An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition by Cartland Barbara Page A

crying?”
    “You call him Rodney!” Phillida’s lips seemed to twist as she spoke his name.
    “Why not when he will be my brother-in-law?” Lizbeth asked. “And do not weep for him. He will be a success. I know it as clearly as I know the sun will rise to-morrow morning. You know how I am always right about such things. I have seen it in his face – or is it some aura which lies about him? Whatever it is, I know for a certainty that he will return rich and successful, and then you can be married.
    Phillida had been staring at Lizbeth as she spoke, now she gave a muffled cry and put her hands to her face.
    “Married!” She whispered the word and there was an intonation of horror about it which made Lizbeth pause and look at her in surprise.
    She saw then that Phillida, still on her knees, was trembling. Her night robe was thin and the room was cold.
    “You will catch a chill,” Lizbeth said. “Get into bed, Phillida, and then we can talk. Come on now”
    She put out her arms as she spoke to help her sister, and Phillida, taking her hands from her face, allowed herself to be half-lifted into the big oak four-poster with its curtains of Chinese silk. Lizbeth tucked the sheets round her and then, pulling up the bed-spread, wrapped it round her own shoulders.
    “Tell me what is the matter,” she said coaxingly, taking Phillida’s hand in hers.
    Phillida turned her head away wearily.
    “I cannot tell you,” she said.
    “But you must,” Lizbeth answered. “There is no one else you can talk to. Catherine would not listen, and besides, I am sure you have no wish to tell her your secrets. Tell me, Phillida. It is easier to bear a sorrow if it is shared.”
    “There is nothing to tell,” Phillida said stubbornly.
    “Then why are you crying?” Lizbeth said.
    Phillida tried to take her hand away from Lizbeth’s firm grasp,
    “You would not understated,” she said.
    “Try me and see,” Lizbeth replied. “’Tis about Rodney, is it not? Can it be that you have no desire to wed him?”
    She saw Phillida press her lips together and knew she had struck the right note.
    “You do not love him, is that it?” she went on. “Perhaps there is someone else you love – another man?”
    “No, there is no one,” Phillida answered hastily.
    “Then I cannot understand you,” Lizbeth said. “If there is no one else, you should be happy to marry Rodney. I like him. He will be kind to you, I am sure of that, and he loves you.”
    She shut her eyes for a moment. She could see Rodney’s face as he watched Phillida intent on her embroidery; she saw the look in his eyes as he said goodbye to her. It was the look of a man who finds beauty a priceless treasure.
    “I cannot marry him!” The words seemed to be wrung from Phillida’s lips almost as if they tortured her.
    “Why not?” Lizbeth asked. “You will have to marry someone.”
    “No! No! No!” Phillida answered, and then suddenly she was crying again, bitter tears which seemed to shake her tempestuously.
    “Oh! poor Phillida!” Lizbeth’s arms went out impulsively, then Phillida’s head was against her shoulder and she cradled her in her arms, rocking her as one might rock a frightened child.
    “You shall not marry him if you feel like that. You must tell Father and he must explain to Rodney. I cannot believe he will force you against your will.”
    Still Phillida wept.
    “I cannot understand your disliking him so much,” Lizbeth went on, “but you will find someone you like more. I thought that you might care for Sir Richard Sutton or Master Thomas Hunter who courted you last year. They came here often enough and yet they never asked Father for your hand.”
    Phillida still said nothing. A sudden suspicion made Lizbeth ask,
    “Phillida, did you send them away?”
    “Yes.” Phillida’s was muffled but clear.
    “But how?” Lizbeth asked.
    “I told them that I would never live with them as – as their wife.” Her voice was hardly above a whisper