Tame a Proud Heart
By
Jeneth Murrey
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
'The cure for one man is another, darling.'
Charles smiled. 'I was about to offer my services.'
'You!' Roz choked back a hysterical laugh. 'You're mad! But you've hinted at this sort of thing before, haven't you? And surely you remember the answer that time. It was "no", and it hasn't changed. Besides, you've got your image and reputation to consider.'
'Mmm. We could be discreet.'
Dear Reader,
There's something different about Mills & Boon romances! From now on, in the front pages of all our stories, you'll find a short extract to tempt you to read on, a biography about the author and a letter from the editor, all of which we hope will welcome you to our heart-warming world of romance. What's more, if you've got any comments or suggestions to make about Mills & Boon's stories, drop us a line; we'll be glad to hear from you. See you next month!
The Editor
Jeneth Murrey was born on the Isle of Wight and spent her childhood in Plymouth and Portsmouth, until she married during the Second World War and moved to Wales. She has two grown-up daughters and six grandchildren, a large, dirty dog and a cat. Although reading and writing occupy the largest part of her time, and she is most often to be found sitting at the typewriter, she does also manage to find time for her hobby of painting.
First published in Great Britain 1982
by Mills & Boon Limited
© Jeneth Murrey 1982
Australian copyright 1982
Philippine copyright 1992
This edition 1992
ISBN 0 263 77546 1
CHAPTER ONE
'Isn't he beautiful, Roz, and wasn't he worth all the trouble?' Eve Berry bent over the sleeping baby in her arms and carefully wiped his milky mouth with a tissue. 'Yes, you are,' she informed him 'and you'd better start thanking your aunty Roz for coming to the rescue. You're worth every day of that two months in bed before you were born and every minute of every day in bed since. But not to worry, my lad; I'm being allowed up in a few days' time and I'll soon have you outside in your pram. We'll go for lovely walks…' She raised her quiet, Madonna-like face with its wide blue eyes to her younger sister. 'He is lovely, isn't he, Roz? And I can never thank you enough, not if I live to be a hundred, for what you've done for us. Dropping everything at a moment's notice and coming down here when the alarm bells rang.'
Roz Wilshire smiled down at mother and son. 'Think nothing of it, just concentrate on getting well as soon as possible, because another week of my cooking and your husband is going to leave home!' She turned her head to catch a glimpse of herself and her sister in the dressing-table mirror. Two sisters with eight years between them; alike and yet unalike, it always fascinated her, the similarity and the difference.
Eve, the elder, looked like a Madonna, her fair hair parted in the middle and drawn back into smooth waves which she tied with a piece of ribbon or string or sometimes a rubber band, whatever was handiest. There was a serene contentment on her oval face, her eyes were quiet and as blue as a summer sky and her mouth curved with a secret pleasure.
Roz's own face was exactly the same shape as her sister's and had she been plumper, had she been filled with Eve's soul-deep content, they would have been even more alike. But Roz's face was more angular, the flesh more thinly spread so that the bone structure showed through. Their eyes were the same shape, long and thickly fringed with dark lashes under dark, arched brows, but hers lacked the blue softness of Eve's; they were a clear, almost transparent grey which could darken into storm when something disturbed her less equable temperament. And her hair; there lay the biggest difference; it was black and heavily straight as though the weight of it pulled out any tendency to curl or wave, but it grew back in the same way and from the same broad forehead.
There were other differences in the sisters as well, differences which weren't apparent while one of them was in bed. Roz was two inches taller than Eve and she lacked her sister's mature curves and roundness. In their place was a long, slim, almost nervous elegance so that she looked like a well-bred racehorse which would bolt at the drop of a hat.
'I'll put him back in his cot now,' Roz offered, 'that's if you've finished cooing over him.'
Eve handed over her son reluctantly, her fingers lingering on him, twitching his clothing into position and stroking the soft roundness of his cheeks. Then when she finally released him, she sat back against her pillows, fiddling with the empty feeding bottle.
'I loathe this,' she snapped at the rubber teat, pulling it viciously between her fingers. 'I fed the two girls myself and it was much better, much more convenient as well. I felt better doing it that way and I liked it. What pleasure is there in knowing he's had so many ounces of dried-up, defatted cow-juice dissolved in water?' Her mouth drooped, losing its contented curve so that she looked almost sullen. 'He's a perfectly normal baby and I could have fed him normally without any of this rotten palaver of measuring things out and sterilising everything in sight!'
Roz tucked the baby into his cot and came back to the bedside with a bowl of water and a soapy sponge. 'You know why, darling. Your little op—it upset things…'
Eve's face flushed with indignation. 'My little op! Damn those busybody doctors, and damn Stephen as well for letting them do it to me. He had no right… Both of you took advantage of the fact that I wasn't in any condition to stand up for myself, and now I've been neutered, or whatever it is they do. Oh!' She screwed up her eyes and squealed with fury. 'I like babies, I adore them, and I intended to have another whether the doctors said it was wise or not. They aren't all that clever, you know, they said I couldn't have this one, and they were wrong!'
