A Kiss from the Heart Read online

  “It means I get you into trouble,” whispered Robert. “I thought I was going to die,” he added. “You were very brave.”

  Miranda shrugged.

  “It was very cold,” she said. “The doctor says I am a heroine and I have frostbite.”

  She held up her bandaged hands.

  “See?”

  “You saved my life,” muttered Robert, as he stared at the swaddled appendages thrust in front of him. “I will never forget what you did for me. One day I will marry you!”

  CHAPTER ONE

  1883 - SIXTEEN YEARS LATER

  Lord Robert Templeton now threw his head into his hands as Stringer, their butler, walked towards him with a sepulchral air.

  “My father?” he cried, knowing the answer even before Stringer had uttered a word.

  “He passed away ten minutes ago,” whispered the butler, bowing his head.

  Robert did not even take off his dusty overcoat or think about his long military boots that still bore the scars from the bitter campaign he had just fought in India.

  He tore up the magnificent staircase, two steps at a time. This was not the homecoming that he had envisaged on the long sea journey back from India.

  With his duties fulfilled, he had longed to be home at Ledbury Hall once more and to see his family.

  Long years had passed since he had first been sent out to India to fight in the Second Afghan War.

  He had stayed on in India after the initial battles to maintain peace and patrol the borders that were constantly under threat from the Russians, who clung to the notion, like a terrier hangs on to a bone, that India would one day be theirs.

  Many bloody battles had been fought and now an uneasy peace reigned, so he had happily set off for home.

  It was only when he reached London and was told by Hiscock, their London butler, that the Earl, his father, was at death’s door that his buoyant mood had changed from one of excitement at seeing his family again to utter anguish.

  “Why on earth was I not told my father was so ill?” he barked, as he waited for his carriage.

  “My Lord, her Ladyship wrote to you, but the post takes so very long to India. It is quite possible that it is still in transit.”

  And now with a thumping heart he was making his way along the familiar corridor to his father’s bedroom.

  Even though it was three o’clock in the morning, the gas lamps were burning and he noticed a cluster of servants weeping by the backstairs. He could see by the dark smudges beneath their eyes that there had been little or no sleep in the Hall that night.

  “My Lord!”

  Mrs. Sturrock bent her grey head at his approach and quickly shooed the other servants out of the way.

  “Your mother will be relieved you are here at last.”

  “Is she still in Papa’s room?” he enquired, his voice trembling.

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  He noticed a brisk new deference in her manner. It occurred to him it was because he was now the new Earl of Templeton. He was no longer simply the heir.

  She opened the door for him and the first person he saw was his younger sister Alicia. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying as she creased up a linen handkerchief into a ball in her hand.

  “Robert!” she cried, throwing herself at him. “I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you are here.”

  He embraced his sister warmly and then proceeded towards the bed. His father looked so peaceful as he lay still against the pillows.

  His mother was kneeling by the bed, sobbing into the coverlet.

  “Mama – ” whispered Alicia.

  “Robert! You are here!”

  His mother’s face now lit up as he strode across the room towards her.

  The whole family crowded around the bed – Alec, the brother who was two years younger, Emmeline, Charles and dear Alicia.

  Each wore an expression of grief. Charles had his arm around Emmeline, whilst Alec stood a few paces away with his face to the wall.

  “Did you receive my letter, Robert?”

  “No, Mama.”

  He could hardly tear his eyes away from the awful scene in front of him. The last time he had seen his father, he had been so full of life!

  “Robert, we only received your letter the other day, telling us you were on your way home. We hoped that you might arrive before – oh, my dearest boy, I am so sorry!”

  “I am now here, Mama, and that is all that matters,” replied the new Earl grimly.

  The room fell silent apart from the sniffling of his sisters and mother.

  He could not stop staring at his father.

  ‘Oh, Papa! My Papa! Why did I not come sooner? Damn the fact that I chose the carriage over the train from Southampton!’ he thought, remonstrating with himself over what he saw as a foolish decision.

  Outside the window, the sky began to lighten. Thin streaks of sunlight played behind the dark damask curtain. It was June and it would soon be a lovely day.

  But the new Earl had had his fill of hot summer days – India had been one long stifling day after the other.

  The doctor returned with the death certificate as the sun came up. The Countess had sent her daughters to bed and now only Alec and Charles remained in the room.

  The new Earl was downstairs in the morning room when he heard the doctor’s carriage pulling up. He had not changed his clothes and, as he caught the expression on a footmen’s face, he realised that he must be presenting a truly dishevelled sight.

  “Ah, Lord Templeton, might I offer you my sincere condolences? We must have just missed each other last night. Your father was a great man and he will be missed by us all,” said the doctor, holding out his hand.

  “Thank you so much and thank you for attending on him so well. I am satisfied that everything possible was done for him.”

  “It was such a massive stroke. He could not have survived.”

  “Yet he appeared to be in the best of health,” sighed the Earl.

  “It is often so with strokes,” remarked the doctor.

  The Earl pulled himself together and led the doctor to the morning room. He declined a cup of coffee instead preferring to hand over the certificate and be on his way.

