Call of the Heart Read online

  Now because she could not prevent herself as Lalitha sat up against her pillows she asked:

  “How is His Lordship this morning?”

  “I’ve not seen him,” Nattie replied, “but from the size of the breakfast being carried into his room as I came down the passage I imagine he’s fit as a fiddle!” Lalitha laughed.

  “You told me yesterday that the wound has nearly healed.” “Mr. Clive is very pleased with His Lordship’s progress,” Nattie answered. “He says he has never known a gentleman to heal so quickly or so cleanly.”

  “I am . . . glad of that!” Lalitha said a little breathlessly.

  Nattie did not answer and after a moment she went on:

  “It is a lovely day! I want to get up and go into the garden with Royal.”

  “Then keep him away from the flower-beds,” Nattie admonished. “If you’d heard what the gardeners had to say about the mess he made it’d make Your Ladyship’s ears tingle!” “He was very naughty!” Lalitha admitted. “He was quite convinced there was a bone buried under the geraniums!”

  Because she thought that Royal’s behaviour might amuse Lord Rothwyn she had drawn a little pencil sketch of the small dog digging up flowers and kicking the soil all over the smooth, green lawn.

  She put it in an envelope and asked Nattie to take it to His Lordship.

  When she heard that it had made him laugh, she drew another sketch of a closed door with the dogs and herself waiting patiently outside as if longing to go for a walk.

  She had never been any use at painting with watercolours, which was considered an important part of every young lady’s accomplishments, but she could draw little cartoons which had often amused her father.

  It had given her a feeling of satisfaction to send her efforts to Lord Rothwyn merely because she longed to communicate with him in one way or another.

  She even dared to hope that perhaps he would send her a note in return, but she was disappointed.

  Perhaps, she thought in sudden fear, he was already regretting that he had prevented her from disappearing as she had meant to do into the wilds of Norfolk.

  Perhaps now he thought he had made a mistake and was no longer interested in her! Then she remembered how he had said that he never left unfinished a building on which he was working.

  She was certainly not finished as yet, but when she was ...

  It was like a dark cloud on the horizon to remember that someday that would happen and then perhaps she would have to leave him.

  She took Royal into the garden, and because she played with him, throwing him a stick and then a small ball, he behaved with propriety.

  Lalitha had luncheon alone and when she went upstairs to rest on Nattie’s strict instructions she found the Nurse waiting in her bed-room.

  “I hope you’re going to try and sleep, M’Lady, and not wear yourself out reading those books,” Nattie said as she saw what Lalitha was carrying.

  “I want to read for a little while,” she replied pleadingly.

  “Well, not for too long,” Nattie said firmly. “You have to

  look your best tonight.”

  “To . . . night?” “His Lordship has asked if you will dine with him.” “Oh, Nattie!”

  Lalitha could hardly breathe the words.

  After a moment she managed to say:

  “His Lordship has . . . recovered?”

  “I understand, M’Lady, we shall all be returning to Roth Park tomorrow.”

  “Oh, I am glad ... so very ... glad!” Lalitha cried. She felt as if someone had taken all the sun-shine from the sky and put it into her arms; she felt as if she could dance on air or fly to the moon!

  He was better! He wanted to see her and they were to dine together!

  Because she wished so desperately to look her best for him, she did sleep for a little while, then lay awake counting the minutes until it was time to dress for dinner.

  As she bathed, Nattie brought from the wardrobe a gown she had never seen before.

  “His Lordship wishes you to wear this tonight.”

  It was quite different from any dress Lalitha had imagined herself wearing.

  She was not even certain of the colour.

  There seemed to be layers of gauze in shades of blue and green over a silver foundation.

  It was soft and indeterminate and while it revealed the soft curves of her figure it made her look very ethereal.

  As Lalitha stared at herself in the mirror Nattie brought a large leather box and set it down on the dressing-table.

  “His Lordship asked if you would wear these.”

