Three Graces

by Victoria Connelly

  ‘Carys.’

  ‘Carys?’

  She looked up and smiled. She was used to the baffled response her name always caused. ‘Like Paris but with a C instead of a P and a Y instead of an I.’

  ‘C instead of a P and a Y instead of an I,’ he repeated.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘That’s pretty.’

  She felt herself blushing which was ridiculous. She wasn’t the sort of woman to fall prey to blushes. She cleared her throat, determined to take charge of the situation.

  ‘So,’ she began, ‘are you going to tell me-’

  ‘Carys!’ a voice shouted up from the foot of the stairs. Louise’s voice. ‘Where are you?’

  Carys gave an apologetic half-smile to the gentleman whose name she’d probably never know now.

  ‘Carys, come on. I want to introduce you to someone,’ Louise said, her voice childlike with insistence.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said, pausing for a moment. What did she think would happen? Did she think he’d beg her to stay? Did she even want to? He was still smiling at her: that knowing smile that was warm and unnerving at the same time.

  And then she felt Louise’s hand clasping her arm. ‘There you are. Oh,’ she said, suddenly seeing the gentleman, ‘hello.’

  ‘Hello,’ the gentleman replied.

  ‘Come on, then,’ Carys said, giving Louise her full attention at last. ‘Who’s this person you want to introduce me to?’

  They went downstairs, their dainty summer shoes tapping musically on each beautiful white step. Once in the hallway, Carys was ushered over to Martin and introduced to one of his friends. His face filled with uncontainable excitement as soon as he saw her approaching him but the feeling wasn’t reciprocated. Carys forgot his name as soon as it was told to her but managed to make polite conversation despite the fact that she knew Louise was trying to match-make her, and the fact that her mind was still on the mysterious gentleman at the top of the stairs.

  As Martin’s friend told her about his favourite garden centre for bargain bulbs for spring colour, Carys found her gaze wondering to the top of the stairs but the gentleman had gone. She scanned the groups of people in the hallway and in the main room off the hall but couldn’t see him.

  ‘They can be extremely difficult to grow, of course,’ Martin’s friend was telling her, ‘and it’s best if you dig the bulbs up each year to stop rot.’

  Carys nodded, feeling that her brain was rotting with his topic of conversation. Where was the gentleman? Had he made an early departure? She might never find out who he was.

  ‘You can’t beat a decent tulip for a spot of colour, of course…’

  She’d never been smiled at before like that. She’d felt it in her very stomach.

  ‘My mother used to have the most glorious auriculas you’ve ever seen.’

  His eyes too. They’d looked at her in a way she’d never been looked at before.

  ‘Most people believe they’re native to Britain but they’re not,’ Martin continued, completely absorbed in a world of bulbs, buds and blooms.

  Carys swallowed the last of her wine and then had a thought. ‘I need another drink,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘Oh, allow me,’ Martin’s friend said, taking her class and disappearing across the room.

  Carys looked around. Where on earth was Louise? It wasn’t bad enough that she was probably getting back together with Martin but Carys would never forgive her for dragging her away from the gentleman at the top of the stairs to listen to Martin’s friend going on about mulching and fertilizers.

  She pushed by a group of people in the middle of a grand living room and spotted Louise standing in front of one of the enormous windows that had made them whistle when they’d first arrived. Sure enough, she was in deep conversation with Martin, her smile bright and eager, and her fingers running coquettishly through her hair.

  ‘There you are,’ Carys called, deciding she was going to break this meeting up as quickly as Louise had broken hers.

  ‘Carys! Where’s Martin’s friend?’ Louise, it appeared, had also forgotten his name.

  ‘I’ve sent him away to get me a drink,’ she said with great meaning.

  ‘Oh,’ Louise said.

  Carys glared at Martin.

  ‘Good to see you again, Karen,’ he said.

  ‘Carys,’ she corrected, noticing Louise wince at his mistake.

  He cleared his throat but didn’t apologise. ‘I’ll, er, see you later, Louise,’ he stuttered, before disappearing through the crowd.

