103. She Wanted Love (2 page)

The Mother Superior knew the background only too well and why Eleta did not wish to return to her stepfather.

“I know and we would love to keep you. But we cannot break the rules of the Convent just for one girl.”

“So I have to go back,” Eleta replied in a low voice.

“You will find that you will soon enjoy yourself with your friends. Among the
debutantes
I am afraid you will find yourself really rather old and they will think you are ‘not one of them,’ so to speak.”

Eleta had laughed.

The Mother Superior had said it in French using a slang expression.

“I will pray for you,” the Mother Superior promised quietly, “and I know things will seem much better when you are at home than they do from here.”

Eleta thought that she was being optimistic and it was most unlikely, but she had no choice except to leave at the end of the term.

It was now May and the sun was shining and she tried to think of how beautiful it would be at her father’s house in Northamptonshire.

She realised, however, that she had to go to London first – to the house where her mother had died which was in Berkeley Square.

It was agony for her to think that her Mama would not be waiting for her as she always had been in the lovely drawing room filled with spring flowers.

The Countess would be sitting on the sofa with her feet up as her doctors had advised her to do and she would then hold out her arms as Eleta entered the room.

But now there would only be her stepfather.

She was quite certain that he would look at her in a way that she always disliked. It made her feel as if he was summing her up and not being pleased with the final sum.

The Earl of Stanrenton, Eleta’s father, had died in a most unfortunate accident when he was out riding and his wife was broken-hearted and so was his daughter.

Eleta had adored and idolised her dear Papa, as she called him. Although he deeply regretted not having a son, he had been extremely fond of his pretty daughter.

It was two years later that the Countess had married again, simply because she was so lonely and depressed and also because Mr. Cyril Warner was very persuasive.

He was not an aristocrat as the Earl had been, but he had been well educated and had made a large fortune for himself building ships.

He was, however, as Eleta had discovered almost immediately, a tremendous snob.

He had not merely fallen in love with the widowed Countess, he had also thought being married to her was a huge step up on the social ladder for himself.

Eleta found during the holidays that her stepfather took endless pains to invite to the house anyone who had a title.

Eleta knew, although he had never said so, that he was deeply upset at not being able to have a child by his wife because she was not strong enough.

Therefore he had to be content with a stepdaughter.

But he was well aware that Eleta had resented him from the very moment he had married her mother.

It was not a happy situation and so Eleta spent a great deal of her holidays with her friends.

Only when her mother died quite suddenly did she bitterly regret that she had not been at home all the time.

She should have disregarded the fact that she was uncomfortable with her stepfather and resentful of him.

Now she thought despairingly, as her Mama was not there, she would have to see a great deal more of her stepfather than she had in the past.

She had already notified some of her friends that she was returning home and she was certain they would welcome her with open arms.

At the same time the house in Berkeley Square and Renton Park in the country would be incredibly dull and uncomfortable if she had to spend any time alone with her stepfather.

‘If only Mama was here,’ she thought, ‘everything would be different.’

The mere thought of her Mama brought tears to her eyes and she had loved talking to her and being with her.

The Countess had been a most intelligent woman, despite having been brought up by Governesses and it was her idea that Eleta should have a better education than hers.

“I have had to teach myself,” she admitted. “Your father was a great reader and an ardent traveller, so I learnt much from him. I must not now deprive you.”

“I don’t want to leave you,” Eleta had said when she was told that she was to go to France.

“I will miss you, my darling,” her mother replied, “more than I can say. But I know I am doing the right thing. You have the same intelligent brain as your father had, so you will learn from the Convent more than any Governess could possibly teach you.”

So Eleta had gone to France unwillingly and had stayed longer than anyone expected, as she found that she was so happy there.

It was really fascinating not only to learn from the teachers at the Convent, but from all the girls themselves, especially those from distant countries.

Now, she thought, she had already seen a great deal of the world, but there was much more to see and she only hoped and prayed she would be able to go on travelling.

She was, however, anxious that her stepfather was already planning a social life for her and she knew in her heart of hearts that she would find it boring.

There would be endless balls every night to which inevitably she would be invited purely because she was her mother’s and father’s daughter.

And she was sure that her stepfather would insist on escorting her and that was because he would then meet the aristocrats whose daughters were the Season’s
debutantes
.

‘I am too old for
debutante
dances,’ Eleta mused.

At the same time she knew that because there were always older people invited, she would not be particularly conspicuous.

In France it had not mattered if a girl was young or older. No one noticed if she was over or under eighteen if she could join in the conversation, if she could make men laugh and if she was beautiful.

Eleta had received a great many compliments from the French, but she thought on the whole that Englishmen were far more attractive.

She remembered listening to her father talking to her mother and it was not what he said but the note in his voice that revealed so clearly now much he loved her.

‘What my Papa said were real compliments,’ Eleta thought, ‘but to the French they are just a normal part of conversation and mean very little.’

The train was now approaching London and once again she began to think of her stepfather waiting for her and of her Mama’s empty bedroom.

‘How could Mama have died and left me just when I wanted her so desperately?’ Eleta reflected, as the train came steaming into the terminus.

Then she told herself that she must be nice to her stepfather because her mother had been fond of him. He had had made her happier than if she had remained alone.

When she looked out of the window, Eleta was glad to see it was not her stepfather who was waiting for her, but the secretary.

Mr. Melroy had looked after the accounts of the houses in London and in the country for her father.

When the train door opened and Eleta stepped out, she held out her hand to him.

“It’s lovely to see you, Mr. Melroy,” she said, “and very kind of you to come and meet me.”

“I have been looking forward to your return, Lady Eleta,” Mr. Melroy replied. “The house has seemed very dull without you and there is a warm welcome waiting for you from all the staff.”

