Theirs to Eternity Read online

  THEIRS TO ETERNITY

  Barbara Cartland

  Copyright © 2005 by Cartland Promotions

  First published on the internet in 2005 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

  THEIRS TO ETERNITY

  Davina lay back. She thought she would stay awake all night, but before long she began to drift into sleep.

  She therefore did not notice the slow and careful opening of the door to her chamber, nor notice the lamp she thought was extinguished flickering in the room beyond. She did not notice the man who approached her bed nor the satisfaction that crossed his features when he saw that she slept.

  She slumbered as he returned to the adjoining room, slumbered as he tilted the lamp until the oil streamed out across the carpet. She slumbered as the burning wick was lowered to meet the dark and viscous liquid.

  A whoosh of flame rose in an instant, sending out tongues of fire to lap at curtains, carpets and sofas. Soon a thick, enveloping smoke, having filled Davina’s sitting room, began to seep insidiously beneath her bedroom door.

  Its black and oily tentacles seemed to feel their way through the air, seeking a victim, any victim, to wrap in their deadly, choking embrace.

  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

  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.

  “Forever is a very long time, but true love lasts even longer.”

  Barbara Cartland

  CHAPTER ONE - 1870

  Davina Shelford gazed from her window at the carriage drawn up in the driveway below. It had been ordered for her father, Lord Shelford. The driver sat hunched on his box, while Reeper the footman stood in almost regal attendance at the carriage door.

  Davina thought Reeper looked remarkably composed, considering the fact that rain was dripping down his face with steady monotony.

  At last Lord Shelford hurried down the steps and into the carriage.

  Reeper closed the door after him carefully and stood back. Davina gave a wan smile as her father leaned out of the carriage window and raised his hand in farewell. Then the driver raised his whip, the horses jerked up their damp heads and the carriage set off.

  Davina sank back down onto her chaise-longue and picked up the book she had been reading. After a few minutes, however, she threw it aside and sprang to her feet.

  She began to pace the floor restlessly, hearing with half an ear the hem of her morning gown rustling on the thick pile carpet. That and the patter of rain at the window were the only sounds in the room.

  It was too cruel of her father to forcibly ensconce her here in his new acquisition, Priory Park! She knew how proud he was at having finally purchased a proper country retreat but, as far as she was concerned, it was a retreat too far!

  All because Papa had became a Lord, Davina thought miserably.

  Lord Shelford, as he was now known, had made his money in steel.

  He already owned a grand London house, in Curzon Street, but once he was made a peer of the realm he
felt he really should have a large country estate as well. He bought Priory Park, which had stood empty for many years, and had spent a great deal of money returning it to its former glory.

  Davina crossed to the window again and stared glumly out. It was not that she didn’t appreciate the beauty of the countryside. She did. When her mother was alive, the family often used to spend the summers outside of London. They had a house in Kent, known as the Garden of England because it was so full of orchards.

  Davina remembered a nearby farm, where she had witnessed a chicken hatch from its shell. She had watched dairy maids milking the cows and had even been permitted to churn the butter. Every afternoon she and her sister Regine took tea on the lawn with their mother. Scones and strawberry jam, with fresh cream from the farm. Mama had sipped her tea from a delicate china teacup while relating wonderful fairy tales.

  They had been perfect holidays, but they were then and this was now. Then she was a child and unaware of other interests. Now she was – well, now she was nineteen and had tasted the delicious pleasure of being the belle of the ball.

  She turned and regarded her reflection in the pier glass. Being the belle of the ball was something of a mystery to Davina, dependent as it was on attributes she was only half aware that she possessed.

  She gazed at herself with the trace of a frown. Her pale gold hair was loose on her shoulders and looked rather tangled this morning. Her nose was just too retroussé and her violet eyes were far too wide apart for her liking.

  What was all the fuss about when she walked into a room? Davina could not grasp that it was precisely this lack of vanity, this spirited freshness, that made her stand out amidst all the self-regarding London beauties. Neither was she aware of how beautifully she moved, gliding across ballroom floors and drawing rooms like a ballerina.

  Davina sighed and turned away from the pier glass. Her head may not have been turned by her success in London, but it had been turned by Felix Boyer, one of the leading actors of the day. She had listened breathlessly as Felix quoted poetry to her, grasping her milk-white hand in his.

  She had swooned under his ardent gaze as he murmured words of endearment. She had gazed rapturously at him on stage as he performed all the great roles. He was so dashing and romantic!

  Why, oh, why, had her father disapproved so? Why, oh, why, had he insisted she leave London and come down here to isolated Priory Park?

  Would it have mattered so much if she had fallen in love with an actor? She knew her father was ambitious for his two daughters but surely the fact that his elder daughter, Regine, was now engaged to a Duke would allow him to be more lenient regarding Davina’s romantic choice? Did he really need Davina to marry for status as well?

  What Davina could not know – and what Lord Shelford could not bring himself to tell her – was that Felix Boyer was known to gaze ardently at any young woman with a fortune. This despite the fact that he had been keeping a mistress in Hove for over ten years!

  Davina stared around her sitting room. Her father had taken great care to have the room decorated in a way that would appeal to her and she had to admit that it was very pretty indeed. For a prison!

  Davina walked to the door and opened it. The corridor outside was silent. She longed for the sound of voices, scurrying feet, the clip clop of horses’ hooves on the London streets.

  Her father was travelling to London today and would be gone for a week. He planned to meet Regine’s fiancé and discuss their wedding.

