The Cavendon Women (41 page)

“Just try to escape!”

Nestling against him, she said, “I'm glad we're having our honeymoon on the
Aquitania
. Because on a ship there's nowhere to go. Except back to the cabin.”

“Yes, I'd already thought of that,” he murmured, although he hadn't. What a wondrous girl she was, his Dulcie. Full of surprises … and certainly in bed. Inexperienced though she was, she had been ardent, passionate, and responsive. He had found the love of his life, as she had hers.

*   *   *

It was quiet in the bedroom, the only sound the crackling of the logs in the fireplace, which James had thrown on a short while ago. He had pulled the bedclothes over them, turned out the lamp at his side, and brought her close to him. Dulcie had fallen asleep with one arm thrown over his stomach.

Feeling drained, he had dozed on and off, but now he was wide awake, his mind turning endlessly. But there was a deeper contentment in him. He was relaxed, at ease, at peace.

There had been moments in his life when James had had flashes of insight into himself. He had known instinctively that he did not want to spend his life with any of the women he dated, or even those he had had longer relationships with. It wasn't that they weren't beautiful or nice or loving; they just weren't right for him.

He hadn't been able to pinpoint what
right
was. Until he had met Dulcie standing in his dressing room looking lost. They had exchanged long and knowing looks, and had understood everything. They had recognized each other as being …
right
. It was a
coup de foudre,
and it had never happened to him before.

He felt differently about her than he had about anyone else. He was protective of her, wanted to shield her, take care of her, and her instincts were perfect when it came to him. She understood him, knew him without benefit of time. For all of her cheekiness, bold comments, and forthrightness, she was highly intelligent, serious-minded, and entirely reliable. He wanted to be with her all the time. She satisfied a deep need in him, entirely fulfilled him emotionally.

She stirred next to him, whispered, “James, are you awake?”

“Yes.”

There was a silence. He said softly, after a moment, “I belong to you, Dulcie. You've put your imprint on me … for life.”

He felt her smile against his shoulder. She slid on top of him and lowered her head, finding his mouth with hers. And so it began again, their passionate lovemaking, and that was the way it would always be with them.

 

Forty-nine

“We just made it under the wire,” Charlotte said. “Much to everyone's relief, and most especially mine. Charles was truly filled with anxiety for weeks.”

“I realize that,” Lady Gwendolyn said. “I was ready to turn my few investments into cash so that I could give it to him.” A wide smile spread across her face as she finished, “But it wasn't necessary, thank God! The Ingham luck held. We are fortunate in so many ways.”

“We are indeed. Charles believes he has the best sons-in-law in the world. It was awfully generous of Hugo to sell some of his investments in Wall Street and give the money to Charles. Helping to wipe the slate clean, Hugo calls it. And it did take a bit of a burden off Paul.”

Leaning forward, Lady Gwendolyn said, “I never quite understood why the Drummond family bank were only willing to go so far, lend him half of the money he asked for. Nobody ever really explained that to me, except to say it had to go before the board.”

“Ten million dollars is an enormous amount of money to lend one man, even if he is a Drummond and a shareholder in the bank. Paul's not stupid, so he took the five million immediately, without quibbling, and then Hugo jumped in, and supplied five million of his own money.”

Charlotte hesitated for a moment, then murmured, “Daphne gave me the impression Hugo felt just as responsible as Paul, because it was their decision to put the money from the Cavendon Trust into Transatlantic Air.”

“I understand, and thank you for filling me in, Charlotte. I'm relieved you've finally taken over from Daphne completely. She needed a rest.” Eyeing Charlotte, her head on one side, Lady Gwendolyn said with a smile, “And of course you've settled in as chatelaine of this great pile of ours with the greatest of ease. And you handled Dulcie's wedding with enormous grace.”

“I've still a lot to learn.”

“Not too much, my dear. Let's not forget, you've lived at Cavendon all of your life.”

“But I was not running it. Thankfully Hanson is by my side whenever I need him.”

