The Waters of Love

by Barbara Cartland

  “Of course it is, but it’s good thinking and I am quite certain that Mr. Drayton has a sharp brain. He wouldn’t be a millionaire otherwise.”

  “But to go to such lengths – ”

  “It does sound like a play or a novel,” admitted Mr. Johnson, “but I was told on good authority that Mr. Drayton has made many enquiries about who was whom.”

  “It’s too fantastic for words, but I do want to meet this millionaire. I might persuade him to somehow help me without having to take over his daughter, as though she was a bag of sugar. What did you say his name was?”

  “Drayton! Garry Drayton.”

  The Marquis laughed again.

  “The truth is, old friend, you are writing a book and you’ve made all of this up. Admit it.”

  “If only I could say that was true, but it is not,” responded Mr. Johnson. “But I suppose this might be Chapter One, in which you are the hero, wondering how you can pay your debts and then the perfect opportunity presents itself!”

  “I suppose you are relying on Mr. Drayton to pay what would seem a fantastic rent for Highcliffe Hall.”

  The accountant nodded.

  “Your Lordship has never received so much for it before and we’ll never get so much from any other tenant if Mr. Drayton leaves, as he undoubtedly will if you refuse to see him.”

  “All right,” agreed the Marquis. “You win! I will have a look at this girl, but I assure you of one thing, I have no intention of marrying any woman for her money or for any reason, except for love.”

  His voice seemed to ring out and his accountant stared at him.

  Then unexpectedly he said quietly,

  “I admire you for that sentiment, but needs must when the devil drives!”

  “And the devil is driving now. Damn it! Was any man ever in such an appalling position as I am in at the moment? The sooner we have a drink and try to forget it, the better.”

  He walked towards the cupboard at the end of the room where his father had always kept his whisky.

  As he turned the key and opened the door, Mr. Johnson, watching him, was smiling.

  *

  At about the same time that the Marquis was riding back to his own stables, another horse was galloping hell for leather across the countryside.

  From a distance the rider seemed a tall slender lad, controlling the animal magnificently despite his slight build.

  A closer view would have revealed that this was no boy at all, but a young woman, unconventionally dressed in a man’s shirt and breeches, riding astride.

  Her eyes blazed with life and enthusiasm as she soared over one obstacle after another, landing lightly and never losing control of her animal, although he was a large and rather fierce beast.

  A little distance behind her rode a middle-aged groom, who finally caught up and addressed her in a beseeching voice.

  “You really should stop this, Miss Lexia. The Master will have my hide if he knew you were riding in such a scandalous way.”

  “No, he won’t, Hawkins, because I won’t let him. It’s all my fault and so I shall tell him, if he ever finds out.”

  Hawkins’s fears were not noticeably soothed by this blithe pronouncement, but he fell silent and cantered after his Mistress as they returned home.

  “Didn’t Skylark go wonderfully well this morning?” Lexia Drayton sang out.

  “I couldn’t say, miss, I was always too far behind to tell,” replied her henchman in deep gloom.

  Lexia chuckled. She had her own way of doing things and she did not plan to change, even if she raised a few eyebrows.

  Just the same, she would rather not have to listen to one of her father’s lectures, so she planned to slip into the house by a side door and change into a dress before he noticed her.

  It was sheer bad luck that he happened to be looking out of a window as she rode past to the stables.

  “Lexia! Come in here at once.”

  She sighed.

  “Yes, Pa.”

  She jumped down from the huge horse without waiting for assistance, tossed the reins to Hawkins and headed for the French windows that led directly into the breakfast room.

  “Whatever do you mean by dressing in such a scandalous way?” her father demanded, coming in from the room next door where he had been watching her. “Go upstairs and change at once – no, on second thoughts, stay here! I have something to say.”

  “Oh, good, I’m hungry.”

  She sat down, poured herself a cup of coffee and took some toast, before beginning the task of calming her father down.

  “I was only riding, Pa!”

  “And don’t call me Pa!

  “Why ever not?”

  “It’s inelegant. English ladies say ‘Papa’.”

  “But I’m American.”

  “You are not! I am English and your dear Mama was English. You were born in England.”

  “But when I was three we went to America and I grew up there. I liked it and now I feel American.”

  “Well, the sooner you stop that the sooner you will be ready to take your place in English Society,” said her father firmly.

  “Wasn’t I in English Society when we were in London?” asked Lexia innocently. “We went to a lot of parties, I remember.”

  “But you haven’t been presented at Court and that is the height of my ambitions for you.”

  Lexia’s eyes twinkled.

  “Really? I thought the height of your ambition was to marry me to a great title. The Prince of Wales? Oh, no, I forgot. He’s already taken, but he has a couple of sons – ”

  “Please do not joke about serious matters, Lexia. Why shouldn’t you marry the highest eligible man in the land?”

  “Because I’m a nobody,” she retorted merrily.

  “Let me tell you something, my girl. A person with money is never nobody. Haven’t you learned that yet?”

  “I meant that we don’t have a title. Not even a little one.”

