The Importance of Love Read online

  THE IMPORTANCE OF LOVE

  Copyright © 2007 by Cartland Promotions

  First published on the internet in November 2007 by

  Barbaracartland.com

  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

  THE IMPORTANCE OF LOVE

  Cork brought the luncheon to the table and the Viscount started to discuss the gardens with her. He was far too nervous to broach the subject of marriage so early in the conversation.

  Eventually, as the meal drew to a close, he knew he would have to take his courage in both hands and ask the question burning inside him.

  Clearing his throat, he said,

  “I was wondering if you have had the opportunity to consider my proposal.”

  Luella put down her dessertspoon and could not meet his eyes.

  He noticed that she seemed hesitant to speak and believed the worst.

  “I have,” she responded at last in her clear musical voice. “But after what I am about to tell you, you may wish to consider whether or not to withdraw it.”

  “Never,” he cried, his brown eyes burning. “Why would I do such a thing?”

  “Because,” mumbled Luella quietly. “I was once engaged – to another.”

  The Viscount’s heart was now beating so furiously it made his breathing difficult.

  “Is that all?” he spluttered. “It is of no consequence – it does not present any impediment to our becoming engaged.”

  “But, I – I am second-hand goods.”

  “You mean – ?”

  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 :

  Barbara Cartland.com Ltd.

  240 High Road,

  Harrow Weald,

  Harrow

  HA3 7BB

  United Kingdom.

  Telephone & fax: +44 (0)20 8863 2520

  Titles in this series

  1. The Cross of Love

  2. Love in the Highlands

  3. Love Finds the Way

  4. The Castle of Love

  5. Love is Triumphant

  6. Stars in the Sky

  7. The Ship of Love

  8. A Dangerous Disguise

  9. Love Became Theirs

  10. Love Drives In

  11. Sailing to Love

  12. The Star of Love

  13. Music is the Soul of Love

  14. Love in the East

  15. Theirs to Eternity

  16. A Paradise on Earth

  17. Love Wins in Berlin

  18. In Search of Love

  19. Love Rescues Rosanna

  20. A Heart in Heaven

  21. Royalty Defeated by Love

  22. The White Witch

  23. They Sought Love

  24. Love is the Reason for Living

  25. They Found Their Way to Heaven

  26. Learning to Love

  27. Journey to Happiness

  28. A Kiss in the Desert

  29. The Heart of Love

  30. The Richness of Love

  31. For Ever and Ever

  32. An Unexpected Love

  33. Saved by an Angel

  34. Touching the Stars

  35. Seeking Love

  36. Journey to Love

  37. The Importance of Love

  38. The House of Happiness

  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.

  “When I was asked at the age of twelve what was the most important thing in life, I answered immediately – LOVE. I am now ninety and I have never changed my view and will never do so!”

  Barbara Cartland

  CHAPTER ONE

  -

  1901

  “Come, Aunt Edith,” whispered Luella Ridgeway, as she watched the bell boy struggling with a pile of suitcases as they entered the lift. “We must make haste.”

  The bell boy grunted and shifted the case und
er his arm so that it was more comfortable. Why the English ladies were in such a hurry at this hour of the night was beyond him.

  “Luella,” asked the Countess of Ridgeway, as she squeezed into the lift alongside her. “Did you remember to pack your nightclothes that were underneath your pillow? I do hope you did not leave that lovely silk nightdress behind.”

  “It’s in the brown case,” sighed Luella as the lift slowly descended.

  The lift doors opened and they found themselves in a lobby that was eerily quiet. There was only a night porter on duty and one desk clerk.

  The Countess strode purposefully towards the desk and, in clear French, asked for their bill.

  “You are leaving us, Madame la Comtesse?” enquired the clerk.

  “We are and I would be obliged to you if you would refrain from answering any enquiries as to our whereabouts or our destination. We wish to travel in secret.”

  “Bien sûr, Madame la Comtesse,” replied the Clerk, handing over their account.

