The Importance of Love (13 page)

“You are to ask my aunt for my hand?” asked Luella incredulous. “Of course. It is how things are done and besides I cannot help but feel your aunt will be delighted to be consulted in such vital matters. She loves you a great deal and is as a second mother to you.”

“Yes, you are right. I do not know what I would have done without her kindness. She took me in when no one else would.”

Taking Luella's hand the Viscount led her towards the blue room.

Upon knocking and entering they found Aunt Edith sitting by the window enjoying her luncheon.

“Aunt, has your headache gone already?” “

It turned out to be not as serious as I had first thought,” she replied smiling.

“Lady Ridgeway, I have something to ask you,” began the Viscount. “I have asked Luella to marry me and she has accepted. Now, we come to ask your permission to marry.”

The Countess clapped her hands together in delight.

“Oh, Luella! Did I not say that all would be well? Of course, Lord Kennington, you have my blessing.”

“Please, you must call me David. After all, we shall soon be part of each other's families.”

“David, I am so thrilled,” said the Countess, rising to embrace first him and then Luella.

“Some champagne is in order, I believe.”

“What, in the afternoon?” queried Luella.

“Why ever not?”

“My thoughts precisely,” added the Countess, moving towards the bell.

Later, when Cork had brought a bottle of what had once been one of Madame Le Fevre's favourite vintages, he smiled to himself as the pop resounded.

‘Madame would have been very happy to see this day,' he thought to himself, as he closed the door on the celebrating trio. ‘She always said that this house was full of love and now it's that way once more.'

*

That evening at dinner, Luella expressed her wish to work in the garden.

“It would be a way of thanking you for everything you have done for us.”

“But you are now my fiancée, you do not have to thank me for anything. We should both be thanking the Lord that He has brought us together.”

He took her hand across the table and kissed it.

On the third finger sparkled a large emerald surrounded by small diamonds.

A part of him felt very sad that his father and grandmother were not there to share the moment with him.

He had begun to write secretly to his grandmother each week and had Cork or Mrs. Cork address the envelope so that his father would not recognise the hand and destroy it before it reached her.

Now he knew what his next letter would contain – how he had found love and was engaged to be married.

“When will the wedding be?” asked the Countess. “Have you given any thought to a date or place?”

“I think we are both of the same mind that as our love flowered here in Devon, this is where we shall be wed,” answered the Viscount.

“Will you invite your family?”

“I do not think that Papa would lower himself to attend my wedding and enter the house of his father's mistress!”

The Countess hid a smile. She had encountered many such arrangements in France, but here in England it was still frowned on.

“I understand you would not wish to remind your grandmother that she was not the only woman in her late husband's life,” she replied. “But surely, she would wish to see you happily married? She does not have to come to the house after all.”

“If it were down to Grandmama, she would most likely bend, but Papa. Never.”

As Cork opened another bottle of champagne, Luella's mind was busy forming a scheme. If there was any way she could come to his rescue, then what better way to repay his kindness?

‘Yes,' she mumbled to herself. ‘I do believe I shall be writing to the Dowager Marchioness before too long.'

*

The weeks passed quickly and July became August.

Luella threw herself into landscaping the gardens, although it was too early to start the spring planting.

Meanwhile, the builders had completed the orangery, while work on the main house was gathering pace.

The noise and the dust were tremendous, so when the Countess announced at breakfast one morning, that she intended to return to Braemore Castle, Luella was not surprised.

“Will you not stay a little longer, Aunt?” asked Luella. “Although the wedding is not until the end of September, there is still so much to accomplish.”

“You have all these new servants to help,” said the Countess, alluding to Grace, Luella's new lady's maid. “And I can telephone from Scotland if more help is needed. You are after all not having a large and grand wedding.”

“Judging by the amount of visitors to the house this week, you should not let the local people here you say that,” retorted the Viscount laughing. “It will be the most important event of the year in Bideford. We may not have many family attending, but the list of people from the area who have been invited grows daily.”

“That is because you invite each and every person who calls at the house,” said Luella fondly. “But it is a pity that your Papa and Grandmama will not be attending. Is there no chance of a reconciliation before the day?”

“None, Luella. My father blames me for Grandpapa's death and even Grandmama cannot persuade him otherwise.”

Luella did not tell him that she had written to the Dowager Marchioness at the house in Belgrave Square that very morning. She hoped that the old lady would receive her letter and that the Earl would not destroy it should he catch sight of the postmark.

And so a few days later Bennett was loading up the Daimler with the Countess's bags.

“Is there any of your things you would like me send to you from Scotland?” she asked, as they stood on the steps of Torr House in the hot August sun.

“No, Aunt Edith. I do not wish to be reminded of my former life. I must only look to the future from now on. Besides, when I visit the dressmaker later this afternoon for the fitting of my wedding dress, she is giving me a number of dresses and suits she has made up for me.”

“Everyone is delighted at Luella's patronage of local businesses,” said the Viscount putting his arm around her. “She has become the most popular young lady in this part of the County.”

“It's true,” sighed Luella. “I have not worked as much as I had hoped in the garden, because every day there is someone else calling to see me and I have made so many new friends.”

“And I expect the article in the
North Devon Journal
last week about Bideford's great Society wedding that informed everyone that you were to have your wedding dress made here, rather than London, has also precipitated the march to your door,” smiled the Countess. “I am glad you have settled in so well.”

“But I will you miss you so much, Aunt Edith. Are you quite sure you will not change your mind?”

“No, dearest. The noise and the dust are too much for me to bear and I prefer the cooler climate of my Scottish home at this time of year.”

She kissed Luella goodbye and Bennett helped her into the Daimler.

Luella began to cry as the motor car roared into life and was almost sobbing by the time that it disappeared down the drive.