  “Your Mama was the daughter of a Knight.”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t impress a Duke or a Marquis. I am a nobody, Papa, and that’s fine by me. A happy nobody.”

  Mr. Drayton stared at her, aghast at such heresy.

  “You must not let people hear you say things like that,” he scolded in a horrified whisper.

  “All right, I won’t say them,” she said, adding irrepressibly, “I’ll just think them.”

  “Don’t even think them. It is time you started behaving like an English lady and adapting yourself to your new life.”

  “Why can’t England adapt itself to me?”

  But this idea was so shocking to Mr. Drayton that he could think of no response.

  “Never mind that idea,” he said at last. “I just don’t want to see you throw away your advantages. You were more beautiful than the girls in London and you are more beautiful than any of the girls here.”

  “Pa!” she exclaimed in mock horror. “You must not say such things as people will think we are rude and offensive. I want the folk around here to like us. I want to go to dances and give dinner parties of our own and I want ours to be the most interesting dinners for miles around.”

  “From all I hear that won’t be too difficult,” replied her father. “But this is a very nice County and I too want to be friends with the people who live in it. Especially the Marquis.”

  There was silence for a moment and then Lexia admitted,

  “You talked about the Marquis when we were on our way here and I know that several times you were disappointed that I hadn’t met him at parties in London.”

  Again there was another short silence, while Mr. Drayton seemed to be considering his next words carefully.

  At last he said,

  “He is very important, in fact, one of the most important Noblemen in England.”

  Lexia gave a teasing laugh.

  “Admit it, Pa, you want him to fall in love with me.”

  “I am making my plans.”

  “But you canno
t plan for people to fall in love. Are you planning for me to fall in love with him too?”

  “He is young and I am told good-looking.”

  “I am not sure I like good-looking men,” responded Lexia impishly. “They are always admiring themselves when I want them to be admiring me.”

  “He can make you a Marchioness and that should be enough for you.”

  “But I want to marry someone I love and from all I have heard of English Noblemen – and that is quite a lot – they are very pleased with themselves. In fact, their houses and their wives definitely take second place.”

  “Why not?” her father asked. “A man should be Master in his own home, but I am determined before I die to see you wearing a really impressive tiara at the Opening of Parliament.”

  Lexia sighed again. She had heard this all before and she knew that her father was extremely ambitious for her and since he had become so rich he was determined that she should marry one of the nobility.

  He had, as she knew, rented this house so that she could meet the aristocracy of England on what they always thought of as their own turf.

  Lexia, who had some of her father’s brains, knew that he had made enquiries into several Counties before he decided that Berkshire could give him what he required – an unmarried Marquis.

  She had tried teasing him about his ambitions,

  “Really, Pa, why don’t you try to get a title for yourself? I am sure you could become a Duke or even marry the Queen!”

  “The Queen is still in mourning for a husband who died thirty years ago. You know, my dear, I am not thinking of myself, but you.”

  “You are thinking of me too much,” complained Lexia. “But, like you, I want to live my own life my own way.”

  Her father looked at her speculatively.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that I will not be pushed into marriage. I intend to choose my own husband, if I must have one at all.”

  “If you – ? What kind of talk is this? A woman has to marry. It’s her destiny.”

  “Maybe I want a different destiny. You know, Pa, in America I actually met girls who wanted to have a life of their own without being merely an extra wheel on some man’s life.”

  “The sooner you forget that kind of talk the better,” he exploded. “I don’t know what the world is coming to. Well brought up young women saying such things – ”

  “Oh, I wasn’t well-brought-up,” she teased. “Do you know when I was happiest? When we stayed on that ranch in Arizona and I learned to ride bare-back and rope a cow. Gee, that was great!”

  “And don’t say ‘gee’!” he begged. “Where’s the decanter? I need a whisky.”

  “It’s too early,” she objected. “Lord Eagleton told me that no gentleman drinks whisky in the morning.”

  “Lord Eagleton doesn’t have a daughter who says ‘gee’ and rides about in breeches,” admonished Mr. Drayton with feeling.

  “Oh, dear! I am afraid I’m a great trial to you. Poor Pa!”

  “Don’t call me Pa! Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Pa! I mean, no, Pa! Papa. Gee, I feel silly saying Papa!”

  “And change your clothes into something decent. Ladies do not wear trousers.”

  “I cannot stand the clothes women wear,” she protested. “I don’t know how anyone can move in them.”

  “You will never catch a husband dressed like that.”

  “That suits me!”

  “Lexia!” he roared.

  “Sorry Pa – Papa. I don’t mean to say these things, but they just slip out.”

  “Didn’t your dear mother teach you anything?”

  “Yes, she taught me always to be true to myself.”

  “And being true to yourself means roping and riding on an Arizona ranch, does it?”

  “I can think of worse things. She said being true to yourself was the most important thing in the world and she should know because it had worked for her.”

  “Your Mama said that?”

  “She said it was being true to herself that had made her marry you and be so happy with you.”

