Riding to the Moon

  Riding to the Moon

  The Marquis knew as he held her close that the feelings she aroused in him were different from any emotion he had ever known before in his whole life.

  Indira knew now that what she had felt in the Temples and in the beauty of every country she had visited, could be expressed in one word – love.

  Only when she felt as if the Marquis had swept her up and they were riding among the stars did he raise his head and ask in a strangely unsteady voice,

  “What do you feel about me now?”

  Indira spoke what was in her heart. “I… love you… I love you!”

  Author’s Note

  Steeplechases were inspired by the hell-for-leather match races run all through the ages and across any naturally fenced country which was available. The winner proved that he could race his horse from one place to another faster than anyone else.

  During the Regency it became fashionable to have private steeplechases and this involved erecting special fences and marking out a course with flags.

  Steeplechasing was popular with sportsmen from its very beginning, but was frowned on by the established authorities of flat racing.

  The most famous steeplechase in the world – the Grand National – started in 1839. It was four miles across country with twenty-nine jumps and the purse was twelve hundred pounds.

  The poems quoted in this novel come from Shih Ching, the first anthology of Chinese poetry, about 561-579 B.C., and from the T’ang Dynasty, 618-906 AD.

  Chapter 1

  The Morning Room at White’s Club was rapidly filling up with its aristocratic members, both famous and infamous.

  The bow window looking onto St. James’s Street, which Beau Brummell had made famous, was already full and there was not a brown leather chair available when Lord Frodham and his friend Sir James Overton walked into the room.

  They stopped to talk to a friend with whom they had spent the previous evening and, as they did so, they heard a voice say,

  “You are becoming as boring as George Byron on the subject of love, which I can assure you is nothing but desire tied up with pretty ribbons.”

  There was laughter at this and Charles Frodham said in a low voice to Jimmy Overton,

  “Ardsley, at his most cynical! I have always believed that he was crossed in love when he was young.”

  “Nonsense!” Jimmy Overton replied. “He has never been in love with anybody except himself and his horses!”

  Charles Frodham laughed and moved a little nearer to the bow window to hear what else the Marquis of Ardsley had to say on the subject.

  Somebody was obviously arguing with him, and he said scathingly,

  “Women have two uses – to amuse and to produce the necessary heir. Otherwise a man of any intelligence has other interests to fill his life.”

  “That is all very well, Ardsley,” a notorious rake exclaimed. “But you know as well as I do that life would be very dull and colourless without pretty women in our arms and in our bed.”

  “There speaks the expert!” somebody exclaimed and there was a roar of laughter.

  “Every man to his own taste,” the Marquis replied, when he could make himself heard. “At the same time I was reading this morning that poor Oliver Markham has made a damned fool of himself and somebody ought to have warned him.”

  “You mean that he should not have married an heiress?” the rake asked incredulously. “It’s all very well for you to sneer at money, Ardsley, but those of us without deep pockets know that it is the only way we can keep up our ancestral homes and put decent horses in our stables.”

  “There are heiresses and heiresses,” the Marquis said coldly. “Do you not realise that Markham has married the daughter of a tradesman?”

  The scathing condemnation in his voice was almost like the bite of a cold wind.

  “Perhaps he had no other choice,” somebody ventured.

  “Nonsense!” the Marquis said. “Markham comes from a very old family and, thank God, blue blood, and a respected title still has its established value in the Social marriage market. He has been a fool and I shall not hesitate to tell him so.”

  “It’s too late, Ardsley,” the rake said. “He is married and doubtless we shall all be delighted to be asked to the parties that Oliver will give! Personally I have always been very fond of him.”

  “And fonder still now that he can afford to entertain you,” somebody added mockingly.

  “I blame myself and you too,” the Marquis said in a serious tone. “When we realised that Oliver was serious in pursuing this unspeakable creature, we should have prevented him from marrying her.”

  “I heard,” another man said tentatively, who had not spoken before, “that she is very attractive and that Markham is in love with her.”

  “Love! Love!” the Marquis exclaimed. “Now we are back to that nonsensical emotion all over again! Let me make it quite clear, where marriage is concerned, love is the least important consideration to any man who has any sense.”

  “Like yourself ” the rake mocked.

  “Of course,” the Marquis answered. “When I marry, which will not be for many years, I shall choose somebody with a pedigree to equal my own and who will not offend me or shame the position she will hold as my wife by her low-class manners and low-class ideas.”

  “You are quite certain you would recognise her for what she is?” somebody asked.

  “If I did not know a thoroughbred when I saw one, I would give up racing,” the Marquis answered sharply, “and I can assure you it is easier to detect the finer points of a woman than of a horse.”

  There was silence for a moment.

  Then someone asked,

  “Are you telling me, Ardsley, that just as you claim you are an expert on horse breeding, you can tell how a woman or a man for that matter, is bred when you meet them, without a form book to guide you?”

  “Of course I can,” the Marquis said positively. “However pretty, however attractive, however good an actress a woman might be, I can assure you I am never deceived.”

