101. A Call of Love Read online

  A Call of Love

  BARBARA CARTLAND

  www.barbaracartland.com

  Copyright © 2013 by Cartland Promotions

  First published on the internet in January 2013 by Barbaracartland.com

  ISBNs

  978-1-78213-331-5 Epub

  978-1-78213-332-2 mobi

  The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronically or mechanically, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval, without the prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  eBook conversion by M-Y Books

  A CALL OF LOVE

  Then, as Aisha pulled back the curtain to place the hanger onto the rail, she gave a scream of horror.

  Hiding behind the curtain was Arthur Watkins!

  He stepped out smiling and crowed,

  “You thought you were free of me, pretty lady, but I don’t give up so easily.”

  As he spoke, he seized her arm.

  Then he placed one hand over her mouth so that she could not scream again.

  Arthur Watkins had actually been thinking all day of how he could be in touch with what he had decided was the prettiest girl he had ever seen.

  He had always moved in a Society where money was much more important than breeding or education and, because he was so rich, he was used to having any interest he showed in a woman reciprocated.

  Because Aisha had avoided him, she had set him a challenge and a challenge was something that he had never refused or ignored in his busy and successful life.

  THE BARBARA CARTLAND PINK COLLECTION

  Barbara Cartland was the most prolific bestselling author in the history of the world. She was frequently in the Guinness Book of Records for writing more books in a year than any other living author. In fact her most amazing literary feat was when her publishers asked for more Barbara Cartland romances, she doubled her output from 10 books a year to over 20 books a year, when she was 77.

  She went on writing continuously at this rate for 20 years and wrote her last book at the age of 97, thus completing 400 books between the ages of 77 and 97.

  Her publishers finally could not keep up with this phenomenal output, so at her death she left 160 unpublished manuscripts, something again that no other author has ever achieved.

  Now the exciting news is that these 160 original unpublished Barbara Cartland books are ready for publication and they will be published by Barbaracartland.com exclusively on the internet, as the web is the best possible way to reach so many Barbara Cartland readers around the world.

  The 160 books will be published monthly and will be numbered in sequence.

  The series is called the Pink Collection as a tribute to Barbara Cartland whose favourite colour was pink and it became very much her trademark over the years.

  The Barbara Cartland Pink Collection is published only on the internet. Log on to www.barbaracartland.com to find out how you can purchase the books monthly as they are published, and take out a subscription that will ensure that all subsequent editions are delivered to you by mail order to your home.

  If you do not have access to a computer you can write for information about the Pink Collection to the following address :

  BarbaraCartland.com

  Camfield Place

  Hatfield

  Hertfordshire

  AL9 6JE

  United Kingdom

  Telephone: +44 1707 642629

  Fax: +44 1707 663041

  Titles in this series

  These titles are currently available for download. For more information please see the Where to buy page at the end of this book.

