The Richness of Love
THE RICHNESS OF LOVE
Barbara Cartland
Barbaracartland.com Ltd
Copyright © 2007 by Cartland Promotions First published on the internet in April 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.
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THE RICHNESS OF LOVE
Moira had not been invited to go out on the grouse shoot, so she made herself busy helping her mother. While she was handing out sticks and boots, she noticed a young man standing on his own whom she did not know.
‘I wonder who he could be?’ she thought wistfully eyeing him. ‘He seems so out of place at this gathering.’
The young man was tall and handsome with long flowing hair that reminded her of a cavalier’s. He held the air of one who preferred his own company.
He caught her gaze and smiled, bowing his head respectfully. Moira blushed to the roots of her hair and hurried away.
She desperately wanted to find out who this charming stranger could be, but she knew that if she asked Ewen, he would only make fun of her.
Moira watched as the young man set off with the rest of the party. Was it her imagination or did he look back at her as they turned the corner into the drive?
Her heart leapt and she suddenly felt incredibly light she could not wait until he returned later that afternoon.
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Her publishers finally could not keep up with this phenomenal output, so at her death she left 160 unpublished manuscripts, something again that no other author has ever achieved.
Now the exciting news is that these 160 original unpublished Barbara Cartland books are ready for publication and they will be published by Barbaracartland.com exclusively on the internet, as the web is the best possible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.
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Harrow Weald,
Harrow
HA3 7BB
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Telephone & fax: +44 (0)20 8863 2520
Other 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
A Kiss in the Desert
The Heart of Love
The Richness 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.
“Love is certainly a many splendoured thing, but it is wealth of other things as well.”
Barbara Cartland
CHAPTER ONE
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1899
Moira Strathcarron lopped the top off her egg and sighed.
Although outside the windows of Lednock Castle it was a fine sunny day, the feeling around the breakfast table was far from congenial.
Her family had been at Lednock Castle for over three hundred years and never had things been so bad as they were now. A succession of disastrous harvests, coupled with her father having made some ill-advised investments that had substantially drained the family coffers over the past twenty years.
Although beautiful and situated in one of the most picturesque parts of Scotland, deep in the heart of the Trossach Mountains overlooking Loch Earn, the estate was fast becoming a huge financial burden.
So on this bright June morning something the Earl did not need was news that his family were about to endure the ordeal and expense of visitors.
Moira held her breath as her moth
er finished reading out the letter that had just arrived.
“I am sorry, Margaret, we cannot entertain the notion of a visitor,” said the Earl.
“But this Larry Harwood is a great friend of Lord and Lady Cunningham in London. We cannot refuse him, it would cause great offence.”
The Countess was quite adamant. The reputation of the family was at stake and she had no wish to compromise it.
“I fail to see why they should take offence,” said Ewen, the Earl’s only son, as he helped himself to a bowl of porridge. “It is not as if we owe this Larry Harwood anything he is no kin of ours.”
“Whisht, brother Ewen,” whispered Moira. “The Cunninghams are great friends of ours. Did you not say when they visited us last spring that you found them amusing company?”
Ewen took his bowl of porridge and sat down next to his sister.
He was a fine-looking young man with the same fiery red hair as his mother. He cared deeply about his lineage and the castle. In fact he had ignored his father’s wish that he join the Army in favour of a more rustic life overseeing the tenant farms on the estate.
He was never happier than when he was herding the sheep or taking care of the prize bullocks that Lednock was justly famous for.
“Mother, perhaps this American fellow would bring others to Lednock Castle,” suggested Moira. “I have heard that it is becoming quite fashionable to have paying guests in some parts of the Highlands – ”
She tailed off as she saw the look on her father’s face.
“I will not stoop to paying guests,” he fumed, banging his spoon down on the table. Almost immediately, seeing that he had upset his daughter whom he loved enormously, the Earl softened a little.
“But perhaps we can make some money out of him by taking him on shoots. Aye, I will speak to MacGregor, the gamekeeper, to see how our stocks of grouse are fairing.”
After breakfast Moira went to her mother who was busy inspecting the blue room in the West wing.
“Mother – ” she began.
The Countess turned round with a strained smile.
“You must not mind your father’s ill humour, he has so much to worry about at present,” she said, tenderly smoothing down a lock of Moira’s dark hair. “It is vital that this year’s harvest will be a good one and that the estate will start to make money again.”
“Are matters really so bad, mother?” Moira looked at her pleadingly.
“I am afraid they are, my darling. And yes, we may have to postpone our plans to visit Edinburgh.”
“I am sure that I can find diversions here at Lednock,” replied Moira bravely. “And if Mr. Harwood is to be our guest, then I can take him out riding along the brae.”
The Countess smiled gratefully at her daughter – she was so proud of her.
Although she had not inherited her own red hair and green eyes, she was the image of her father – the dark eyes, the noble brow and the thick mass of dark brown hair.
She was barely eighteen, but the Countess could see that Moira was becoming a beauty in her own special way.
“That would be lovely, dearest. Now, I must see that this room is fit to receive our guest. I think your father is coming round to the idea and we should make ready.”
Over the next week, the castle was cleaned from top to bottom by a group of women who lived locally. The Countess had retained only a small staff at Lednock and having such an important visitor meant she needed more help. She was mindful of making a good impression on their American guest.
Moira helped her father send out invitations for a weekend shooting party. She addressed the envelopes to a whole host of local worthies, many of whom they had not entertained for quite some time.
