Seasons of Love (17 page)

Pressed by Harry, Charles told them something of his travels, not only in India, which he had visited after his wife's death, but in other parts of the world.

‘I'd had enough of killin' after we beat Boney at Waterloo, so I sold out of the regiment and went off to see a bit of the world instead.’

Harry's eyes were round with wonder and he fired off so many questions that conversation never flagged. And Charles had many fascinating tales to share with them. Three whole hours had passed before Helen realised it.

‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, when the church bells rang. ‘I hadn't realised how late it was. I have a lesson to give.’

‘Leave the lad here with me,’ Charles offered.

By now she trusted him enough to do that. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Very sure.’ It wasn’t the only thing about which he was now sure.

‘She's the one,’ he said quietly to Alfred as they stood watching Harry feed the horses some wrinkled apples.

‘The one, sir?’

There was a sad expression on his master's face as he explained, ‘She's the one I should have met when I was a young man.’

The Captain didn’t need to explain to Alfred what he meant by that, because his manservant had seen for himself how very unhappy the marriage was.

When Helen returned to collect Harry, Charles persuaded her and her son to stroll down to the fishing harbour with him, and they enjoyed one of those golden late autumn days, with the mildest of breezes and a memory of flowers in the air.

Helen had never had the pleasure of a gentleman's attentions before. Her father had had a harsh idea of how a Christian gentleman should behave, even in polite company, and her brother had followed the paternal example, especially with regard to his sister. Her husband had never attempted to cosset her in any way, but had simply expected her to serve him.

Charles had fussed over the menu, deliberately chosen subjects of conversation which would be of interest to her, and listened to her opinions with flattering attentiveness. And now, as they walked along, he was handing her over rough bits of ground as if she were a piece of precious china. That made her feel warm and cherished. So she didn’t hurry home, just allowed herself the utter luxury of this one golden afternoon.

That evening, she hummed as she prepared a simple meal, for Harry was always ravenous.

She couldn’t remember when she had spent a happier day. And Charles had spoken of seeing her the next day. Seeing her and Harry, of course. She knew already that she wouldn’t refuse another invitation.

It was for Harry's sake, she tried to tell herself, then blushed in the darkness of her bedroom as she realised that it was also for her own sake. She really liked Charles Carnforth.

It was a whirlwind courtship. Charles wooed both mother and son, taking infinite trouble to arrange the most delightful little excursions, sometimes with Francesca as chaperone. He knew she was on his side. And as it was the quiet season, Helen had time to spare, conversation to share.

Within a month he’d decided to propose marriage and he spent some time thinking what to say to her, how to make utterly certain she couldn't refuse him.

It happened on a windy day in early November. The three of them had gone for a brisk walk along the cliffs above the town, where public gardens and walks had been laid out to please the summer visitors.

After a while, Charles turned to Harry. ‘I wonder if you'd leave us alone for half an hour, old chap. I have something very important to discuss with your mother.’

Harry, already primed by Francesca to expect something of the sort, nodded and whispered,

‘Good luck, sir!’ then ran off.

Helen allowed Charles to lead her to a stone bench and sat there with her head bowed. Her heart was beating fast and her thoughts were in a whirl. This could only mean one thing - and she had persuaded herself that Charles was just enjoying their company for a short time until he moved on. But if it meant - if he – She felt her cheeks grow warm.

He sat down beside her and took her hand very gently in his. ‘My dear Helen, you must have guessed how I feel about you. I'm not one to make you fancy speeches, but - would you do me the honour of becomin' my wife?’

She took a deep gasping breath and looked up at him. ‘I - I don't know what to say!’

He could hear the near panic in her voice. Gently, Charles, he said to himself, take it gently.

‘At least you haven't refused me, my dear. No, let me finish first, then think it through before you answer. I've not got much to offer you. Spent most of my money. Got enough left to keep you and the boy in reasonable comfort, though.’

She didn’t inquire what he meant by that. To her, reasonable comfort meant a roof over their heads, a warm fire in winter and enough to eat. ‘I don't care about money.’

‘No. I know you don't. You're not like that. But it does come in useful, and damme, you'd be a lot better off than you are now. The boy too. He needs a father. And I – well, I'd like a son.’

