A Flight To Heaven (13 page)

Chiara did not know what to say to this thought.

It was indeed a charming idea and she would have gladly gone along with it, if only Mervyn Hunter had been someone she loved and not a man who chilled her whole being.

“Poor Tom! He was delighted by the idea,” her Mama continued. “You really are causing a great deal of trouble, Chiara.”

“Mama, I don’t mean to be difficult, I really don’t.” Chiara took a deep breath to steady her voice and went on, “but I don’t like Mervyn Hunter. I cannot marry him.”

Lady Fairfax clasped her hands tightly in a gesture of exasperation.

“Chiara, you have just seen your best friend being married – how can you not see what a wonderful gift it is that Mr. Hunter is offering you when he asks you to be his wife.”

“It’s very different for Elizabeth, Mama. She
loves
Arthur and he loves her. Their love shines out of them when they are together. And – Elizabeth told me that when she is with Arthur, she feels as if she has come home. I don’t feel like that at all when I am with Mervyn Hunter. I feel cold and – uncomfortable – and I cannot wait to get away from him.”

“This is all unspeakably awkward,” Lady Fairfax said, shaking her head. “How can you speak so unkindly of the best friend of my husband-to-be? Mr. Hunter cares for you so much and, my darling, how am I to face his sister, Mrs. Fulwell, when she comes to stay with us? How can I look her in the eye, knowing that you have said such horrid things about her brother?”

Chiara’s heart sank.

“I did not know he had a sister. Why is she coming here?”

“I have invited her, as I should very much like to make her acquaintance and I do wonder, Chiara, if you are spending too much time on your own. It would be so good for you to have company of your own age. Mrs. Fulwell has two daughters.”

“But we don’t know them, Mama.”

“We have never met, certainly. But Mr. Hunter is Tom’s dearest friend and as such he is almost part of the family. Thus I am only too happy to welcome his sister to Rensham Hall.”

A slow tide of despair rose up in Chiara, as she pictured her future at The Hall. Even if she did not marry Mervyn Hunter, he would always be a part of her life.

His closeness to Lord Darley, who was soon to take her Papa’s place, meant he would always be a welcome visitor at her home.

And his sister and her daughters too, whatever they were like, might also become part of this new ‘family’ that Chiara was beginning to dread so much.

*

“How lucky you are, to have your own horse,” the younger of the Misses Fulwell said a few days later, as she leant on the gate of Erebus’s paddock, her pale eyes wide with envy as she watched him cropping the fresh spring grass, his coat shining white in the sunshine. “I would love to ride him – ”

Chiara did not think that Erebus would take kindly to the plump girl on his back, but before she could think of a suitable reply, the elder girl interrupted.

“Marigold! Don’t be ridiculous! Don’t you recall what Uncle Mervyn said? The beast isn’t safe! Chiara might have been killed if he had not caught the reins and stopped the brute from bolting.”

“Oh, yes!” Marigold turned to stare at Chiara. “You must have been absolutely terrified, until Uncle Mervyn rescued you.”

Chiara opened her mouth to tell them what had really happened and then closed it again.

Perhaps it was better for them to think that Erebus was wild and difficult. Otherwise she might have to share him with them and she really did not want to do that.

“Did he carry you home in his arms after he saved you?” Marigold asked Chiara. “All our friends in London would be so jealous, if he did. They think Uncle Mervyn is terribly handsome.”

“Do be quiet,” her sister scolded. “Remember what Mama told us.”

Marigold gave a little giggle and pressed a finger to her lips.

“Oh, yes, Eglantine. Sensitive subject!”

Chiara’s skin prickled as she realised that they must have been talking about her and Mervyn Hunter.

Their pale grey eyes reminded her of him a little, and they looked at her in the same way as he did, coldly, as if they were assessing how much she was worth.

Eglantine was eyeing her clothes.

“That dress,” she enquired, “where is it from?”

Chiara glanced down at her dark woollen frock that looked very plain and simple next to Marigold’s green-and-white striped poplin and Eglantine’s lavender-and-red striped silk.

“It’s one of the dresses I had at school,” she replied.

She had become used to wearing it at home since her Papa died.