*
Then the day eventually dawned when the mysterious Larry Harwood was due to arrive. The castle was in a frenzy of activity so Moira and Ewen went on a long walk to avoid the bustle.
“I wonder what this American fellow will be like?” mused Moira with just the tiniest hint of romantic interest, “do you think he will be young and handsome?”
“Probably old and fat, if he is a friend of the Cunninghams!” replied Ewen, sarcastically.
“I have never met an American before,” continued Moira as they strode amongst the heather, “they say that they can be a trifle loud and boastful.”
“And they say that all Scots are mean and dour,” answered Ewen with a smile. “So we will show him that’s not true either, won’t we?”
“Ewen, do you really think that the estate is in terrible trouble?”
He took his sister’s hand and squeezed it, gently.
“I ken that a good harvest would change our fortunes so that is what we must pray for. Come now, sister, I will race you to the top of the brae.”
*
Larry Harwood arrived that Friday after breakfast and everyone except the Earl came out to greet him. It had been a long time since the castle had seen so much luggage or commotion.
“Welcome to Lednock Castle,” called the Countess, walking out to greet their visitor. “I do hope you will enjoy your stay with us.”
Harwood was short, corpulent and in his late thirties. His clothes were very different from anything the family had ever seen and he wore a large hat on top of slicked-down brown hair.
The Countess noted that his choice of tie was a trifle garish for the country and that his boots would not stand him in good stead should he wish to go for walks.
Upon seeing him for the first time, Moira shuddered to think that she had entertained any notions that he might provide a romantic diversion.
“Your Ladyship,” he cried, grasping the Countess’s hand so firmly that she thought that her bones would break. His beady blue eyes were watery and disappeared into creases of fat when he smiled.
“Thank you so much for inviting me into your home. I’ve never stayed in a real-live castle before. We don’t have them back in the States.”
He paused for a moment as he viewed the magnificent turrets and structure of Lednock Castle.
“Say, how old do you say the place is?”
“It was built in 1520 and then Mary, Queen of Scots gave it to the first Earl of Strathcarron in 1542,” answered the Countess.
“A real Queen?” he gulped, his fleshy mouth hanging open. “Land snake’s alive! I take off my hat.”
Moira nudged Ewen, barely able to stifle a giggle, as Larry’s hat remained firmly on his head.
“Rankin, the butler, will show you to your room,” suggested the Countess, taken aback by her guest’s brash manner.
“He shouts as if he is on top of a mountain,” whispered Moira to her brother, as the American commented loudly upon everything he encountered.
“Perhaps he is deaf?” offered Ewen mischievously.
Just then, the Countess appeared and shooed them away from the foot of the staircase.
“Mr. Harwood will want some refreshment after he has unpacked. Moira, would you please go and tell cook that we will take tea in the drawing room in ten minutes?”
Moira nodded and headed for the kitchens, where she was stunned to see that the table was laden with delicacies that had not been seen at Lednock in many years.
“Tea in ten minutes, please, cook.”
She took a step forward as she noticed a dish of the black shiny eggs on the table. “Caviar!” she exclaimed. “I have not eaten caviar for ages.”
“That has got to last us, my Lady. So please ask that brother of yours to go easy with his spoon.”
Cook was shaking her head as the footman brought in a hamper that clearly bore the Fortnum and Mason’s crest. Moira’s eyes were wide with delight but she could not help feeling nervous too she knew there was no money for this kind of extravagance.
From the moment that Larry Harwood set foot inside the Castle, he did indeed make himself at home.
The family was served porridge for breakfast, whilst Larry had a hot buffet to choose from. They nibbled on dark bread and collops made from m
inced leftovers, but Larry had his pick of the contents of the Fortnum’s hamper.
“He doesn’t seem to notice that we are not eating the same food as him,” protested Moira. “We are forced to eat servant’s food while he eats us out of house and home. And what an appetite he has. Do you know he ate no less than four chops at dinner last night?”
“Aye,” agreed Ewen grimly. “I had to order one of our prize sheep to be slaughtered for it. We were keeping it for Christmas too.”
“Then there is this shooting party at the weekend. I dread to think what we might be forced to eat with so many guests probably leftovers. How long is he here for?”
“Three weeks, I believe father said.”
“And then there is the nonsense he talks. Did you hear that ridiculous story over breakfast about picking gold nuggets the size of a hen’s egg out of the rivers in California? I do not believe him for one moment.”
“But he has money, that much is certain,” said Ewen. “He sports a diamond-topped walking cane – though it will be not much use in the mountains.”
The pair started to laugh at the thought of Larry in his loud suits and unsuitable boots, trying to negotiate the rocky outcrops of the Trossachs.
But not everyone in the castle shared their thinly veiled contempt of the visitor.
Ewen began to notice how his father would linger long after dinner with the American and then take him into the library for whisky and cigars.
He did not mention this to Moira or his mother, as he did not wish to alarm them, but he felt certain that something was going on behind closed doors that he was not going to like.
He pushed these thoughts aside as all too soon the day of the shooting party dawned. There had been a lot of excitement in the village as MacGregor began to hire men as beaters for the weekend.
The schedule was decided by the Earl – early on Saturday morning the first shooting party would leave the castle and on Sunday, there would be a hunt.
Those who could not be accommodated at the castle would stay with Lord Crieff who lived nearby. He was one of the Earl’s oldest friends and even he was taken aback when introduced to their American guest. Innately suspicious of strangers, Lord Crieff had huffed and puffed at Larry’s over-friendly manner.