Eleta noticed that he did not include her stepfather.

She rode back in the carriage drawn by two well-trained horses, which had been her mother’s favourites.

The coachman and the footman on the box were wearing the Stanrenton livery and it always proclaimed to Eleta all too firmly that her stepfather had no family livery.

‘I must try to be nice to him for Mama’s sake,’ she told herself. ‘Now she is not here, I only hope I don’t have to be alone very often with Step-papa.’

The carriage drew up outside the house in Berkeley Square, which had belonged to her father’s family for two generations and it was very comfortable and attractive.

As the carriage came to a standstill, two footmen wearing her father’s livery laid the red carpet down on the pavement.

Because it was all so like home, Eleta jumped out and said, “hello, how are you?” to Harry.

“It’s nice to ’ave you back, my Lady,” Harry said.

Eleta walked into the hall and the butler, who had seemed old even when she was a baby, was waiting for her.

“Welcome, my Lady,” he intoned. “It’s been a long time and we’ve missed you.”

“I have missed you too, Buxton,” Eleta answered.

It was with difficulty she prevented herself from asking as she had asked so often before, ‘where is Mama?’

As she hesitated, Buxton added,

“Mr. Warner’s in the study, my Lady.”

For a moment Eleta did not move.

Then she knew it would be rude if she went upstairs without at least telling her stepfather that she was back, so she walked towards the study.

The old butler quickly went ahead of her, opened the door and announced,

“Lady Eleta, sir.”

Cyril Warner was seated at the writing table that had once been her father’s.

It was a beautiful example of the Regency style and despite herself, because her Papa had always sat at it, Eleta resented seeing Cyril Warner in his place.

He rose slowly to his feet and held out his hand.

“So you are back at last,” he began. “The ship must have been late.”

“I thought we made up for it on the train,” Eleta replied. “But the Channel was rougher than it usually is.”

“Which it should not be at this time of the year,” her Stepfather responded severely.

Buxton had stayed in the room.

“Will your Ladyship have tea in here,” he asked, “or in the drawing room?”

Eleta looked at her stepfather and, before she could answer, he said,

“In here, Buxton. I wish to talk to her Ladyship and we must not be interrupted.”

“Very good, sir.”

He left the room and Cyril Warner moved to stand in front of the mantelpiece.

“It’s a long time since you were at home,” he said.

It was not just his words, but the way he said them which told Eleta that it was a rebuke.

“I am sorry, Step-papa, but as it so happens I was staying with friends in Greece and then with other friends in Cairo. Both visits were most enjoyable and instructive.”

“I cannot think that they taught you anything you could not have learnt here in England,” Cyril Warner said somewhat aggressively.

Eleta thought it was a mistake to argue.

He had always been against her being educated in France and he had at one time suggested that she came home and was taught by a Governess.

Her Mama, however, had resisted, knowing that she would learn more at the Convent than any Governess could teach her and so she had remained happily in France.

“Now I am here,” Eleta said quickly, “I am very anxious to hear how things are in the country. Have you any new horses and are the flowers in the garden as lovely as I remember them?”

“The answer to your first question is ‘no’ and to your second, ‘yes’,” Cyril Warner answered abruptly.

Eleta was just about to protest that the horses when she last rode them were growing old when she remembered that he was not a good rider and did not particularly enjoy being on horseback.

So she changed the subject,

“I hope the old staff are still there and there are not too many newcomers.”

“I have reduced the staff because I seldom go to the country,” he replied. “I am in fact extremely busy. Busier than I have ever been before in London.”

“How interesting,” she managed to say. “Is it some new sort of ship you are building?”

She had just finished speaking as the door opened and Buxton came in with two footmen carrying the tea.

On a tray carried by the second footman there were large and small cakes that had been her favourites ever since she was a child.

One look at them told her that Mrs. Buxton was still in the kitchen and, as she walked over to the sofa to sit down in front of the tea tray, she said,

“Please tell Mrs. Buxton I am so glad that she has not forgotten me and I have been looking forward to her gingerbread ever since I left Calais.”

“And the Missus has been working hard on all your Ladyship’s best favourites and getting them ready since breakfast time this morning,” Buxton replied.

“Do tell her I will come and see her when I have finished eating much more than I ought to,” Eleta smiled.

“Now you enjoy yourself and don’t worry about your weight,” Buxton answered. “It’s happy we all are to see your Ladyship back with us.”

He left the room without waiting for Eleta’s reply and she glanced at her stepfather to see him frowning.

‘After all,’ she reflected, ‘it is my house and my home and everything in it was chosen by Mama or came from my father’s family.’

Then she knew she was thinking of her stepfather once again as an intruder and she should not do it.

With an effort she asked,

“Do you like your tea, Step-papa, with or without milk or cream?”

“I want neither,” Cyril Warner replied. “I just want to talk to you, Eleta.”

He pulled up a chair and sat down on it facing her.

She had the sudden feeling that what he was going to say was something frightening, but she could not think what it could be.

She drew in her breath and felt an uncomfortable apprehension that she could not express in words.

She poured out her own cup of tea and then reached out to help herself from the nearest plate.

As she did so, she was aware that her stepfather was watching her and once again she had the feeling that there was something in his eyes or perhaps his silence that was almost sinister.

“What is it, Step-papa?” she asked him. “What has happened?”

“Nothing has happened, so far,” he replied. “But it is something that I hope will happen quite soon.”

“What is that?” Eleta enquired apprehensively.

She was thinking as she spoke that Mrs. Buxton’s cooking had lost nothing with the passing of the years. In fact there were some new cakes on the table that she had not seen before but which she was anxious to sample.