Journey to Happiness
JOURNEY TO HAPPINESS
Copyright © 2007 by Cartland Promotions
First published on the internet in January 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.
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JOURNEY TO HAPPINESS
She looked at Hugh trying to tell him without words that she needed his kiss.
Instead he took her hand and held it between both his. After a moment, with her pulses racing as she wondered what he meant to do, he dropped his head and laid his lips against the back of her hand.
Then, without raising his head, he turned her hand over and kissed her palm with lips that seemed to scorch her. Pleasure travelled like wildfire up her arm and across her skin until she was trembling with delight.
Martina took deep breaths to steady herself against the power of such strong feelings. Surely now he would kiss her, as she yearned for him to do.
But he looked up at her. When he spoke it was in an unsteady voice.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I gave you my word.”
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Her publishers finally could not keep up with this phenomenal output, so at her death she left 160 unpublished manuscripts, something again that no other author has ever achieved.
Now the exciting news is that these 160 original unpublished Barbara Cartland books are ready for publication and they will be published by Barbaracartland.com exclusively on the internet, as the web is the best possible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
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
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.
“What everyone needs and longs for is love, love, love
– and not sex, sex, sex!”
Barbara Cartland
CHAPTER ONE
-
1883
A ball at Lady Bellingham’s country house was always the height of elegance. Scented flowers adorned the ballroom and the orchestra was the best that money could buy.
The guests also were of the best in the land. The Bellinghams had many well connected neighbours and although the London Season was over, there were still aristocratic young ladies who hoped to find husbands as well-born as themselves. Or if not well-born, then rich.
Sir Hugh Faversham, whose own estate, Faversham Park, was about five miles away, was a mere Baronet, but his vast wealth made him acceptable to the very highest ranks.
It was now fifteen years since his first appearance in Society, but he was still single and still preferring bachelor pleasures to the joys of marriage.
Or so the world thought.
Only those who knew him best realised that he would have abandoned his self-indulgent life in a moment if only a certain lady would just smile on him.
But since the lady remained hard-hearted he had no choice but to fill his existence with idle pastimes for which he cared very little.
“I swear I have thrown every eligible debutante into his path,” Lady Bellingham complained. “He flirts with them all, smiles at them all, dances with them all. And forgets them the next moment.”
“You throw too many pretty girls into his path,” her spouse advised her. “He has grown adept at side-stepping them.”
“I told him once, frankly, it was time he thought of filling the Faversham nurseries. After all, he owes something to tradition.”
“And what did he say to that idea?”
“He said ‘what tradition?’” her Ladyship responded in accents of deep exasperation. “The title could die out for all he cares. I said, ‘Really! After all the trouble his grandfather took securing it!’ And he said that was exactly what he meant.”
“Good for him! A man with his moneybags can say what he pleases.”
“You are just impossible!”
“Anything you say, my dear.”
Having completed his duty dances, Sir Hugh was walking around the ballroom, watching the whirling couples with an apparently careless eye.
In fact he was completely alert for any sign of his beloved entering the ballroom.
Several ladies tried to catch his attention, not only because he was wealthy, but because he was also a fine handsome gentleman in the prime of life.
His figure was tall and athletic and his face lean with regular features and a wide good-tempered mouth.
But Sir Hugh cared for only one lady and she was not present.
At last his patience was rewarded by the late arrival of Lady Fayebourn, Miss Harriet Shepton and Miss Martina Lawson.
The two young ladies looked very much alike, both in their early twenties. tall and slender with glorious fair hair. They might have been sisters.
By far the prettier of the two was Miss Shepton. Her features were dainty, her eyes large and blue, her expression winning. Hers was a face to make men fall in love.
Miss Lawson was attractive, but the most notable characteristic in her face was her intelligence. Her eyes were keen, almost sharp, her chin resolute and there was nothing melting in her manner.
It was even rumoured that she was a blue-stocking. Horror of horrors! Here was a young woman who but for her comfortable dowry would have frightened the suitors away.
Yet it was Miss Lawson who made Sir Hugh’s eyes soften as he looked at her. Miss Shepton was to him no more than a pretty doll.
He greeted all three ladies with great courtesy and attentiveness and procured ice creams for them. When he returned it was to find that Martina had vanished.
“Lord Perriwick asked her to dance,” said Harriet.
“Ah, yes,” muttered Sir Hugh displeased. “I know him and I believe he is greatly in debt.”
“Fie, sir,” Lady Fayebourn intervened archly. “You are always so hard on us poor ladies. Fancy saying that the only reason a man would want to dance with Martina was because he was after her money.”
“I didn’t precisely – ”
“I own that she is no great beauty unlike dear Harriet here. But she is pleasant enough in her way, although I dislike a woman who displays her intelligence quite so blatantly, don’t you, Sir Hugh?”
Sir Hugh thought that nobody could accuse Lady Fayebourn of blatant intelligence, but he kept his opinions to himself.
As soon as possible he edged towards Martina, noticing how stunning she looked in an evening dress of pale rose tulle adorned with lattice panels of violet satin.
His intention was to ask her to dance, but he was foiled at the last moment by another partner, who whisked her away from under his nose.
For a while he had to content himself with watching her whirl about the room, thinking that no other lady looked so graceful and wishing her partner to perdition.