  The Cross Of Love

  Love In The Highlands

  Love Finds The Way

  The Castle Of Love

  Love Is Triumphant

  Stars In The Sky

  The Ship Of Love

  A Dangerous Disguise

  Love Became Theirs

  Love Drives In

  Sailing To Love

  The Star Of Love

  Music Is The Soul Of Love

  Love In The East

  Theirs To Eternity

  A Paradise On Earth

  Love Wins In Berlin

  In Search Of Love

  Love Rescues Rosanna

  A Heart In Heaven

  The House Of Happiness

  Royalty Defeated By Love

  The White Witch

  They Sought Love

  Love Is The Reason For Living

  They Found Their Way To Heaven

  Learning To Love

  Journey To Happiness

  A Kiss In The Desert

  The Heart Of Love

  The Richness Of Love

  For Ever And Ever

  An Unexpected Love

  Saved By An Angel

  Touching The Stars

  Seeking Love

  Journey To Love

  The Importance Of Love

  Love By The Lake

  A Dream Come True

  The King Without A Heart

  The Waters Of Love

  Danger To The Duke

  A Perfect Way To Heaven

  Follow Your Heart

  In Hiding

  Rivals For Love

  A Kiss From The Heart

  Lovers In London

  This Way To Heaven

  A Princess Prays

  Mine For Ever

  The Earl’s Revenge

  Love At The Tower

  Ruled By Love

  Love Came From Heaven

  Love And Apollo

  The Keys Of Love

  A Castle Of Dreams

  A Battle Of Brains

  A Change Of Hearts

  It Is Love

  The Triumph Of Love

  Wanted – A Royal Wife

  A Kiss Of Love

  To Heaven With Love

  Pray For Love

  The Marquis Is Trapped

  Hide And Seek For Love

  Hiding from Love

  A Teacher Of Love

  Money Or Love

  The Revelation Is Love

  The Tree Of Love

  The Magnificent Marquis

  The Castle

  The Gates of Paradise

  A Lucky Star

  A Heaven on Earth

  The Healing Hand

  A Virgin Bride

  The Trail to Love

  A Royal Love Match

  A Steeplechase for Love

  Love at Last

  Search for a Wife

  Secret Love

  A Miracle of Love

  Love and the Clans

  A Shooting Star

  The Winning Post is Love

  They Touched Heaven

  The Mountain of Love

  The Queen Wins

  Love and the Gods

  Joined by Love

  The Duke is Deceived

  A Prayer For Love

  Love Conquers War

  A Rose in Jeopardy

  A Call of Love

  THE LATE DAME BARBARA CARTLAND

  Barbara Cartland, who sadly died in May 2000 at the grand age of ninety eight, remains one of the world’s most famous romantic novelists. With worldwide sales of over one billion, her outstanding 723 books have been translated into thirty six different languages, to be enjoyed by readers of romance globally.

  Writing her first book ‘Jigsaw
’ at the age of 21, Barbara became an immediate bestseller. Building upon this initial success, she wrote continuously throughout her life, producing bestsellers for an astonishing 76 years. In addition to Barbara Cartland’s legion of fans in the UK and across Europe, her books have always been immensely popular in the USA. In 1976 she achieved the unprecedented feat of having books at numbers 1 & 2 in the prestigious B. Dalton Bookseller bestsellers list.

  Although she is often referred to as the ‘Queen of Romance’, Barbara Cartland also wrote several historical biographies, six autobiographies and numerous theatrical plays as well as books on life, love, health and cookery. Becoming one of Britain's most popular media personalities and dressed in her trademark pink, Barbara spoke on radio and television about social and political issues, as well as making many public appearances.

  In 1991 she became a Dame of the Order of the British Empire for her contribution to literature and her work for humanitarian and charitable causes.

  Known for her glamour, style, and vitality Barbara Cartland became a legend in her own lifetime. Best remembered for her wonderful romantic novels and loved by millions of readers worldwide, her books remain treasured for their heroic heroes, plucky heroines and traditional values. But above all, it was Barbara Cartland’s overriding belief in the positive power of love to help, heal and improve the quality of life for everyone that made her truly unique.

  “If you really love someone, you are a part of him and he is a part of you. You know what he is thinking, you know what he is feeling and above all you know that he loves you, as indeed you love him.”

  Barbara Cartland

  CHAPTER ONE

  1880

  Lord Kenington woke with a start and remembered that he was at sea.

  He had been very tired when he came aboard the P & O Liner, which was taking him to India.

  After eating a supper brought to his cabin by his valet, he had climbed into bed. He knew that he had a great deal to think about and decide on when he was alone, but instead he had fallen asleep.

  Now, as he glanced at the clock beside him, he saw that it was well into a new day.

  He had been extremely busy before he had come on board.

  The Prime Minister had asked him if he would go out to India and bring back to him a personal report on the situation on the frontier of that country.

  India was of huge importance to Great Britain and there was an unmistakable menace from the Russians.

  The Cossacks, riding magnificently across Southern Asia, were coming nearer and nearer to what was always considered the brightest jewel in the British Crown.

  Queen Victoria herself had told Lord Kenington that she wanted a much more intimate report than she had been currently receiving and the Prime Minister had spent several hours discussing his mission with him.

  Now, having rung for his valet, Lord Kenington got up and began to dress, having decided that he would go down to breakfast rather than have it in his cabin.

  He had made it a rule never to talk while he was dressing. He always disliked chatter early in the morning and his valet therefore handed him his clothes one by one without saying a word.

  Then he walked out and onto the deck for a little fresh air before he went to the Saloon for breakfast.

  They were a long way down the English Channel and he realised they would soon be in the Bay of Biscay, which was invariably rough however bright the sunshine.

  As he was an excellent sailor, a rough sea did not worry him, in fact he rather enjoyed it.

  As he walked round the deck, he thought by the time he reached India he would be sadly short of exercise.

  In London he would normally ride his exceedingly fine horses in Rotten Row early in the morning and, when he was in the country, he had an early breakfast so that he could ride for at least two hours before he started work.

  He should, at the age of twenty-eight, have been enjoying himself, like most of his friends, with the beauties in Mayfair who were hotly pursued by the Prince of Wales.

  Lord Kenington had, however, found recently that however beautiful a woman might be, in a short while she became boring.

  Although it might seem absurd, he really preferred working to making love.

