by Jane Peart
But instead of one of the young ladies his mother, Lady Ellen, might have picked out for him, Neil had met Faith Devlin. She was not only of American parentage but possessed all the characteristics and personality traits his mother deplored. She was outspoken, opinionated, independent and . . . Neil was completed fascinated with her! Of all the young women he knew, Faith was the only one he wanted.
Although she had told him over and over it was hopeless, Neil had a stubborn streak as well, and he continued to hope that one day she might change her mind.
Faith, suddenly conscious of Neil's adoring eyes upon her, felt a rush of sympathy. Dear Neil. She wished he would find someone right for him, someone as accomplished and affectionate as he deserved. Maybe then he would stop clinging to the possibility that she might come to care for him. Of course, she did care for him, but he wanted more. He wanted the kind of love she could give only Jeff.
Faith experienced a twinge in her own heart. Was she, too, holding on to an impossible dream?
Feeling Faith's eyes on him, Jeff realized that there had not yet been a chance for them to talk, no opportunity to tell her about his plan. Ever since his arrival at Birchfields, there had been only a press of people and fast-paced activity. He was bursting to tell someone, especially Faith. He could always count on her to back up his belief in himself and his dreams.
What an interesting face she has, he thought, watching her in animated conversation with her guests. The high cheekbones, the dark wings of brows, the hair swept simply back from her forehead, her clear hazel eyes. Is it her eyes that make her so ... well, yes . . . so beautiful?
Someday he must paint Faith, Jeff decided. Someday when he really knew how to do her justice. Tomorrow he'd have to find a way to get her off somewhere alone. Then he'd share everything with her.
"I know what you mean," Faith was saying, nodding her head. "Let me share a family joke!" She threw Garnet a mischievous look. "I once overheard this exchange between my mother and one of the foreign guests Papa had brought down for the weekend. The gentleman said politely to Mama, 'Mrs. Devlin, I understand you are an American.' To which Mama replied—" Here Faith's eyes danced wickedly as she paused to deliver the coup de grace. With another teasing look at her mother, Faith, in an exact imitation of Garnet's soft Southern accent, finished, "'Why no, suh. I am a Virginian!'"
There was a peal of delighted laughter. Even Garnet joined in good-naturedly. This story, which had been told on her dozens of times, always provoked great hilarity. As long as her guests were entertained, it didn't disturb her one whit to be the butt of a joke told in good taste.
"Virginians are a rare breed," Jeff murmured in acknowledgment. "With apologies to you, of course, Aunt Garnet."
Faith giggled. "Virginians worship their ancestors, just as the Chinese do."
"No more than the English, I'm afraid. Right, Allison?" suggested Neil with a glance at Lady Allison.
What a nice sense of humor Neil has, Garnet thought approvingly. A rare trait for an Englishman. She glanced over at her daughter, hoping that Faith appreciated that aspect of his personality, too.
It was then that Garnet saw Faith and Jeff exchanging a look, their eyes locking for a long moment. Garnet felt a sharp little dart of alarm. Even after Jeff had turned away, she could see the expression on Faith's face. It was one Garnet recognized only too well.
It can't be! It must have been the gleam of candlelight, she told herself, trying her best to dismiss the thought. It's only a trick of the light—but in her heart, she knew better.
chapter
2
GARNET STEPPED out onto the terrace, thinking how lovely the grounds looked on this summer afternoon. From the terrace, ringed with pottery urns spilling red and salmon-pink geraniums, she could survey the gardens, splendid with masses of blue and purple delphiniums, coral and magenta snapdragons, white alyssum and yellow daylilies. Under her direction the gardens here had come alive. She had taken great pains to fashion them after those at Cameron Hall, her beloved childhood home in Virginia.
Looking cool in a lemon-yellow India silk gown, its simple design belying its cost, she stood for a moment at the edge of the stone steps before opening a parasol made of matching silk and moving gracefully down onto the velvety lawn to inspect the tables set for tea.