He consoled himself by dancing with Harriet. They knew each other slightly since Martina was staying at Harriet’s nearby home, Shepton Grange, and he had danced with her before.
She was very pretty in pale yellow, although Sir Hugh’s experienced eye was sure he had seen her in the same dress last season.
It was strongly rumoured that Harriet lived under the thumb of Rupert Ingleby, her stepfather. He had married Mrs. Shepton for her money and demanded every penny for himself, forcing his step-daughter to scrimp and save.
Martina lived with the family and had seen what was happening and had often told Sir Hugh that the rumours were true. On occasions like this he understood it for himself.
“I am delighted to see you here, Miss Shepton,” he began as they danced. “I hope that your dear Mama is better these days?”
“I am afraid Mama is still an invalid,” Harriet replied with a sigh, “and she always will be. My stepfather did not really wish me to come tonight. He said it was inappropriate but Mama said she liked to see me enjoying myself.”
“She is right and I am very glad you allowed yourself to be persuaded. How could Martina have come without you?”
“I couldn’t let Martina down when she has been such a good friend to me,” Harriet responded at once. “I don’t know what I would do without her.”
“I imagine that if your own social life is restricted, hers must be as well,” he said, trying not to reveal just how interested he was in Martina’s social life.
“Oh, yes, indeed,” Harriet concurred. “But Martina is very fond of reading, you know. She says she would rather read a good book than talk nonsense to a gentleman any day!”
She made the remark quite unconsciously. It did not seem to have occurred to her that Sir Hugh might have a personal interest in her friend.
He wondered if Harriet thought that, at thirty-five, he was too old to aspire to Martina’s hand. It was a demeaning thought.
“Does she consider that all gentlemen talk nonsense?” he asked mildly.
“She says most of them do and the great advantage of a book is that you can close it whenever you want, even in mid-sentence, without having to worry about hurting its feelings.”
“That sounds so like Miss Lawson,” he said appreciatively. “I can just hear her saying it.”
The dance came to an end. Harriet’s hand was immediately solicited by another partner, but Sir Hugh had to wait another half-an-hour before he could engage Martina’s attention.
When he asked her to dance, she gave him a charming smile.
“Of course. How could any ball be complete if I didn’t dance with my dearest friend?”
There was something depressing about the word ‘friend’ when he longed so much to be a closer relation. But it was better than nothing, he supposed.
As they danced Sir Hugh would have liked to give the conversation a sentimental turn, but Martina’s mind was fixed on other subjects.
“I saw you dancing with Harriet,” she said. “Did she seem to you in good spirits?”
“I am afraid not, but then I think she is never very lively. I understand that her home life is none too happy.”
“You are so right, I fear. I have known it since the day I went to stay with her after her mother married that dreadful man.”
Her face was grim as she continued,
“Mr. Ingleby, her stepfather, obviously disliked her from the first and is doing everything he can to keep her mother completely under his thumb. He would like to be rid of Harriet as soon as possible.
“He resents letting her have any money to spend, although it is really hers and her mother’s.
“Poor Harriet has nobody to turn to except me. That is why I have stayed with her ever since to be what help to her I could. I would actually rather enjoy going back to live in my own little house in London, where there are so many memories of my dear parents. But Harriet was very good to me when I was unhappy and I must be there now when she really needs me.”
Sir Hugh smiled.
“That sounds just like you, my dearest,” he said. “You always try to help those who are in trouble and ignore your own problems.”
“But I have no problems. I have enough money to live on and please myself, plus all the books I want to read. What more could I ask?”
“All the books you want?” he echoed, aghast.
“You have always known I was a blue
-stocking!”
“But I don’t think you should boast about it. Learning in a woman is all very well as long as she keeps it decently hidden, but actually to boast about it – my dear girl – really!”
She greeted this sally with a ripple of laughter.
“What a terrible man you are! Is that the correct way to speak to a lady?”
“It is the only way I can speak to you without sounding foolish. I have tried telling you that I am in love with you and want you to be my wife, but you were not impressed. In fact you have often forbidden me to mention the subject again.”
“Yes, and you take no notice at all,” she reproved him severely. “Despite my prohibition, you have just proposed to me yet again.”
“Not really,” he hedged. “I didn’t exactly propose marriage. I merely reminded you that I had done so frequently over the past two years.”
“Is that your way of telling me that you have now tired of me and will never propose to me again?”
“How I would love to be able to say yes,” he sighed. “What pleasure it would give me to be free of your wiles!”
“But I exercise no wiles,” she protested. “I wouldn’t know a wile if it jumped out and said boo to me.”
“I know and therein lies your attraction. You are undoubtedly the most totally honest and open person I know. You are completely without deviousness or tricks and it’s those virtues which captivate me. And since a nature like yours will never change, I am condemned to remain ensnared for ever.”
“You poor man! How I pity you.”
“So you should, you heartless creature!”
They danced in silence for a while. Then he became aware that she was looking up at him through narrowed eyelids, behind which her eyes gleamed with fun.
“Do you really wish you were free of me?” she teased.
“You know quite well that I do not.”
“Well I think you are very ill-advised to say as much, especially so often. My friend, you positively encourage me to ill-treat you. You should make me fear the loss of your love, give me some cause for jealousy, keep me guessing.”