  She opened the box and Lalitha saw that it contained a necklace of tiny diamond stars exquisitely set and so delicate that they might have been fashioned by fairy fingers.

  Nattie fastened the necklace and then there were several stars to match to be arranged in her hair.

  The diamonds seemed to pick up the new lights which had become more prominent day after day.

  Now her hair no longer felt limp and lank but waved with a buoyancy when it fell over her shoulders and had a thickness and a sheen which had never been there before.

  It was due, Lalitha knew, to the peach lotion which Nattie applied every night, on the Herb-Woman’s instructions, and she had learnt also that hair quicker than anything else revealed the health of the body._

  There was also a bracelet of stars in the box which matched the necklace and Lalitha put it on.

  She rose from the dressing-table to stand looking at herself in a long mirror in which she was reflected from the top of her glittering head to the small, buckle-trimmed slippers which matched her gown.

  It was hard to recognise the miserable, thin, frightened girl whom Lord Rothwyn had married in a desire for revenge.

  For a moment Lalitha could only see her own eyes shining like the stars in the softness of her hair.

  She could see too that her skin was white and clear, that her neck was soft and rounded and there were no ‘salt-cellars’ at the base of it as there had been before.

  “You look lovely, M’Lady!”

  Then even as Lalitha flushed a little at the compliment she saw instead of her own face, Sophie’s exquisite, breathtakingly beautiful countenance, with her blue eyes, gold hair, and pink and white skin.

  She turned away from the mirror.

  It was useless, she thought, to hope that Lord Rothwyn might admire her as he had Sophie, but perhaps he would still be kind to her out of . . . pity.

  But whatever he might feel about her, she still loved him and she wanted to see him so urgently that it was with the greatest difficulty that she forced herself not to run but to walk down the staircase to the Salon.

  She had thought of him every minute during the past week and yet when she saw him again she did not remember how overwhelmingly handsome and elegant he was.

  He was waiting for her at the end of the Salon and as she walked towards him she knew that no man could look so magnificent and so irresistible.

  His evening-coat fitted him like a second skin and his white cravat was a masterpiece of intricacy beneath the high points of his collar.

  His skin did not look quite so sun-burnt and he was also a trifle thinner, but it actually made him even more attractive than he had been before.

  Lalitha drew nearer to him, her eyes on his, and as she was trying to find the words to tell him how glad she was that he had recovered he exclaimed:

  “At last I know the colour of your hair!”

  She looked up at him enquiringly and he went on: “I could never put a name to it before but it is moon-light on water!” For a moment Lalitha was too surprised even to blush. Then as the colour came to her cheeks Lord Rothwyn raised her hand to his lips.

  “Forgive me!” he said, “I should have said first how delighted I am to see you!”

  “You have recovered?” she asked in a low voice. “They tell me I have been an exemplary patient!” She longed to ask him why she had not been allowed to see him, but befor
e she could formulate the words he went on:

  “The rest has done you good. That is what I wanted. You look different in every way and I am sure you have put on a little weight.”

  “A lot of weight!” Lalitha answered with laughter in her voice. “Nearly four pounds!”

  “I congratulate you!”

  She had the strange feeling that while their lips were saying one thing their minds were saying something else.

  She found it hard to look into his eyes.

  At the same time she felt strange little thrills of happiness running through her like quicksilver.

  It was hard to speak, hard to breathe, and she could not help remembering how heavy Lord Rothwyn’s head had felt against her breasts.

  “We have a great many things to talk about,” he said, and then before; he could begin the Butler announced that dinner was served.

  What they ate or what they drank Lalitha had no idea.

  She only knew that it was an excitement and a joy that she had never known before to sit beside him and listen to his voice.

  The table was decorated with green orchids and as course succeeded course served on crested, silver dishes by quiet, well-trained servants in their colourful livery, Lalitha kept feeling that she must be dreaming.