When she still said nothing, he added painfully, ‘Know I'm a lot older than you are, but - well, you're never too old to fall in love. Fell in love with you that very first evenin’.’

She raised her eyes and gave him a troubled look. ‘I'm not in love with you, Charles. I don't think I could ever fall in love again. My first marriage was a total disaster.’ She had sworn never, ever to imagine herself in love again.

‘I know you're not in love with me. Strange if a chit of a girl like you were to fall in love with a crusty old wanderer like me. Just thought you'd like to know I loved you.’

‘Chit of a girl, indeed! I'm twenty-five!’ And felt much older sometimes. It seemed an eternity since an ignorant young woman of sixteen had allowed an actor the freedom of her body without realising what she was doing. She hardly even recognised that foolish young Helen now.

‘And I'm fifty-four,’ he went on. ‘More than twice your age.’ He sighed. ‘I feel it too, sometimes, but other times - well, other times I feel as frisky as a colt.’ How difficult this was!

He seized her hand. ‘You may not love me, but - you do
like
me, don't you, Helen?’

‘Very much!’ She didn't pull her hand away and she smiled as she spoke, for he looked boyishly anxious, his expression very like her son's when he wanted something desperately.

And Charles’s soft thinning hair always seemed untidy and windswept, like her son’s. What did it matter if it were grey? She had a sudden desire to push it back, out of his eyes. Without thinking, she let go of his hand for a moment to do just that and the smile they shared seemed to form a tangible bond between them.

‘Liking me very much will do fine for me. In any case, I sometimes think there are many shades of love. There’s the love you feel for your son, and the love Alfred and I feel for one another - ’ He saw the surprise in her eyes and added, ‘We’ve faced death together several times, Alfred and I. It forms a strong bond.’

She liked him all the better for admitting how close he was to his servant.

‘So if you like me enough, my dear, I feel we’re well on the way to reaching an understanding.’

When he took her hand again and clasped it in both of his, she let it rest there. It felt so comfortable. So safe.

‘And the boy likes me too,’ he added softly. ‘You heard him wish me luck.’

‘Yes. I know he does.’ If Harry hadn’t liked Charles, she wouldn’t be here now, listening to her first real proposal of marriage.

‘That's important. For him and for me. I never had a son. I should have liked one very much.

It wasn't to be. M'wife and I never had any children. But I would consider it a privilege, a very great privilege, to help raise your son. I promise you, I’d be a father to him in every way I could.’

She could think of no better father for Harry.

They both looked across at the small figure on the headland. The boy was tossing pebbles over the edge of the cliff, concentrating very hard on hitting something below, by the looks of him.

‘Fine lad, that!’

‘Isn't he?’ She looked at Harry proudly. He made everything she had suffered worthwhile.

Even Robert, for only Robert could have given her this son.

‘Forgive me for sayin' this. Not the sort of thing a gentleman should mention to a lady. But -

what future is there for you here? Givin' English lessons to fools! What sort of a life is that?

And - you're short of money. Can't help seein' that, however neatly you darn your clothes.

Damned black things! Why do you wear them? I'd like to dress you in bright jewel colours!’

She blushed and put her hand over the darn. She couldn’t afford new clothes, and it had suited her to wear black. Widows in mourning seemed more respectable to potential clients.

‘So - wouldn't it be better to accept my offer, Helen, my dear? I'm not rich, you'd not be marryin' a fortune, but I could look after you, get a good tutor for Harry, teach him to ride and . . . ’

‘How could I take advantage of your kindness like that?’ she whispered. Ah, the temptation to say yes!

He put his hand gently under her chin and forced her to look him in the eyes. ‘There's nothin' wrong with an honest bargain, Helen, my dear.’

She felt suddenly breathless. ‘Please - Charles - you shouldn't tempt me!’

The arm tightened around her. ‘Why not?’

‘Well, because - because I should be taking advantage of your kindness.’

‘Good! I'd like that! Ah, Helen, Helen, why didn't I meet you when I was young? It's me who'd be takin' advantage of you!’

