Love Finds the Way

by Barbara Cartland

  "And that is why I wanted to talk to you now," he said, "before the wheel starts turning so fast that it cannot be stopped.

  "Everything is due to you, Gina. It was your idea and I want the world to know what I owe you. When the names go up on the castle, one of them must be yours."

  "I do not ask for that," she replied quietly.

  "No, you never ask for anything for yourself, but people ought to know what you have done, not just now, but in generations to come."

  "That is a long time. Things never work out quite as we plan. All sorts of unexpected results will flow from what we plan tomorrow."

  "I know, I have been thinking about that. Once a variety of strangers have paid for the upkeep of the castle, I shall have to let them come and visit it as often as they please."

  "It will never really be a private home again," she concurred.

  "But in six months time, when most of the work will have been completed, I shall invite you here as our Guest of Honour."

  Gina laughed.

  "I will remind you of that invitation in six month's time," she told him, "if we are still in touch."

  "Why should we not be?" John asked.

  "You may be bored with the castle and everyone in it," she said after a moment. "You will sail away, as you have done before, to visit castles overseas and find, perhaps, that people there are more attractive than those at home."

  "No," he said seriously. "I shall never find that."

  Suddenly Gina sighed and looked around her. The grounds were so beautiful in the golden light of the sunset.

  "I am going to miss all this," she murmured.

  "But you won't be leaving us just yet?" he asked in dismay. "You will be more needed than ever when people start putting money into the castle." He attempted a feeble joke. "Where would I be without my best administrator?"

  "There will be nothing that Ambrose cannot take care of. He is scandalously under-used, you know. The work here is not nearly demanding enough for a man of his abilities."

  "Then why does he stay?"

  Gina was silent. She had her own opinion as to why Ambrose stayed, but it was not for her to reveal the secret.

  "You won't run away just yet, will you?" John begged.

  "I will remain a day or two, but no longer."

  She did not feel she could endure the celebrations of John's betrothal to Athene.

  They were wandering under the trees now and from just above them came the sound of giggling.

  John stopped and spoke loudly without looking up.

  "If either of you are thinking of ambushing us, you can forget it now."

  From high in the branches came groans of dismay.

  "Spoilsport."

  A piece of bark came tumbling down and fell at Gina's feet.

  "That's enough!" thundered John. "How dare you alarm a lady."

  "Gina isn't alarmed," came from the branches.

  "She's not a spoilsport."

  "Who said you could call her 'Gina'?" John demanded.

  "I did," Gina said. "Don't be cross with them, John. There is no harm in them."

  She smiled up into the branches.

  "Perhaps you should come down now," she suggested.

  They slithered to the ground at once and stood there, incredibly scruffy considering how spotlessly they had started the day, and looking up at their brother with an air of innocence that did not fool him for one moment.

  He scowled at them.

  "About tomorrow –" he said.

  They stood to attention.

  "And stop that," he commanded.

  They saluted.

  Gina covered a smile with her hand.

  "And you just encourage them," John complained.

  "No, I don't," she said at once. "They don't need any encouragement. And if you will talk to them like a Sergeant Major, what do you expect?"

  "Whose side are you on?"

  "Theirs."

  The boys cheered and saluted again. One of them discovered something in his hair and tried to detach it to get a better look.

  "I should leave it," Gina advised cheerfully. "It's only jam."

  They both grinned at her.

  "About tomorrow," John tried again. "You two will behave yourselves. You will be clean and tidy. You will speak only when spoken to and you will go to bed at the earliest possible moment. You will also refrain from introducing livestock, of whatever kind, among the guests."

  "Their lives won't be worth living if you spoil all their fun," Gina objected.

  "Now, scram, the pair of you!" John ordered.

  Grinning, they ran away.

  "I suppose it is time we went in too," John said reluctantly.

  "Yes," she said wistfully. "It was such a beautiful sunset. I am glad we saw it."

  Very tentatively he took her hand, wondering if she would rebuff him. But she did not, and they strolled hand in hand through the gardens and into the house.

  *

  Everything was ready. The house had been cleaned,

  the kitchen garden raided of vegetables, the food had been cooked and the cellar stripped of drinkable wines. The stables were ready for an influx of horses and carriages.

  But before the first guests arrived there was something that John was determined to do.

  "Pharaoh," he called, "I want you to gather all the lost sheep together and bring them to the picture gallery."

  He did not have to explain the term 'lost sheep' to Pharaoh, who understand perfectly and hurried away.

  "What are you going to do?" Gina asked.

  "Come with me and you'll see."

  She followed him to the picture gallery. On the way they were joined by Benedict who silently asked Gina what was up and received the silent answer that she had no idea.

  This was not strictly true. A hopeful thought was forming in Gina's mind, but if she was right it would be so wonderful that she did not dare to let herself believe it.

  The musicians had not yet arrived and the picture gallery, now a ballroom, was empty. As the three of them entered, their footsteps seemed to echo.

