit you?”

  Lalita looked embarrassed.

  “You have tried it on,” he said accusingly

  “Just in – case you – did marry me.”

  “And now I have decided to do so.”

  “Please, please – I want to look beautiful – for you just in case you change your – mind.”

  “I shall not change my mind, my alluring love, whether you marry me in my mother’s gown or your very revealing nightgown, but I think that the Vicar will prefer you in the Wedding gown.”

  “There is a wreath and a veil with it – and I want to feel really – married.”

  “I will convince you of that, my beautiful bride, but get the gown ready and start picking the flowers. I will not be away for more than half an hour and then I will help you with them.”

  Lalita gave a cry of joy.

  “I will go and pick all the carnations from the greenhouses and, of course, plenty of roses.”

  “Which are like you,” Lord Heywood said in a deep voice. “I have always thought of you, my loved one, as being like a white rose, pure, untouched and for the moment in bud.”

  There was something in the way he spoke that made Lalita feel as if little shafts of sunshine were running down her spine.

  “I love – you!” she whispered.

  “And I love you!” Lord Heywood replied, “and I will explain how much and how deeply I adore you once you are my wife.”

  As he finished speaking, his lips sought hers and he kissed her until she felt, as she had before, that the whole world vanished and there was neither the earth nor the sky, but only the strength of his arms, the insistence of his lips and him.

  He awoke a rapture that ran through her with the speed and sharpness of lightning and yet the rapture was warm and golden like the sunlight.

  It rose from her breasts up into her throat to touch her lips and become a fire that was part of the furnace burning in him.

  It was like the music of angels and the beauty of the stars and yet it
was as protective as Lord Heywood’s arms.

  Only when she felt that nobody could experience such ecstasy and not be in Heaven did he raise his head,

  “How could I ever lose you,” he asked unsteadily, “when you are part of me? You have crept into my life and now it would be impossible to live without you.”

  “That is what I – want you to – feel,” Lalita answered, “because I know that if I had to live – without you. I would only want to – die!”

  “Instead of which we will be together and there is so much to do that, and, now I am using an instinct that is as good as yours, it will be impossible for two people to be happier.”

  “I will make you happy,” Lalita promised, “and, darling wonderful Romney, as I told you before, you are the victor – the conqueror – you always win ”

  “I think if we are honest,” Lord Heywood replied, “it is love that has won, and love is an emotion that we have no defence against.”

  “None at all,” Lalita agreed happily. “And please, because I love you so much – kiss me again, because your kisses are more perfect, marvellous and more exciting than those which have been in my dreams.”

  Lord Heywood tried to reply, but Lalita’s lips were close to his.

  She was so lovely, so soft and so feminine that he felt the blood throbbing in his temples and his whole body burning with an urgent desire to make her his.

  But he knew that what he felt for Lalita was so much more than a physical sensation.

  What he had never felt for any other woman was a reverence that made her part not only of his heart but his soul.

  Because of her he would strive not only to make her happy but also to make himself more worthy of her love.

  He wanted to tell her so, to put his feelings into words, but instead he kissed her knowing as he did so, fiercely and demandingly, that they both touched the Divine.

  As Lord Heywood felt Lalita surrender herself completely to the insistence of his lips, he knew that she was right.

  He had won the last battle of his life and been victorious.

  It was Love, the Love that Lalita had given him and aroused in him which had made him the winner.

  “Love wins!” he wanted to cry out, but Lalita had always known that.

  OTHER BOOKS IN THIS SERIES