A Vow For An Heiress. Helen Dickson

distinguished himself in India...’

      ‘But?’

      ‘He is not for me.’ Clarissa looked at her sister imploringly. ‘In truth, he is so—so excessively male and formidable. He radiates a force and vitality that scares me to death. I cannot possibly marry such a man.’ Sighing deeply, she looked down at her hands in her lap. ‘How foolish you must think me. You, who have never been afraid of anything or anyone in your entire life.’

      Rosa sighed, for Clarissa spoke the truth. Clarissa was quiet and self-effacing, while she was too outspoken and never afraid to voice her own opinions, of which she had many—from any subject that was topical at the time to slavery, which had been a constant irritant to her father since the smooth running of the plantation depended on slave labour. He was forever chastising her, telling her to stop going on about matters which did not concern her and of which she knew nothing.

      Should Clarissa marry the Earl of Ashurst, not only would he have sweet and gentle Clarissa to run his home, grace his table and warm his bed, but he would be in possession of a large portion of her father’s considerable assets to repair his fractured estate. Their grandmother was right in one respect. With such an inheritance they would become prey to every fortune hunter in London. Better they were settled in good marriages.

      ‘I wish I could think of something comforting to say that would alleviate your fears, Clarissa, but do not be too downhearted,’ she said gently. ‘Who knows what the future holds? Why, if the love between yourself and Andrew is as deeply committed as you say it is, then when Grandmother realises this and sees that you will be happy with no other, then maybe she will relent. When Father gave Grandmother control over us he was only doing what he considered best. I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to be unhappy. She wants to make quite sure we are settled and everything taken care of before—before she...’

      Something in Rosa’s faltering tone caused Clarissa to look at her sharply. ‘Do you think she is very ill, Rosa?’

      Rosa nodded. ‘There is no denying that there is a frailty about her and I noted when we were in London that there are times when she appears to suffer breathlessness and a great deal of discomfort.’

      ‘She does tire easily.’

      ‘But you must not let that stop you from telling her how you feel—that you cannot marry the Earl of Ashurst.’

      ‘I know I should feel honoured—and I am—but I would give all my prospects to anyone who would take them from me...simply to marry Andrew without the kind of wealth we have.’

      ‘The Earl does not have our wealth, but marriage to you would change all that,’ Rosa retorted coldly, feeling some resentment towards the Earl of Ashurst. What manner of man was it that would take a wife merely to pay off debts incurred by his cousin and to repair the neglect to his estate? She could feel nothing but contempt for a man who would marry a woman for the size of her dowry rather than for the woman herself. And who was to know that he wouldn’t do the same as his erstwhile cousin and squander his newfound fortune?

      Lying in her bed and thinking about Clarissa, Rosa was deeply unsettled by her concern for her sister. What was to be done? If only she could find a way to circumvent her grandmother. There must be some way to stop Clarissa marrying a man not of her choosing. The more she thought about it a plan began forming in her mind, a plan so shocking she feared to enlarge on it. It caused her heart to pound so hard she could scarcely breathe, for it was a plan no gently bred young woman would dare think of, let alone consider.

      Yet the more she thought about it the more she fixed her mind on the plan and, with a cold logic, let it grow until she could think of nothing else. At one stroke she had presented herself with an answer to Clarissa’s problem.

      She would marry the Earl of Ashurst instead of Clarissa.

      To contemplate marrying a man she had never even met surprised her—indeed, it sent a chill down her spine, but it did not shock her. If there was a way of helping Clarissa, then she would do everything in her power to do so. Clarissa said the Earl was handsome—at least he wasn’t in his dotage so she would have that to be thankful for. However, the biggest obstacle was her grandmother, but she need know nothing about what she was planning until she had been to Ashurst Park. She would take a closer look at the Earl of Ashurst’s noble pile to give her an insight into the house and its owner, to see what awaited her if she went ahead with her plan.

      After breakfast two days later, relieved that her grandmother was still in bed—she never left her bed before mid-morning—without a word to Clarissa of what she was to do, she left the house. She was dressed in her best riding habit. The colour was dark blue, the jacket cut tight in at the waist, to slope away at the sides, the ensemble set off by a jaunty feather-trimmed hat. There was no sign that she had spent a sleepless night wrestling with the wild plan she had conceived. But her delicate jaw was set with determination.

      Feeling deeply sad for Clarissa, she was prepared to sacrifice herself. So what did it matter that the Earl of Ashurst was a stranger to her? Whoever she married would not possess the qualities Simon had. She would never forget what had happened to Simon, but she must put it behind her if she was to forge a new life for herself here in England. It was important to her that she rediscover something within herself, something she had lost the day he had drowned. She would love to fulfil her desire to do something more worthwhile with her life, for she would dearly like to become involved with Aunt Clara’s charities and help underprivileged children, but since that was to be denied her then she was pretty confident that she would be able to persuade the Earl of Ashurst to marry her and he would be well rewarded for it.

      The Berkshire countryside was lush and green, with the sleepiness of late summer. Pausing on a rise, she looked down into a gently sweeping basin, where the gracious Ashurst Park was situated in what she thought was a pastoral paradise. It took her breath away, for it was the most beautiful house her eyes had ever beheld. Facing due south, it sat like a gracious queen in the centre of her domain. It had been built in the sixteenth century in the classical style of Brittany in France, which had been a fashionable form of architecture at the time. It stood among tall beech trees and oaks, guarding the brooding house like sentinels. Lawns adorned with flowerbeds and statues added to its beauty and further afield a rolling deer park stretched to the horizon.

      A shiver crept along her spine. It was the same as she remembered, every detail. It was hard to believe that if Clarissa did marry the Earl of Ashurst, this beautiful house would be her home. Rosa’s heart warmed to it. She would not mind being mistress of such a beautiful, noble house and, as the Countess of Ashurst, whether she was accepted or not, she would be in the forefront of society.

      Since Simon’s death, followed so soon by her father’s, and coming to England, she had existed in some kind of daze. Halting her horse and looking at Ashurst Park, she felt all that was about to change. Determined not to think of the impropriety of an unaccompanied lady visiting a bachelor’s residence, urging her horse on, she had not felt this energised for a long time. In some way she was back to being the old Rosa, headstrong and tempestuous and accustomed to having her own way.

      But suppose the Earl wouldn’t marry her? Suppose, despite all the money that would come his way, he still insisted on marrying Clarissa? Then what would she do? As she clenched her jaw, her eyes took on a determined gleam. She wasn’t fool enough to think it would be easy, but she would make him want to marry her, she vowed.

       Chapter Two

      It seemed to Rosa that she was entering a new world as she rode through the wrought-iron gates. When the gatekeeper closed them behind her she continued along the winding drive. Riding slowly past the lake, she took a moment to pause beneath the leafy canopy of a great sycamore tree. A cascade of water tumbled down a hill into a deep pool on the other side of a gracious three-arched bridge which spanned the narrow head of the lake. The still surface of the water was broken by the occasional swallow diving for midges on the surface. A boathouse could be seen in a recess among the trees on the other side.