Her hands were trembling so much that she had to clasp them together. ‘I - I . . . ’

He smiled at her and reached out to trace a line down her cheek. Suddenly he felt optimistic enough to press the point. ‘Well, my dear, won’t give me my answer? Can you stand to marry me?’

‘Oh, Charles, I shouldn't - I - you . . . ’

He kissed her and then, as she sighed and laid her head on his shoulder, he repeated, ‘Say yes! Go on, say it!’

And it seemed the most natural thing in the world to say, ‘Yes, Charles, I will marry you.’

‘You'll not regret it, my little love. I'll make sure you don't regret it. We'll have such fun together!’ She deserved some happiness. What she'd told him about her earlier life made his blood run cold. He'd thought he had uncaring parents, but he'd had his nurse, and a whole variety of friends to make up for their indifference. And later on, Alfred. She'd had no one.

He hugged her tightly, then threw back his head and let out a whoop of triumph that made Harry stop in his tracks and look towards them, then start running down the hill.

He arrived to see that Charles fold Helen in his arms and the two of them stare into each other's eyes as if they'd never seen one another before. ‘Why are you cuddling my mother, sir?

Are you all right, Mother?’

Seeing Helen's blushing confusion, Charles answered for her. ‘She's just agreed to marry me, young fellow. People always cuddle each other when they agree to get married.’

‘Oh. I see.’ Then Harry frowned at them. ‘Will that make you my father, sir?’

‘Yes. Well, step-father, anyway. Same thing, as far as I’m concerned. How do you feel about that, eh?’

Harry left them in no doubt. He flung himself upon them, burrowing between them and trying to put his arms around both of them at once. ‘It's splendid! Just absolutely splendid!

Wait till I tell Alfred and Francesca! They said my mother would marry you.’

Charles chuckled and gave him a rib-cracking hug.

Helen, watching them with tears in her eyes, thought that here, surely, was another sort of love, the love of father and son. She had no doubt that such a love was already growing between these two.

‘There you are, Helen, my dear.’ Charles pulled her closer. ‘Your son approves, at any rate.

Don't you, my boy?’

‘Oh, yes, sir.’ Harry let out a shout of joy. ‘Hurrah! Hurrah!’

‘What's that in aid of?’ Charles asked indulgently.

‘If you're my stepfather, we shall be able to hire that pony, shan't we, sir? So I'll be able to learn to ride properly!’ He jumped off the seat and did three forward somersaults, yelling happily, ‘A pony! A pony!’

Charles grinned down at his betrothed. ‘There you are! Knew there was a good reason for us to get married!’ And they leaned against each other, laughing helplessly.

Chapter 11

The wedding of Helen and Charles was very quiet, for it took place in Rome, where Helen had no acquaintances and where even Charles had very few - of the respectable sort, anyway. She had wanted to get married in the little church in Serugia, but Charles was adamant that this would not do.

‘When you become Mrs Carnforth, my dear, the ceremony must be conducted in such a way that no one can ever challenge the validity of the marriage. A weddin' in an obscure Catholic church isn’t good enough. If anythin' ever happens to me, you must be securely established as my wife. So that means Rome and the presence of the British Ambassador, or one of his aides, at least.’

‘Don't talk about - anything happening!’ she said involuntarily.

‘I must. Always face facts, even if you don't like 'em, and you'll find you can cope with most things in life. I'm much older than you and therefore likely to die first. It's how things are, so why pretend otherwise?’ He kissed her cheek. ‘Not that I won't do my best to hang on till a ripe old age!

But,’ he placed his forefinger gently on her lips to stop her interrupting him again, ‘we shall do everythin' openly and correctly, and we shall plan carefully for all eventualities - for both you and the boy.’

She kissed his finger, then stood on tiptoe and shyly kissed his cheek. It was still hard for her to show affection openly, as he did, but the smallest gesture pleased him so much that she was fast learning to do so. She still felt guilty sometimes, especially when lying in her comfortable bed at night, that she couldn’t love him in the same way he loved her. He seemed more like a friend, an uncle almost, than a lover, though she didn’t dislike his touch. Definitely a different type of love to what he felt for her. But if he was content with that, she was too. He was such a dear man.