“I am fond of her.”
“Do you love her? She is a beautiful girl.”
“She is. But I love one only … now and for ever.”
For a moment I lay against him and then I remembered that I was near the house and that at any moment someone might come out. I stood up and he was beside me, his arms round me. He kissed me tenderly and then with passion.
“Not here …” I said, which was an admission that it could be somewhere else.
“When will you come to London?”
“As soon as it is possible,” I said.
“Perhaps you could bring Tamarisk. She ought to be with her father.”
“She is very sharp. What if she saw …”
“We’d be careful.”
I said: “It must stop.”
I withdrew myself and came out of the shrubbery with him beside me. He was holding my arm tightly.
I looked towards the house and wondered if anyone was watching.
Jake’s visit was declared to have been a great success.
“I like him,” said my father. “He’s lively.”
My mother liked him too, but she was a little reserved when speaking of him and I wondered if she guessed that my feelings for him went deeper than was wise.
He had suggested that Tamarisk visit him in London. There was so much there that he wanted to show her. Then he thought it would be a good idea if she went to Cornwall.
She must remember that he was her father and that his home could be hers if she wished, I told her.
She said: “I like it here.” And she was looking at Jonathan who happened to be there.
The great concern now was Amaryllis. Her time was getting near and Claudine was fussing, as Dickon said, like an old hen.
“Amaryllis is a healthy girl, and women were meant to have children. Why all this fuss?”
“There speaks the arrogant man,” said my mother. “Naturally Claudine is fussing. All mothers do. I’m fussing and we shall continue to fuss until we have the baby. As for you, I remember you fussed a little when Jessica was born.”
“I must have known that she would not be content to make a quiet and ordinary appearance.”
“Well, you were wrong. She did. Jessica, you were such an adorable baby … right from the first.”
“A squalling brat as far as I remember,” said my father.
“Whom you adored from the moment she was born.”
That was how they always were, sparring in a way which betrayed their love for each other.
How fortunate they were! I thought. Aunt Sophie had always said my mother had been one of the lucky ones. Yet she had at first been denied the man of her choice and made a not entirely satisfactory marriage; and she had passed through a horrifying experience coming close to death in a most frightening manner during the revolution in France … and only finally to this happy state at Eversleigh.
Poor Aunt Sophie, who had always pitied herself and never learned that one has to make the most of what one has.
I was always telling myself that—particularly now. I had married Edward—good kind Edward—and it was my duty to care for him and shield him from all hurt.
I must learn to like this way of life, to stop dreaming of the impossible, to forget that I had stepped over the bounds of morality and convention … and never, never stray again.
I was with Amaryllis a great deal during those days when she was awaiting the birth of her child, wishing that I could have one. I must not wish for that—for if I did it could not be my husband’s.
I could only sit with Amaryllis and play with Helena.
Poor Amaryllis. She was rather long in labour but the great moment came and I could imagine her joy when she was coming out of her exhaustion and heard the cry of her child. And this one was a boy.
There was great rejoicing throughout the household. I had never seen Peter so delighted. What a store these men set by boys! I felt a little annoyed though I joined in the general rejoicing.
Amaryllis was so proud. She lay in her bed, pale, looking fragile, but beautiful with that radiance on her which I had seen at the time of her marriage.
It was mean of me to feel those twinges of envy. Yet I could not help myself.
She has so much, I said to myself. And what have I? Guilty memories.
I must pull myself together. I must never become like Aunt Sophie … bitter because life had passed me by. I had chosen the way I should go. Of course it was not always one’s fault that life took a certain turn. Was it Sophie’s fault that she had been disfigured in that fireworks disaster? Was it Edward’s fault that he had been cruelly injured? But we must not nurse our misfortunes. Someone had said never take them out and teach them to swim. Take them out and drown them. I must remember that.
I kissed Amaryllis.
“I feel I am the luckiest woman on earth,” she said.
“What are you going to call him?”
“Peter,” she said promptly. “After his father.”
“Does Peter want that?”
“Yes. And I do too.”
So the child was called Peter and because it was a little confusing to have two Peters in the household, he was soon known as Peterkin.
My father was undoubtedly delighted with the boy.
“At last,” he said. “A man in this household of women!”
“Don’t you call David and Jonathan men?” I asked.
“David will never have a son. As for Jonathan … well, I’m uncertain about him.”
“You’re unfair to him,” said my mother.
“Unfair? In what way?”
“Just because of that gambling business and Farmer Weston’s girl.”
“He’s got to behave himself if he takes on Eversleigh.”
“All young men sow wild oats.”
“Not on their own patch of land.”
“Well, the gambling took place in London.”
“That could affect the estate more than anything. It’s the first step on the downward path.”
“Dickon, please, not another lecture on the dangers of gambling.”
“Too much can’t be said about it.”
“You have already made that plain. Well, now you have your great-grandson and you are very pleased. You should be grateful to Amaryllis …”
“I wish Jessica …”
She silenced him. “Let’s go and have a look at Peterkin.”
It was amusing to see my father marching round the nursery with Peterkin in his arms.
“The master just dotes on that child,” they said throughout the household.
And they were right.
The christening of little Peterkin caused the usual flutter in the household. Christening robes were brought out and examined; and there was a great deal of discussion as to the guests who would be invited.
The Barringtons came from Nottingham, Clare with them. I always felt uneasy in Clare’s presence and often thought how much wiser Edward would have been if he had married her. I was sure she would have been a faithful wife; and there was no doubt in my mind that she loved him. Men so often chose the wrong women … as a servant had once told me.
Jake had prolonged his visit but he could not stay with us indefinitely. He had departed most reluctantly after extorting a promise from me to go to London as soon as the christening was over.
“Bring Tamarisk,” he said. “I should get to know my own daughter. Or… I shall come back here. Bless the child. She gives me the excuse I need for visiting you.”
He took our affaire more lightheartedly than I did. Well he might. He was not deceiving anyone … as I was.
I loved his dominating nature while I deplored it. I kept telling myself that it was one lapse on my part and it must never happen again.
The ceremony went off very well. Peterkin behaved with unusual decorum and was duly christened. I don’t know who was more proud of him—his father or mine.
They had their precious boy.
Amaryllis looked beautiful. She was radiantly happy. Lucky Amaryllis, for whom life ran so smoothly.
There was a reception in the great hall at Eversleigh and the usual toasts were drunk. Peterkin, by this time, was sleeping in his cot and several of the guests were taken up to admire him. I was with them. The old Eversleigh nursery had new life in it. Helena was there seated on the floor building a castle with bricks. The perfect domestic scene, I thought enviously.