Lady Gwendolyn said, “I must change the subject, Charlotte. The real reason I wanted to see you today was to tell you a story.”

“A story about what?” Charlotte asked, giving her husband's aunt a searching look.

“About the Inghams and the Swanns. A story from long ago.” Lady Gwendolyn sat back in the chair and forced herself to relax. She had been longing to confide in Charlotte ever since giving her the swan brooch, had subsequently regretted not having told her at that time. Now, unexpectedly, she felt nervous.

“First, I would like to ask you a question, Charlotte. Where do you keep the famous Swann record books?”

“They're in the safe at my house across the park. I didn't take them with me to Cavendon Hall because there are so many. And it's best to leave them there, because when I die Cecily will be in charge of them.”

“Don't talk about dying, for heaven's sake; you're a young woman.”

“Why did you ask me where they were?”

“Just curiosity, that's all,” Lady Gwendolyn replied, leaning against the cushions. “The reason I really invited you to come to Little Skell Manor this morning is to show you something. But first, the story. However, I must begin with a question.”

“Ask me anything you want, Lady Gwendolyn.”

“Aunt
Gwendolyn from now on. You're family. Well, in a way you always have been, but it's official since your marriage to Charles. So to continue, this is my question. Am I mentioned in any of the record books?”

“No, you're not. Some names from a hundred years ago appear, but that's all. Why do you ask?” Charlotte frowned, thinking this conversation somewhat strange.

“Long ago I was in love with a Swann,” Lady Gwendolyn announced, her eyes fixed on Charlotte. “And he with me.”

Flabbergasted though she was, Charlotte just nodded. Wanting to know more, she sat forward in her chair eagerly.

“Eventually, he and I came together, and became lovers. It was a grand love affair. He was a widower, and I had been widowed six years earlier—my husband died when I was thirty. My Swann was very proper and had loved me from afar, but had never approached me. He was always a gentleman in his behavior. But one day I couldn't stand it any longer, I wanted him so badly. And I became bold, Charlotte. I manipulated things so that I could be near him as much as possible, and one evening, in a moment of sheer madness, I just stepped up to him and kissed him. We were alone, of course. Instantly he understood that I shared his feelings. And so it began.”

“I never guessed it was
you
!” Charlotte exclaimed, still stunned by this admission.

“What do you mean?” Lady Gwendolyn gaped at her, genuinely taken aback by this comment. Who had known about them?

“There's something in one of the record books, a notation, but no mention of your name. Was your lover Mark Swann?”

“Yes … Mark and I were together for some years.”

“I'm going to run over to my house. I want you to see the record book. I won't be a moment, Aunt Gwendolyn.”

Once she was alone, Lady Gwendolyn got up and went over to the black lacquered Chinese chest of drawers and opened a drawer, lifted out a letter case, and took it back to the chair where she had been sitting.

True to her word, Charlotte was back very quickly, coming into the parlor holding a record book in her hand. She opened it to the correct page, and handed it to Lady Gwendolyn, who stared down at the page and began to read.

In mine own hand, July 1876.

I loveth my ladie. Beyond all.

The swann fits the ingham glove tight.

I have lain with her. She is mine.

She gives me all. I got her with child.

Oh our joy. The child dead in her belly.

Destroyed us. She left me.

She came back to me.

My nights are hers again.

'Til the day I die. M. Swann

Lady Gwendolyn blinked, sudden tears filling her eyes, and held the book next to her body for a moment, clutching it to her. She closed her eyes and sat very still for a while. Then she handed the book back to Charlotte without saying a word.

It was obvious she was very moved.

Charlotte said, “I can see you loved him.”

“With all my heart … until the day he died.”

“It must have been heartbreaking, losing his child.”

“I was devastated. And so was he.”

Clearing her throat, hesitating, Charlotte finally asked, “What would you have done with the child, Aunt Gwendolyn? Surely that situation would have been horribly difficult to handle. Especially in those days, forty years ago.”