  Mr. Drayton was silenced. He was a hard, sometimes ruthless man, but he had loved his wife. It had been his dream to bring her back to England a rich woman and give her the life he felt should have been hers.

  But she had died a year ago, just before their return and her memory still saddened him.

  “Well, she was right about that,” he said. “When I met your mother she was as far above me as the moon and the stars. She was a Knight’s daughter and her family wanted her to marry upwards, a Baronet or even a Viscount.

  “Then we met. I had just a tiny little business. It was flourishing and prosperous, but her family looked down on me as a tradesmen, so we ran away to be married and her family cut her off and we didn’t care. We were happy.

  “But it wasn’t enough for me. I wanted to be somebody. So we went to America, where I knew I could make a real fortune without anyone bothering about my antecedents. Well, I made it and they won’t call me a nobody now. I want you to marry into your mother’s world. That’s your right and it’s what she would have wanted.”

  Lexia did not answer this directly, but she was not at all sure that he was right. Her mother would have wanted her to marry for love.

  She finished her breakfast quickly and went upstairs to put on what her father called, decent female attire, and what she called prison clothes.

  She knew she was treading on dangerous ground in contending with her father. He was very set on having his own way and although she loved him, Lexia knew that he did not want to accept anyone’s ideas but his own.

  There was bound to be a battle about her marriage, but she was determined to win.

  The size of her father’s fortune made her suspicious of all men and she had her own ideas of what she wanted.

  ‘I will not marry anyone,’ she told herself, ‘just to please Papa, even if the man is a King! I want a man who loves me for myself and not my father’s money.’

  Suddenly she went to her dressing table and from the top drawer she took a tiny photograph, showing a sweet- faced lady with features remarkably like Lexia’s own.

  It was her mother.

  ‘You would have understood, wouldn’t you?’ she whispered. ‘And if you had been here, you would make sure he understood.’

  She sighed and pressed the picture to her breast, murmuring,

  ‘But what am I to do now?’

  CHAPTER TWO

  The letter came with the early morning post and brought a smile to Mr. Drayton’s face.

  “It’s from Lord Wimborton,” he crowed. “At last!”

  “You mean, he has finally deigned to notice our existence on the fringe of his glorious orbit?” asked Lexia ironically. “How thrilling!”

  “I wish you would not speak like that,” scolded her father.

  “Well, it makes me furious that you should be so delighted to hear from this man. Who is he? Is he any better than you?”

  “He is a Marquis,” replied Mr. Drayton, as though that explained everything.

  “Yes, but is he any better than you?”

  “You don’t understand. He’s a Marquis.”

  “An impoverished Marquis?”

  “Very much so, I believe.”

  “In that case he isn’t better than you, he’s a lot less, because you didn’t sit around on your – ”

  “Lexia!”

  “ – on your rear end, waiting for a fortune to fall into your lap. You got up and did something about it and that makes you the better man.”

  “Thank you, my dear. I appreciate the sentiment, even while I deplore the manner in which it is expressed. But I beg you not to say any such thing in front of Lord Wimborton.”

  “No, he wouldn’t want to marry me then, would he?” she grumbled equably. “Could you pass me the toast?”

  “With his need for money and the dowry I shall give you, he will marry you whatever you say.�
�

  This was an unwise admission as it prompted Lexia to observe,

  “Then I can say what I like, since it won’t make any difference.”

  “You will not say what you like,” her father fulminated. “You will say what is proper, like any other lady.”

  “You mean lie?”

  “If necessary, yes. Good grief, what did you have an education for?”

  “Well, I will probably never meet him anyway.”

  “You will meet him tomorrow. We are invited to his house.”

  He read aloud,

  “I feel it is only right to make your acquaintance and to tell you how welcome you are in the County.

  I would like to take this opportunity of inviting you to meet some of your neighbours who, I am certain, will be as willing to welcome you as I am.”

  “He is going to have all his fine friends in to see if we use the right knife and fork,” commented Lexia in disgust.

  “You will be there on your best behaviour and looking your finest,” ordered Mr. Drayton firmly.

  “Yes, Papa.”

  “That means looking like a lady.”

  “Yes, Papa!”

  “In a dress!”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  Lexia escaped before the conversation could go any further, running up to her room and watching from behind the lace curtains until her father had left the house.

  “Thank goodness!” she exclaimed. “Now I can go riding.”

  “Your new velvet habit is most becoming,” declared Annie, her maid.

  “Velvet habit beblowed! I am wearing breeches.”

  Annie gave a little scream.

  “But your Papa – ”

  “Would be good’n mad. Why do you think I waited until he had gone? Let’s get moving.”

  The scandalised Annie had no chance to object further as it was useless to argue with Lexia in one of her headstrong moods.

  “And you had better send a message to the stables,” added Lexia. “I’m riding Skylark and I don’t want a side saddle.”

  Annie dutifully relayed the message, praying not to be around when the Master found out.

  At last Lexia was arrayed in riding breeches, boots and a tweed jacket that was comfortable rather than fashionable. Her long hair had been firmly twisted up onto her head and secured by pins and over it she fitted a peaked cap.