Seasons of Love (18 page)

‘And that brings us to your wedding dress, m'dear.’

‘I can make myself a . . . ’

‘No! You can't make the wedding dress yourself. The eyes of the English community will be upon you. The dress must be of the very highest quality, made by one of Rome's top dressmakers. If there were time, I'd get you one in Paris, but I don't want to wait that long.’

‘But the expense!’

‘Is necessary.’

So they sold the house to Francesca, said farewell to their friends in Serugia and took up residence very correctly in two separate hotels in Rome. Then they called on the British Ambassador and made their preparations for the wedding.

‘Is - er - is there anyone in England you should inform?’ Charles asked one day.

The hurt look he so hated to see came into her eyes.

‘Ah, my darling, forget I ever asked!’

‘No. You're right. I think perhaps I should write to Lord Northby, who is a distant connection of the family. When I informed him of Harry's birth, he sent a silver spoon, so
he
has not disowned me.

It was the only christening present my poor boy ever received, and even that . . . ’ She told him the sad little tale of how Robert had stolen it and how she had redeemed it and thereafter left it with a friend in England for safe keeping. ‘My parents didn't even reply to my letter then - so I shan’t write to them now.’

‘Want me to write to Northby for you? Knew him at Oxford. Pompous old fool he turned into, but as you rightly say, it won't hurt to inform him of the marriage.’

‘You may write as well, if you wish, if it's the correct thing to do, but I shall do so myself. I don't shirk my duties, Charles.’ Then she brightened. ‘Oh, and there's Roxanne, too. I must write to her.

She's - she's not exactly respectable, but she was very good to me, and she
is
Harry's godmother.’

Charles frowned as she told him about Roxanne. Where his wife-to-be was concerned, he was surprisingly straight-laced. ‘Don't like the connection, m'dear.’ Then he admitted reluctantly, ‘But you can't drop her acquaintance if she was kind to you and the lad.’

‘No, Charles. There are Mr and Mrs Hendry, too, but they're very respectable, I promise you. He's a minister of the church. He became Harry's godfather, because I - I didn't know anyone else.’

He gave her a hug. ‘Well, now you've got me as well.’ But it worried him that she would only really have him, and he spent a long time with an English lawyer recommended by the Ambassador, drawing up a new will, and settling part of his unentailed income on her and Harry immediately.

When that was done, he felt better. She would be safe now, whatever happened. He had copies of the will sent to his family lawyer in England and then he put all such gloomy thoughts out of his mind. He wanted his little love to enjoy herself. Damme, he was going to make sure she enjoyed herself.

The wedding gown was a masterpiece of white gros de Naples silk, handsomely trimmed with several flounces edged in expensive lace. Helen didn’t feel she should wear a veil for her second marriage, but she did allow Charles to help her choose an elegant bonnet, trimmed with silk flowers and lace, whose brim curved down over her ears, forming a low oval frame for her face.

She could hardly believe her own eyes when she saw herself in the mirror before she left the hotel to go to the Protestant church patronised by many from the English community in Rome. A maid from the hotel had dressed her hair in gleaming coils and loops and she thought in wonderment as she stared into the mirror, that she had never looked so well. Over the gown, for the weather was now cold, she wore a pelisse in a rose-coloured velvet, trimmed with dark fur. She looked elegant and fashionable, a fit wife for an English landowner.

And no one could see the butterflies that were currently careering round inside her stomach, making her feel so nervous her hand trembled in that of her new husband as they were pronounced man and wife.

After the simple ceremony, they entertained the Ambassador's aide and his wife, who had come at Charles’s invitation to witness the ceremony, to a gourmet luncheon at the hotel. Then at last they were able to escape to a secluded albergo which Charles knew of, only twenty miles outside Rome.

Harry was left with Briggs in a pleasant
pensione
on the outskirts of the city. A pony had been hired and riding lessons were to begin at once, so Harry waved them goodbye quite happily.

‘You'll look after him, Briggs,’ Helen said before they left.

‘With my life, Mrs Carnforth.’

She nodded, still feeling strange to be addressed by that name.

