‘I do.’
‘Therefore she hated Dickon.’
‘Isn’t there a stronger reason than that?’
‘Oh, reasons build up, don’t they? You only have to start by disliking people and then you can find all sorts of reasons why you should.’
‘I see you are something of a philosopher.’
‘You are laughing at me.’
‘On the contrary, I am overcome with admiration. If I smile it is because I am so happy that you should confide in me.’
‘I thought perhaps you might influence my mother.’
‘Tell me more.’
‘Dickon and I are in love.’
‘He is many years older than you.’
‘Only eleven. And people grow up.’
‘An indisputable fact.’
‘And when I am forty he will be fifty-one. We shall both be old then … so what does it matter?’
‘True, the gap lessens with the passing of the years, but alas, it is the present that we must consider. I think he has been a little premature with his proposal of marriage.’
‘Well, I don’t. Queens are betrothed in their cradles.’
‘True again, but often those betrothals come to nothing. In life one often has to wait and see. What do you want to do? Marry Dickon now … at your age!’
‘I suppose everyone would say I’m not old enough. But I would wait until I am fourteen, say.’
‘Still very young, and what is it … two or more years away?’
I sighed. ‘We shall have to wait till then, and when I am fourteen nothing—just nothing—is going to stop me.’
‘Perhaps then no one will want to.’
‘Oh yes, my mother will. I tell you she hates Dickon. She says he wants Eversleigh, not me. Oh, you don’t know. But Eversleigh belongs to my mother. It was left to her, you see, and I am her only child therefore presumably it would come to me in time. That’s why, she says, Dickon wants to marry me.’
‘And you, what do you think?’
‘I know he wants Eversleigh. He is managing Clavering at the moment, but it is not nearly as big as this place. He says that when we are married he will come to Eversleigh. It is all very natural, isn’t it? He’s ambitious. I shouldn’t want him to be otherwise.’
‘And your mother thinks that, but for Eversleigh, he would not wish to marry you.’
‘That’s what she says.’
‘And,’ he added, looking at me quizzically, ‘there is no way of finding out.’
‘I don’t want to find out. Why shouldn’t he want Eversleigh? I know it has a part to play in his wanting me. How could it be otherwise? To like someone because they own a house is no different from liking someone because they have pretty hair or eyes.’
‘I think it might be considered rather different. The eyes and hair are part of a person … a house is not.’
‘Well, never mind about that. I am going to marry Dickon.’
‘And I can see that you are a young lady of great determination.’
‘I wish you could persuade my mother. After all … you are a member of the family now, aren’t you? As my father, you should have a say in the matter, though I warn you nobody’s say is going to have any effect on me.’
‘I can well believe that, and as an only recently recognized member of the family circle and one whose right to his daughter’s regard is as yet fragile, I would not venture to attempt to persuade her. I could only offer advice, and advice, as we know, even if we listen to it, is something we only take when it agrees with what we intend to do. So I will only say to you what I would to anyone with a problem and that is: wait and see what happens.’
‘How long?’
‘Until you are of an age to marry.’
‘And if it is really Eversleigh he wants?’
‘You have said that you know he does.’
‘But more than me, I mean.’
‘The only way to find out is for your mother to leave Eversleigh to someone else and then see if he wants you.’
‘She would have to leave it in the family.’
‘No doubt some long-lost relative will appear.’
‘Dickon is a member of the family. My Uncle Carl wouldn’t leave it to him because his father was what he called “a damned Jacobite”. Uncle was a trifle illogical because my mother’s grandfather was one too. But perhaps he felt that wasn’t so bad, being a generation earlier.’
‘It brings us all back to the golden rule. Wait and see. And after all, my dearest Lottie, when you consider the facts there is little else you can do.’
‘You don’t think I’m too young to know my own mind … which is what my mother says.’
‘I think you are mature enough to know exactly what you want from life. I’ll tell you another golden rule. Take it, if you must, but when the reckoning comes, pay up cheerfully. It’s the only way to live.’
I looked at him steadily and said: ‘I’m glad you came back. I’m glad to know the truth. I’m glad you’re my father.’
A smile of satisfaction spread across his face. There was nothing sentimental about my new father. Jean-Louis’s eyes would have filled with tears if I had said anything like that to him.
My father said: ‘This is the time to offer my invitation. I shall have to leave shortly. Will you come back with me … for a little visit? I should love to show you something of my country.’
I was proud to travel with him and revel in that special treatment he received wherever he went. He was rich and powerful in his own country, of course, but he had a natural air of distinction which was not lost on those whom we encountered. He commanded the best service naturally as though it were his right, and people presumed it was and gave it to him unquestioningly.
A new world was opening to me and I realized how quietly we had lived in the country. True, there had been the occasional visits to London, but they had been few and I had never been to Court, though I believed our Court, presided over by good but homely King George and his plain consort Queen Charlotte, was very different from that of the profligate Louis XV of France. It was a cynical commentary on life that the virtuous—and none could deny our King and Queen were that—should be jeered at while the immoral—and Louis XV’s Court was undoubtedly that—should be admired. Well, perhaps not exactly admired, but considered interesting and a good place to be in.
My new father was determined to enchant me, to lure me, as I see now, to an appreciation of his country and his way of life. And I was willing enough to be charmed.
We took the journey to Aubigné fairly slowly, breaking our journey at night in delightful inns. The Comte proudly called me his daughter and I shone in reflected glory.
‘We shall visit Paris and perhaps Versailles later,’ he said. ‘I shall not let you go until you have seen a great deal of my country.’
I smiled happily. None could have been more eager to see than I.
He was delighted with my prowess on horseback, for he said it was a more interesting way of travelling than by coach. They were golden days, riding side by side with him, still marvelling at the fact that he was my father, still feeling twinges of remorse that I should be so pleased about it, chattering away blithely with less restraint than I showed towards my own mother or ever had to Jean-Louis. The reason was, I suppose, that the Comte was a man of the world and his attitude towards me was that I was aware of the basic facts of life. He implied that he saw no reason for attempting to protect me from what a person of my intelligence must already know. It made it easy for me to talk to him about Dickon. He seemed to understand my feelings and never insulted me by suggesting that I could not feel as deeply as I said I did because I was too young. I felt no longer a child in his company and that was one of the reasons why I enjoyed being with him so much.