  “I would like to have a bet with you on that,” the rake said, “but, as I have the uncomfortable feeling that I would lose my money, I shall not ask for the betting book.”

  The betting book at White’s was one of its most famous possessions.

  Since 1743 members had entered their bets in the book, which was kept in a safe place in the Club, and which thereby became a sacred commitment on which no member would welch.

  Some of the bets were serious, but many were frivolous.

  Births and marriages were almost as popular subjects for bets as death – ‘Would Lord E. marry Lady B.’s daughter in duty bound? Was Lady C. in the family way?’

  Lord Eglington in 1757 made a bet that he would find a man who could kill twenty snipe in three and twenty shots and Lord Alington on a wet day bet three thousand pounds on which of two raindrops would first reach the bottom of a pane of glass.

  During the war with France the bets were many and Wellington’s campaigns provided material for innumerable wagers and many of the members believed firmly in Napoleon’s invincibility, only to lose their money.

  As the rake finished speaking, Charles Frodham looked at Jimmy Overton, then, because they knew what each other was thinking, they walked away from the bow window to the far end of the Morning Room and sat down to order a drink before Charles Frodham said,

  “Do you think anybody would lay us twenty to one on his being deceived sooner or later?”

  “Not a chance!” Jimmy Overton replied. “I expect what he says is the truth and no woman could take him in.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Charles remarked. “Women are born actresses and, if we could find one who was as cl
ever off the stage as Madame Vestris is on, she could lead him up the garden path and make a fool of him.”

  “I would love to see that,” Jimmy replied. “He gets under my skin because he is so damned pleased with himself. But I am sure he is like a foxhound on the scent and would know an imposter before she could even open her mouth.”

  “You are as bad as he is!” Charles said crossly. “And because I intend to prove to you how wrong you are, I will find a woman somewhere, and I will bet you one hundred guineas that Ardsley will be unaware she is not crème de la crème for at least three days after he has met her.”

  “Done!” Jimmy answered. “But you have to play fair.”

  “That is what I should be saying to you,” Charles protested. “I don’t trust you to avoid losing one hundred guineas. How do I know you will not tip off Ardsley so that you will win?”

  “Now you are insulting me,” Jimmy cried, “and if you are not careful I will call you out and drill a hole through you!”

  “You have no more chance of doing that,” Charles laughed, “than of making Ardsley apologise when we prove him wrong.”

  “That is something I would really enjoy!”

  “I don’t like Ardsley,” Charles said. “He is always laying down the law about women and, if you ask me, it takes away some of the enjoyment we have in them, which is exactly what he intends.”

  “I too dislike Ardsley and I always have,” his friend replied. “At the same time I have to admit that he is a ‘top notcher’ when it comes to sport and his horses are better than anybody else’s.”

  “So are his women, whatever he thinks about them!”

  Charles agreed.

  “If you want the truth, I will never forgive him for taking Clarice away from me.”

  “I can understand that,” Jimmy said sympathetically. “She was lovely! Quite the most alluring ‘bit o’ muslin’ you ever pursued.”

  “Hopelessly, thanks to Ardsley!” Charles exclaimed bitterly. “That is why I would like to get even with him. If I could find another Clarice and convince him that her blood is as blue as his, he would not only have to eat his words, but he would look damned foolish when we revealed that she was actually straight out of the gutter.”

  Jimmy put back his head and laughed.

  “Really, Charles, you are crazy to have such ideas. You know as well as I do that any woman who is as lovely and as fascinating as Clarice is quite certainly not going to be accepted at Richmond House nor by any other of the great hostesses. Ardsley may think he can detect a social imposter, but no one is more astute than other women.”

  “That is true,” Charles admitted. “My grandmother has every debutante’s pedigree at her fingertips and scrutinises them through a magnifying glass before she offers them to me as prospective brides.”

  “I am sorry for you! Your grandmother frightens me, and I do not know how you have managed to evade matrimony for so long.”

  “It has been difficult at times,” Charles admitted, “and I expect I shall eventually be caught.”

  There was silence for a moment between the two friends.

  Then Jimmy said,

  “Well, what about having luncheon and forgetting this rather gloomy discourse?”

  “Certainly not!” Charles said sharply. “I am going to call for the betting book and record our bet in it.”

  “Don’t mention Ardsley by name.”

  “No, of course not,” Charles replied, “I am not as bird-witted as that.”

  He raised his hand and instantly a Steward came to his side.

  “The betting book.”

  “Very good, my Lord.”

  The leather-bound book was brought and set down at Charles Frodhams side, together with an inkpot and a quill pen.

  Charles thought for a moment before he wrote carefully,

  “1st May 1818.

  Lord Frodham bets Sir James Ooerton that he will deceive a certain Nobleman for three days without his being aware of it.”

  “Is that ambiguous enough?” Charles asked.

  “It will make everybody who reads it damned curious,” Jimmy replied.

  “It will give them something to think about,” Charles said with a grin. “Come on, let’s go up to the Coffee Room.”