  Davina had wanted to go with him but to her chagrin her father had refused.

  Lord Shelford had, in fact, been warned that Felix Boyer was to be seen about town in the company of a new young lady, the daughter of a Duke.

  Lord Shelford did not want Davina hurt at the idea that Felix had forgotten her so soon.

  Davina wandered along the south corridor, glancing through the open doors of unoccupied rooms. She had seen very little of Priory Park since she arrived. It seemed enormous to her. Her new ladies’ maid, Jess, had told her there were over fifty rooms! It had two wings, an east wing and a west wing, and a great sweeping staircase leading to the upper floors. It also boasted a handsome ballroom.

  Davina wondered if they would ever know enough people in the local society to fill it. This part of England seemed so far from what she considered to be civilisation. Why, this was 1870, and yet the nearest railway station was a four-hour carriage drive away! The land beyond the confines of Priory Park looked wild and lonely, composed of heathery moor and deep black lakes.

  There could be nobody remotely interesting in this – this bandit country, thought Davina!

  She heard footsteps ahead and a moment later Jess appeared carrying a pile of fresh linen. The maid looked anxious when she saw Davina in the corridor.

  “Oh, miss, have you been looking for me? I am sure I never heard you ring.”

  “That is because I didn’t,” smiled Davina. “So please don’t worry.”

  Jess bobbed a grateful curtsy. “I was on my way to your room to help you dress,” she said.

  Davina nodded absently. “Where does that corridor lead?” she asked.

  Jess followed her mistress’s gaze. “To the stairs that lead down to the laundry room. Or up to the attic of the east wing, miss,” she added.

  Davina nodded. “Who sleeps up there?”

  “The laundry maid is all, miss. The main servants’ quarters is above the west wing. Though I heard Lord Shelford say he were going to put some new beds up in the east attic when he hires more staff. It’s early days yet, isn’t it, miss?”

  “Yes, it is.” Davina sighed. “My father is going to need a lot more staff to run this place, I think.”

  Jess thought that Lord Shelford could afford it. The amount he had already spent doing up Priory Park after all its years of neglect! She could not say this, of course, so after a moment’s silence she asked what she considered to be the most pressing question.

  “So are you coming back to your room to dress now, miss?”

  Davina shook her head. “I am going to explore a little.

  I’ve been here over two weeks and I still feel I need a map to find my way around.”

  “But you’re still in your morning gown, miss!” exclaimed Jess in astonishment.

  “I know,” laughed Davina. “And there’s the clock beginning to strike noon and I should by rights be in my afternoon dress. But who is there here to see me?”

  Jess stared after her mistress as she tripped off along the corridor that led to the east wing. She shook her head. Miss Davina was so pale and fragile-looking but she certainly had an unexpected will of her own.

  The notes of the hall clock below echoed faintly through the house as Davina moved quickly along the corridor. She came to the narrow stairway and paused. She had no desire to descend to the steamy laundry room. She knew what she would find there. Maids pummelling garments in the big sink or hoisting them on the ceiling racks to dry.

  No, she would climb the stairs to the attic.

  She was breathless by the time she arrived at the top and found herself in yet another corridor. This was not as wide as the corridors below. The windows were tiny and so begrimed she could not see out of them clearly.

  There was little of interest up here after all. Some of the rooms contained furniture – a crooked chest of drawers here, an iron bedstead there, a jug and basin on a stand for the laundry maids – but mostly they were empty and made her feel somehow desolate.

  She wondered for the first time why Priory Park had remained abandoned for so long before her father bought it.

  At the end of the corridor she came across a door that was closed.

  She tried to push it open and almost cried out as the door, rotten with woodworm, came away at its hinges and simply fell to the floor with a thud.

  Heart pounding, she peered into the room and saw that it was fully and indeed had once been comfortably, furnished. In the dim light she could make out a faded plush sofa and an oak table
covered in a red baize cloth that was now rather moth-eaten.

  When Davina saw a wicker cot in the corner, she realised this room must once have been a nursery.

  It was another moment before Davina noticed a painting leaning against the wall. She walked over and picked it up.

  Carrying the painting to the window, she examined it in the grey light.

  She had to wipe the dust off with her sleeve before she could see the features of a melancholy but beautiful young woman staring back at her.

  The young woman had rich, dark hair and large, dreamy eyes. She was obviously wealthy, for she wore diamonds at her neck. Her garments suggested that the picture had been painted in the earlier part of the century – in the 1830’s, perhaps.

  There was no name attached to inform her as to who the young woman might be. However, the long window behind her, with its distinctive stained glass, indicated that she had sat for the painting in the library of Priory Park.

  Davina was intrigued by the young woman’s mournful expression. Here surely was someone also suffering the pangs of lost love! Perhaps her lover had left her to win his fortune and never returned. Perhaps her father had refused his permission for her to marry. Whatever story lay behind the portrait, Davina was convinced it was to do with romance.

  ‘Maybe she felt a prisoner in this house, just like me,’ thought Davina with a dramatic thrill.

  She determined to rescue the young woman from the obscurity of this forgotten room. She would hang the painting in her own bedchamber and look at it every day.

  The painting was only about two foot square but the frame was heavy.

  Davina looked about for a bell pull to summon help, but when she saw the rusty bell, hanging half off the wall, she knew immediately that it no longer worked.

  She would have to carry the painting down herself. Jess looked up in amazement as her mistress staggered in through the door with her dusty burden.

  “Bless me, miss, what have you got there?”