  Louise sighed. ‘I don’t suppose he will.’

  ‘Good,’ Carys said. ‘I’m not having you getting back together with him.’

  ‘We were just talking,’ Louise insisted. ‘There’s nobody else here to talk to,’ she said, scanning the room. ‘They’re all in their own little groups. Look!’

  It was then that Carys saw him. He was stood on the other side of the living room talking to a beautiful red-head.

  ‘Who’s that man in the corner?’ she asked Louise casually.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘By the table.’

  ‘The one with his fingers in the nut bowl?’

  ‘No,’ Carys sighed in exasperation.

  ‘Oh! You mean the man you were talking to on the landing?’ Louise said, spotting the dark-haired gentleman. ‘Fancy not knowing who he is. He’s probably the most famous man here. He’s certainly the only one other than Martin that I’ve actually heard of.’

  ‘Well, who is he?’

  ‘Richard Bretton, Marquess of Amberley. Heir to the Duke of Cuthland.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes. His father’s Henry Bretton, the eleventh Duke, no less. He’s the one who’s always banging on about bringing back the House of Lords.’

  Carys knew, instantly, whom she meant. Henry Bretton was something of a local celebrity in Cuthland. If he wasn’t on local television, he was on the radio, busting a blood vessel at how England was Going to the dogs.

  ‘Fancy you talking to a marquess and not knowing it.’

  Carys rolled her eyes. It was just like Louise to get all star-struck.

  ‘What’s so special about being a marquess?’ she said but she could feel herself blushing from head to toe with shame as she remembered everything she’d said. She’d said she was a sympathiser of the French Revolution, for goodness’ sake!

  ‘Tell me he’s not related to the de Montforts.’

  Louise’s forehead puckered into a frown as she mentally trawled through the many society pages of the many glossy magazines she’d ever flicked through. ‘de Montfort, let me see-’

  Carys’s heart hammered.

  ‘Yes. I do believe that’s his mother’s maiden name. Something de Montfort. Some sort of society belle, if I remember correctly. One of those masculine turned feminine names. Georgina or Willamina or something.’

  ‘Oh God!’

  ‘I know, awful names. Francesca!’ Louise suddenly shouted. That’s it. Francesca de Montfort.’

  ‘Great,’ Carys sighed. Now it turned out that she’d unwittingly suggested his ancestors should have been beheaded.

  ‘You like him!’ Louise chimed.

  Carys tutted. ‘I never said that. But he was a little more interesting than Martin’s friend.’

  ‘What were you two talking about, anyway?’

  ‘I don’t know. He was going on about auriculas or something.’

  ‘No, not Martin’s friend. I mean the handsome Marquess of Amberley. He is handsome, isn’t he?’

  Carys nodded. He certainly was. Movie star looks were rare in Cuthland.

  ‘You know his wife left him?’ Louise continued. ‘Stark raving mad, they say. Amanda. I remember reading somewhere that she swore Amberley Court was haunted and packed her bags one day and just left - demanding a divorce.’

  ‘Really?’ Carys looked across the room at Richard with new eyes. ‘He’s a single?’

  Louise nodded. ‘And a single ma
rquess in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife,’ Louise giggled.

  Carys play-punched her and then, just as she looked across the room at Richard, he looked up and caught her gaze. And smiled.

  ‘Wow!’ Louise said in an excited whisper. ‘Why don’t you go over? He’s smiling right at you.’

  ‘We’re leaving.’

  ‘What? Well at least say goodbye, then,’ Louise pleaded.

  ‘What’s the point? I made a complete fool of myself in front of him and I’m not going to see him again.’

  ‘I think you might,’ Louise smiled.

  Carys looked up. He was walking towards them.

  ‘I think I’ll just go and get myself another drink,’ Louise said.

  ‘Louise - no-’

  But it was too late. Louise had gone and Richard, Marquess of Amberley, heir to the dukedom of Cuthland, was standing before her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, extending a hand towards Carys. ‘I should have introduced myself properly before.’

  ‘Yes, you should have,’ Carys agreed.