  He put down the pen and the Steward carried the betting book away. Then the two friends started to wend their way through the Morning Room, which had grown fuller still since they had been talking.

  They had just reached the door when a voice behind them said,

  “Frodham! Overton! I wanted to see you! I am running a steeplechase and I would like you both to take part in it.”

  The eyes of both the young men lit up.

  The Marquis of Ardsley’s steeplechases were famous, not only because they were well run and most enjoyable, but also because the house parties he gave with them at Ardsley Hall were legendary. An invitation to one of them was more prized than one to Carlton House or the Royal Pavilion at Brighton.

  “Thank you very much,” Charles Frodham said before his friend could speak. “Jimmy and I will look forward to it.”

  “Send your horses on ahead of you,” the Marquis said carelessly, “to give them a chance to rest before the big event and I shall expect you both on Thursday night. The race will take place on Saturday and I expect there will be a good number of competitors.”

  “I am sure there will be,” Charles said. “I have a new horse which might even defeat your Lordship’s.”

  The Marquis laughed.

  “You can try,” he said, “but I shall be extremely annoyed if my new one, which I have not yet tried out, is not the victor.”

  He walked away as he spoke, supremely sure of himself and moving through the Club in a majestic manner that invariably aroused a respect that other gentlemen were not accorded.

  Charles and Jimmy went upstairs to the Coffee Room and sat down at a table in the window where they could be alone.

  “Do you really think that you have a chance of beating the Marquis?” Jimmy asked.

  “I said that to annoy him,” Charles admitted. “I expect he will win, he always does.”

  “That is what is so intensely irritating! ” Jimmy agreed.

  “I know my horses have not a chance against his, but I shall enjoy the steeplechase and also the party. I wonder who will be there.”

  “Beauties galore,” Charles murmured casually.

  “Somebody told me last night that the Marquis actually danced with Lady Beris at Richmond House,” Jimmy said, “and the Duke had visions of having him as a son-in-law.”

  Charles laughed.

  “Not a chance! He spends his time, I am told, with a new charmer – Lady Sinclair, although I doubt if she will hold him for long.”

  “The Countess of Martindale is one of the prettiest women I have ever seen,” Jimmy said. “Ardsley dropped her in a month, so how are you going to find a ‘guttersnipe’ to compete with her?”

  “I will find someone,” Charles said confidently. “But not a ‘guttersnipe’. I think she will have to be an actress.”

  “That’ll cost you a pretty penny.”

  “I shall have your hundred guineas towards expenses!”

  “I have never before made a bet I have been so certain of winning,” Jimmy answered provocatively.

  “I think it only fair that just for once he should be in the wrong,” Charles said as if he was speaking to himself.

  He was frowning as he spoke and Jimmy knew that he was still feeling angry at the way in which the Marquis had swept Clarice away from him in a high-handed manner that would have annoyed anybody, especially Charles Frodham.

  Very good looking, wealthy because his father had died while he was still a minor and the owner of a very charming if not particularly impressive estate in Huntingdonshire, Charles was run after by the most attractive women in the Beau Monde and courted by ambitious mothers for their young daughters.

  He had good grounds for being conceited and proud of hi
mself, but it was no use pretending that he was not eclipsed by the Marquis of Ardsley.

  Jimmy Overton was not ambitious and was quite content to be only comparatively well off. Yet he had enough money to enjoy himself in London and to keep up the delightful seventeenth century manor he owned in Essex.

  As his mother ran it very competently and was in no hurry to move to the Dower House, he was not pestered as his friend was to settle down and get married.

  He had therefore every intention of enjoying himself and remaining free for a great number of years before he asked any woman, however attractive or suitable, to be his wife.

  Because he and Charles had been close friends at Eton and at Oxford, they enjoyed life together, hunting as a couple, being welcomed not only by the great hostesses at every ball, reception and assembly, but also by the madams in the ‘houses of pleasure’ and the dance halls, where the prettiest ‘Cyprians’ ran towards them with open arms.

  Jimmy knew that Charles’s pride had certainly been bruised if not defeated by the way in which the Marquis had taken the lovely Clarice from him at the very moment when he was considering setting her up in a small house in Chelsea and taking her officially under his protection.

  “What are you thinking about?” Jimmy asked now.

  “The pleasure I shall enjoy at seeing Ardsley discomfited.”

  “You cannot say that until you have found this paragon who I am convinced does not exist,” Jimmy said practically.

  “I will prove him wrong if It is the last thing I do!”

  Charles said aggressively.

  Jimmy laughed as he said,

  “Actually, I would willingly pay five hundred guineas to see Ardsley ‘bite the dust’, which is strange when you think about it, because he has never done me any harm.”

  “It is insufferable that any man should walk about as if he was God!”

  “That is rather a good description,” Jimmy said. “At the same time the sort of God you really mean is the fellow we read about at Oxford – what was he called? – the one who drives his chariot across the sky by day.”

  “Apollo.”

  “That is right.”