It seemed to Helen, then and thereafter, that Charles' love was a very tangible thing. He surrounded her with every comfort and attention the inn could provide. A trunkful of clothes awaited her in their bedroom, as a ‘little surprise’, and there was a present for her every evening of that memorable week.

Best of all, to her, was his tenderness. This wasn’t the rapture of her first months with Robert and she couldn’t lose herself in Charles's love as she had done when she was a girl. Rather, this was a love between two friends.

She also found that with him she enjoyed making love. With Robert she had enjoyed it for the cuddles, but Charles made every part of it a pleasure, touching, caressing and wooing her with words as well as deeds till she felt ready to explode with joy.

Something dark and painful that had dwelled inside her all her life began to melt, and little by little, happiness took its place.

Charles would look at her sometimes and feel tears well up in his eyes as he saw how she’d been transformed by his love. Then he would have to cough and find something to do or he would make a fool of himself.

After the honeymoon, they rejoined Harry and Briggs, then headed for Venice, which Charles wanted to show to his young wife. He continued to shower her with presents and was, with difficulty, restrained from finding her a lady's maid.

‘Charles, this must stop!’ she scolded one day. You're too extravagant. I don't need all these things!’

‘I like to buy you things. You've got so little, m'dear. It gives me immense pleasure.’

‘But you said - you weren’t rich. I would hate us to get into debt . . . ’ She faltered to a halt.

He stared at her, suddenly realising what she was thinking. ‘Like your first husband did?’

‘Yes.’

‘My dearest girl, I've been livin' well within my income ever since I met you. In fact, I'm savin'

money for the first time in years. I don't gamble now,’ he pulled a wry face, laughing at himself, ‘and I don't miss it at all.’ He saw her face brighten. ‘I don't waste my substance in riotous livin', either.

You've been very good for me.’ He pressed one hand to his chest and said in a melodramatic voice,

‘Behold, the reformed rake.’

She frowned, as a dreadful suspicion occurred to her. ‘But - but Charles, if that's so, you must be much richer than I ever dreamed.’

‘Does that make me ineligible, my dearest goose?’

‘N-no - but it makes me even more ineligible,’ she said in a low voice. ‘People will say that I married you for your money.’

He roared with laughter and swept her into his arms, waltzing her round the room. ‘My own love, if it makes you feel happier, I will give the money away and live with you in abject poverty.’

She frowned at him. ‘Now you're being silly!’

‘Just teasin' you a little, my dear. You've never learnt to laugh at the world and its follies, have you?’

‘No.’ But her expression was still worried, so he guided her over to a plump sofa set invitingly in front of a crackling log fire. Time to face up to a few more things.

‘Let's talk about my finances,’ he said, in his usual decisive way. ‘After which, we'll forget about the whole damn thing and go to the theatre. It's time you learned to enjoy plays from the other side of the stage.’ He kept hold of her nearest hand.

‘Now, Mrs Carnforth, if you're imaginin' that I shall be leavin' you a rich widow, you're goin' to be sadly disappointed! I was the younger son, so I have my mother's money, which I may leave to whom I like - in this case, you. Shh! You must listen carefully! When my brother died childless - my generation of Carnforths haven’t been good breeders - and I came into a title I didn't want, I also inherited an estate which was most strictly entailed upon the male line. I may not leave even a square yard of my land to you, or to anyone else. It all goes to my heir, who's a sort of second cousin, one Daniel Carnforth by name.’

He looked into the fire, his eyes veiled by memories. ‘I also have some of my first wife's money left, but not much, because I spent most of it after she died.’ The grip on her hand tightened. ‘I went into the Army when I was young and later, I married Gertrude to please my family - and I did my duty by her, however reluctantly.’

He grimaced. ‘She was a pious shrew, and she hated me even touching her, so we lived fairly separate lives after the first year. When my brother died, I tried again to provide an heir for Ashdown. But Gertrude and I never managed to have any children. I would very much have liked some, but it was not to be. I couldn't even blame her. I've had plenty of - er - romantic adventures, and never, to the best of my knowledge, have I produced a child.’

He sighed. ‘Ah, but she was a cold, proud woman, Gertrude was - not like you! - and she grew very bitter as the years passed! Like livin' with an iceberg, it was! The two of us couldn’t have been more ill-suited. When she died suddenly - well, I knew that I couldn’t face another such marriage and I suspected it would be useless anyway, for I felt then that I'd never father a child.’