  "They should be here at any moment," John said quietly.

  Soon they began to arrive, first the ones like Sonia and Imelda that the family knew. Behind them came the others, who existed in the nooks and crannies, hoping to live out their lives unnoticed, because they had always felt safer that way.

  And how many of them there were, John thought with a sense of shock. Fifty? Sixty? And he had never known.

  They were looking at him, some smiling, but cautiously. He was not the late Duke, who had made them welcome, but he had not sent them away and they were beginning to trust him.

  For a moment he wondered how to say what was in his mind. Then he saw Gina's eyes on him. She was smiling as if to say that she knew he would do the right thing. And suddenly the right words came.

  "It is so good to see all my friends together and to know that I have so many of you."

  At once a ripple went over them. They were his friends. He had said so. They began to smile, not at him, but at each other, exchanging silent pleasure, sharing the good feeling. He had called them 'friends'.

  He indicated for them to come closer and, carefully, they did so.

  "I do not know how tonight is going to turn out," he told them. "With luck we may find enough money to restore the castle to glory and if that happens it will be your success, not mine.

  "You have worked hard to help the family go on living here and to make this place presentable. Without you, it could not have been done."

  He paused.

  "If we do not raise as much as we need –"

  They were all looking at him expectantly. Trustingly.

  "If we don't get enough – then I promise you that we will continue here somehow. This is your home as well as mine. You have made it yours by your work and by your love. You may all stay here as long as you wish. You have my word on that."

  There was an audible gasp from the crowd and the
n cheers of joy rang up to the roof as they vented their excitement, hugging and kissing each other. Tears of joy were flowing down the cheeks of just about everyone.

  John saw this reaction with astonishment. He had known that they would be pleased, but this sudden glimpse of their desperation came as a shock. They had cared so much, been so afraid and he had not understood until now.

  He had a sensation of almost terrified relief, as though he had narrowly avoided maiming a child. In his blindness he had so nearly caused a tragedy, but some power had guided him through.

  Then he saw Gina and she too was weeping, although why she should weep he could not say. Yet, strangely, she looked happier than he had ever seen her.

  He saw her open her arms to Pharaoh and be enveloped in his huge hug. Then the twins, Jeremiah, Harry. They all wanted to hug her, as though they knew that she had been on their side from the beginning.

  And suddenly John felt lonely, because nobody was hugging him.

  Of course, respect for his position would prevent them doing so.

  But he still felt lonely.

  Benedict too was beaming and overjoyed. He shook John's hand, pumping it vigorously.

  "Well done, old fellow. You have done a wonderful thing. I knew you wouldn't really throw them out."

  "That's more than I knew myself."

  "No, no, you just talked that way. It didn't mean anything. Gina –" Benedict turned to find her beside him. "Isn't it wonderful?"

  "It is the best thing that has ever happened," she said, her eyes shining. "John, I am so glad."

  "Are you really?" he asked, wanting her approval more than anyone's.

  "Of course I am. Just think what would have happened to them. They have nowhere else to go."

  "That's not what I – Gina –"

  But she vanished. An impromptu dance had started and somebody had whirled her away. Benedict followed, rescuing her from her exuberant partner and dancing with her himself.

  John watched them, seeing how eagerly they were talking even as they danced and how they hugged each other again, as though in some secret understanding.

  He turned away. He could not bear to see it.

  Suddenly he found himself remembering the night he had docked at Marseilles and received the telegram that told him of his inheritance.

  He had told Benedict then that he had been looking for something. He didn't know what it was, but it would be something different, something outside his own experience, that would make sense of the world.

  But, with the title hanging round his neck, he had been sure that he would never find it.

  "All hope is gone," he had said.

  And yet, if he had had the sense to see it, that 'something' had been waiting for him when he stepped off the ship at Portsmouth and found a bright-faced eager girl, whose eyes were vivid with life and enthusiasm, who had wanted only to share her gifts with him.

  But he had not had the wit to see it and the miracle had passed him by. Now he could see the truth, he could see that she was the one and only woman for him. But it was too late.

  This time all hope was really gone.

  CHAPTER NINE

  But John knew that he could not allow himself to brood. At any moment the first guests would be arriving and he must be in position to greet them. These would be the ones who had come some distance and must be accommodated overnight.

  "They are going to be on us at any moment," he told Pharaoh.

  "Very good, Your Grace."

  He began to urge the others to calm down and then to leave. In a few minutes there was only John, Gina and Benedict left.

  "I still have some errands for Lady Evelyn," Gina said and hurried away.

  "John," Benedict said, sounding awkward.

  "What is it, old fellow?"

  "Nothing, just – good luck. I know how important tonight is to you."

  "More important than anything has ever been in my life," John replied.

  "The thing is – a man doesn't always choose what happens to him – and what he does about it."

  John frowned, alerted by a strange note in Benedict's voice. But then his brow cleared as he realised what his friend was really saying.

  "He cannot choose where he falls in love, can he?"