  The Countess stared at it through her lorgnette and then pulled out several high-denomination notes from her purse. Luella stood nervously behind her, looking around with eyes as uneasy as a frightened rabbit’s.

  “Aunt, I do hope that awful man is not about to come through those doors,” she said with a great deal of agitation in her voice.

  “Do not concern yourself,” replied the Countess. “I heard him order a carriage to the casino just a few hours ago – he will be ages yet. He will play until his funds have run out.”

  “I do hope so,” muttered Luella, brushing back a strand of fair hair that had escaped from her hat. Her pale-blue eyes were large and the pupils very dilated. Her bottom lip trembled in her sweet, heart-shaped face and she looked for the whole world like an ethereal waif, wafted to earth by the Gods themselves.

  It was those unusual looks that had brought her trouble. Ever since she had encountered Frank Connolly in a hotel in Monte Carlo, he had proved to be a most difficult customer.

  “It is always the same with these hard-up buccaneers,” her aunt had said, when he had made Luella cry with his persistent and unwanted attentions. “He looks at you and as well as desperately wanting to own your beauty, all he can see is a fortune that will rescue him from his ignominy. He must know that you stand to inherit a very large sum, not to mention all my Scottish estates when I am gone.”

  “Oh, Aunt, do not even mention that! I don’t care a fig for your money, although I must admit that I love your castle very much.”

  “And it will be yours one day,” the Countess had replied.

  And now, a month later, they had been forced to flee from hotel to hotel with Frank Connolly in hot pursuit.

  Finally, after a terrible week in Paris where he had threatened to take his own life if Luella would not promise to marry him immediately, they had decided to head for England and return to their Scottish home in Perthshire.

  Tucking her purse under her arm, Aunt Edith followed the bell boy out to the waiting carriage and the night porter ran to hold open the door for them.

  “Bon voyage, Madame Comtesse, Mademoiselle Ridgeway,” he said with a bow. “Will we see you again soon?”

  “I should not have thought so,” said the Countess haughtily. Then turning to the driver she spoke urgently, “Depechez-vous, monsieur. La Gare Saint Lazare, s’il vous plait.”

  With both women and their luggage safely on board, the carriage sprang forward and Luella heaved a sigh of relief.

  She knew that her aunt was right. Frank Connolly would be at the gaming tables long into the small hours of the morning by which time they would be on the boat train for Dover.

  As they tore through the streets of Paris, she sat back in her seat and thought of Scotland.

  It had been a year since she had last set foot on British soil and she was looking forward to her return.

  “We shall not linger in Dover,” said Aunt Edith, as they reached the station. “I know a discreet hotel in Hastings where we shall stay before we make our way to the West Country.”

  “The West Country!” cried Luella. “Are we not travelling to London to catch the Inverness train? I had been looking forward to shopping and sight-seeing.”

  “No,” asserted the Countess quietly. “London is the first place that Connolly will come looking for us. No, we shall outfox him by detouring to Cornwall and then, from there, we shall travel North as soon as I feel that the coast is clear.”

  “Why Cornwall, Aunt?”

  “I have a very dear friend who lives just outside Bude whom I have not seen in many years. I have already written to her saying to expect us. Frank Connolly is not an easy man to shake off – an obsessed man never is. I shall not rest until we are on the boat and I am certain he is not on board.”

  Upon arriving the driver opened the door for them and Luella saw a porter scurrying towards them with a trolley for their cases.

  “Yes, the sooner we reach Calais, the better,” she agreed, following their luggage. “I so hope we have now shaken off Frank Connolly for good!”

  *

  “Very well, Kennington – I’ll see you.”

  The red-haired man with the neatly clipped moustache drew heavily on his cigar and held his cards close to his face as the smoke curled upwards. Opposite him, David, the Viscount Kennington, sighed and threw his cards down on the table.

  “A pair of sevens,” he said in disgust as his fellow player scooped up the pile of coins and notes from the centre of the table. “I’m out, old man.”

