Love and The Marquis. Barbara CartlandЧитать онлайн книгу.
neck saying as she did so,
“I love you, Papa, and nobody in the whole world could have a kinder more wonderful or more handsome father than I have.”
“But not a very good one, I am afraid, my precious.”
“That is where you are wrong,” Imeldra said. “You have not only given me a marvellous childhood but you have also given me high ideals and aspirations.”
The Earl looked at her to see if she was telling the truth and she continued,
“Because we have always talked over things so sensibly, I am not bemused or fascinated by the things that are wrong. I merely accept them as part of living. But you have always pointed out to me the things that are right and good and noble. And because you have always wanted me to aim for them, that is what I intend to do.”
The Earl put his arms around her and held her very close to him.
“Thank you for saying that to me, my sweet,” he said. “It makes me very happy. I have often been afraid that your mother was reproaching me because I had not let you be brought up by your grandmother.”
“Mama would have understood that I had to be with you,” Imeldra said. “And because I know what you meant to each other, I also know exactly what I want to find in a husband.”
Because the Earl could find no words to answer her, he merely kissed her.
Then he said,
“If things go wrong, if you are in trouble, you have only to send for me and you know I will come to you from the very ends of the Earth.”
“Just as I will come to you, Papa, if you ever want me.”
Her father kissed her again and, as if there was nothing more they could add to what they had already said to each other and with their arms linked they walked up the great staircase to where they were sleeping in bedrooms adjacent to each other.
The Earl kissed her again on both cheeks and on her forehead.
Then without saying anything he went from her bedroom and closed the door.
For a moment Imeldra thought that she must throw herself down on the bed and let the tears that were pricking her eyes become a tempest of weeping,
Instead she went down on her knees to pray to her mother to protect her father and keep him from coming to any harm.
It was a long time before Imeldra went to sleep and when she woke up the next morning it was to hear movements in the passage and to know that her father was leaving.
It was then that once again the misery of being without him seeped over her and it was only thanks to years of exerting self-control that she prevented herself from rushing out and holding onto him and begging him to take her with him.
Then she recalled that it was just the sort of thing that the women who had loved him and with whom he had grown bored would have done and she refused to lower herself to be like them.
Instead she put her hands over her ears and stopped herself from hearing him go.
Only when she was quite certain that he had driven away in his smart phaeton drawn by four horses did she take her hands away and lie back against the pillows, feeling as if she was exhausted by the conflict seething within her.
Finding it impossible to stay in bed, she climbed out and dressed without ringing for the housemaid and went downstairs.
Everything in the house looked so beautiful and so attractive that she could not bear the thought of it being left empty and unloved.
She knew that, as soon as she had left the house, the Holland covers would be put over the furniture, the flowers thrown out and the windows shuttered and barred.
The garden would come into full bloom with no one to appreciate it or enjoy its beauty.
She did not walk into the salon where she had sat with her father last night, because for the moment to remember the things they had said to each other then was upsetting, but into the library.
She had only just reached it when Mr. Dutton, her father’s secretary, who he had said would manage the house when they had left, followed her.
“Good morning, my Lady,” he said. “I was wondering at what time you wish the carriage brought round. Your father has given me a letter to her Ladyship to explain your unexpected arrival.”
Imeldra hesitated for a moment.
“Shall I think about it after breakfast, Mr. Dutton? As I am sure you are aware, I have no wish to arrive before I have to.”
She had known Mr. Dutton since she was a child and now his kind middle-aged face was filled with sympathy and an expression that told her that he knew how she was feeling.
“There’s no hurry, my Lady,” he said. “And while you are here I suggest you have a look round and see if there is anything you wish to take with you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dutton.”
He left her as if he sensed that she wished to be alone and after spending a little time in the library she walked to the breakfast room where the old butler, who had been at Kingsclere with her mother, was waiting to serve her.
He bowed respectfully and since her father was not present he arranged the newspapers, which had just arrived, on a silver stand in front of her plate so that she could read while she was eating.
Because she thought it would please him she glanced at The Morning Post while playing with the food she had chosen from half-a-dozen silver entrée dishes engraved with the family Crest.
Inevitably she remembered how when she and her father were in France they had been quite content with a French breakfast of croissants and coffee. But in England to have refused the innumerable dishes that had been cooked by the chef would most certainly have upset the household.
As her father had always said laughingly,
“When in Rome we must do as the Romans do.”
The butler moved discreetly from the room and Imeldra, feeling as if food would choke her, pushed aside her plate and picked up the newspaper.
The headlines, as she had expected, told her that there had been innumerable speeches in Parliament for and against the Reform Bill.
Then she looked further down the page and an item caught her eye and she read it with interest,
“The Marquis of Marizon has engaged Mr. William Gladwin to rebuild the orangery at Marizon his country seat, which was recently destroyed by fire.
Mr. Gladwin, who is an expert on orangeries, is, it is understood, following the famous Regency architect, Mr. Humphrey Repton, who was the first builder to include top-lighting in conservatories and glasshouses. He has also in many mansions incorporated the orangery, or the winter garden, with the house rather than make it a separate building.”
Imeldra read the report twice.
She knew William Gladwin because for three years he had worked at Kingsclere to add the orangery that for some unknown reason had never been erected before, to the house that had existed since the sixteenth century.
When William Gladwin had finished, it was a most impressive sight and, in Imeldra’s opinion, very beautiful.
She had read of how Humphrey Repton had come to believe that light was important for plants and had introduced top-lighting, instead of providing light only through the sides of the buildings.
“I wish we had one here, Papa,” Imeldra had said to her father.
“I am quite content with the building as it is,” he replied, “and whatever people may say, not only our orange trees but also the orchids and azaleas and all those other unusual plants we brought from Africa are flourishing extremely well.”
“Yes, they are,” Imeldra agreed, “so why