  This suited the Prime Minister and the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, who both regularly consulted him on various matters of State. If there was trouble in Paris, it was said almost automatically,

  “Oh, send Kenington over to see what is wrong,” and then the Prime Minister would insist that the same rule applied to most other countries in Europe.

  He had inherited his brain and air of authority from a long line of impressive ancestors, who had played their part in English politics from the moment they were born.

  When Lord Kenington’s father died and he came into the title, there was no doubt that young Charles was a ‘chip off the old block’.

  At Eton he had always been top of the class and at Cambridge University he had been awarded a First.

  “The trouble with you, Charles, is that you have too many brains for your age,” one of his friends said to him. “You make us all feel stupid and we naturally resent it.”

  Lord Kenington had smiled, but did not reply and he knew only too well that his friends would be more than willing to accept his many invitations to shoot, to hunt and to take part in the steeplechase that was one of the great events in the spring.

  At his home, which was one of the finest ancestral houses in the whole of England, everything ran perfectly like clockwork.

  He was not required to give very much personal attention to it and this left him free for the political and diplomatic world in which he had made his name. Invariably he was involved in every crisis, whether it happened in London, Europe or Timbuktu.

  His mother had been delighted when he told her that he was going to India.

  “Whether you like it or not, dearest Charles,” she said, “you will have a rest on the way out and on the way back for at least seventeen days each way. That is what I have been wanting for you for some time.”

  “Wanting for me, but why Mama?” he had asked. “You are not suggesting that I am not in good health?”

  “I still think you are spending far too much time in so many consultations and private meetings,” she replied. “I am looking for the day when you bring home a wife and then have at least three sons to inherit your name and your glorious homes.”

  Lord Kenington had thrown up his hands, “Oh, not that again, Mama!” he complained. “I am sick to death of being told I should marry and settle down! As you well know, if I did so, I would be bored to tears and would probably leave my wife at home and go round the world on my own.”

  His mother had laughed, but at the same time there was an anxious expression in her eyes. She felt, as mothers often do, that her beloved son, and he was the only one, was wasting his youth.

  He was so handsome that it seemed absurd that he was shut up day after day with men old enough to be his father on matters she felt they should know better than he.

  Now there was trouble in India, but as his mother had said plaintively,

  “There is always trouble there. I cannot think why they cannot solve it themselves without you having to be called in.”

  “It is a compliment, Mama. In fact I would have been hurt and surprised if they had not asked my opinion.”

  There was nothing his mother could say except to beg him to rest when he had the chance.

  He must not wear himself out over troubles which, as everybody knew, were inevitable, as the British Empire expanded more and more every day.

  However Lord Kenington had set off optimistically.

  He was determined to solve all the problems that awaited him and yet, as his mother had foretold, he was glad of the rest he would be obliged to take on the voyage.

  He said to himself as he drove to Tilbury,

  ‘At least I will have a chance to read.’

  He devoured books, his mother said,
in the way that a hungry animal devours its food and he had put a pile on one side for his valet to pack with his clothes.

  Now, as he had walked round the deck for the third time, he thought he should go into breakfast and he would then see what his fellow passengers were like.

  He had been invited to sit at the Captain’s table, which was a compliment, but he had managed to refuse by saying he had so much work to do and he might therefore be erratic in the times he came into meals.

  So he had been given a table to himself on one side of the dining room and he then had a good view of the other passengers from where he was sitting.

  They were, he realised at once, very much what he had expected.

  They were all First Class passengers, including a number of Officers returning from leave, also Subalterns going out for the first time and excited at being sent to the East. There were inevitably a good number of middle-aged couples and large women who talked too loudly and were somewhat over-dressed.

  The breakfast was reasonable, but not particularly imaginative and he did not waste much time over it.

  When he rose from his table, one of the Stewards hurried to open the door for him and he thanked him as he walked out.

  He had intended to go back to his cabin to collect a book he was reading and take it on deck.

  But, as he passed the library, he thought it would be a good idea to see if there was anything he liked the look of before the rest of the passengers took the best books away.

  He turned and went into the library, which was no more than a small cabin.

  It was well stocked with books, even though they were not the sort that he would be likely to read. A large number were novels and there was a shelf of guide books.

  These were particularly popular with people going to the East, who had not brought one themselves and so they read them avidly from cover to cover. And, as this ship was a new one, the books were new too.

  Lord Kenington thought there might conceivably be a book on India he had not read, although he had ordered his secretary to purchase all those that had been recently published.

  He was looking along a shelf in the library, when a voice beside him said, “Please can I talk to you, my Lord?”