  “What, you are quitting?” “I am afraid so, Chalmers,” sighed Viscount Kennington, rising from his chair. He swept his hand over his thick black hair and stretched out his long muscular arms.

  The tie around his neck remained loose as he gathered up the small pile of coins next to him. He stood up and retrieved his jacket from the back of the chair.

  “Another night, maybe, your luck will be better,” said Lord Chalmers.

  “I have lost all heart for the card tables of late,” replied the Viscount wearily.

  “Nonsense, man. You have just had a bad run of luck that is all. You should try another game next time.”

  The Viscount smiled thinly and adjusted his necktie. It was two o’clock in the morning and he was tired. He hoped that his driver had not fallen asleep outside in Hanover Square.

  “Goodbye, then, Kennington. Will I see you at the Reform next weekend? Bit of a beano with the Straffords – their son and heir is getting married.”

  “I will see. Goodnight, Chalmers.”

  “Goodnight, Kennington, and do not disappoint us! Strafford will be dashed upset if you do not put in an appearance.”

  The Viscount smiled at him through the cigar smoke and buttoned his jacket. He strode towards the exit with a lithe grace that pointed to a fondness for athletics in his youth.

  At Cambridge he had been the star of the rugby team as well as a champion oarsman.

  But those days were long gone, as was his passion for architecture that had taken him to the university in the first place.

  Many of his tutors had hoped he would become a very successful architect, but since returning to London he had idled his time away in the gaming houses and gentlemen’s clubs of the Capital.

  There were so many distractions once the Season started – and then there was the Gaiety Theatre with its beautiful and available women.

  The Viscount had disappointed his father by showing no signs of continuing the family line by entering into the state of marriage. In fact, he had done everything in his power to avoid it.

  “I do not ascribe much importance to love,” he had told his companions, one evening around the dining table at Lord Cheshunt’s house. “One should take one’s pleasures naturally. But marriage? It is for fools who have no choice in the matter.”

  There had been much sage nodding of heads around the table of assorted Lords, Earls and Baronets, all of whom had made ‘good marriages’, but who inevitably found amusem
ent in the arms of women other than their wives.

  Climbing into his carriage, the Viscount yawned and was glad that the journey from Hanover Square to South Audley Street would be a swift one. He longed for the comfort of his bed in the house that his modest income had bought him.

  ‘If only Father had not decided to punish me,’ he thought.

  The Viscount felt upset that his father had effectively curtailed his hopes of renovating and remoulding a derelict property that Lord Chalmers had told him about.

  After he had refused to marry the heiress to the Merriott fortune, his father had shown his displeasure by cutting his allowance and forbidding the Viscount’s grandfather from intervening and supplementing his favourite grandson’s income.

  “Grandpapa has always been keen for me to resurrect my career in architecture and that house Chalmers mentioned would have been just the thing,” he murmured out loud. “Perhaps I should pay him a visit tomorrow and see if I can persuade him to help me out. What Father does not know cannot hurt him!”

  With hope dawning in his heart, he settled back in his carriage and allowed the rocking movement to lull him to sleep. By the time they arrived at South Audley Street, he felt happier than he had done in weeks.

  *

  The next morning, Hoskin, the Viscount’s valet, shaved him and helped him dress.

  “Will you be requiring breakfast, my Lord?”

  “Not today, Hoskin. I intend to call upon my grandfather. Some hot coffee is all I need.”

  As soon as Hoskin had finished attending to him, the Viscount gulped down a cup of coffee and put on his hat and a light jacket as the weather was warm and fine.

  His mind was very much on the property that Chalmers had told him was up for sale – an almost derelict, Jacobean mansion on the outskirts of Buckingham with plenty of land and a river running through it.

  ‘This would give me the opportunity to prove to myself that I am still capable of producing wonderful and modern designs,’ he told himself, as he tipped his hat to Lady Castleford who passed by in her open landau on her way to Hyde Park.