Call of the Heart Page 10

  “These are entrancing!” she exclaimed.

  “Perhaps I had better wear one,” Lalitha suggested.

  “Why? Sophie asked. “You can pull the hood of your cloak up over your hair. The servants will not think it strange, as you are only going for a drive with me and you would not wish to look conspicuous on the stagecoach.”

  Lalitha knew that Sophie was saying this only because she wished to keep the bonnets and hats for herself. But there seemed to be no point in arguing.

  She had to leave, and when she was with her old Nurse in Norfolk she would certainly have no occasion to wear the

  elegant, expensive creations which had come from Bond Street.

  “Here is your money!” Sophie said abruptly.

  She held out a small purse.

  Lalitha took it from her reluctantly.

  She would have liked to say that she would take nothing from Sophie or her mother. Then she told herself practically that she could not inflict herself on her old Nurse, who had little to spare as it was.

  She put the little purse into an elegant reticule of heavy satin, added a handkerchief, and picked up a pair of suede gloves. Sophie looked at her.

  “You certainly look better than you used to,” she said. “I should imagine you will be able to get work of some sort, wherever you live.”

  “Yes ... of course,” Lalitha said automatically and added: “That reminds me. I will take some needles and embroidery silks with me.”

  She drew them out of a drawer, thinking with a little throb of her heart as she did so that she had persuaded Nattie to give them to her so that she could start to embroider a monogram on His Lordship’s handkerchiefs.

  They were all together in a little bag with her thimble and a pair of scissors.

  “Come on!” Sophie said impatiently. “If you remember all the things you need we shall take half the house with us!” Lalitha looked round the room in which she had slowly come back to health. It seemed a haven of security and peace. Now she must leave it forever for an unknown future.

  She suddenly felt desperately afraid.

  She was going back into a world which she had thought would no longer menace her. She was leaving Lord Rothwyn, who had said he would protect her!

  “Do hurry!” Sophie cried impatiently. “You will miss the stage-coach and then you will have to stay the night in London.”

  Lalitha felt a little tremor of fear.

  Supposing she encountered one of the women who Lord Rothwyn had told her waited to kidnap unsuspecting girls from the country and spirited them away into slavery over-seas?

  She felt in a panic that she could not go! She must stay here! She thought that she would run to Nattie and tell her what Sophie was making her do and plead for her help.

  Then she knew she could not lower herself to behave in such

  a manner.

  Sophie was right. Lord Rothwyn had been kind but he was not really interested in her. It was Sophie he wanted.

  If Sophie was now ready to love him as he wished to be loved, he would be happy.

  Without speaking she followed Sophie downstairs and into the Hall.

  The Major-Domo came forward as they turned towards the front door and said to Lalitha:

  “You are going driving, M’Lady?”

  “We are going for a short drive,” Sophie answered before Lalitha could speak. “We shall be back very shortly.”

  “Very good, Miss,” the Major-Domo answered, and added to Lalitha:

  “Will you be taking Royal with you, M’Lady?”

  For the first time Lalitha realised that Royal was at her heels. She picked him up in her arms.

  Here was something else it was hard to leave. She loved the little dog.

  For a moment she held him close against her heart and kissed his soft, silky head.

  Then she handed him to the Major-Domo.

  “Take him to Nattie,” she said.

  She heard Royal whine as she turned away to walk down the steps.

  The footman opened the door of the carriage, a rug was placed solicitously over their knees, and the horses started off. “I am going away,” Lalitha told herself, and it was like the point of a dagger being driven into her breast.

  “I shall never come back! I shall never see him again.”

  The horses, gathering speed, moved from the courtyard and onto the drive.

  Lalitha looked back.

  The house in the afternoon sun-shine looked very beautiful. It was magnificent and at the same time she knew that it had been a haven of security which had encircled her like protective arms.

  Now she was leaving.

  “Good-bye ... my love,” she whispered beneath her breath.