  Could she really be the same girl who had cooked herself something to eat when she had time and when there was anything in the house, and who ate at the kitchen table because her Step-mother would not allow her to sit down in the Dining-Room?

  After dinner when they returned to the Salon Lord Rothwyn said.

  “I knew that jewellery would become you. It belonged to my mother. She always told me when she was young it was her favourite.”

  “It is very lovely!” Lalitha said, “and it is kind of you to lend it to me.”

  “It is a gift!” Lord Rothwyn said quietly.

  She looked up at him in astonishment and he added:

  “I have another present for you as well.”

  “But you . . . s-should not ... I m-mean . . . you c-cannot . . . m-mean it,” Lalitha stammered.

  “I would wish to repay you for your care of my wound,” Lord Rothwyn said, “and what is more I have the feeling that if you had not protected me from the highwaymen my injuries might have been far worse than they were.”

  He saw Lalitha give a shudder as she remembered how the highwayman had turned his pistol, ready to strike Lord Rothwyn on the head.

  He said quickly:

  “But there is no reason now to talk of it. We have so many other things to discuss.”

  Because he spoke so authoritatively Lalitha tried to force the memory of what had happened from her mind, and she said a little shyly: “I do not . . . know how to . . . thank . . . you. But I have a . . . present for . . . you.”

  “For me?” Lord Rothwyn asked in surprise.

  “It is not a valuable one,” Lalitha answered, “but I do hope it will please you.”

  She crossed the room to the secretaire at which she had sat in the afternoons during the past week.

  She took a piece of paper from a drawer.

  “I have pieced together Lord Hadley’s poem,” she said, and I have only had to guess a few words, which were not important.”

  “Will you read it to me?” Lord Rothwyn asked. Lalitha opened the paper which she held in her hand, then in her soft voice read:

  “The call of the heart is the call of love But I swear by Heaven above Now and forever my love is true If your heart calls my heart to you.”

  As she finished she looked up at Lord Rothwyn for his approval.

  “It was very clever of you to re-construct it,” he said, “and Lord Hadley expresses himself most eloquently.”

  “He may not have been the Lord Byron of his day,” Lalitha smiled, “but I imagine how thrilled the lady in question

  would have been to receive his poem.”

  “Do you think that her heart called to his?”

  Lord Rothwyn’s voice was deep and the question seemed to Lalitha to be almost a personal one.

  She did not know why but she found it hard to reply, and then in another tone he said:

  “Now let me give you another present which is a quid pro quo for those delightful sketches you drew for me.”

  “I thought they might . . . amuse you.”

  “They did!” Lord Rothwyn replied, “and although what I have for you will not make you laugh, I think they will please you.”

  He took a small portfolio from the table which stood beside his chair, which Lalitha had not noticed before, and put it into her hands.

  When she untied the ribbon with which it was tied she found inside there were three pencil drawings.

  She looked at one for a moment and her eyes widened in astonishment.

  “That is by Michaelangelo,” Lord Rothwyn said. “It is called The Running Youth. ”

  “It is beautiful! Unbelievably beautiful!” Lalitha said in awe-struck tones.

  She turned to the next and saw that it was a landscape filled with detail; a panoramic vision at which she felt she could go on looking for hours.

  “That one is drawn by Pieter Brueghel,” Lord Rothwyn told her, “and the last is the one I think you will like the best.”

  It was the head of an angel and the spiritual, mystical look on her face made Lalitha feel that at last she knew what real beauty should look like.

  “It is by Leonardo Da Vinci,” Lord Rothwyn explained. “It was one of his first sketches for the angel in the picture called The Virgin on the Rocks. ” “Are these . . . really for . . . me?” Lalitha asked almost beneath her breath. “I cannot. . . believe it!” “I want you to answer me a question,” Lord Rothwyn said. “Look at the picture over the mantel-piece.” Lalitha looked up

  as he told her to do.

  She saw that the picture was by Rubens and must be very valuable. The vivid colours and the brilliant outline of the figure were awe-inspiring.