He was clutching her hand as he spoke and she could feel the tension in him, the pain, too.

‘I refused the pleas of my venerable relatives to marry again and set out to enjoy my declinin'

years. That's why I went off to India. They couldn't catch me there. Two glorious years I spent in that country, though I suspect Briggs may not consider them in the same light, poor fellow. He's not fond of foreign parts. It's a harsh country, India, but fascinatin'. If I were younger, I'd sweep you off and we'd travel round the world. But I must confess that I haven't the stamina or the digestion I once had, so we'll stick to Europe, eh?’

She looked down at their linked hands and confessed, ‘I think I'm not as adventurous as you are, Charles. Europe will suit me fine. But please go on. I want to know all about you.’

‘All! That's a big order. And I don't think I'd want you to know some things. I'm not proud of everythin’ I've done. We all make mistakes and I’ve made more than my share. But to continue this tale - I got in a land agent to run Ashdown when I set out to see some of the world, and he’s still there, as far as I know. I haven’t been back since. The family lawyer deals with things for me.’

He planted a kiss on the softness of her cheek. ‘But never, wherever I’ve gone, whatever I’ve done, have I been as happy as I am with you, Helen m'dear! I was a rackety young fellow - young officers usually are - and then there was Gertrude, poor woman - and I wasn’t always true to her, I fear.’ He gazed at her solemnly, ‘But I swear I'll be true to you, my dear love.’

‘I know that, Charles.’ He had hardly strayed from her side and most nights he left her in no doubt about his love.

‘This is the best, the very best time of my life.’

She nestled against him. ‘And of mine.’

‘So, to come back to the point that worries you - when I die, most of my fortune will pass to this distant cousin, Daniel Carnforth. You will have the Dower House to live in, if you choose, for the rest of your life, and you’ll have what's left of my money, which will be enough to live on, but not by any means a fortune - and that's all.’

She sighed in relief.

‘Yes,’ he said, speaking almost to himself, ‘my Cousin Celia's son will inherit Ashdown. Never met the chap, but it's to be hoped he don't take after his mother. She's a droopin' daisy of a woman, always flutterin' her hands at you or weepin' over somethin'. But she has a vicious streak, too. I never could abide her! No wonder her husband turned into a brandy-guzzler. She'd drive a parson to drink, that one would. Son's bound to be a twiddlepoop!’

He scowled. ‘I got a damned impertinent letter from her a couple of years ago, sayin' that as my heir, her son ought to get to know the estate and the tenantry. She practically ordered me to put him in charge. Soon nipped that in the bud. Told her straight that he could get to know everything after I was dead, and until then, he'd better stay away from Ashdown.’

‘Shall we go to live there ever?’

‘No. It's a deuced miserable sort of place and I don’t like the English climate. I'll take you over for a visit one summer, if we've nothin' better to do, but I'll not live there again, even for you, m'dear.

Ashdown has got nothin' but unhappy memories for me. Tell you what, though - we might find ourselves a house somewhere we do like and settle down for a bit. How'd you like that, eh? I've had enough of hotels. Where would you like to live? Nice?’

Now it was her turn to shudder. Those months in Nice had left her with only unhappy memories.

‘Oh, no!’

He gave her an extra hug to take away the sadness. ‘In the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, then.

Some white villa on a hill, with views of the sea. How'd you like that?’

‘Very much indeed’

‘Good. So would I! But one day I must show you Paris in the spring!’ He nodded at the thought.

‘And we'll buy some more horses. Time you learned to ride.’

‘Me? I'm too old now!’

He grinned wickedly. ‘Nonsense! One's never too old to learn new tricks! I'll teach both you and Harry myself. It'll be fun!’

And it was fun! Charles's favourite sound was the merry peal of his wife's long-repressed laughter at the antics of her husband, her son, the pony, or the little dog Harry acquired secretly in Naples and smuggled into the hotel, with disastrous effects upon the smooth running of that august establishment.

In England, the news of Charles' unexpected second marriage brought varying reactions.