“Courage!” she said. “I’ve gone too far to stop now.” She decided that if someone else than Philip opened the window, she would turn and run away. She tapped at the window softly and then more loudly. As she waited anxiously, she heard someone move to the window and open it. She hadn’t been mistaken. Philip threw open the window.

  “Who’s there?” he said sternly.

  “Philip, it’s me, your Jane.”

  “What do you want?” asked Philip in a tone of voice, which broke the young woman’s heart.

  She looked at him anxiously. She could hardly recognize his face, so great was the change that had come over it. The expression on it terrified her.

  “Why are you going to marry Miss Harcourt?” she asked in a surge of emotion.

  “I have to.”

  “Then why did you pretend to love me?”

  “I did. I loved you very much, devotedly, solely even with a love that drove me to commit murder. But it was you Jane, who had no love for me. You cared about my title and you loved my father’s money.”

  Jane raised her hands to heaven and her eyes showed the first signs of tears.

  “Why do you think I’m here at this hour, if what you say is true?” she asked angrily. “My brother has died. I’m just as rich as you are, Philip. Still I’m here. You accuse me of being a cold-hearted gold digger, but why? Just because I refused to elope with you and leave my father’s house forever leaving our family name stained? Oh, Philip, I was protecting the happiness of our future life together. Don’t you know...?”

  Her voice failed her and her eyes opened wide with horror. Behind Philip the bedroom door opened and the once mighty Lord Swaffham was pushed into the room by a nurse. The old man said nothing. He just stared at Philip.

  “Do you understand now,” cried Philip, pointing to his father, “why my love for you has died. No, more, it has become a despised memory? How dare you talk of future and happiness to me, when his broken bones and broken spirit will ever be between us?”

  He shook his head so violently. It was immediately clear to Jane. He meant it. She turned, but before walking away, she gave him a glance full of the deepest anger, hate and jealousy. She would not forgive Philip for his decision, a decision, which blighted all her hopes of happiness for the rest of her life. Her voice regained its strength as she menacingly said, “Philip, I will have my revenge on you and yours.”

  With that she disappeared into the darkness. Her life forever changed.

  Lord Harcourt had given the wedding planners only three days to complete all the arrangements necessary for the marriage of Philip and Miss Harcourt. He had presented the young man to the young lady and neither had been favorably impressed by the other. At their very first sight of each other they both felt an immediate revulsion against the other, which could never go away no matter how much each tried and no matter how much time went by. Even though she feared the anger of her unyielding father, Renee had thought of the idea to break off the engagement by telling Philip of her secret admiration for Baron Thomas St. Ives. She reasoned that if she told him that her heart belonged to another man, he would withdraw his marriage proposal, either, if he was a sensitive man, because he wished not to stand in the way of true love and happiness or if he was a pretentious man, out of a sense of loathing and disgust for her. Either way she would be free. Several times, when she had the opportunity to talk to him confidentially, her tongue was tied and she let the moment go by. Had she talked to him, would Philip have immediately looked for an excuse to withdraw from the proposal for her hand?

  Each day he paid a visit to Harcourt Manor. He was an accepted suitor, more so by the father of the bride than by the bride-to-be, bearing a large bouquet of flowers or a box of chocolates with him, which he would present to his fiancée. She would accept them in the drawing room with a flush rising to her cheek. The pair would talk, but about nothing of substance. An old aunt sat in the room to keep watch on the young ones. They spent many times together, she bent over her magazine and he grasping for topics to talk about, which would interest a young woman. Soon the conversation would come to a halt. It was a huge relief, whenever Mr. Harcourt proposed a walk in the garden. Never was he more content and busy than since the approaching marriage of his daughter. It was on everyone’s tongue. He took all the planning for the wedding ceremony in his own hands, because he didn’t trust anyone but him to be able to create the fairytale wedding he wished to bestow on the young pair. The ceremony would be magnificent and unparalleled by any of that year’s weddings. The Manor house was refurnished and repainted. The automobiles were sold and new, even more luxurious ones were bought to replace them. He paid special attention to the adding of the Swaffham and the Harcourt coat of arms to everything in sight, be it walls, clothes, linen or crockery. If he had the heart he would have tattooed it on his chest.

  While Mr. Harcourt couldn’t be happier in the midst of all the wedding preparations, Philip and Renee became sadder and sadder as each day passed on. One day Mr. Harcourt walked into the drawing room, where he knew that he would find the two unhappy ones, to tell them the latest gossip he had heard. He was not above gossip, if it involved people of his rank and title.

  “Can you believe this?” he exclaimed. “Everyone is jealous of your love for each other. They are following your example. The vicar will be kept busy this spring with all the imitators.”

  His daughter was not interested in his usual rumors and innuendo. Philip even less. They remained silent as the father of the bride continued his story.

  “There’s more,” continued Mr. Harcourt, “I’ve just been told of a wedding, which will be notarized almost directly after yours and believe me it will make quite a stir.”

  “Pray tell me, whose is that, daddy?”

  “I presume, you’re acquainted,” said Mr. Harcourt, addressing himself to his future son-in-law, “with Count Bletchley?”

