A Castle of Dreams Read online

  “It was just so noisy! I am not used to so many people. I-I – ”

  “I know exactly how you feel. But at least it is a cheerful noise. It is just because everyone is so happy and enjoying themselves. Surely you cannot be on your own?”

  “Oh, no! I came here with my brother, the Duke of Glentorran. We live up in Scotland – I expect you can tell from my accent. But my brother has business in London with Mr. Brent and so Charlotte’s father kindly asked us to her birthday ball.

  “But Robert – that is my brother – has gone into the study to converse with Mr. Brent and his City colleagues.”

  “Well, Lady Margaret, there is no reason for you to stand out here in the hall waiting for him. My sister, Viola, has gone upstairs with Charlotte and if I know them, they will be up there for ages gossiping. What do you say to a dance, while we are waiting for our respective siblings?”

  Lady Margaret looked into his kind grey eyes and smiled timidly.

  She put her hand on his arm,

  “My friends call me ‘Meg’.”

  Upstairs Charlotte and Viola were sitting together in the pretty little anteroom that led from her bedroom.

  They had exchanged all the latest information about mutual acquaintances and Viola had exclaimed over her friend’s many extravagant birthday presents and Charlotte was fascinated by Viola’s forthcoming trip to America.

  “Oh, I do wish I was going! It sounds so exciting. And you could meet the man of your dreams on board ship, Viola!”

  Viola laughed, her blue eyes sparkling.

  She and Charlotte had spoken very many times of the kind of man they would like to marry.

  Viola just knew it would have to be someone very special. She did not want a marriage of convenience such as some of her friends had made.

  She was sensible enough to recognise that powerful families frequently married their offspring to each other for dynastic reasons, but she wanted to experience the wonder of falling in love and having that love returned.

  “The man of my dreams? Goodness, I don’t think he exists. I have never met anyone who comes even close to what I would consider to be a man I could really fall in love with!”

  Charlotte picked up her perfume bottle and sprayed a fine mist across her shoulders.

  Viola glanced admiringly at her beautiful amethyst dress.

  “I just love your gown, Charlotte. I must look like a church mouse in this dreadful old rag of Cousin Edith’s. Oh, I am so tired of being poor.”

  Charlotte pulled a face.

  She was a most straightforward girl and could not prevaricate and pretend.

  Viola’s creamy lace gown was certainly awful and did smell of mothballs!

  “I say, Viola, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you wear something of mine? Just for this evening. It would be a great jest. Look – ”

  She jumped up and threw open a large wardrobe to display a row of wonderful gowns of all colours.

  Viola shook her head.

  “No, don’t be so silly, Charlotte. What would your parents say?”

  Charlotte was busy rifling through her dresses.

  “Lord, Viola, Mama will not care and Papa won’t notice. Look – this one is just made for you. I have only worn it the once. It’s not my colour, it’s too pale with my complexion, although I love the material.”

  Viola gasped.

  The dress was fashioned from a delightful pale blue gauze, quite low-cut with a deep band of seed pearls and tiny white rosebuds embroidered around the neckline and along the flaring skirt.

  It was the most beautiful gown Viola had ever seen and she knew, even before she tried it on, that it would fit her perfectly.

  “Oh, Viola. That will look wonderful on you. And see, here is my sapphire necklet. You can wear this too. It finishes the whole outfit splendidly!”

  *

  Robert, Duke of Glentorran, came out of the library into the hall and paused.

  He needed to find his sister.

  He knew she did not care for crowds and noise. He had not intended to leave her on her own for such a long time, but his business discussions with Mr. Brent had been urgent and protracted.

  Tall and dark, his face looked stern.

  The Duke was deeply worried.

  His ancestral Glentorran estate on the West coast of Scotland was in desperate need of money.

  The Castle was always referred to locally as a ‘little Glamis’. It was very similar in style and design – although much smaller – to the world famous castle near Dundee, where the Earls of Strathmore had lived for centuries.

  The Duke loved every inch, every stone, turret and window of his ancient home. He knew all his tenants from the oldest shepherd who tended the flocks on the high hills down to the youngest baby born to one of the fishermen in the village of Glentorran.

  But he also recognised that without a considerable investment, he would be forced to close up the Castle and move into the Dower House on the estate.

  Hundreds of clansmen completely relied on him for their livelihood and he could see no way of increasing his revenue.

  The Duke stood, staring around, trying to find his sister.

  The ceaseless chatter and laughter, the careless gaiety of these Socialites were more and more annoying him.

  Grimly he reckoned that all the jewellery on display this evening would keep his Castle and the estate running for a good twenty years!

  Did any of these people know what it was like to be poor?

  To have one schoolroom for over fifty children?

  For the closest hospital to be miles away across a range of mountains?

  What would they know about having responsibility for so many people less fortunate than themselves who had not been born to title and privilege?

  He doubted that the people in this house would ever understand.

  The Duke strode across the hall and then stopped as a sudden flash of pale blue caught his eye.

  The most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life was gliding down the great stairway towards him.