  As the words came to her lips she knew that it was not the house to which she was saying good-bye, but to its owner.

  Chapter Five

  Lord Rothwyn walked from the Chamber of the House of Lords. His friend Henry Grey Bennet was waiting for him.

  “I am sorry, Henry,” he said.

  “It was only what I expected,” Mr. Bennet answered, “but I shall try again, make no mistake! I shall try and go on trying to get this Bill passed.”

  “And I will support you,” Lord Rothwyn promised.

  “You did your best. That was an excellent and most eloquent speech of yours. ”

  “Thank you.”

  “Where shall we drown our sorrows? Here or at White’s?” Henry Grey Bennet asked.

  Lord Rothwyn hesitated for a moment.

  Then as he was about to accept the suggestion he had an inescapable feeling that he should go back to Roth Park.

  He could not explain it to himself. He just knew that there was a sudden urgency in him to go home.

  “Forgive me, Henry, another time,” he replied. “I came up from the country especially to speak, as I promised you I would, and now I must get back.”

  “It is unlike you to be in the country at this time of the year,” his friend remarked. “You missed the racing at Ascot.”

  There was no answer because Lord Rothwyn had already left him and was proceeding to where outside the House of Lords his curricule was waiting.

  Drawn by four horses of superlative blood-stock, he could travel the miles to Roth Park quicker than anyone else had ever managed to do.

  In fact Lord Rothwyn had already set several records.

  As he climbed into the curricule he remembered with a faint twinge of conscience that he had intended to call at Carlton House.

  The Regent had returned to London from Brighton to attend the Christening at Kensington Palace of the daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Kent.

  She had been baptised Alexandrina Victoria.

  Lord Rothwyn was well aware that His Royal Highness would think it extremely off-hand of him not to have made at least an appearance while he was in London.

  He knew that His Highness was longing to discuss with him the alterations and additions to the Royal Pavilion at Brighton.

  Owing to national and political criticism, work had ceased until the Queen, impressed by her son’s vision of an Indian Palace, had contributed fifty thousand pounds from her own pocket.

  Even so, the ornate domes, the Indian columns, graceful colonnades, piece-stone lattice work, delicate cornices, and fretted battlements had cost a fortune.

  The huge chandeliers like water-lilies, the Chinese landscapes of scarlet, gold, and yellow lacquer in the Music-Room, and the spreading palm tree with a silver dragon among the leaves in the Banqueting-Room swelled the total.

  Lord Rothwyn knew thirty-three thousand pounds had been spent last year and that it was likely to be forty thousand pounds this.

  He did however like the Regent as a man and admired what he was trying to create with a sense of fantasy and a romantic exuberance unknown in a Royal Monarch since Charles I.

  “People abuse me and mock the Pavilion,” His Royal Highness had said bitterly to Lord Rothwyn on his last visit to Brighton.

  “Po
sterity will admire your improvement to London, Sire,” Lord Rothwyn answered, “and one day the Royal Pavilion will be the greatest sight in Brighton.”

  Yet despite all the arguments in his mind that to call on the Regent would be the right thing to do, Lord Rothwyn wanted to reach Roth Park.

  He therefore settled himself down to driving his horses with an expertise which made him one of the outstanding Corinthians of the era.

  His groom sitting up behind the curricule noted with satisfaction that as they passed everyone’s head was turned admiringly in their direction.

  It would have been impossible not to admire Lord Rothwyn. He was not only handsome, but with his high hat at an angle he had a presence which complemented the smartness and magnificence of his horses.

  The houses were soon left behind and they were in the open country.

  Lord Rothwyn gave his team their head and they travelled what to other people might have seemed an incredible pace along the road North which went through Barnet and Potters Bar, eventually emerging into a valley above which Roth Park was situated.

  The great house was looking superb in the warmth of the evening sun-shine, which made the red bricks glow as if they were precious jewels.