‘Goodbye, Aunt Edith,' she whispered, when she could no longer see the Daimler. ‘The next time I will see you will be on my wedding day.'

*

The Earl of Kennington was in a very good mood.

So far that evening, he had won three games and now he looked at the Royal Flush in his hands and felt very pleased with himself.

“No, it's no good. Luck is against me tonight!”

The ruddy-faced fellow opposite him threw down his cards and had to bear the sight of the pile of coins in front of him being scooped up by the jubilant Earl.

“Another game, Connolly?” he suggested, lighting a large Havana cigar.

“Not for me, Lord Kennington. But I would be happy to buy you a brandy if you would do me the honour of joining me in the bar.”

The Earl laughed.

“You are a glutton for punishment,” he said rising from the table. “First I fleece you and then you offer to buy me a drink.”

“I have enough to stand around,” protested Frank Connolly. He did not want the Earl to leave, as he had not yet extricated the information from him he so dearly wanted.

“Very well, but I shall buy the brandy,” exclaimed the Earl, clapping him on the back. “Any fellow who takes his losses so well deserves a reward.”

The two walked through the dimly lit panelled rooms of the gaming house to a quiet bar. The Earl had taken to frequenting it a great deal in the past few months since his father had died, now with an enviable fortune to fritter away, it took his mind off other less pleasant matters.

As they passed the tables playing all manner of high-stake card games, through the plumes of cigar and cigarette smoke, Frank Connolly congratulated himself on a fine piece of detective work.

‘That fool Jones cost me a great deal of money and he could not find me Luella,' he thought, as the Earl sat down and ordered two glasses of cognac. ‘It took my own ingenuity to track down the Viscount's father and befriend him.'

“Damn fine cognac, eh? Makes one forget life's troubles.”

The Earl savoured the rich aroma that rose from his glass and sipped at it with his eyes closed.

“Your son – you are still estranged from him?”

Frank Connolly knew he was risking his new friendship by broaching a personal matter, but had it not been alluded to at the card table that evening?

Lord Portchester had brought up the topic of conversation when he had asked if he might borrow a team of horses that belonged to the Viscount, only to be told in no uncertain terms that it would not be possible.

“Yes,” answered the Earl taking another sip of cognac.

“It's a terrible thing for a father to be at war with his son.”

“My son was the reason for my own father's sudden expiration,” said the Earl, bitterly. “He is dead as far as I am concerned.”

“He is no longer in London?”

“No, he is in Bideford in North Devon in a house that used to belong to my father. Good job, too. Best place for him!”

Frank Connolly took a deep draught of the cognac and smiled to himself with immense satisfaction.

‘So, the Viscount is in Bideford,' he thought, as the Earl sat smoking in silence. ‘I should have guessed that Luella would be holed up in some house of his.'

After a while, Frank Connolly pronounced himself tired and shook the Earl by the hand.

“Shall we play a hand tomorrow evening?” asked the Earl.

“I am afraid not. I leave London in the morning.”

“Off for the shooting?”

Frank Connolly put on his hat and smiled.

“It has been a pleasure, sir. Perhaps we will meet again the next time I am in London?”

The Earl grunted his assent and clicked his fingers at a waiter who was passing by with a tray.

Frank Connolly left immediately. He had much to do before the morning.

‘To think I wasted time on a wild goose chase to Scotland,' he said to himself, ‘but it was money well spent. I feel in my bones that Luella must be hiding in Devon. If she thought she had seen the last of me, she is very much mistaken!'

*

The next morning, Frank Connolly did not waste any time. He packed his suitcase and set off for Paddington station.

Having ascertained that the only way to Bideford was via Exeter, he withdrew funds from his father's bank in Piccadilly to cover his expenses.

‘I shall not need a great deal,' he told himself. ‘As soon as I have married Luella, we shall return to Ireland and show my father that I have made something of myself. Won't he be surprised to find that I have forged a liaison with one of the most powerful families in Scotland? And our children will be rich and important.'

He visibly puffed himself out at the thought. All his life had been the youngest son of a minor Irish Lord of little or no significance in the eyes of Society.

‘And once the old girl is in her coffin, I will become a force to be reckoned with and, through Luella's wealth, I will enjoy a fine standard of living.'

By the time he eventually reached Bideford, he had already imagined himself to be Laird of all he surveyed and that the Earl would greet him as an equal, not someone to beat at cards.

He quickly found himself a decent hotel and settled himself down in the bar to wait for the restaurant to open. He was famished after his long journey.

Before long he knew he would have to start making enquiries to find the house where Luella was staying. As he sipped his whisky, he idly picked up a local newspaper that someone had left behind.

It was then that he saw it in the Society pages.

His eyes bulged with fury as he read the article entitled
The wedding of the year
, which spoke of a Miss Luella Ridgeway of Braemore Castle, Perthshire, who was marrying Viscount Kennington, the new owner of Torr House, in September.

“The bride has made many friends in Bideford by making the decision to have her wedding gown and trousseau made at Mrs. Clarke's establishment in Market

Street,” it read. “The dress, we are told, will be embellished with Honiton lace and will be, no doubt, the talk of Devon.”

‘How dare she!' he spluttered, throwing the newspaper away in disgust. ‘She
cannot
marry another. If she thinks she is marrying this Viscount, she is very much mistaken. I can see that time is no longer on my side, so I must find my way to this Torr House and take her back to London at once.'

He drained his glass and returned straight to his room, his appetite vanished.

His suitcase lay on the bed where he had left it. Slowly he opened it and took out all the clothes, and then he pulled out something heavy wrapped in a black cloth and weighed it in his hand.

With a swift movement he unravelled the bundle to reveal a pistol.