  He did not see the costly dress or even the sparkling sapphires at her neck.

  All he could see was the sheer beauty of her face, the proud way she held her head, the tumbled golden curls, carelessly pinned back with a length of cream lace.

  He had not the faintest idea who she was or who could introduce him.

  Normally the Duke was a quiet reserved man, but some power held him in place at the foot of the stairs and as the angel in blue reached him, he held out his hand and asked her gently,

  “Madam, please will you do the honour of dancing with me?”

  Viola felt as if she had been swept away into an unknown world.

  One second she had been innocently walking down stairs, anxious to show David her marvellous gown and then there was a tall handsome man, holding out his hand, the expression in his dark brown eyes both commanding and imploring at the same time.

  With a small gasp she had nodded her acceptance and now she was held in his arms and they were waltzing, surrounded by light and colour and many people she would undoubtedly know.

  But she could see none of them – just the dark eyes that gazed down into hers so intently.

  “You will think me amiss, madam, asking you to dance when we have not been introduced. Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Robert, the Duke of Glentorran, at your service.”

  Viola smiled up at him as he swirled her round, her feet hardly seeming to touch the polished parquet floor.

  “Your Grace – I am most delighted to make your acquaintance. I am Lady Viola Northcombe.”

  “Viola – that is a – ”

  He hesitated, as he had been about to say, ‘that is a beautiful name’, but realised he was being far too forward with a young lady he had only just met.

  “ – interesting name,” he finished lamely.

  “I can tell from your accent you are from Scotland, Your Grace.”

  “Aye. The West coast – rugg
ed and heather clad hills, fine beaches and distant mountains. There can be no better place on earth.”

  Viola sighed.

  He spoke of his home with such great warmth and affection. So many men she had met did not care where they lived, as long as it was in comfort and splendour.

  “Oh, it sounds so wonderful. I’ve always longed to live in an old country house. I have dreams of buying an old ruined place and bringing it back to life. I would love to create a wonderful garden that everyone around could enjoy.

  She paused.

  “Please tell me about Glentorran.”

  On the other side of the ballroom, Lady Margaret gave a little exclamation of surprise.

  “Who can that girl be with my brother? He never dances at balls!”

  David spun her round with ease and then laughed.

  “Well, though she is wearing a different dress than she set out in earlier this evening, I can tell you that is my twin sister, Viola.”

  “Your sister?”

  “Yes, and please don’t say we are not alike. She possesses all the good looks – but I do declare I have all the intelligence!”

  A smile glimmered in Lady Margaret’s eyes.

  “She certainly has some talents to amuse. There – my brother is laughing. That is good to see. He has been so very downcast of late.”

  Just then the music came to a climax and stopped. Clapping and laughing, the couples moved to the side of the ballroom.

  Viola felt she was living in a dream as the Duke led her to a small gilt chair – a dream which she had no wish to awake from.

  “Glentorran – ”

  It was Mr. Brent, Charlotte’s father.

  “Viola, my dear, you must excuse my interrupting your dance, but I now have some urgent business to discuss with the Duke.”

  “Can it not wait until later?” the Duke enquired.

  “I am afraid not. My colleagues have to leave for the Continent on the night ferry.”

  The Duke turned, smiled down at Viola and said,

  “Please wait here for me. I will be back very soon. If you are not otherwise engaged, perhaps we could take supper together.”

  “And here is Charlotte to keep you company,” Mr. Brent added jovially as his daughter swept across the floor towards them.

  Viola watched him closely as the Duke bowed and walked away with his host.

  Her head was spinning with pictures of lochs and heather, mountains and sheep shearing, tartans and rivers bounding with salmon.

  The Duke loved his country so much and he was a fascinating man.

  She could not remember ever meeting anyone she had been so attracted to from the very beginning.

  Could this possibly be the man of her dreams?

  And – her heart gave a little jump –

  He seemed to like her as well.

  “Are you enjoying wearing the blue gown?” asked Charlotte, sinking into a chair next to Viola and fanning herself vigorously.

  “The blue – oh, I had quite forgotten!”

  Charlotte laughed.

  “You’ve obviously been having a good time. Did I see you dancing with the Duke of Glentorran?”

  Viola bent over the pearl buttons on her glove. She did not want Charlotte to comment on the blush she knew was staining her cheeks.

  “Yes – he asked me for the waltz and we talked about Scotland.”

  “Oh, that draughty old Castle of his! That’s all he ever talks about. He was here for luncheon yesterday with his sister and it was obvious that he cannot wait to get back to the Highlands.”

  “Why are they in London?”

  Charlotte gazed around the busy ballroom, seeking her next partner.

  “What? Oh, Mama told me that he is looking for a rich wife.”

  Viola felt the blood drain from her face.

  “A rich wife?” she whispered.

  “Why, yes. Goodness, Viola, you know how much money these huge Scottish estates eat up. He needs a lot of money very quickly and the fastest way of achieving it is to marry an heiress, or a girl with plenty of money that he can use to his own advantage. I say, my sapphires really suit you. Mama says I should wear emeralds, but – ”

  But Viola was no longer listening.