  The flag was flying above the high roof-line, which was one of the finest characteristics of the building, and below it the lake gleamed gold as the white swans moved with grace across its surface.

  As always when he saw the house, Lord Rothwyn felt a pride not only of ownership, but because he was descended from a long line of intelligent, creative ancestors.

  He drove up to the front door with a flourish, pulled his horses to a stand-still, and turned to smile at the groom behind him.

  “Better than usual, Ned?” he asked. It was a question.

  “Three minutes quicker than our last journey, M’Lord.”

  “That is good, Ned.”

  “It is indeed, M’Lord.”

  Lord Rothwyn walked up the flight of stone steps to where the Major-Domo was waiting for him.

  As he took His Lordship’s hat and driving-gloves the Major-Domo said:

  “There’s a lady to see you in the Silver Salon, M’Lord.”

  “A lady?” Lord Rothwyn queried.

  “A Miss Studley, M’Lord.”

  For a moment Lord Rothwyn was still. Then there was a scowl between his eyes as he walked across the Hall.

  A footman opened the door to the Silver Salon and he entered to find Sophie standing at the window.

  She had removed her bonnet and the sunshine was dazzling on her gold hair.

  It also revealed the perfection of her pink and white skin, the liquid blue of her eyes, and the classical curves of her rosebud mouth.

  She turned at his entrance and with a little cry of pleasure ran towards him.

  “Inigo!” she exclaimed.

  “What are you doing here?”

  The question was sharp and abrupt.

  Sophie came to a stop in front of him and raised her eyes to his.

  “Need you ask that question?” she enquired.

  Then as Lord Rothwyn stared at her without speaking she put out her white arms towards him as if she would place them round his neck.

  “I had to come, Inigo!” she said dramatically. “I had to!”

  “May I ask what you mean by that?” he enquired.

  She would have pressed herself close to him, but he walked away from her to stand on the hearth with his back to the mantel-piece.

  “I did not invite you.”

  “I know that,” she replied softly, “but I could go on no longer without seeing you. So I drove here this afternoon.”

  “We have nothing to say to each other,” Lord Rothwyn declared. “Nothing at all!”

  “I have a lot to say,” Sophie said in a beguiling tone.

  She had drawn near to him as she spoke and now once again she was standing beside him.

  “I love you!” she said. “I have only just realised how much I love you, and how I cannot live without you.”

  Lord Rothwyn looked down at her and his lips twisted in a cynical smile as he asked:

  “Now what can have provoked such an outburst of passion? Can it be the fact that Verton has left for the Continent?”

  He saw a little flicker in Sophie’s eyes which told him that she had not expected him to know this, but the tone of her voice did not change as she said:

  “I made a mistake, Inigo, when I sent Lalitha to you that night, or rather Mama made me. You know how she forbade me even to think of marriage where you were concerned.”

  “So it was your mother who forced you to jilt me at the last moment?” Lord Rothwyn said slowly.

  “Yes, yes, it was Mama! You know how dictatorial she is, and I could not disobey her. I love you—and I told her so—but she would not listen.”

  Lord Rothwyn’s eyes were hard as he said:

  “You are a good actress, Sophie, but not good enough. I am well aware why you have come here today. Verton has talked and Society is not smiling so kindly upon you as it once did.” “That is not true!” Sophie said quickly. “And anyway it is of no consequence. I love you and that is all that matters!”

  “Even though I am not a Duke?” Lord Rothwyn asked cynically.

  “I never wanted to marry Julius. Mama made me and while he was in England I did not dare to get in touch with you. Now that he has left, I am free. Free to come to you as I wish to do.” “Cannot even you see that it is too late for you to ‘change your mind’ as you call it?” Lord Rothwyn asked. “As you well know, I am married.”

  He paused a moment and then he said:

  “Have you seen Lalitha? What have you said to her?” “Lalitha has been very accommodating,” Sophie replied. “She will not interfere with our plans in any way.”