  "That's just it," Benedict said, relieved. "It can happen when you least expect it – like a bolt from the blue."

  "Yes," John murmured. "I know."

  So he really would have to face it, he thought. Benedict and Gina. He had watched it happen under his nose and only half understood.

  Tonight they would announce their betrothal and he would smile and pretend to be pleased for them.

  And he would never be happy again.

  "The point is," Benedict was continuing with difficulty, "my father always preached that there were more things that mattered than human happiness and they should not be taken at someone else's expense. What do you think?"

  John pulled himself together. He had promised Gina to stay true to the best in himself and now that he could do her a service, he would hold to that promise, whatever it cost him.

  "What I think," he said, "is that there is too little happiness in the world and if you have the chance, you should take it. Does she love you?"

  "Oh, yes, she says she loves me as I love her."

  John winced, but tried to hide it.

  "Good luck to you old fellow. Marry her with my blessing."

  Benedict's round honest face shone.

  "I say, that's wonderful. I had never hoped – thanks old chap."

  He hurried away, leaving John standing alone in the echoing hall.

  He tried not to think of Benedict rushing to Gina, taking her in his arms, celebrating their mutual joy.

  And Gina, raising her beautiful eyes to the man she loved, never knowing that there was another man who loved her, although he had only discovered the depth of his longing too late.

  It was all over now, except that it had never really begun. He had lost her, but she had never been his. And now he must learn to live without her.

  A figure appeared at the far end of the gallery.

  "John," Lady Evelyn called. "What are you doing loitering here? Guests are beginning to arrive."

  "Very well, Mama. I am coming."

  Goodbye to hopes of love, he thought, as he took his place beside his mother at the foot of the stairs leading into the downstairs hall.

  They began to arrive, the Duke of this, the Marquis of that, Earls, Viscounts, Knights, Baronets. Lady Evelyn's performance was flawless. She greeted them all graciously and received many glances of admiration for her beauty.

  There were sons, too, heirs to great titles, who eyed Drusilla with longing. She had no money, of course, but she was sister to a Duke and that could be as good as a dowry.

  She returned their glances, her eyes lingering on handsome sons, who smiled back and begged her for dances as soon as they could get a private word with her.

  She looked magnificent in the white gown of a debutante, with white rose buds in her hair and a pearl pendant about her throat.

  Now the musicians were arriving, taking their place in the balcony above the floor where the dancers would soon be.

  John walked upstairs to take a last look at the picture gallery and stood listening as a violinist tuned up.

  After a moment, Gina appeared and stood for a moment, also listening.

  "Did you notice how delightful your sister looks?" she asked.

  "Indeed. Let's hope this works and we will see off Arthur Scuggins."

  "Poor man," Gina said, "you are very unkind about him."

  "I intend to treat him with perfect courtesy. May I say that you look delightful?"

  Gina was dressed very simply in a honey-coloured gown of satin and lace. A single strand of pearls encircled her neck and she carried an ivory fan.

  "Thank you, kind sir."

  "You must promise me a dance."

  But she shook her head.

  "Gina, are
you saying that you will not even dance with me?"

  "You will not have the time. Your whole evening will be filled with duty dances. And then, of course, you must spend some time on the main business of the evening, persuading people to help the castle."

  "Oh, yes!" He gave a sigh.

  "What is it, John?"

  "Now that it has come to the point, I would give anything not to have to do it. If only I could find some way of saving the castle by my own best efforts."

  He took her hands and spoke ruefully.

  "I am an ungrateful dog to say such a thing, after all your hard work. Forgive me."

  "But there is nothing to forgive," she said earnestly.

  "Of course I always knew that you wouldn't do this if you had the choice. But there was no choice and I only wanted to find a way to help."

  "And you have helped. Nobody has worked as hard as you or been so clever – no, not clever – brilliant."

  "Brilliant?" Her eyes teased him. "And me a mere woman?"

  "My dear, won't you forget whatever stupid words I may have said? I have learned so many things from you."

  "Oh, yes," she said wryly. "I am an excellent teacher."

  "You are a very great deal more than that and you know it. And if you are a teacher – you are the best kind, one who teaches by inspiring her pupils. You have inspired me to do what I must do tonight."

  "I know you will do whatever you feel is right," she muttered.

  In her heart she was sure that he was telling her that he had decided to marry Athene. After tonight he would be the promised husband of another woman and she had only herself to blame.

  In a sense this moment between them was a kind of goodbye.

  Her heart ached.

  Above them the violinist had begun to play a soft waltz.

  "If you won't dance with me at the ball, then you must dance with me now," John asked, holding out his arms.

  She went into them and he began to waltz her gently about the floor, dipping and swaying in time to the music.

  "Whatever happens tonight will be your success," he murmured. "Aren't you proud?"

  Dumbly she shook her head. Tears glistened in her eyes.

  He saw them and suddenly nothing could have stopped him kissing her. He bent his head and laid his lips against hers and found her as sweet as he had dreamed she would be.