“We thought you would have all your clothes made in Paris,” Eglantine said. “You are
Lady
Chiara after all!”

“And your house is absolutely
huge
too!” Marigold added, swivelling her head to count the windows along the front of Rensham Hall.

“I am sorry that my clothes have not come up to your expectations,” Chiara parried.

Eglantine looked down her long nose at her.

“Well, you are quite pretty,” she remarked. “But then we expected nothing less, from what Uncle Mervyn told us.”

“He really does adore you,” Marigold said, giggling behind her hand.

“Shhh!” Eglantine slapped her sister’s arm.

Chiara’s head felt suddenly tight.

However was she going to get through the coming days? The Fulwells had come to stay at Rensham Hall for a week and the two girls were getting on her nerves after only a couple of hours.

“Would you like me to show you the garden?” she asked. “There are some very fine tulips just coming out.”

“If you must,” Marigold said, looking bored and then added, “yes, how lovely,” as Eglantine aimed another slap at her arm.

They walked along the gravel path with their gaudy dresses billowing in the breeze and Chiara followed them, longing to run to the paddock and leap on Erebus’s back and gallop away together down to the sea.

*

“So, when is the wedding?”

Mrs. Fulwell sipped her tea and directed her gaze at Lady Fairfax.

It was hard to keep her eyes from darting around the drawing room. There was so much exquisite china on the mantelpiece, so many valuable gold and silver trinkets displayed on the shelves!

Her Ladyship had no right to be looking quite so unhappy. She was living in the height of luxury. Any one of these old oil paintings on the walls would have kept the Fulwells very nicely for at least a year.

“Oh, we have not fixed a date. We were hoping for a joint wedding, you know,” Lady Fairfax replied.

Mrs. Fulwell shook her head in sympathy.

“What a shame, your Ladyship! Still – young girls can be very headstrong.”

“Not my Chiara, until now! She has always been the sweetest of girls – she can be a little fiery sometimes, but I think she must inherit that from me, Mrs. Fulwell – as I am Italian, you know.”

“Yes, your Ladyship.” Mrs. Fulwell smiled.

Both Lady Fairfax and her daughter had heads of thick dark shining hair. But Elaine Fulwell could not help but prefer her own girls’ pretty straight fair hair.

As did most gentlemen, she was quite sure. A fair girl would always catch a gentleman’s eye.

Now Lady Fairfax was asking her about Marigold and Eglantine. Did they have any suitors?

“Well, I am glad you brought that up, Lady Fairfax. A certain gentleman of very high birth indeed has invited us to St. Petersburg!”

That should surely impress her Ladyship!

“How marvellous! You must certainly take up the invitation. Do you think he is interested?”

Lady Fairfax was sitting up, her attention caught by Mrs. Fulwell’s words.

“Without a doubt, your Ladyship. He was indeed most attentive to Eglantine.”

“And does she like him?”

“Eglantine is a good girl, your Ladyship. Even if she did not like him, she would do as I advise. But the gentleman in question is very good-looking for a Russian. I think he has been much in her thoughts.”

“We met a Russian gentleman, a Count Dimitrov at Sandringham the other night at the King’s ball. He was certainly handsome,” Lady Fairfax remarked .

Mrs. Fulwell felt the blood rush to her cheeks.

“That is the very same gentleman,” she exclaimed. “What a coincidence!”

What had he been doing at the ball? Had her Ladyship noticed him forming an attachment to some other girl?

But Lady Fairfax quickly put Mrs. Fulwell’s mind at rest.

“He danced the first waltz with Chiara and they looked very well together,” she was saying, “but he did not partner her again. And he did not speak to us all evening. He seemed very aloof. I might almost call him moody!”

Ah! So there was nothing to worry about.

Mrs. Fulwell relaxed.

“I expect he was thinking of Eglantine,” she said with a little smile.

“I daresay!” Lady Fairfax reached for the silver teapot to pour her guest a second cup. “He certainly looked as if he was in another world for most of the time!”

*

Arkady was home. Now, at last, he would be able to breathe.

Here at the vast country residence that his family liked to call
The
Dacha
, although it had now become more of a mansion than the simple country retreat that Peter the Great had donated to his Dimitrov ancestors.