  ‘Richard-’

  ‘Marquess of Amberley,’ Carys finished.

  ‘You know?’

  ‘I do now,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t before.’

  ‘And would that have made a difference?’

  Carys’s eyes widened. ‘Of course. I wouldn’t have been so rude.’

  ‘You mean, you’d have lied to me?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Just not told me what you were really thinking?’ he asked. ‘Don’t worry,’ he assured her, noticing her frown. ‘I wasn’t offended.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t have said those things - not in front of anyone. I don’t know what came over me.’

  He smiled at her. ‘I think a lot of people are of your opinion.’

  There was an awkward pause when neither knew what to say next.

  ‘I was thinking of getting out of here,’ Richard said at last. ‘Get a spot of dinner somewhere. Maybe at Venezia. What do you think? It would be my very great pleasure if you would accompany me.’

  ‘Oh,’ Carys said, rather taken aback. ‘It’s getting a bit late, isn’t it?’ she added, knowing that Venezia was one of the most popular restaurants in Carminster.

  ‘You’re worried about not having a reservation,’ he said as a statement rather than a fact. ‘I can always explain who I am.’

  ‘You wouldn’t!’ Carys said in undisguised horror.

  He smiled at her, his eyes full of warmth and laughter. ‘For you, I believe I’d do anything.’

  Chapter 2

  ‘I’m afraid there are no tables left at Venezia,’ he said a moment later after ringing on his mobile. ‘I could ring back and tell them who I am.’

  ‘No way! I can’t believe you’d really do that.’

  He shrugged as if it was no big deal. ‘I’d do it because I’d really like to take you there.’

  ‘Well, I’m afraid I don’t want to go that much.’

  For a moment, Richard looked somewhat crestfallen. ‘Come on,’ he said, leaving Roseberry House and walking across the driveway. ‘I’ve got an idea.’

  Carys followed him. ‘Wait a minute,’ she said.

  He stopped and turned round.

  ‘Whose car are we going in?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Do you have a car here?’

  Carys nodded and pointed towards it.

  Richard’s eyes widened. ‘Is that really yours? I was admiring it from the window just before. I haven’t seen a Prima for years.’

  ‘No, they’re a dying breed.’

  ‘Like the aristocracy,’ Richard said grinning, causing Carys to blush.

  They approached Carys’s car and Richard ran a hand over the curved bonnet.

  ‘So,’ Carys said, ‘which is your car?’

  He nodded across the driveway. Of course, his car was a Marlva Country. Big as a tank but far more beautiful.

  Carys looked back at her Prima. ‘Maybe we should go in yours,’ she said. ‘Slightly more room.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘but you must promise to take me out in your Prima some time.’

  Carys laughed. ‘If you insist.’

  A few minutes later, they were sat in Richard’s car. It felt so strange to be so high up after being so used to her tiny car. They left Roseberry House via the driveway where the trees stood deep in shadow.

  ‘Amberley’s driveway beats this one,’ Richard suddenly said.

  Carys looked at him.

  ‘Have you ever been to Amberley Court?’

  ‘No,’ Carys said. ‘I haven’t.’

  ‘Well, I’m not just being conceited; I’m being honest: it’s the most beautiful place in the world and it’s at it’s best at the moment although I do have a fondness for autumn when the colours mellow and deepen and great, ghostly banks of mist roll across the valley.’

  Carys looked at him. He wasn’t being conceited; he was very much in love with Amberley, she could feel that.

  ‘I guess I’ll have to visit, then,’ she said.

  ‘And let me know when you do and I’ll give you a personal tour.’

  Carys bit her lip. This was all moving at a pace a little faster than she was used to. ‘I have a garden too,’ she said. ‘It’s a ten foot by fifteen yard which just about fits a dustbin, a collection of potted plants and a deck chair.’

  Richard smiled. ‘It sounds great.’

  She laughed. ‘Rather like my car, it’s a bit on the small side.’

  ‘But small can be beautiful. You know, large estates come with a lot of problems. Sometimes, I wish that things were simpler: that there was only a limited amount of space to worry about and manage - not often, but sometimes.’

