An Introduction to the Pink Collection (31 page)

It would be too much to say that Stanislaus released Lavina, but he was so stunned that he froze, and she was able to slip from his grasp.

The Marquis took advantage of the moment to put his arm firmly around her waist.

“You are looking pale, my love,” he said, in a voice loud enough to be heard. “I feel sure you are affected by the heat.”

“Yes – yes – ” she gasped, playing up to him by putting her hand to her head and swaying.

Half guiding, half carrying her the Marquis made his way over to the Queen, followed by Lord Ringwood, who had seen everything.

“Your Majesty,” he said smoothly, “my fiancée is feeling unwell and, with your gracious permission, we will depart before she is quite overcome.”

The Queen's face was sour with temper and she looked as though she would give anything to refuse permission. But there was nothing she could do. She gave a curt nod.

Instantly the Marquis swept Lavina up in his arms and marched out of the hall, followed by the Earl.

Lavina clung to him. She was not fainting, but she had her wits sufficiently about her to assume a swooning position, at least until they were safely in the carriage.

“Lavina,” he said.

She realised that she was still clinging to him tightly, her eyes closed.

She opened them, and found him looking directly into her face with a serious, troubled expression.

“Lavina,” he said again. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said, disengaging herself and feeling glad that the darkness hid her blushes.

He released her and she sank back against the upholstery.

“I'm so glad that's over,” she said. “I couldn't have endured him another moment. Thank you, thank you for coming to my rescue. I'm afraid it will have made the Queen very angry with you.”

The Marquis' only response to this was a shrug.

“I, too, am overwhelmed with gratitude – ” the Earl began to say, but Lord Elswick interrupted him, almost rudely.

“My dear sir, think nothing of it.”

“But – ”

“I would be grateful if you would say no more.”

The Marquis sounded almost angry.

For the rest of the journey he did not speak, but sat, isolated in the far corner of the carriage, staring out of the window into the darkness.

Lavina would have liked to reach out to him, and beg him to share his feelings with her, but he seemed to have withdrawn into a far place, where he would not allow her to follow.

Later that night, lying in her bed, she recalled other aspects of the evening.

When she thought of the conversation between herself and the Queen she could only be thankful that she was alone, with darkness to cover her burning cheeks.

She had said bluntly that she loved Lord Elswick.

She had spoken in a temper, but now, forced to be honest with herself, she knew that it was true.

She had given her love to a man who did not love her. He had kissed her, but more out of anger than passion. And he had never given her any reason to believe that he was moved by tender emotions towards her.

He was saving her, yet he was doing so for some reason that she did not understand, and which he would not confide in her.

And yet she loved him. And when the Queen had asked her if she understood about the closeness of marriage she had thought of Lord Elswick with passion.

It shamed her to think of it now. How could she feel such things for a man who felt nothing for her?

Or did he?

She remembered the way his lips had scorched hers, the trembling she had felt in his body as they embraced.

Might she not build a little hope on that?

At last she got out of bed and went restlessly to the window, looking out onto the moonlit scenery. In the brilliant pale blue light the mysterious hills stretched far away.

Here in Scotland she had seen aspects of the Marquis that she might otherwise never have known. She had seen him tender with music, and tonight, murderous with rage.

She knew she would have been afraid if he had turned that black countenance on her. And Stanislaus had been afraid. He had met his match, and he knew it.

“And so have I,” she thought. “I too have met my match.”

Then a memory came back to her, of something her father had said when she had just started her first season, and was already a brilliant success.

Young men had thronged round her, some simply flirting, but others with their hearts in their eyes. But her father had said,

“Don't take them too seriously, my darling, or be in a rush to marry. Remember you will be marrying for life. Not just for a few weeks in the country enjoying the tennis and the swimming, but for life!”

“I don't suppose the men I meet for the first time are likely to propose to me,” Lavina had said.

“It's is only a question of time before a man lays his heart at your feet and asks you to become his wife.”

“That will be exciting,” Lavina had murmured.

“Very exciting for the moment,” her father had replied. “But you have to remember that he must be a man who will be more important than anyone else, and eventually be the father of your children.”

He had stopped speaking, and then his voice deepened as he went on,

“However difficult your life will be, you will be his completely and absolutely, for all time. That is why it's important that you do not make up your mind too quickly.”

Lavina remembered saying lightly,

“But I'm happy with you, Papa. It's so exciting being in London that I don't want to worry about marrying anyone and leaving home.”

“But one day you will want to, when the right man appears and makes you forget everything else. I simply want you to understand that you will be changing your life, not just for a few minutes, like a dance, or as one might say, a visit to the moon, but for eternity.”

There was a pause before he added,

“When you marry I want you to marry a man you love and who loves you. Just as your own happiness will rest on his heart, so he will find you the most perfect, the most adorable and the most wonderful woman he has ever met. Only if you both feel like that can you have the happiness which your Mother and I found together.”

Lavina had never forgotten that. It came back to her now as she stood in the moonlit window, and thought of the man who had made her forget everything else.

“He certainly doesn't think me perfect, adorable and wonderful, as Papa says,” she thought.

“In fact, he isn't really the right man at all,” she added, almost crossly. “He's the wrong man in every possible way. So why is it that I can't help loving him? Why does he make me forget all the pleasant, charming men, and think only of him?
Why?”

But the cold moon had no answer for her.

*

The next day, Lord Elswick continued in the same, tense manner as the evening before. Sometimes when he looked at Lavina she thought she detected almost a kind of savagery in his eyes.

Yet he refused to leave her side, even turning down the chance to go fishing to linger in the conservatory while the ladies sewed.