Under a leafy canopy of oaks, white wicker chairs, plump with cushions of flowered chintz, encircled a round table covered with a hand-drawn pink linen cloth and napkins. Garnet scrutinized the table setting, then frowned slightly and rearranged the placement of a silver spoon, aligning it precisely with the others beside the pink-and-white china plate.
At the sound of voices and laughter, she turned to see a group of her young houseguests coming up from the tennis courts at the lower end of the lawn. They were chattering and swinging their rackets as they approached. She couldn't help smiling. How attractive they looked in the new requisite tennis costumes—the young women, in their starched white cotton blouses and hopsacking skirts; the young men, in white flannel trousers and shirts.
Noting that none of the girls wore hats, it was all Garnet could do to hold her tongue. Her first thought was to remind them of the damage the sun could do their tender young complexions. In her day, a girl never went without the protection of a bonnet and parasol. Still, no one had to remind Garnet that times had changed, so she closed her mouth and kept her good advice to herself.
Her eyes focused on her daughter who, with Jeff, had lagged a little behind the rest. What on earth could those two be talking about so intently? she wondered with a nagging uneasiness.
Jeff looked more and more like his father, Malcolm, with each passing year. He had the same smile, the same eyes, the same devastating Montrose charm. Garnet felt a quick, sharp fear for her daughter. From her own heartbreak, she knew that charm often masked a weakness of character and she hoped that Faith was not being taken in by Jeffs inherited good looks.
Her nebulous thought was diverted by the arrival of the maids, supervised by Hadley, bearing large trays laden with tea fare, and she set about to direct the placement.
"Good game?" Garnet asked as the young players reached the shadow of the trees.
With an admiring look at Faith, Neil replied, "Your daughter's much too good. I'd rather have her as a partner than an opponent any day!"
"It's my new racket," explained Faith with a self-deprecating laugh as she and Jeff joined the others around the tea table.
"What a smashing tea, Mrs. Devlin. I'm famished!" said Roy Hastings, a freckled redhead, eyeing a dainty watercress sandwich.
"Well, I thought perhaps you might have worked up an appetite by now," laughed Garnet. "Come, do help yourself."
"Don't tell him that, Mrs. Devlin," protested Tom Pullham in mock alarm. "He won't leave anything for the rest of us!"
"I'll watch him, don't worry—he won't take more than his share, I'll see to that, Mrs. Devlin," offered one of the pretty girls.
Garnet smiled happily. Surrounded by the lively company of the younger set, being flattered by the young men and admired by the young women, she was in her element. She so relished the teasing and gaiety. If only Faith enjoyed it more—
The young people were soon filling their plates with the tiny triangles spread with cucumber, tomato, and salmon paste, and quenching their thirst with large quantities of iced tea served from a frosted silver pitcher. In the center of the table on a glass pedestal stood a lemon sponge cake ready to be sliced. The cake, dusted with powdered sugar, was surrounded with luscious whole strawberries.
At that moment Garnet glanced at her daughter, just in time to see Faith pop a ripe red strawberry into Jeff's accommodating open mouth, and she watched as they both dissolved into laughter. At the intimacy of the little gesture, Neil Blanding's nice gray eyes clouded in dismay. He watched as Faith and Jeff took their plates and went a little apart from the others.
Unaware that they were being observed, Faith settled into a chair with her plate of sandwiches
while Jeff lowered himself onto the springy grass carpet alongside her. In low voices they continued whatever they had been discussing on their way up from the tennis courts.
She must have a word with her daughter before tonight, Garnet decided. Perhaps it would even be wise to rearrange the seating at dinner.
Garnet felt a flicker of irritation. Didn't Faith realize that she was as much a hostess of this house party as her mother was? She should be behaving as one, not devoting herself exclusively to one guest! The young people had been invited for her benefit, particularly Neil Blanding and Lady Allison, whose importance to her future should not be overlooked. She would certainly have to remind Faith of her duties.
The talk around the tea table was mostly joking confrontation about the informal tournament they were conducting, and challenges for new games were issued and accepted. Garnet, keeping an eye on Faith and Jeff, was only half-listening. What could those two be up to?
