104. the Glittering Lights Read online

  He advanced towards them.

  Taking Cassandra’s hand in his, he raised it to his lips.

  “May I welcome you to my home, pretty lady?” he said with a look in his eyes that she particularly disliked.

  She curtseyed and withdrew her hand from his with some difficulty.

  “Varro, my dear boy,” Lord Carwen said to the Duke, “you are always welcome. I think you know everyone who has arrived so far, but I must introduce Sandra.”

  By the time Cassandra was able to go upstairs for a short rest before dinner more guests had arrived.

  They were mostly men, with a few exceptions, of Lord Carwen’s age and on intimate terms with him.

  He chaffed them in a manner that Cassandra felt was vaguely insulting to her and the other women present.

  It was not the way she would have expected her father to speak in a lady’s presence and then she realised that to Lord Carwen she was not a lady!

  She was not certain either how to place his Lordship’s other female guests.

  There was a very attractive woman of about thirty-five, obviously well-born, who was flirting with sophisticated expertise with the Earl of Wilmere.

  He was a middle-aged man and responded with bursts of loud laughter. The innuendo in most of the things he said was lost on Cassandra.

  They kept referring to episodes when ‘we did this’ and ‘we did that’ and seemed so intimate that Cassandra innocently thought that they were man and wife.

  When she accompanied the other ladies upstairs to find their bedrooms, she said, making polite conversation,

  “Do you and your husband live in the country?”

  The woman, whom Cassandra later found was called Lady McDonald laughed derisively.

  “He is not my husband!” she exclaimed. “I only wish he was and poor old Jimmy wishes it too! But unfortunately he has a dragon of a wife and six extremely tiresome children!”

  Cassandra’s eyes widened in astonishment.

  “How is your husband, Julie?” one of the other women asked.

  “As boring as ever,” Lady McDonald replied, “wrapped in tartan and his pride in the frozen North.”

  “He still refuses to divorce you?”

  “He is adamant about it!” Lady McDonald answered. “Says there has never been a scandal in the family since Robert the Bruce liaised with the spider!”

  Her laughter at her own joke echoed round the hall.

  Cassandra was shocked.

  Then she told herself that it was exactly what she might have expected.

  After all, both Lord Carwen and the Duke thought that she was an actress and an actress would certainly not have been invited to a house party together with someone like her mother or indeed with any lady of her acquaintance.

  ‘It will be amusing to see how this sort of people behave,’ she told herself.

  At the same time she knew that the manner in which the gentlemen had joked not only amongst themselves but with Lady McDonald and the other women downstairs had made her feel embarrassed.

  She learnt that more guests would be arriving much later in the evening after the theatres closed.

  There would be Lily Langtry and Freddy Gebhard, besides, judging by what Lord Carwen said, several well-known figures from The Gaiety and the leading lady of Daly’s Theatre.

  “We shall be quite a packed house,” Lady McDonald said, as they reached the top of the staircase. “Now, let’s see where everyone is sleeping.”

  Lying on a table on the wide landing was a plan of the bedrooms.

  Cassandra looked at it and thought she had never before seen such a thing at any house where she had been a guest.

  There was always a plan of the dining table so that guests could go straight to their places without having to wander around the table looking for the card on which their name was inscribed.

  But to have the bedrooms planned in such a manner was something new!

  She saw that the majority of rooms were arranged in suites – her own, which was named ‘The Blue Room’, had a boudoir and dressing room attached.

  She saw it was not far away from ‘The Master Suite’ and that the Duke was only just round the corner in what was entitled ‘The Red Room’.

  Lady McDonald was commenting on the rooms that had been allotted to two people called Rosie and Jack.

  “Jack will have to go out in the corridor,” she giggled, “and if there is one thing he dislikes, it is having to do that!”

  They all laughed and Cassandra wondered why it should upset anyone to have to go into the corridor, especially one as well-heated and well-furnished as those that she saw on either side of the staircase.

  But a great deal of the women’s chatter was incomprehensible and she was glad when she could retire to her own room and find that Lord Carwen’s housemaids had unpacked for her.

  She rang the bell and a maid came to undo her gown.

  “Will you rest on the bed, miss, or on the chaise longue?” she enquired.

  “On the bed please,” Cassandra answered.

  She put on the silk wrap that Hannah had packed for her, and after the maid had removed the bedspread, she settled herself against the pillows and was covered by a satin eiderdown.

  “I would like my bath an hour before dinner,” she told the maid and closed her eyes.

  She thought that she might be able to sleep, because, having been late last night, she was in fact a little tired.

  Instead she found herself thinking of the Duke and the moment that he told her that he had fallen in love with her! She had known, even as he held her eyes spellbound, that he was speaking in all sincerity.

  He was in love as she was in love!

  They were drawn to each other and there was no escape.

  ‘I want him to love me,’ Cassandra admitted to herself. ‘But I also want him to think that nothing else, not even money, is of importance beside our love.’

  She thought of the bitterness in his face when he told her that his horses were to be sold at Tattersalls.