“We did think about it a lot, and never came up with a proper solution. And then it didn't matter, because the baby was stillborn.”

“Thank you for telling me.” Charlotte sighed. “Dulcie's forever announcing that a lot of messing around must have gone on between the Inghams and the Swanns over the years. That's
her
rather blunt way of putting it, but I believe she's correct … there must have been many involvements over these many, many years.”

“I agree. How could there not have been? The two families were living side by side in the country, practically under one roof most of the time. They were thrown together constantly, and they were all so compatible, and good-looking, and more than likely highly motivated sexually.”

“And now we have Cecily Swann and Miles Ingham,” Charlotte said. “Joined at the hip forever. And no divorce in sight. A different situation. They won't give each other up, you know. Not again.”

“It
will
come right in the end, believe me it will, Charlotte,” Lady Gwendolyn reassured her. “We must all be patient. As you so often say,
what is meant to be is meant to be.
And things only happen when the time is
right,
in my experience.”

“That's true.”

Lady Gwendolyn picked up the leather case, opened it, and took out some old photographs. “This is Mark Swann. And this is a picture of me with him.”

“How good you look together, and Mark resembles Walter,” Charlotte exclaimed. “And he's very handsome.”

“Aren't they all?” Lady Gwendolyn murmured with a wry smile. She handed Charlotte another old photograph, also well preserved. “And this is Margaret—” She cut off the end of her sentence, fell silent.

Charlotte was staring at a picture of a beautiful baby in an expensive-looking christening gown and a small lace cap. She glanced up and gaped at Lady Gwendolyn, her eyes full of questions.

“Our child. Mark's and mine. You see, we had another baby and she lived. We had been very careful, and I was in my mid-forties by then. I didn't believe I could get pregnant. No one was more terrified and shocked than I was. After all, I was almost forty-eight.”

So startled was she, Charlotte couldn't speak for a moment, and then she said in a low but vehement voice, “Oh my God! What did you do?”

“The only thing possible at that time, at least for us. We had to give her up for adoption. I told my brother, David, the truth. Anyway, he had always guessed about Mark and me,” Lady Gwendolyn explained. “As
you
well know, David and I were very close. He was genuinely sympathetic, but adamant that we could not keep the child. Had I been married, we could have explained it away, I suppose, like so many married women did, claimed it was the child of my husband. But I was a widow.”

“I do understand.” Charlotte's voice was full of sadness. “It must have been so hard for you. Who adopted your baby?”

“Mark and I were never told. That was the way it was in those days. Adoption was very private, secretive, in a certain sense. David had a solicitor in Harrogate, whom he used for some estate matters. It was this solicitor who handled the matter. David assured me that the baby was going to a good middle-class family, a couple who were desperate for a child. I went out and bought lovely clothes for her, and a certain amount of money was given to the family for her care. And that was the end of it—” Again Lady Gwendolyn stopped mid-sentence and sat back in the chair, a sorrowful feeling sweeping over her. She was full of tears, wanted to sob her heart out.

Charlotte, observing her intently, saw that she was extremely upset, and remained silent, fully understanding her pain as she relived those memories of long ago.

Gwendolyn must have been beautiful, Charlotte thought. With a look of Diedre in her late thirties, early forties. The white-haired woman sitting opposite her was still lovely, with the clearest of blue eyes and a fresh complexion.

Suddenly, Lady Gwendolyn sat up straighter in the chair, pulled herself together. “I said that was the end of it, but of course it wasn't. I have thought about that child, my daughter, every day of my life, wondered about her, worried about her. The good thing was that Mark and I stayed together. We were so in love with each other we couldn't part. But we did become very careful in every way. Ingham women seem to get pregnant very easily.”

“I'm glad you continued your love affair, Aunt Gwendolyn. You needed each other.”

“We did, and he was always loving and consoling. Somehow we did manage to cope. And we believed we had done the right thing … for the child. And we both were certain that David had handled it well.”