From where he stood, in the shelter of the glass-covered veranda that ran along the front of the house, he could look out over his acres of empty grassland and vast woods with tall ancient trees.

But –
how could this be
? – the Count found his thoughts returning to the gentle rolling fields and the pretty spring flowers of the English countryside.

Spring had certainly arrived here in Russia, but the melting snow had left patches of brown grass exposed and the branches of the trees, where noisy rooks had arrived to build their nests, were still bare.

Perhaps it was this drabness in the landscape that caused his heart to feel so empty.

He was depressed, that was it. Perhaps he should have stayed in St. Petersburg after all and thrown himself into the social life there.

But he could think of only one thing that would cheer him up.

And that would be to leap upon a bicycle and pedal swiftly towards the sea –

Alas, there was no sea anywhere near to here, not for hundreds and hundreds of miles. And, should he make that long journey to the coast of the Black Sea or to the icy shores of the far North, he would be incredibly unlikely to encounter the dark-haired angel there, the girl that, try as he might, he could not put from his mind.

There was nothing for it but to be patient and wait for time to erase her memory from his mind and heart.

And to remind himself, as he did at least once a day, that by now she was probably engaged to one of the boorish English gentlemen, who had swarmed round her at the ball, like a cluster of flies in their black evening suits.

*

“What can I do to persuade you how deeply I care for you?” Mervyn Hunter was on his knees in front of Chiara, gripping tightly onto the skirt of her riding habit with both hands.

They were in the stable yard in front of Erebus’s box and she could not help thinking that his clean white breeches would be soiled with mud and straw when he did stand up.

“I have left you alone in consideration for your youth and innocence and I have given you ample time to consider my proposal – why will you not answer me?” he was saying, his lean face turning dark red with emotion.

Chiara kept her lips firmly closed, as to keep silent gave her a feeling of strength and she was determined this time not to let him distress her.

“Can you not see it? You
must
be my wife. It was meant to be.”

His voice was growing louder and he twisted his hands in the thick cloth of her riding habit.

Across the yard Jonah was now approaching with a forkful of hay. When he saw Mervyn Hunter, he dropped the fork and came running.

“Lady Chiara! Is all well?” he called, in his lilting Norfolk accent. “Is the gentleman hurt?”

Chiara felt laughter bubble up inside her, as she realised how absurd Mervyn Hunter must look, kneeling on the dirty cobblestones.

“I really don’t know, Jonah,” she replied. “He has slipped and fallen at my feet!”

Mervyn Hunter’s eyes now widened with anger as he heard this and before he could contradict her, Chiara stepped back and pulled her riding habit free of his grasp, so that he overbalanced and fell onto all fours.

“Be careful, sir,” Jonah said. “There’s been rain today and the stones be ever so slippery.”

He bent and took Mervyn Hunter’s arm to help him up.

“Get off!” He shook him aside angrily. “I am quite all right.”

He stood up and glared at Chiara, rage flaming in his pale eyes.

“You are making fun of me!”

He was absolutely furious and yet Chiara knew that he would not dare to strike her or seize hold of her again in front of Jonah and his raging anger made the feeling of determination inside her grow stronger.

“I am simply concerned for you, Mr. Hunter,” she replied.

“You are lying! How can that be so when you have so little regard for my feelings?” his voice was low now in an attempt to keep Jonah from hearing his words.

Chiara knew that the time had come, once and for all, to tell Mervyn Hunter that he must leave her alone.

Even if she had had some slight feeling for him in her heart, the last few days spent in the company of his sister and his nieces would have convinced her that she could never, never wish to be associated with his family.

“Mr. Hunter,” she began, “I do indeed consider your feelings and that is why I must tell you now that I do not intend to marry you and I never will. You must not ask me again.”

Jonah backed away from them, his mouth hanging open in amazement.

“How can you – speak like that to – me?” Mervyn Hunter was spluttering with rage.

“I don’t like to do it,” Chiara replied, “and I don’t wish to do it again. So please remember what I have said.”

Her limbs were shaking, but her heart swelled with confidence as she watched him.

“But – I – ”

His face was scarlet.

“Mr. Hunter, I think your relatives are with Mama in the drawing room. You may wish to change before you join them.”