  She wondered what else he had disposed of and thought that Alchester Park must be filled with treasures that would fetch enormous sums of money in the London sale rooms.

  ‘I want him to tell me the truth,’ she thought. ‘I want him to admit to me that he is marrying for money and then perhaps I can tell him who I am.’

  Yet again there came that little tremor of fear that he might be angry because she had deceived him.

  She was still thinking of the Duke when the maid came back to light the gas-lamps, make up the fire and bring in the bath so that Cassandra could bathe by the fireside.

  Lady Carwen might be in Paris, but she certainly provided every expensive luxury for her guests.

  There were three different oils for Cassandra to choose from to scent the bathwater and the towels, which were embroidered with a huge coronet, smelt of lavender.

  She noticed also that throughout the house there were bowls of pot-pourri obviously made, as her mother made hers at home, from the flowers in the garden.

  The sheets and pillowcases were edged with lace and there was an ermine rug lying on the chaise longue.

  The desk contained every possible facility for writing a letter. There was a jewel-studded pen-holder, a blotter with gold corners and a writing paper box in red leather.

  There was a clock with a face encircled by diamonds.

  There was an onyx pen-tray, a tortoise-shell letter-opener, a calendar framed in polished silver and innumerable other objects, all of which were designed to make letter writing an art.

  There were also carnations and a profusion of yellow daffodils to decorate not only the bedroom but also the adjacent boudoir that Cassandra peeped into before she went downstairs.

  “Which gown will you wear, miss?” the maid enquired.

  Quite suddenly Cassandra knew that she could not go down flaunting one of the low-cut theatrical dresses she had bought from Chasemore’s.

  She had a revulsion
for the women who were already staying in the house.

  There was no need for her to look at their exaggeratedly fashionable clothes to know that they were not the type that her mother would approve of.

  The way they laughed, the boldness of their eyes, their hands, which seemed to be always reaching out to pat a masculine arm or to hold on to the lapel of a coat, were more revealing even than anything they said or wore.

  Cassandra looked with distaste at the glittering green gown she had worn on the first night to Lord Carwen’s party, at one of jonquil yellow and another of coral pink satin.

  She pointed instead to one of her own gowns, which Hannah had packed regardless of her protests.

  It was exquisitely styled. The very soft lace which was draped over the front of the full skirt, swept backwards into quite a small bustle at the back to fall in frills to the floor.

  The décolletage was much higher and indeed correct for a young girl, but it revealed Cassandra’s tiny waist and the perfect symmetry of her white arms.

  Tonight she did not even attempt to open her jewel case, and she asked the maid to arrange her hair in the exact manner that Hannah had done it before she left London.

  The long tresses of fire-touched gold were swept around her head to make it small and almost Grecian in shape.

  But however subdued Cassandra might wish to appear, there was nothing she could do to conceal the brilliant blue of her eyes or the dark lashes that seemed too long to be natural.

  Because she felt it might cause comment if she left her face untouched, she flicked just a suspicion of powder onto her cheeks and put the faintest touch of salve on her lips.

  “You look lovely, miss, if I may say so!” the maid remarked.

  “Thank you,” Cassandra smiled.

  “I have never seen a more lovely dress,” the maid went on. “When I unpacked it, I thought it might be a wedding gown!”

  Cassandra turned towards the door.

  “Thank you for helping me,” she said and walked downstairs.

  She felt a little nervous as a footman opened the door of the drawing room.

  It was a very attractive room lit by a great chandelier in the centre while candles in huge carved Italian candlesticks illuminated the rest of the room.

  Lord Carwen had already said before dinner that he thought gaslight was ugly and that women looked their best by candlelight.

  He was standing in front of the fireplace as Cassandra entered and she realised, as she moved towards him, that she was the first guest down to dinner.

  “It seems I am a little early,” she said quickly.

  “You could never be too early for me.”

  As Lord Carwen spoke, he took her hand and held it close against his lips.

  Cassandra felt herself shiver from the warm possessiveness of his mouth and she disliked even more the way his eyes looked at her. She thought she saw a touch of fire in them.

  “You are very lovely,” he said, “and I cannot tell you how happy it makes me to have you here in my own house. We have a lot to say to each other, little Sandra.”

  Cassandra was concerned with trying to take her hand from his grasp, but he would not relinquish it.

  “Please,” she said insistently, a flush coming to her cheeks.

  “Are you afraid that the others will come in and see us?” Lord Carwen asked. “In that case, Sandra, later we will go somewhere quiet where we can get to know each other.”

  He let her hand go as if reluctantly and Cassandra walked quickly away from him towards the fireplace.

  “I know,” Lord Carwen said following her and standing too close, “that we are going to mean a great deal to each other, you and I.”

  “I think you are mistaken, my Lord,” Cassandra answered firmly.

  “I am never mistaken where a pretty woman is concerned,” Lord Carwen said. “I knew as soon as I saw you, Sandra, that you were someone I wished to know well – very well.”

  Cassandra turned her head away from him to look into the flames.

  “I have a present for you that I know will please you,” he said softly.

  He looked at her bare neck and she felt as if he touched it with his fingers.