This astounded Lavina, as she was sure he must feel this was an occupation for bedlam.

“Be careful not to leave the house,” he said.

“You don't think – ?”

“I think he'll come calling, yes. And our hostess must deny that you're here.”

To Lady McEwuan he spun a pretty tale of how the Prince's ardour had overcome his manners the night before. She was enchanted, and easily agreed to protect her guest.

Sure enough, Stanislaus arrived half an hour later. Lavina saw him from the window and darted back into the house, encountering the Marquis almost at once.

“He's here.”

“Don't worry, Lady McEwuan will tell him that you are resting after the excitements of last night. All you need do, is stay out of sight.”

Down below, Lady McEwuan was playing her part with zest. Her delight at greeting a Prince was soon spoiled by his offensive manners, and the smell of pomade that wafted from him.

He stayed for an hour, refusing all hints to leave, until at last he seemed to accept that he was on a useless errand, scowled and departed.

Lavina watched him depart from behind a lace curtain. She shuddered and buried her face in her hands, wondering if she would be pursued all her life, and how long the Marquis would be there to shield her.

“It's all right, he's gone now,” came the Marquis' voice.

“Will he ever be gone?” she asked in a muffled voice. “Will I ever be safe from him?”

Now, she thought, a man who cared about her, might say that he would marry her, and keep her safe that way.

But the silence stretched on and on.

At last he spoke.

“We will just have to be more patient than he is. We can prolong this engagement until he gives in.”

Something seemed to die inside her. She had lost. He did not want her. Distraught, she kept her hands over her face.

The next moment she felt Lord Elswick turning her towards him, and drawing her hands down. Something he saw made him grow still, watching her with a wondering expression.

In the silence he took one of her hands and turned it over so that he could lay his lips against the palm. His breath scorched Lavina, and a fiery excitement began to travel along her nerves, from her head down to her heart, and from there outwards until it engulfed her whole body.

She gasped with the intensity of the sensations that possessed her more completely than anything she had known in her life.

Yet, although they thrilled her, they also scared her. It was not proper for a young lady to feel such physical delight, not unless she was sure of the man's love, and she was not.

“No,” she said, snatching her hand away. “You must not.”

“Why must I not?”

“Because it – it isn't right.”

“Because you find my touch unpleasant?”

“You know that I do not,” she said in a low voice.

“Then why is it not right? We are betrothed. If there is one man whose embraces you may accept, that man is myself. Indeed, I should take the greatest exception if I were to find you in the arms of any other man.”

“But we are not really betrothed,” she said. “You know that we are not.”

He did not answer, and when she looked up she found him regarding her with a grave expression that contained no hint of his usual defensive irony.

“I wonder how all this will end,” he said quietly.

Something in his tone made her heart beat faster. For a moment she could not speak. When she finally found her voice it was to say, with more firmness than she felt,

“It will end when that dreadful man gives up. Then I will thank you for your great kindness, and we shall part friends.”

“Friends? Is that what we'll be?”

Again there was that strange vibrant note, warning her that everything he said had a double meaning.

“We shall certainly never be enemies,” she said. “Not on my side. How could I ever be your enemy?”

“That was not what I meant, and you know it.”

The tingling excitement going all through her told her what he had really meant. How could she ever feel merely friendship for a man who could make her feel like this, in her body and in her heart.

He was hinting at something deeper that flowed between them, yet he seemed reluctant to say it more plainly.

“Then I do not know what you mean,” she said, turning her head away.

He reached for her quickly and pulled her round to face him, and for a moment she saw a fierce intensity in his face. His breath was coming feverishly and his eyes were bright.

“Lavina – ” he said.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes – ”

At any moment, she was sure, he would tell her of his passion, perhaps of his love. And then all would be well between them. She would be free to acknowledge the intensity of her own feelings without shame.

If only he would speak!

But the silence stretched agonisingly on and on.

She knew what tormented him.

She was a woman, and therefore someone to be distrusted. Even if he loved her, he would still be suspicious of her, even, perhaps, hostile.

And what use was love if it could not overcome suspicion and hostility, if it were not even strong enough to allow him to speak plainly?

And then he let her go. He stepped back abruptly. No words had been spoken.

“You are right,” he said harshly. “I mean nothing. Nothing at all.”

He stepped back and gave her a small courteous bow.

“I beg your pardon for troubling you.”

*

Next day there was a sensation. Throughout the district word spread like wildfire that Her Majesty was departing Balmoral.

“She's been there barely a week,” Sir Ian said to Lord Ringwood. “She's never been known to go so soon before.”

“Perhaps it's a false alarm,” said the Earl, not daring to hope too soon.

“No, Her Majesty's carriage was seen journeying to Ballater Station. There was a man with her. He had a big, black moustache.”

“The Prince,” Lavina said. “He's gone. Oh Papa, I'm safe.”

“For the moment,” said the Marquis, who had been listening. “I don't think the Queen will give up that easily, but she seems to have realised that trying to bully you up here won't work.”

That night there was a large dinner-party, given by Sir James McVein.

The whole family was wearing tartan, the men in kilts, the women in white silk with tartan sashes over one shoulder, fastened at the waist by diamond clips.

“Lord Elswick has sent you this, my dear,” Lavina's father said, opening a small box to reveal a large diamond clip.

“There was no need for him to trouble himself, Papa,” Lavina said coolly. “Dear Lady McEwuan had loaned me one of hers.”

“But surely she would understand if you – ”

“I would not be impolite to our hostess for anything in the world,” Lavina said, setting her chin in a stubborn way that told her father it was useless for him to continue.