“I promised I would stay in touch. And from what I hear, Meldrew will be jailed as soon as his injuries have healed. He actually has police guards round the clock at the hospital. He won’t be able to just walk out of there, you know. The fraud police have loads on him. He’ll go down for years.”
“He deserves it,” Cecily said.
“We’re looking forward to coming to the wedding, Ceci. And here’s Aunt Dorothy, who’s itching to speak to you.”
“Hello, Dottie,” Cecily said. “I’m sorry I’m still up here in Yorkshire, but Dr. Laird wanted me to rest for a bit longer.”
“Take all the time you need, my little love. I’m holding the fort. Dulcie’s in and out, and Diedre offered to come over if I need any help. The Warrior Women are ready, willing, and able. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know your dress is ready. Lady DeLacy said she’s happy to bring it up to Cavendon tomorrow. Shall I send it with her?”
“That’s a good idea, Dorothy. I can’t wait to see it.”
“And I can’t wait to see you wearing it, standing in front of that altar at Cavendon, marrying the love of your life.”
Cecily laughed. “I never thought I’d hear those words … marrying the love of your life, at Cavendon.”
“You know what Charlotte says, ‘What is meant to be is meant to be.’ And she knows what she’s talking about.”
Cecily said good-bye and hung up, and turned around when she heard the parlor door open.
“Can I come in?” Lady Gwendolyn asked. “And stroke the tummy?”
“You can,” Cecily answered, laughter echoing in her voice.
“I’m really only joking, my dear. But Miles has confessed to me that he loves to stroke your tummy at night. And I do understand how he feels. There’s something wonderful about a new life growing.”
Walking into the parlor, Lady Gwendolyn said, “I have a wedding present for you, Ceci. And I hope you like it.” She handed a small gift-wrapped package to Cecily, and then lowered herself into a chair.
“How lovely of you, Lady Gwendolyn. Thank you.”
“Aunt Gwendolyn, after tomorrow, Ceci. You’ll be family then.”
Cecily smiled at her again and untied the white ribbon, took the lid off a red leather box. Inside it was a small strawberry made entirely of rubies, with leaves and a stem studded with diamonds. “How unusual; it’s just beautiful,” Cecily exclaimed, taking it out and looking at it.
“It was one of the gifts my late husband gave me, because I enjoyed eating strawberries and cream. I still do. He was very sweet, had such fanciful ideas. And I don’t mind if you want to copy it for your jewelry collection at Harte’s.”
Cecily burst out laughing, stood up, and went over to kiss the matriarch of the Inghams, whom she had always loved.
* * *
It was a small wedding, only family invited, and it took place at the small church on the estate at Cavendon. Cecily wore the dress she had designed to hide her condition, based on one she had made for Daphne years before.
It was in the French Empire style, with long sleeves and a high bustline, the pleated fabric dropping away into fullness at the front. Made of lavender silk, it had a matching coat. Both were calf length, and she wore a matching Juliet cap, a style she had made famous.
The four Dees insisted on being her matrons of honor, and much to her amusement they all wore blue frocks to match their eyes. It was a family joke she had always enjoyed.
Her mother, Alice, insisted she was married from their home, and Cecily agreed that this was absolutely right, very correct.
It was a March wedding, because Miles refused to wait any longer, and Cecily agreed with him. She wanted to wear his wedding ring after all these years. “And after three proposals,” she had added, winking at him.
Her brother Harry, Hugo, Paul Drummond, and James Brentwood were the ushers, as usual wearing the Yorkshire white rose from the Ingham crest, in the lapels of their morning suits. Miles asked his father to be his best man, and the sixth earl was happy to agree.
Once again, the church was warm from the paraffin stoves, and filled with beautiful flowers, when Cecily walked down the aisle on the arm of her father, Walter Swann. She felt as if she were dreaming when she finally reached the altar surrounded by the glorious stained-glass windows. It was a sunny day and colored light filtered through like a streaming rainbow.
When she had to say the words, “I do,” Cecily’s voice shook slightly, because in her heart of hearts she never believed she would be married to Miles. There were too many obstacles against their union.
When his voice rang out, clear and strong in the church, her eyes filled with tears. And then he was kissing her, and holding her to him. She could hear his heart clattering against hers, which was clattering in unison.
“We’re married, Ceci,” he whispered, and led her proudly down the aisle to the strains of “Here Comes the Bride.”
* * *
The villagers were outside, waving and cheering and throwing rose petals and confetti, which blew around in the wind. And the first person Cecily’s eyes lighted on was Genevra, the Romany girl, all dressed up in one of Cecily’s frocks, with a red ribbon in her hair.
“We must stop,” Cecily said to Miles, and he nodded his agreement when he saw the gypsy girl.
Genevra smiled at them, her black eyes shining, and handed Cecily a piece of paper. “A gift fer yer,” she said. “Look. Look at it.”