  “Now tell me,” Lord Rothwyn went on, “which means the more to you, the finished painting by Rubens, acclaimed master of his craft, or the drawings that you hold in your hand?”

  Lalitha thought for a moment and then she said: “Both are wonderful in their way. Both give me a feeling of inexpressible beauty, but . . .”

  She paused.

  “Go on,” Lord Rothwyn prompted.

  “Perhaps it is only a personal feeling,” Lalitha said, “but to me these sketches are more . . . inspiring.” Lord Rothwyn smiled.

  “Did you know that William Blake, who was a friend of mine and is of course both an artist and a poet, said once: ‘Not drawing—but inspiration?’ ”

  “No, I did not know that,” Lalitha answered. “It is what. . . happens to me when I look at them ... what happens . . . inside me.”

  She felt that she had not explained herself very well and went on:

  “I feel as if I do not look at a drawing with my ... eyes but with my ... soul.”

  Feeling that she had perhaps sounded too emotional, she said: “You will... laugh at me for being ... sentimental!”

  “I am not laughing, Lalitha,” Lord Rothwyn said. “I want to tell you something.”

  He put out his hand towards her as he spoke and covered hers. She was not certain whether it was the touch of his fingers or the note in his voice that made her feel as if she could not move, and that something strange and very wonderful was about to happen.

  Almost as though he compelled her to do so she raised her eyes to his and was spell-bound.

  He was looking at her in a way which he had never looked at her before; in a manner which no man had ever looked at her. It seemed to take the very breath from her body.

  “Lalitha!” Lord Rothwyn exclaimed.

  Behind them the door opened.

  “Sir William Knighton, M’Lord,” the Major-Domo announced.

  For a moment it seemed to Lalitha as if the interruption did not reach their minds and they could not comprehend what had happened.


  Lord Rothwyn held her to him by a spell that was inescapable. Then, as if he broke a thread which bound them irrevocably to each other, he took his hand from hers and rose to his feet.

  “Sir William!” he exclaimed. “I was not expecting you.” “No, indeed, My Lord, and I had intended to call in the morning before you left for the country.”

  Sir William Knighton had by this time reached Lord Rothwyn and the two men shook hands.

  A quiet, unobtrusive, middle-aged man, industrious, conscientious, and discreet, Sir William, besides being His Royal Highness’s Physician, had recently become a close confidant of the Regent.

  “You must forgive my intrusion at this late hour,” Sir William continued, “but His Royal Highness has requested that I should attend him in Brighton tomorrow and I must therefore make an early start.”

  “Of course I understand,” Lord Rothwyn said.

  “I thought therefore instead of inconveniencing you by calling before breakfast,” Sir William said, “I would look at your shoulder this evening, and then Your Lordship can return to the country without further anxiety.”

  “That is very obliging of you,” Lord Rothwyn said, and added: “I do not think, Sir William, that you have met my wife?” “Your wife?” Sir William ejaculated as he bowed.

  There was no doubt of the surprise in his eyes.

  “Our marriage has been kept a secret,” Lord Rothwyn explained, “and I should be grateful if you would not mention it to His Royal Highness until he receives a letter from me.”

  “I will respect your confidence,” Sir William answered. “As Your Lordship is well aware, I am discretion itself!”

  Lord Rothwyn smiled.

  “We both know that the Regent is very angered if he does not learn of anything closely concerning his friends before anyone else.”

  “That is true,” Sir William agreed and his eyes were twinkling. “We must not keep you, I am sure you are very busy,” Lord Rothwyn said. “Shall we repair to my bed-room?”

  “Of course, My Lord,” Sir William agreed.

  It seemed to Lalitha that Lord Rothwyn hesitated a moment and then he said:

  “In which case, Lalitha, it would be best if we say good-night to each other. I would not wish to keep you up late when we have a tiring day ahead of us. We leave at noon, if that suits you.”