Roz knew better than to argue. When her normally placid sister became steamed up about something, it was better to stay quiet until the kettle went off the boil, so to speak. Instead, she became placating. 'See what I mean, darling?' she pointed out gently. 'You're in a highly nervous state, not at all like my beautiful, calm sister. And do stop saying "neutered" as though you were a tomcat! It's not like that at all and you know it.'
'And it won't make any difference to me?' Eve's mouth twisted into a sarcastic, disbelieving curve. 'I don't believe it, I never did. That's one reason why I was so against it, and Stephen agreed with me. He promised me he wouldn't allow them to do it, and then, when it came to the crunch, he signed me away like a lamb. He let them carve me up!'
'I don't think he had much choice,' Roz continued to soothe. 'Stephen's a professor of English, love. He'd be the first to admit he doesn't know a damn thing about medicine or anatomy. And what's more, you're a big girl now, nearly thirty-four, which is quite old enough to realise the doctors wouldn't have recommended something if they didn't think it was in your best interests.'
'I told Stephen I thought it might interfere with our relationship, our married life, and he agreed with me.' Eve was still mutinous. 'I made him promise he wouldn't allow…'
'Eve, stop harping on about it,' Roz sighed. 'Forget it! Concentrate on your baby and getting well.'
'Mmm.' But Eve couldn't abandon it, her face broke into a sad smile as she looked towards the cot. 'Oh, but doesn't it make you want to weep, Roz? To think I'll never have another baby!'
'You have three already.' Roz tried to be firm and bracing, to inject a little humour so that her sister's gloom would vanish. 'According to the statistics, Mrs Average o
nly has two and a half babies; you see, you've had more than your share. It's all pure melodrama, carrying on like this, and you know it. Now may I go, please? I've things to do.'
Eve clutched at her hand. 'Forgive me, darling. I've been quite abominable, haven't I? And after all you've done for us. Yes, you have,' she stifled Roz's protest. 'You've been here with me for nearly three months, and your career's in tatters.'
'Some career!' Roz snorted delicately down her small, straight nose as she straightened the bed and plumped up the pillows. 'If I'd been a teacher, as I always wanted to be, I'd allow you that remark. Being a photographic model can't be classed as a career, I only went into it after I'd been turned down by every education authority in the country. To most people, my kind of work counts as a shady pastime; besides, I've been doing it now for five years with varying degrees of success, so it's about time I had a change, don't you think?'
'A change?' Eve squeaked with excitement.
'Mmm,' Roz collected the baby impedimenta on to a tray. 'I've had a couple of other offers…'
'Tell me…'
'No,' Roz was firm. 'You have a little nap first, then eat your lunch without telling me what I've done wrong with it; take your pills without yelling that they're big enough to choke a horse and I'll… Oh, Lord, will you listen to that!' She broke off as yells of thwarted fury reverberated through the house. 'Gilly!'
'Bring her in here,' Eve directed. 'My son is asleep and she'll lie down beside me and snooze for an hour—we'll all snooze!'
Roz dropped the tray to speed out of the room and returned a few moments later with a wriggling three-year-old who was heaving gusty sobs. 'A real demolition expert,' Roz chuckled. 'I don't think that playpen will ever be the same again.'
'Darling!' Eve cooed, and the tears and sobs ceased, to be replaced by a wide satisfied smile. 'All right, Roz, you can leave her with me, we'll all have a nice nap.'
Roz sped downstairs swiftly. From the dining room she could hear the whine of a vacuum cleaner; the daily woman was doing her bit! But Roz's goal was the kitchen where she had a lamb casserole in the oven, a casserole prepared strictly according to the book, so if there was anything wrong with it, it wasn't her fault. She opened the oven door an inch or so and sniffed cautiously. It smelled all right but… Then she firmly crushed down the desire to take the dish out and prod it about a bit, instead busying herself with putting the baby's bottles in the sterilizer and tidying up the little mess she'd made before she sat down at the kitchen table to re-read the two letters which had come by that morning's post. She sat holding them, one in either hand, and weighing them as if the heaviness of the paper would have some influence on her choice and she choked back a small flare of annoyance when Stephen, her brother-in-law, walked in to disturb her thoughts. She set her face into a cool, smiling mask and was icily polite.
'Good morning, Stephen, and what can I do for you?'
'Roz.' His deep voice was husky and his great size seemed to fill the room. Idly she noticed that, despite the salads and other parts of his careful diet, he was putting on weight. He was broader, more massive than when she had first known him seven years ago. He hadn't been a professor then, just the senior lecturer in English, a big, golden god of a man; like a Viking with his red gold hair and beard and his sea-blue eyes.
And she, a starry-eyed nineteen, had fallen flat on her face, worshipping before him and hanging avidly on every word which fell from his lips. Not that she'd been alone in doing this, oh, no! Practically every other girl in the faculty was in the same boat with her, they would all have laid themselves down flat to make a carpet for him to walk on. But she had been lucky; they, the girls, all told her so; she had so much more than a warm, understanding smile and a kind, encouraging word. She had Stephen's arms about her and his deep voice murmuring things about twin souls in her ear. Life had been big and golden, like Stephen, and she had floated along on a sea of bliss, making the most supreme idiot of herself.