Cecily did. And what she saw was a square box drawn on it, with a bird sitting on top of the box. In strange wobbly writing the words said: Swann rules. And instantly Cecily understood, at long last. She remembered that drawing Genevra had made in the dirt with a stick so very many years ago. Staring at Genevra, she said the words, “Swann rules?” and it came out sounding like a question. Genevra inclined her head, put her hand on her own stomach. “Baby Swann rules Ingham,” she said, and blew them kisses, running off toward the fields. And Cecily understood that the box represented Cavendon Hall and the bird a swan.
They went on down the path to the sound of the villagers clapping and cheering again. Cecily said, “It’s a boy. I’m carrying your heir, Miles.”
“Is that what she meant?” he asked.
“It is. And I believe her.”
* * *
Later that year, on a lovely sunny day in July of 1929, Cecily went into labor at Cavendon Hall. It was mandatory that an Ingham was born at the house; midwives came from the village for the birthing of the baby.
Although she was in labor for almost ten hours, Cecily didn’t care. It was her child, the child Miles had given her, such a great and wonderful gift from him, like his enduring love. When the baby finally arrived, it was a boy. They called him David Charles Walter Swann Ingham, named for his great-grandfather David, the fifth earl; his grandfather Charles; and grandfather Walter, Cecily’s father.
“Oh, he’s so beautiful,” Miles said to her as they stood at the font in the church on the estate, on the day of his christening a few weeks later.
“Just like his father,” Cecily said. “Like father, like son.”
Miles bent closer and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Ceci. And thank God everything came out right,” he whispered. And she agreed.
* * *
Cecily and Miles spent a lot of time in Yorkshire for the rest of the summer. He needed to be on the estate working with his father and Harry, whose plan to rent out the farms had been highly successful. They were also supervising the repairs and the restoration of the house, which never ceased.
As for Cecily, she could work from anywhere, and was able to design a new line of jewelry, as well as accessories, shoes, and wedding gowns. Emma Harte had renewed their contract and they were still in partnership.
Cecily doted on the baby, and on Miles, and she was so happy it seemed to her that her life was perfect.
* * *
Hugo and Paul sat with Paul’s brother Tim in Hugo’s study at Cavendon. Tim had been in Paris on business
, and he had brought them disturbing news when he had arrived in Yorkshire last night.
“Boom and bust. The usual story. Big speculation, irresponsible investing, putting trust in devious businessmen, stockbrokers, and the like. Big business is best, they told us. It rules the world. That’s what’s been happening, and there have never been any regulations on Wall Street, as you well know.” Tim sighed. “I see it coming. A Wall Street crash. And soon.”
“This is worrying, and very disturbing,” Hugo replied. “It’s the nineteenth of September today. When do you expect this crash?”
“I don’t know, there’s so much speculation, buying stocks, reckless wheeling and dealing, selling and buying, God knows what’s going to happen. But you two are all right, aren’t you?” Tim glanced at his brother Paul and then at Hugo. “You got out of Wall Street.”
Paul said, “I did.”
Hugo nodded. “I sold a lot of investments and moved my money to the London Stock Exchange. I did keep some of the Ben Silver money in investments in Wall Street, but not much. Why?”
“Many other bankers agree with me that Wall Street will crash. And it will reverberate around the world. It could actually lead to a depression … a world depression.”
“Let’s hope not,” Hugo said.
* * *
It was Friday afternoon, September 20. Everyone was enjoying the weekend. The weather was lovely. It was like an Indian summer. Cecily and Miles were sitting on the terrace when Charles came out. He looked so shocked, Cecily knew at once that something had happened. Something terrible. Charlotte followed him, and she too was chalk white, appeared nervous.
Miles rose at once, also suspecting trouble. “Has something bad happened, Papa?” he asked, then glanced at Charlotte, who had a strained expression. And fear in her eyes.
“Not bad news, Miles, catastrophic. Hugo just told me that the London Stock Exchange just crashed officially.”
“My God, why? What happened?” Miles cried, surprise echoing in his voice.
“It’s all to do with a man called Clarence Hatry, who had been jailed for forgery and fraud. He’s caused all this. Apparently the market has been unstable, severely so, for days. Periods of selling, buying, everything going crazy.”
“What does it mean to us?” Cecily asked, looking first at Miles and then at Charles.
“We have lost a great deal of money,” Charles answered.
“Are we wiped out?” Miles asked sharply, fearing the worst.
“Not exactly. But, well, a big portion of our investments have gone.”
“What does that mean to us?” Cecily asked again. “Are we ruined? Is the House of Ingham about to fall?”
“I sincerely hope not,” Charles answered in a strained tone. “But things are going to be very difficult. We will have to stop the restorations at once. And make sure we can pay our taxes, maintain the estate, pay the staff.”
“But what about the money I gave you for the jewels?”
“That has been used up. New roofing, acres and acres of it. New floors. The work on the foundation of the house. You know what’s been happening. Plus income taxes.”
“Are we broke, Papa?” Miles asked.
“Not quite. Because Cecily has been buying the Ingham jewelry. And Dulcie has been selling off our paintings at the gallery. But we will have to tighten our belts. And trim, and trim and trim. And sell more possessions.”