When Hadley appeared, signaling a message, Garnet excused herself and quietly left the group to see what it was. The butler handed her a note that had just come, explaining the late arrival of some dinner guests. By the time Garnet returned to the congenial company at the tea table, she was annoyed to see that Jeff and Faith had taken off. Frowning, she saw the two white-clad figures walking down the winding path to the lake at the base of the Birchfields property.
"It's hard to explain exactly what happened, Faith," Jeff said, gesturing as they walked along the path checkered by the sunlight filtering through the trees overhead. "It was just a kind of inner knowing that this is what I should do. It may 24 sound strange, but it was as if I heard a voice saying, 'Painting will be both your life's work and your joy!'" Here Jeff turned abruptly and demanded, "You think I've lost my mind, don't you?"
"No, Jeff! Of course I don't!" Faith protested.
"Well, I'm sure my stepfather will, though I don't know for certain." Jeff shrugged his shoulders and continued walking. "But one thing, I do know—I'll never go back to Virginia. That is, if I ever do return, it won't be to Cameron Hall to raise horses. It will be to Avalon . . . you know, the house on the island where my mother and I lived before she married Rod. Mum deeded it to me before her marriage. Everything in i t . . . well, anyway, the library and the part of the house she had transported from England . . . is mine. And my grandfather, Jedediah Dorman, my mother's father, left an estate worth a great deal of money in trust for me. I'll inherit when I turn twenty-one." Jeff paused again, slanting a searching look at Faith. "That birthday's in August?
"Yes, I know."
"Well, at twenty-one a person is considered an adult, you know, ready to manage his own affairs, to do what he wants—" He paused. "I may be jumping the gun a bit—but I know this is what I want to do—what I must do."
"But you won't be able to until August—" Faith began, then added doubtfully— "will you?"
"Can you keep a secret, Faith? I mean, absolutely?"
"Of course I can, Jeff"
"I'm planning to take the check Mum sent me for my ship's ticket to Virginia this summer and use it to go to Europe!"
"Oh, Jeff!" gasped Faith.
"After I arrive, I'll write them a full explanation.... It's not as if I'd be stealing the money or anything. The check is made out to me. I'm just going to spend it on a ticket to somewhere else." He hesitated, waiting for her reaction. Then, flinging out his hands dramatically, he burst out, "I've got to see some of the great paintings in the museums and galleries of France, Italy, Spain! See them for myself, not just look at reproductions in art books. You understand, don't you, Faith? If I'm going to be an artist, I must go where the masters painted, where they lived and worked. I have to find out what inspired the pre-Raphaelite painters here in England."
"P-pre-Raphaelite painters?" Faith faltered, hating to display her ignorance but needing to know what was driving Jeff.
"You see, in London recently, I saw an exhibit of some of the most remarkable paintings. They spoke to something deep inside me. It was almost—" Jeff's expression had taken on a faraway quality, and Faith held her breath, waiting for him to go on— "almost as if I'd painted them myself... that is, if I were an artist. These painters formed themselves into a—a sort of brotherhood, with the highest ideals for themselves and their work. Painting was really more than a profession. It was a way of life for them . . . a blend of poetry, legend, religion, art. They chose great themes for their paintings from the Bible, from the epic stories of the past, like King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table—"
Jeff's eyes were sparkling, and he was speaking rapidly in a voice charged with emotion. In spite of her misgivings, Faith felt herself swept up by his enthusiasm.
"You see, Faith, their beliefs blend with my own feelings about the way life ought to be—a devotion to what is fine, beautiful, pure. But first, of course, I have to learn to paint!" Jeff ran his hand through his thick, dark hair. "I know I can. I enjoyed rendering in my architectural studies but hated the mathematics, the geometry—all the dull drudgery involved in eventually creating something beautiful. I began to realize that it wasn't what I want to do. Faith, I've been miserable the last few months at Oxford. I have to get away and find out who I really am—do what I'm meant to do."