  Her world lay shattered around her.

  She fingered the pale blue gauze of Charlotte’s skirt and then touched the warm stones that lay against her skin.

  So that was why the Duke had seemed to like her so much!

  She gave every impression of being rich!

  A man of the world, such as he, would have known immediately that the diamond necklet she was wearing was worth a small fortune.

  He would probably even realise that the beautiful dress had cost more than a working man could earn in six months.

  He had come to London to look for a rich wife – and thought he had found a likely candidate.

  Viola felt a wave of bitterness and disappointment sweep over her.

  She had liked him so much.

  The man of her dreams!

  That was exactly what she had begun to think.

  What a fool she was!

  Well, she would show him that she cared nothing for him or his Scottish estate.

  Robert, the Duke of Glentorran, walked back into the ballroom half an hour later, feeling deeply disappointed by his business meeting.

  He had been able to borrow a meagre amount from the City gentlemen he had just been introduced to, but not nearly sufficient to repair the Castle roof and some of the tenants’ crofts.

  The whole visit to London had turned into a failure – except for one thing – meeting Lady Viola Northcombe.

  That wonderful girl was worth every minute he had been forced to stay here in the South.

  He glanced over to where he had left her, knowing that she would have waited for him.

  But the gilt chair was occupied by someone else.

  Scowling he glanced round the room.

  There was his sister, Margaret, dancing with a tall blond young man. She seemed happy, for which he was thankful, realising he had neglected her for the past hour.

  But he wanted to find his angel girl.

  Surely Viola’s blue dress would be easy to spot – there!

  Then, as he watched her, his face grew dark and his emotions tumbled into turmoil.

  Lady Viola was sitting in a little alcove, surrounded by attentive young men.

  She was drinking champagne, laughing loudly and openly flirting, the lovely sapphire necklet sparkling as she moved.

  The Duke observed several older ladies giving her scandalous glances at they passed.

  He just could not believe that it was the same quiet beauty who had stolen his heart earlier that evening.

  With a thunderous expression on his face, he strode through the crowd.

  All he wanted to do now was to collect his sister and leave.

  He wished to go home; back to Scotland where rich young women did not play silly games with men they had just met.

  He hesitated as he approached Viola, then stopped, bowed his head curtly, ignoring the flush of embarrassment his offhand actions might cause her and strode on to snatch a bewildered protesting Margaret away from her partner.

  Viola watched him go, her heart sinking in despair.

  ‘Good riddance,’ she fumed to herself, placing the champagne glass she had pretended to empty onto a table.

  She stood up and signalled to David.

  All she desired too was to go home and leave this house where the man of her dreams had just turned out to be a fortune-hunting rogue.

  But even as she and David walked silently back across the Square, she found herself wishing she had not behaved in such a frivolous way and that she had explained herself to the Duke in a frank and sensible fashion.

  Viola sighed.

  Tomorrow they would set sail for America and she knew she was highly unlikely ever to meet the Duke of Glentorran again.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Robert
, Duke of Glentorran, was clambering down the steep rocky steps that had been cut into the cliff face by his ancestors many centuries ago.

  It was a wild day for early June.

  The sea was crashing onto the sharp black rocks of the West coast of Scotland in great walls of white foam and dark grey-green water.

  The early summer storm was blowing fierce clouds in from the far horizon, shutting out the sun.

  It was a day that matched the Duke’s mood – black and miserable.

  The sharp pebbles of the little cove crunched under his boots as he strode down to the water’s edge, his dark green kilt swinging around his knees.

  He stared out across the ocean, allowing the cold salty wind to blow his dark hair into wild tangles.

  High above him, on the cliffs of Glentorran, stood his home, the Castle he loved so much.

  He knew every inch of its endless corridors, turrets and rooms. He had explored all the cellars and attics since his childhood and could recognise every stone and tile that made up the amazing building that looked so much like its bigger Royal relation, Glamis Castle.

  He had inherited the Castle and estate on the death of his ne’er-do-well father, Kenneth.

  The Glentorran estate consisted of miles of heather-covered hills where big herds of deer roamed, sheep farms, fishing villages and little crofts that eked a living out of the hard ground.

  The Duke had always believed that the Castle and the estate were only temporarily his on trust, handed down to him by generations of the Glentorran family.

  His to hold until he could pass them on to a son.

  He picked up a handful of stones from the beach and threw them, one by one, out across the waves that were now hissing around his feet.

  He felt a great weight on his shoulders.

  He believed he had failed in his duty.

  The Castle and the estate were now in great danger of being lost to the Glentorrans.

  The majority of the money his father had left had been eaten up by paying the late Duke’s massive gambling debts.

  He knew that if he could not raise sufficient money quickly, he would be forced to sell the Castle and the estate and abandon the people who looked to him for leadership and support.

  He had even tried asking the hard-hearted London City men for a large loan just a few months ago, but that had failed miserably.