Charles sounded so depressed, Cecily was wondering if he was telling them the truth. Suddenly, a feeling of enormous indignation came over her, and then immediately dissipated. In its place came a sense of determination, of being in control of her own destiny. She jumped up, took the baby out of his little cradle, ran down the steps and out onto the lawn. She stood in front of the house, staring up at it.
Miles had raced after her. “What are you doing?” he cried, looking perplexed, worried about her strange behavior.
She did not answer Miles. She turned the baby around to face the house, showing it to him.
“This will be yours one day,” she cried. “You will reign here. The first Swann to sit on top of the house of Ingham. It is going to be yours, I promise you that. Whatever it takes. Cavendon will be yours to rule. It is meant to be. Your heritage. It is a prediction. And it is not just this great stately home, it is so much more.”
Cecily paused, looking around the park, then turning the baby to face her. She went on in her strong, purposeful tone. “It is thousands of acres of land, a famous grouse moor, three villages with villagers whom you must care for and protect, who depend on you. It is a title dating back for almost two hundred years. You will be one of the premier earls of England. The Eighth Earl of Mowbray, following on after your father. It is a dynasty you must protect with your life.”
Miles, who had listened to her words, was stunned, yet impressed. He saw she was white, noticed her implacability, the determination in her strange lavender-gray eyes, the hint of ruthlessness in her, fleeting though it was. He was awed by her strength, her sense of duty.
Settling the baby comfortably in her arms, cradling him, Cecily turned to Miles. “I meant everything I said, Miles. We are going to fight and work. And keep Cavendon safe. We must. For you and for this boy … the heir whom you’ve longed for.”
Cecily paused, moved closer to him. “You are my husband at long last. I’ve given you this boy, your heir. Will you stand beside me and fight for all this?”
Miles put his arms around his wife and his child, and held them tightly against him, filled with love and gratitude. They were his family.
“I will,” he said.
And he did.
Acknowledgments
My husband, a film producer, believes that the public should never know anything about the nitty-gritty that goes on behind the scenes in the making of a movie. He thinks it spoils the magic. And I suspect he feels the same way about all the nitty-gritty behind the writing of a book. I agree. However, I would like to thank those people who have been involved in my creation of this new novel.
The first person I must thank is Jennifer Enderlin, Senior Vice President and Publisher, St. Martin’s Press and St. Martin’s Paperbacks, who is my editor and a great sounding board. Jen always comes up with fresh ideas and suggestions, and her caring and enthusiasm are important to me. Thanks are owed to Caitlin Dareff, Jen’s editorial assistant, and the rest of Jen’s team in copy editing, the art department, production, and marketing. My thanks to Sally Richardson, President and Publisher, for her continuing enthusiasm for my work.
Wendy Jeffrey, my editor at Doubleday many years ago, left publishing and started a new career. We have remained friends for thirty-five years, and she still continues to read my manuscripts for her own pleasure but also at my request. Her comments are invaluable to me, and I thank her for her continuing support. Thanks to Lonnie Ostrow of Bradford Enterprises, a whiz at the computer who helps with the preparation of the manuscript and areas of research. Thanks also to Linda Sullivan of WordSmart for her work on the manuscript, which is always perfect.
I can never thank my husband enough for his loving and enduring support in every way, and his understanding of my continuing need to write my novels. Not only that, he is my best critic because he always reads my manuscripts in an objective way and says what he thinks. Along with my editors, Bob is one of the first readers, and his quick response is invaluable before I start the editing. A true partner in every sense, it is Bob who guides my career and manages it with the skill of a businessman and the creative mind of a film producer. He also makes the movies of my novels and with stars in the leading roles. Aside from all this he manages to make me laugh every day of the year.
Last, but by no means least, I must thank my personal publicist, Maria Boyle, of Maria Boyle Communications, who handles my publicity on an international basis. She is the very best at what she does, and has my love and gratitude.
About the Author
BARBARA TAYLOR BRADFORD was born and brought up in Eng
land and started her writing career as a journalist. She has written twenty-nine international bestsellers. The Cavendon Women is her thirtieth novel. In 2007, Queen Elizabeth awarded her the OBE (Order of the British Empire) for her literary achievements. She lives in New York with her husband, TV and film producer Robert Bradford. Visit www.barbarataylorbradford.com or sign up for email updates here.
BOOKS BY BARBARA TAYLOR BRADFORD
Series
THE EMMA HARTE SAGA
A Woman of Substance
Hold the Dream
To Be the Best
Emma’s Secret
Unexpected Blessings
Just Rewards
Breaking the Rules
THE RAVENSCAR TRILOGY
The Ravenscar Dynasty
The Heir
Being Elizabeth
OTHERS
Voice of the Heart
Act of Will
The Women in His Life
Remember
Angel
Everything to Gain
Dangerous to Know
Love in Another Town
Her Own Rules
A Secret Affair
Power of a Woman
A Sudden Change of Heart
Where You Belong
The Triumph of Katie Byrne
Three Weeks in Paris
Playing the Game
Letter from a Stranger
Secrets from the Past
Cavendon Hall
The Cavendon Women
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Contents
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT NOTICE
DEDICATION
PART ONE
The Cavendon Women Page 40