And then she had taken him home for the weekend; her parents were dead and there was just Eve, running the house, and Eve had made him welcome. He'd come on a lot of weekends and had ended up marrying Eve. Loving her elder sister as she did, Roz had forgiven him that, but what she could never forgive was that he'd been making love to Eve and flirting gently with herself at the same time. It disillusioned her, and she came out of her romantic daydream cynically certain that men were some low form of life and that none of them could be trusted as far as they could be thrown.
Even then, she had managed to be composed, to hide her heartbreak beneath a smile and to enter into Eve's joy, because Eve had never realised how strong had been her love for Stephen and Roz was so ashamed of herself that she vowed Eve should never know.
Roz hadn't lost her head—somewhere inside her was a strip of tempered steel which wouldn't allow her to bend or break. She'd been grimly practical; smiling all through the wedding and the lengthy reception which followed it and then going back to college and sweating her way through her last year and the final exams at the end of it. Hers hadn't been a very good degree, but then it couldn't be expected that a girl whose heart had been broken would get a First.
And for seven years she had managed to maintain the warmth which had always existed between herself and her sister without indulging in very much close contact; that was, up until three months ago when Eve had sent out her SOS and she had come hotfoot back to this sleepy little Sussex village, taken one look at Stephen and the scales had fallen from her eyes.
She had come when Eve called, quiet and calm on the surface as she had trained herself to appear, and at last she realised that she had wasted—that was the only word for it, wasted—seven long years in mourning for a man who either had never existed except in her imagination, or who didn't exist any longer. Roz wondered where her golden god had gone because there was nothing now but a well-preserved man in his early forties, but, unfortunately, a man who was used to admiration, who expected it as his due; who expected her to be the same as in the old days. The god had existed only in her imagination and she had kept the memory fresh all these years only to find that he was nothing, nothing at all.
She hadn't said any of this, not in so many words, but she'd done her best to make it clear. It was then that she discovered that Stephen was not only a well-preserved forty odd, a professor of English, a husband to Eve and a father to three children, he was conceited, blind and stupid into the bargain. He actually expected her to start worshipping again! He was being stupid now, at this moment, speaking in tones of husky intimacy as though they shared some wonderful secret. It made her angry, not so much with him as with her own adolescent idiocy.
'Roz,' his voice came again, demanding attention, and she pushed the letters back into the pocket of her skirt and turned a bright smile on him.
'Have you been up to see Eve and the baby?' She made it sound as bright as her smile and as impersonal and she dragged the letters from her pocket once more and made a great thing of re-reading one of them, although she already knew it off by heart.
'Not yet. I wanted to see you first.' He smiled at her conspiratorially.
'Good,' Roz smiled at him blandly, 'because I wanted to see you. I'm going up to London on—er—Friday,' she consulted the letter again, 'and I may not be able to get back the same day. Eve will be up by then, but I'd like you to arrange with the daily woman to be here with her. She'll try to do too much, and we don't want her having a relapse, do we?'
'I'll see to it,' he promised, and then, 'What's the matter, Roz?'
'The matter?' She raised her eyebrows fractionally. 'I don't know what you mean. There's nothing the matter with me.'
'You're so different,' he sounded mournful. 'Not at all like the girl I used to know.'
'Seven years makes a difference,' she pointed out hardily.
'But we shared so much in the old days—'
'We shared very little,' she cut in curtly. 'I sat at your feet and worshipped, that was all. A bad case of teen
age infatuation, like measles or mumps. We all get it and we all get over it. You should know that, Stephen.'
'Oh, I think it was more than that,' he smiled down at her confidently, a radiant smile which lit up his sea-blue eyes. ' "Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediment",' he quoted sententiously.
'Oh, my mind,' her mouth curved in amusement. 'You mean you were interested in my mind!'
'I still am, Roz, my dear. A brilliant mind, one I could have moulded, developed…'
Hastily she controlled her snort of derisive laughter. It was one thing which she had learned in the past three months; Stephen couldn't bear being laughed at; it turned his golden camaraderie into something small and ugly.
'We're wandering away from the main issue,' she interrupted. 'I'd be more grateful if you could work up a little interest in Eve's mind. She's feeling very low and she's doing a very good job of convincing herself that she's for evermore useless as a wife. She needs reassurance, and you're the only one who can give it to her. This lecture tour you've got lined up for the summer vacation, is it really necessary?'
'The organisers have been in touch with me this morning.' He sounded obstinate and vaguely sulky. 'The halls have been booked, tickets have already been sold; my lectures are very popular, you know.'
'And you mustn't disappoint your adoring public,' she said bitterly. 'It doesn't matter about Eve and the children as long as those American matrons aren't disappointed!'
'Eve wants me to go.' He came round the table to lay a hand on her shoulder, and she flinched away from his touch.
'Then that's all right and I won't interfere any more,' she glared up at him, 'but I think you've got your priorities wrong, and, since this is a free country and Eve's my only sister, I think I'm entitled to say so. Now, I suggest you pop upstairs and have a word with her—it's all quiet and peaceful. You won't have a chance this afternoon when Freda comes home from school,' and she turned her attention back to the letter in her hand.
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