  “Count Howard, certainly, sir?”

  “The same.”

  “He lives in London as far as I know?”

  “Yes, most of the year, but he has been staying at his uncle’s house here and in the very short time of a whole week, he has managed to lose his heart.”

  He looked at his daughter with a smile on his face.

  “To whom, daddy?”

  “Come, give me a guess.”

  “I don’t know, daddy,” said Renee. “Who could it be?”

  “They say that Count Bletchley has proposed for the hand of Miss Worrall.”

  “Miss Worrall?” asked Renee, incredulously. “It’s been only three weeks, since her brother was killed in that horrible car accident.”

  Philip’s face turned red with furious anger. He nearly dropped a cup of tea he was holding in his hand, so great was his anxiety at hearing this gossip.

  “I like the count,” continued Mr. Harcourt, who knew nothing of love and hate in the hearts of those surrounding him. “Miss Jane is a charming young lady. She’s exceedingly beautiful to behold and I’ve been told she has many talents. She’s a good role model for you to copy, Renee. You’ll be a part of her world too, now, after the wedding.”

  Now that Mr. Harcourt was talking about the subject, which was closest to his heart, it was very difficult to halt him. As his daughter knew this to be the case, she waited until he had concluded his story and then left the room, telling them she urgently needed to talk to her maid. The count hardly noticed she had left. He was already telling Philip more of the issue.

  “Now that we’re talking about Miss Jane,” he said, “and I know the rules, but she does look charming in black. Isn’t it strange how women look on a death in the family as a most fortunate occurrence? Maybe I shouldn’t be talking about her. You know her so well, I heard.”

  “I? Who said that?” cried Philip.

  “Come, son. I don’t suppose that you intend to make me believe that you never had a little flirtation with the pretty young woman?”

  “Sir, you mustn’t believe any of the usual salacious talk in a small town.”

  “But I do, my boy. They told me that you had made love to her. Why, you’re really blushing! Are you denying it?”

  “Sir,” Philip stood up, “I can assure you that this...”

  Harcourt burst out laughing.

  “My boy, why the surprise?” continued Harcourt. “Sit down.” As Philip sat down, he continued, “I’ve heard a lot of the little strolls you two used to take together in the fields and the woods.” He put some emphasis on the last word. “And don’t forget all the sweet words, which you used to say to each other.”

  Philip tried to deny everything, but it was to no avail, because his intended father-in-law didn’t believe him. The talk had unnerved him so much that he declined an invitation to stay and dine with the count and his fiancée, giving as an excuse his anxiety for his father’s well-being. He rushed home as quickly as he possibly could. He was angered by what he had heard. His secrets were out and added to by gossip, they had come back to haunt him. As he slowed down to turn at an intersection, he heard his name called by someone, who was standing at a bus stop. Philip stopped and turned around. He found himself face to face with his old friend Charles.

  “I’ve been here for the past week,” said the young man, accepting an offer to be driven to his destination. “I’m here with my employer. I have a position, now. I’m with Count Bletchley. I’m his private secretary. Howard is not the most agreeable man in the world to get on with, I know. He has an awful temper and gets into the most violent rows for the most trivial of reasons. On the other hand, he does have a good heart. I’m very pleased to be working with him on his business dealings.”

  “I’m very happy for you, Charles. I’m pleased to hear life is treating you well. Pleased is the word, indeed.”

  “So am I for you, Philip. I hear you are to marry Miss Harcourt. I could hardly believe it, when they told me it at Bletchley house.”

  “And why not, my friend?”

  “Because I remember those days and nights, when we drank and talked. You had your eye set on a different lady then. I remember your feelings for her. They were profound.”

  “Forget everything you saw and everything I told you in those days, Charles, all of it.”

  “Don’t be afraid. Except to you, I will never say a word of this to anyone. Your secret is safe with me, my friend.”

  “Stop!” said Philip with an angry gesture, halting the car. “What are you saying?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Understand one thing, Charles, Miss Jane Worrall is as free from any stains on her reputation today as she was, when I first saw her.”

  Charles scowled.

  “Listen! She’s been indiscreet, but nothing else. I swear to you. That’s all. There is nothing to it.”

  “I believe you.”

  In reality Charles didn’t believe one word of what Philip was saying. The young man could read his thoughts on his face. Philip sighed and angrily revved up the engine of his sports car.

  “The more so,” continued his companion, calmly, but tellingly, “as the lady in question is marrying my friend and employer.”

  Philip nodded. He put the car in gear and drove away.

  “I wonder,” said Philip after some silence, “where the count met Miss Worrall?”

  “In London, that I know for sure. Howard and her brother were the best of friends. Howard was the one with him in the car, when he had that terrible accident and he was the one in hospital keeping a vigil at his bedside. He was also the one, who informed the parents the son had passed away. As soon as he came here to offer his condolences personally, the parents couldn’t get enough of him. You must know that he looks very much the spitting image of their late son. That’s when he saw Miss Jane and the rest was written on the wings of butterflies as they say.”

  Philip appeared so angry that Charles decided not to go any further in his poetic description of young love, springing up so suddenly. He wondered if Viscount Swaffham still loved Jane and that his apparent anger was the result of him being consumed with the flames of jealousy.