  ‘What sort of things do you have to worry about?’

  Richard turned left onto the main road that led to Carminster. ‘Well, the deer in the park are a big responsibility. Gardens need constant work, especially old gardens where walls are apt to crumble, and ancient trees have to be monitored. Last year, for example, we lost several trees in the gales and they’re our responsibility. We can’t just ring the council up and complain.’

  ‘I suppose not. But it must be incredible to actually own a tree.’

  ‘Are you making fun of me?’

  ‘No,’ Carys assured him. ‘I’m not. I really mean that it’s just an odd thing owning something so special.’

  Richard glanced at her for a moment as if gauging her.

  For a moment, they drove in silence, starring out at the darkening sky, the last streaks of apricot cloud fading to indigo.

  ‘Doesn’t it seem a bit obscene owning so much land?’ Carys asked at last.

  ‘Are you trying to pick a fight with me?’

  ‘No,’ Carys said.

  Richard frowned but he was smiling too. ‘First, you recommend that I have all my ancestors beheaded, then you think I should turn all my trees loose-’

  Carys laughed. ‘No!’

  ‘It sounds as if you are.’

  ‘I’m not - honestly. It’s just, I’ve never met anyone who owns so much land.’

  Richard slowed the car down and pulled over into a passing place. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘let’s get some things sorted out. Firstly, I don’t own so much land. At the moment, the Amberley estate belongs to my father - as far as anything like that can actually belong to anyone. We’ve grown accustomed to thinking of ourselves as custodians rather than owners. Secondly, I didn’t choose the circumstances of my birth. Yes, I’m well aware that some believe I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth but they are thoroughly misguided.’

  Carys’s eyebrows rose.

  ‘We sold the family silver two generations back,’ he explained.

  They looked at each other for a moment and then they both burst out laughing.

  ‘I’m really sorry that you think I’m making fun of you,’ Carys said at last. ‘It’s just, well, I must admit to having a problem with inherited
wealth.’

  ‘Then what are you doing letting the heir to the dukedom of Cuthland run off with you into the middle of the night?’

  ‘Because I like you,’ she said simply.

  He waited for a moment before replying. ‘And I like you,’ he said at last, ‘but I can’t change who I am.’

  ‘I know; I don’t expect you to,’ Carys said. ‘Anyway, I don’t even know why we’re getting so worked up about all this. We’re only going out for dinner, aren’t we?’

  Richard nodded and indicated to pull out into the road again. ‘You’re right.’

  Carys bit her lip. She could feel her heart racing. This was very strange. Why was she getting herself all worked up like this? This wasn’t the way she normally behaved on a first date. Come to think of it, this wasn’t even a first date, was it? They’d merely done a runner from a party together.

  Suddenly, she felt rather uncomfortable and fidgeted in her seat.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Surprise,’ he said, ‘but I promise I won’t try to influence anyone into giving us better service by revealing who I am.’

  Carys managed a smile which turned into a broad grin when they parked outside Perfect Pizza in Carminster.

  ‘I could have got us seats at Venezia,’ Richard said, ‘but this is the next best thing. How about a takeaway? We can eat up on Solworth Hill and watch the sunset.’

  Carys nodded. She really couldn’t believe this man and his talk of trees and clouds and sunsets. She realised that she’d probably discovered the last gentleman poet in Cuthland.

  Twenty minutes later, they were parked and eating pizza on their laps, an apricot and indigo sunset bathing the valley below them and making their skin glow.

  ‘Are you going back to the party?’ Carys said in between mouthfuls of Margherita.

  ‘Only to drop you off. I’m not going back in.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘What about your friend?’

  ‘Louise? She’ll be long gone by now.’

  ‘Oh.’

  After nearly burning the roof of her mouth on a particularly hot piece of tomato, Carys added, ‘I was double-crossed tonight.’

  Richard frowned.

  ‘Louise - my friend - knew her ex would be there and I have a horrible feeling she’ll start seeing him again.’