  “What plans?” Lord Rothwyn enquired. “I will not have Lalitha upset!”

  His hand went towards the bell-pull as if he would ring it, and as she realised his intention Sophie said quickly:

  “Do not ring for Lalitha. She has left!”

  “Left? What do you mean left?”

  Lord Rothwyn’s question was sharp.

  “I told her how much I loved you,” Sophie explained, “and she agreed to go out of your life. After all, you only married her out of revenge—to punish me.” “Lalitha agreed to go out of my life?” Lord Rothwyn said slowly, as if he could hardly understand the words. “But how? And where has she gone?” “She will not trouble you anymore,” Sophie answered. “I have made arrangements for her future. She will be quite all right. You need not think of her again.” “Where has she gone?” Lord Rothwyn asked. “Surely it is immaterial?” Sophie said. “You have not announced your marriage to her, so no-one in London is aware that it ever happened. I am prepared to marry you as soon as it can be arranged, tomorrow or the next day. Then we can be together as you always wanted.”

  Her voice died away as she realised that Lord Rothwyn’s face had suddenly become contorted with an anger that was frightening.

  “Do you imagine,” he said firmly, “that I would touch you, let alone marry you, after the manner in which you and your mother treated Lalitha?”

  “It was nothing to do with me,” Sophie said quickly, “and if she has told you a lot of lies, you need not believe them. She always was a liar and a cheat. After all, she is nothing but a love-child. My mother looked after her out of charity.”

  “Where has she gone?”

  “Why are you so interested in her?” Sophie enquired. “She is a nobody—ugly and emaciated! I am prepared to give you myself, Inigo. Could you ask for anything more?”

  “You revolt me!” Lord Rothwyn retorted, “and although I have no desire to touch you, if you do not tell me where Lalitha has gone I will throttle the truth out of you, or I will beat you in the same manner that your mother beat that wretched girl!”

  He spoke with such ferocity that Sophie instinctively moved backwards.

  “You must be mad to speak to me
like that!”

  “I will speak to you in a far worse manner if you do not answer my question! Where is Lalitha? Must I repeat myself, or shall I force an answer from you?”

  He took a step towards her and now Sophie was really frightened.

  She gave a little cry.

  “Do not touch me! I will tell you! I will tell you where Lalitha has gone.”

  “Very well,” Lord Rothwyn said, “and hurry up about it!”

  “I gave Lalitha money to go Norfolk,” she said. “I do not know exactly where but she left on the stage-coach.”

  “At the cross-roads?”

  “I took her there.”

  “That is all I wanted to know,” Lord Rothwyn said. He walked towards the door.

  As he reached it he turned back to say:

  “Get out of my house! If I find you here when I return I will order the servants to throw you out!” He left the Salon, slamming the door behind him.

  As he reached the Hall the Major-Domo looked at his furious face apprehensively but he walked past him and round to the Stables.

  “My curricule with four fresh horses immediately!” Lord Rothwyn ordered.

  “Very good, M’Lord.”

  Half a dozen grooms ran to do his bidding and although Lord Rothwyn waited with obvious impatience it was less than four minutes before the curricle was ready, drawn by a team of well-matched chestnuts.

  Lord Rothwyn flung himself into the driving-seat and the horses were already moving before Ned had scrambled up behind.

  If he had driven quickly from London it was nothing compared to the speed he achieved now.

  Only when they reached the cross-roads did he slacken his pace to ask:

  “Which way would the afternoon stage-coach travel to London?”

  “That’ll be the slow one, M’Lord, stopping at the smaller villages. Your Lordship goes left.”

  Lord Rothwyn took the left fork and once again, despite the fact that the road twisted and turned, he managed to proceed at a speed which occasionally made Ned grip the sides and press his lips together in consternation.

  Never had he known His Lordship to push his horses so hard. Even so the evening was drawing on and they were within a few miles of London when ahead they saw a heavy, ponderous stage-coach packed with passengers.