  “You may tell me which is your favourite stone,” he went on, “but I have already decided that diamonds become you best.”

  There was no mistaking the insinuation behind his words and Cassandra, moving away from him, said formally,

  “I never accept presents from – strangers, my Lord.”

  “We will not be strangers for long,” Lord Carwen smiled.

  She thought that there was a confidence about him that was unassailable.

  He was so sure of himself, so completely convinced that he could say or do as he wished and she would not rebuff him.

  “I am afraid you are under a misapprehension,” Cassandra said. “I am here because I am a friend of the Duke. You invited us together and it was a great pleasure to drive here with him in his phaeton. I hope that is clear?”

  She wondered as she spoke if she had been too rude, considering that Lord Carwen was her host.

  To her surprise he laughed!

  “I like your spirit,” he said, “but I assure you that you will find me very much more generous than Alchester can afford to be and the more I see you the more I am convinced that we shall get along very well together.”

  “You are mistaken, my Lord,” Cassandra said sharply.

  Then to her relief the drawing room door opened and the Duke came in.

  She turned to him with what was almost a little cry of gladness and if she had not restrained herself, she would have run down the room to meet him.

  She wanted to hold on to him to make sure that he was there and to know that he would protect her, although she could hardly say that Lord Carwen’s advances had been actually menacing.

  And yet she was afraid!

  She knew that, even as the Duke came to her side, for some inexplicable reason she was really very frightened.

  Chapter Seven

  Dinner was not so noisy or as gay as Cassandra had expected.

  Since there were extra men, some of them had to sit together and they instantly began to talk sport. Even the Earl of Wilmere’s normally unrestrained laughter seemed more subdued than it had earlier.

  Cassandra was glad to find that she was not sitting next to Lord Carwen.

  Instead she was on the right of the Duke with a middle-aged man on her right. He was engrossed in talking about the shooting prospects for the coming year with the gentleman on his right.

  Cassandra found herself thinking that the Duke was very quiet and she fancied that when he was not actually speaking to her there was a frown between his eyes.

  She wondered if it had anything to do with the conversation that had taken place when he had come into the drawing room and found her alone with Lord Carwen.

  She had been glad and relieved to see him, but she fancied that, as he advanced across the room, there was a grim expression on his face.

  “I want to speak to you, Varro,” Lord Carwen said as he reached the hearthrug.

  The Duke did not answer. He merely looked at his host expectantly.

  “De Veet has arrived and I want you to be nice to him.”

  “I don’t like him,” the Duke replied in an uncompromising voice.

  “That is immaterial!” Lord Carwen retorted.

  “On the contrary, I think it is very pertinent to the matter in question,” the Duke contradicted. “I am quite convinced that he is not to be trusted.”

  “That may be your opinion,” Lord Carwen said, “but I have gone into the matter very thoroughly, and I can assure you, Varro, that your apprehensions are quite unfounded.”

  The Duke walked nearer to the fireplace and stood holding his hands out towards the fire as if he felt cold.

  Then he said quietly,

  “I am still not interested, Carwen.”

  Cassandra saw an expression of anger in Lord Carwen�
��s eyes.

  “Now look here, Varro – ” he began, but before he could say any more the door opened to admit a number of other members of the house party.

  Several new guests appeared to have arrived while they were changing for dinner. Among them was Mr. de Veet, who Cassandra learned was a South African.

  He was a heavy coarse man, flashily dressed, who spoke with a decided accent. Looking at him perceptively, Cassandra was certain that the Duke was right and he was not to be trusted.

  She wondered why Lord Carwen was so anxious for the Duke to be nice to Mr. de Veet.

  She came to the conclusion that there must be some matter of business involved because Lord Carwen himself went out of his way to be almost over-effusive to his guest.

  At dinner Mr. de Veet had two of the prettiest women in the party on either side of him.

  Later, when Lord Carwen’s theatrical guests arrived from London, it was obvious that the party was to be paired off, every man being more or less allotted a particular woman in whom he either already had, or was expected to take, an interest.

  Dinner was so long drawn out with many courses and the gentlemen lingered so long over their port, that there was in fact little time to wait before Lily Langtry arrived with Freddy Gebhard.

  They were followed shortly by the ladies of the theatre who, Cassandra learned, had been conveyed to the country by Lord Carwen’s fastest horses.

  Mrs. Langtry was looking very beautiful.

  She arrived wearing full evening dress with magnificent jewellery and she looked so elegant without a hair out of place that she might have stepped from behind the footlights into the drawing room.

  Everyone present paid her extravagant compliments and she greeted Cassandra with a charming smile, although it was obvious that she was surprised to find she was staying in the house.

  “I am grateful to you, Lily, for introducing me to the entrancing Sandra,” Lord Carwen said. “But then your taste has always been impeccable.”

  “I understood it was Varro she wished to meet,” Mrs. Langtry replied with what Cassandra felt was a hint of mischief in her eyes.

  “Varro is also here,” Lord Carwen remarked.

  “How kind of you,” Mrs. Langtry said with a little smile.