  “Obviously,” he decided to add, “nothing is as yet done and over.”

  Philip was too blinded by his own conflicting emotions to listen to Charles any longer. He halted the car at a small road leading to Bletchley Manor. With a short greeting, he left Charles rather abruptly, speeding away at the top of the small car’s speed, leaving his friend silent with surprise and covered in dust.

  Philip felt the blood flowing out of his head. He felt as if he was imprisoned in an iron cage and the cage became smaller and smaller day by day and in the end it would crush his body and mind to bits. Jane would marry Count Bletchley and be forced to meet every day the man, who knew the secrets of her illicit encounters with her former lover and who had many times been entrusted with letters and messages for her, when Philip himself was prevented from meeting her. Philip wondered how Charles would act under such cloudy circumstances. He asked himself if Charles had the necessary acumen and cool headedness to live in such close quarters with a woman, he knew more about than her husband.

  “This will not end well,” said Philip, striking the dashboard of his fast car. “Will he or she be the first to break?”

  He knew Jane. She wouldn’t be able to endure the compromising witness of her youthful indiscretions. She would eagerly look for a reason to have him dismissed by her future husband. Charles could easily lash out at her by telling his patron the story of her love affair. If Charles deigned to sink so low and let loose his tongue, the husband, angry at the sleight of hand that had been perpetrated on him, would leave his wife. Philip wondered what Jane would do, when she found herself abandoned like this by her husband and despised by an unforgiving high society of which she had hoped to be a leading light.

  “She will come after me,” Philip thought, “with everything she has, but all she has is the poison and my crime.”

  Philip closed his eyes and screamed. He in turn heard a scream. In front of his car, walking his way was Matilda. She had been waiting for him for two hours, hiding behind a hedge. He stopped abruptly and managed to avoid a collision.

  “Matilda,” he exclaimed, “for God’s sake!”

  “I have a letter for you, sir,” she said.

  He took the letter that she held out to him and opened it slowly.

  “You questioned my love for you,” it read. “I’m ready to prove my love for you. I’m ready to elope with you tonight. I will lose everything and everybody I hold dear, but I will have you. Think, Philip. We still have time to be together for ever. Tomorrow it will be too late.”

  These words were written by Miss Worrall, who had finally gained enough courage to entrust her deepest feelings to a blank sheet of paper. It worked. A chill went through Philip’s body. He read the words again. Her usually calm and firm writing hand had become, in the letter before him, a confused and almost illegible mangling of letters, which showed him Jane’s excited frame of mind. There were blurs on the paper, where tears had fallen on it.

  “She loves you, sir,” said Matilda, almost whispering.

  It took away his breath. He felt himself choking. He hesitated. She was ready to sacrifice her family and honor and all he had to do was ask and she would be his. In a few hours, when it was dark, she was willing to elope with him to Gretna Green or Paris.

  “Thank you,” he said and drove away.

  He couldn’t see the road. It was filled with words, her words, her alluring words. He didn’t need to see the road. It led to his house, where his father was waiting patiently as his nurse wheeled him around the courtyard. Philip’s pulse throbbed uncontrollably. He could hardly breathe. On the other side of the window of the dining room, stood another silent witness of this family drama, James. Philip could clearly see the figure of the man. He turned around and drove back down the road. He saw Matilda in the distance. He quickly drove closer and stopped next to her. He held up the letter and cried violently, “Never!” with such fury, that the young woman shrank back.

  “Never! No, never!”

  He crushed up the letter and threw it on the ground. He turned the car and drove home. Matilda picked up the scrap of paper from the ground.

  The old lord had recovered from his attempt on his life as far as that he was still alive. He was slowly learning to walk again. He had not uttered a word, since his fall, so everyone knew damage was done, but not how much damage. He ate, drank and slept. In the morning the nurses or his trusted valet James would take him to his beloved farm and he would spend the day watching the laborers in the fields. If Philip had not been able to rely on the shrewdness and wisdom of Mr. Harcourt, who helped him greatly, the sudden disappearance of his father from all worldly matters in regards to the running of the vast estate would have cost him dearly.

  But all this help came at a cost. Mr. Harcourt took absolute possession of him. So at last after the unhappy young man had passed a sleepless night doubting all the recent decisions he had made, he was allowed no more time for hesitation. At eleven o’clock Mr. Harcourt drove him in his car to the civil center and from there to church and by twelve o’clock the ceremony had concluded. Philip had now entered a new life, from which he could not escape.

  An hour before dinner Count Bletchley came to the Manor house to offer his congratulations. Philip looked pale as he congratulated him at the same time, after he announced his upcoming union with Miss Jane Worrall.

  Philip and Renee spent five days in Blackpool. After they came back from their honeymoon, the newly wed pair took possession of the mansion at Swaffham Manor. Forced to live with a wife whom he had never even tried to love and whose tears were a constant reminder to him that she loved someone else and a father, who was a shell of his former self and an even more frightening reminder of an even more horrible act he had perpetrated. Thoughts of suicide had more than once crossed his mind.