When the lawyers worried him he sent curt and evasive replies, telling
them in so many words to do the best they could without him, and when
Lady Angleford wrote, begging him to return and take up his duties, he
answered with condolences on her loss, and vague assurances that he
would be back--some time. Then she wrote again; the kind of letter a
clever woman can write; the letter which, for all its gentleness, stings
and irritates: "Much as you may dislike it, much as it may interfere with your love of
wandering, the fact remains that you are the Earl of Angleford, my dear
Drake. And the Earl of Angleford has higher duties than ordinary men.
The lawyers want you, the estate want you, the people--do you think they
do not want you? And, most of all, I think, I want you. Do you remember
our first meeting? It was thought that I had come between you and yours;
but the fact that I have not done so, the consolation I find in the
thought, is made of no avail by your absence. You are too good a fellow
to inflict pain upon a lonely and sorrow-stricken woman, Drake. Come
back and take your place among your peers and your people. Sometimes I
think there must be some reason, some mysterious cause, for your
prolonged absence, your reluctance to take up the duties and
responsibilities of the position which has fallen to you; but if there
should be, I beg of you to forget it, to set it aside. You are, you
cannot help being, the Earl of Angleford. Come and play your part like a
man."
* * * * * It was the kind of letter which few men, certainly not Drake, could
resist. Wondering bitterly whether she guessed at the reason, the cause
of his reluctance to return to England, to take up the purple and ermine
which had fallen from her husband's shoulders, he wrote a short note
saying that he would "come back." In a second letter he asked her to get
Angleford ready for him, not dreaming that she would take his request as
a carte blanche, and turn the old place inside out and make it fit, as
she considered fitness, for its new lord and master.
As the _Seagull_ glided to her moorings, his expression grew harder and
sterner. He was a man of the world, and he knew what would be expected
of him. An earl, the owner of an historic title and vast estates, has a
paramount duty--that of providing an heir to his title and lands.
Now that he had come back, he would be expected, would be hustled and
goaded into marrying. Marrying! He swore under his breath, and began to
pace up and down restlessly, so that Mr. Murphy, the yacht's master,
thinking that his lordship was in a hurry to land, bustled the crew a
bit. But when the dingy was lowered and the man-o'-warlike sailors were
in their places, their lord and master lingered, for he was loath to
leave the _Seagull_. How many nights had he paced her deck, thinking of
Nell, calling up the vision of the clear, oval face, the soft, dark
hair, the eyes that had grown violet-hued as they turned lovingly to
him. That vision had sailed with him through many a stormy and sunlit
sea, and he was loath to part with it. On shore, there he would have to
plunge into his "duties," would have to sign leases, and read deeds, and
listen to stewards and agents. There would be little time to think, to
dream of Nell.