"But what will your mother say, and Uncle Rod?" Faith's voice was faint. The recklessness of Jeff's plan frightened her.
"They'll just have to accept it, that's all," Jeff said flatly, although there was a troubled look in his eyes. "And they won't know until I'm gone—then it will be too late tor them to do anything about it!"
"But how will you live? Will you have enough money?"
"Enough. I'll live cheaply until August. You can, in Europe, you know, if you travel light. I intend to walk as much as possible, avoid passenger trains. I'll certainly not travel first class, in any event." He laughed. "I'll live simply, eat simply—bread, cheese, fruit—it shouldn't be hard, not hard at all for someone like me, Faith." Jeff smiled a disarming smile. "You knew, didn't you, that my grandmother was a Spanish gypsy? Wanderlust is probably in my blood."
He let out a whoop and spun around, throwing up his arms ecstatically. "Oh, Faith, I can't tell you how free I feel now that I've made this decision!"
In contrast, she felt a heaviness lodged in her own chest. "How long will you be away?" she ventured meekly.
"I don't know. I'll want to come back to England, of course, to take some courses at the Royal Academy of Art to get my basics. To be accepted as an artist here, that kind of background is required. But there's time enough for that. First, I've got to see with my own eyes the kind of paintings I want to do myself—absorb the genius of the past, walk the same streets, breathe the same air as those artists who created the great masterpieces that are my inspiration—though I'll want to interpret them in my own way, of course."
He took Faith by the shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. "Trust me, Faith. Believe in me, wish me luck, and give me your blessing!"
Jeff's smile transformed his face and lighted his eyes with a burning intensity that caused Faith to hold her breath. Surely Jeff was inspired, surely this was what he was supposed to do. If she could only be sure, she could reconcile herself to his going away for . . . who knew how long?
chapter
3
ON MONDAY morning after breakfast, all the houseguests, including Jeff, gathered in the front hall before departing to go their separate ways. It was the moment Faith had dreaded all weekend. She would have to pretend that it was just like any other parting after a house party. Not even Jeff knew that, at least for her, it was vastly different. His secret weighed heavily upon her.
Faith walked out onto the terrace. The servants were bustling back and forth, carrying out the luggage and securing it at the back of the Devlins' carriage that would carry them all to the train station in the village. Then she took her place beside her parents to receive the thanks expressed by grateful guests and to hear the promise of future plans to meet again soon at
some party or other to which they were all invited. It devastated Faith to realize that Jeff would not be present at any of these. Worse, she didn't have the slightest idea as to when she would see him again.
The added pressure of his hand on hers when he stood before her at last and the look in his eyes told her he trusted her. Then he bent down to brush her cheek with his lips and to whisper that he would be writing to let her know where he was and that she must write back.
But there had never been time for Faith to say what was in her heart to say to Jeff, all the things she longed to tell him. They had had less time alone than usual this weekend. Was it her imagination, Faith wondered, or had her mother seemed particularly watchful? Just about the time she and Jeff had launched into a serious topic, here had come Garnet, almost appearing to invent excuses for Faith to be with Neil Blanding, or to show Mrs. Canning the rose garden, or to fill in as a fourth at bridge.
Somehow Faith had managed to survive it all—up until the last dreadful moments when she realized that Jeff was actually leaving. With anguished eyes she watched him go down the terrace steps, swing his long, lean frame into the carriage with a final, jaunty wave of his hand. Frantically, she waved back. The horses started to move and the carriage jolted forward down the drive. Then he was gone.
Faith's arms dropped to her sides. She turned away and walked back into the house, her throat aching with the tears she had forced back. Before she could betray her feelings, she ran upstairs and down the corridor until she reached her room. There she flung herself face downward on the bed and gave way to the storm that had been gathering within her all weekend.
She never knew how long she lay there sobbing. When at last she finally stopped, she sat up, breathless. All the tears in the world would not ease the pain she was feeling. If this was the way a heart feels when it is broken, hers surely was.
