Will You Love Me in September

"No," he cried. "I must confess I had hardly given him a thought. Surely you know there could be only one cause for my melancholy. It is because soon I must part from you.”

I was so happy to hear him say that that I laughed with pleasure; then I remembered Dickon and was ashamed that I could do so.

"You have a habit of saying what people want to hear," I said.

"Not a bad habit, you will agree.”

"If you mean it ...”

"That," he said, "is an added bonus. I assure you I mean what I say when I tell you I have rarely enjoyed anything more than our little jaunt together. Thank you, dearest Clarissa, for giving me such a happy time.”

"Nonsense. You know it is I who should be thanking you," I replied. "I am afraid I have been a melancholy companion.”

"Indeed you have not. In spite of all that happened, you have made me feel you have enjoyed our journey.”

"I have been as happy as it was possible for me to be considering how worried I have been.”

We rode on in silence. I think we were both a little moved.

That day we reached Enderby. Damaris rushed out in amazement when she realized who it was. She hugged me tightly and then I was seized by Jeremy.

"Oh, Clarissa ... we've been so worried ... so anxious ...”

Damon jumped round, and I was glad he took an immediate fancy to Lance.

I must see Sabrina, who had grown since I left; messages were sent over to the Court and to the Dower House. They would all be coming over to Enderby. This was a great occasion.

Lance stayed the night and received the thanks of every member of the family for bringing me home safely. They listened spellbound to my story, which I told them in detail, for I saw no reason to withhold anything except, of course, my love for Dickon and his for me.

"Thank God for this Dickon," said Damaris. "Oh, my darling, you were in great danger.”

"Damned Jacobites," growled Great-grandfather Carleton. "I'd string up the lot of them. As for that Pretender ... hanging's too good for him.”

So I was back in the bosom of my family, and it seemed strange to be sleeping in my own bed again.

Christmas came. Damaris kept telling me how delighted she was that I was home in time for the celebrations. Besides, this was no time to be traveling about the country.

There could be civil war and what a disaster that would be, and all because some people wanted to put this Pretender on the throne.

She was sure the loyal army, with men like Uncle Carl commanding it, would soon put a stop to all that nonsense-but there might be trouble first.

Jeanne was delighted that I was safely back. She wept and crooned over me.

"Oh, Mademoiselle Clarissa, you are the one things happen to," she cried. "It is the way with some. Oh, how 'appy I am that you are with us again. 'Christmas,' I said, 'what is Christmas without the little Clarissa?' I have la petite Sabrina .

. . yes. I have the little one. But for you there is something special ...”

- she touched her heart. "Something in here ...”

"Jeanne," I said solemnly, "I shall always love you.”

Then we wept together.

I could not join wholeheartedly in the festivities. All the time I was wondering where Dickon was and whether I should hear from him. We did hear scraps of news about the Pretender. He had left Bar-le-Duc, where he had been living-for he was no longer welcome at the French court-and disguising himself as a servant, had traveled to St. Malo where he had tried to take ship to Scotland. This he failed to do, and made his way to Dunkirk. It was at that time the middle of December, but, accompanied by a few attendants, he managed to find a ship to take him to Scotland, and landed at Peterhead three days before Christmas.

This news filled me with dismay, for I felt certain there would be bitter fighting, and if there was, Dickon might well be in the thick of it.

The days passed and there was no news. The family had been amazed to hear that I had a half sister. It was something they did not want to discuss openly, though, because they deplored the fact that my parents had not been married, and they found it rather shameful that Hessenfield should have had another illegitimate daughter.

I thought a great deal about those days in Paris when Aimee must have been living not so very far from me, and chatting with Jeanne was the best way of recalling them.

Naturally she remembered so much more of our life there than I could. I asked her a great many questions, and I began to feel that I was back there living it all again.

I made her tell me about the life at the hotel. "Did you ever hear of Aimee and her mother?”

"Never," declared Jeanne. "But never ... never. My Lord was always with your mother when he was in Paris. He did go away now and then ... it was all rather secret. He went to and from Paris to the Court of Saint-Germain. But never did I hear that there was another woman.”

"Are you sure, Jeanne?”

Jeanne nodded emphatically. She closed her eyes and lifted her head to the ceiling.