  “You will excuse me if I do not linger, my Lord, as I next have to visit Sir George Whitby – his ulcer has been giving him trouble again!”

  He bowed and left the room. The Earl did not see him out. Instead, he walked to the window and gazed out over the manicured garden.

  ‘Sir George!’ he murmured to himself. ‘I should have asked the doctor not to mention Papa’s death to him as it should be one of the family who breaks the news.’

  He rubbed his brows and yawned. That would have to wait until later. Right now he was feeling so exhausted he could barely stand.

  He was overwhelmed at the thought that he was now the Earl and responsible for not only Ledbury Hall and the estate, but also the family house in Brook Street and the castles in Ireland and Scotland.

  ‘I must not think about it now, otherwise I shall die!’ he told himself, as he dragged himself upstairs.

  He did not care to admit that even though he was now a man of the world, he was ill equipped to deal with the burden that had just fallen on his shoulders.

  Monkhouse, his valet, was waiting for him with hot water and clean clothes.

  “I shall sleep for a few hours,” he told him, as the valet helped him out of his filthy garments.

  His head had barely hit his pillow before his eyes closed and he passed into a deep slumber, the prospect of being the new Earl pushed as far from his mind as possible.

  *

  The new Earl of Templeton slept much longer than he had intended.

  For a moment when he was awakened, he could not remember where he was. And then, it hit him. He was back home at Ledbury Hall and his father had died.

  It seemed like an utter nightmare.

  It was inconceivable that his father was no longer alive. Who was going to run t
he estate?

  The old Earl had displayed a laissez-faire attitude to the notion of imbuing his eldest son with a sense of the responsibility that the title carried.

  “Oh, there is plenty of time for all that – you must enjoy yourself while you can,” he had often said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  In truth everyone believed that he would go on forever, not least of all himself with the result that now his father had gone, he was as helpless as a kitten.

  Pushing this problem to the back of his mind once more, the Earl ran a hand through his thick black hair and swung his legs out of bed.

  “My Lord?”

  As if by magic, Monkhouse appeared in the door of the room.

  “Would you care for luncheon?”

  “Luncheon?” he exclaimed, peering at the clock on the mantelpiece.

  “It’s half-past one, my Lord.”

  “Goodness! I had not thought to sleep for so long!”

  He leapt up and allowed Monkhouse to lead him to the bathroom.

  Unlike many other ancient castles and halls, the old Earl had been most progressive in his thinking and had completed a great deal of modernisation at the Hall.

  Inspired by a visit to Osborne House on the Isle of Wight, he had installed the same deep baths with running water that he had seen at Queen Victoria’s mansion.

  Sometime later, clad only in a towel, the Earl sat in the stiff-backed armchair while Monkhouse shaved him. It felt good to be rid of his journey’s filth at last.

  Once he had finished dressing he almost felt like a new man. He strode over to the looking glass and coolly regarded his reflection.

  The firm jaw was much like his father’s whilst the cool blue eyes were inherited from his mother. The thick eyebrows were straight and neat and his nose was strong and aquiline.

  It was a handsome face, but one that wore the cares of the world.

  “Please bring me devilled kidneys, kedgeree, toast and Dundee marmalade, Monkhouse,” he ordered, feeling shocked at the weary expression that had greeted his gaze.

  “Very good, my Lord.”

  Monkhouse reflected that this was a very different young gentleman to the one who had left five years earlier.

  ‘He has seen death and destruction,’ he pondered. ‘And how heartbreaking to return home to yet more!’

  The Earl ate in his room in an act of avoidance. He could not face his mother and siblings knowing that the talk would revolve around the impending funeral.

  Of course there was no question that the old Earl would not be interred in the family vault in the grounds of Ledbury Hall, but would there have to be a grand public funeral?

  ‘Why can we not pay our last respects in private?’ he sighed to himself, as Monkhouse cleared away his plate. He had eaten heartily and was much delighted to discover that cook’s fare was as delicious as he had remembered.

  Just then, there was a loud knock on the door and Monkhouse went to open it.

  “Is my son up and about?”

  The Earl groaned inwardly. As much as he loved his mother, he did not wish to be reminded of what lay ahead.

  The Countess did not wait for the manservant to reply, pushing past him to find her son, sitting back in his chair satiated after his fine meal.

  “Ah, Robert. I hope you are well rested, there is so much we have to do today and now so little time in which to organise things.”

  “You speak of the funeral, Mama?”

  “Of course. I have already sent word to the Bishop of Worcester to enquire if he might make the Cathedral available to us next Wednesday and your father’s secretary has drawn up a preliminary list of guests – ”

  The Earl put up his hand to halt her flow.

  “Mama, can we not have just a small private family ceremony? Is there really any need for it to be a circus?”

  Tears at once sprang into his mother’s blue eyes.

  “Your father was one of the most important men in this County. It would not feel as if his memory was being properly respected unless everything is done just so. Far from it being, ‘a circus’, we must allow everyone to pay their respects! I expect Her Majesty will want to attend – ”

  “Mama, I meant that it should be a private affair.”

  “Then, you are wrong, Robert. Quite, quite wrong. A Peer of the Realm does not simply slide into his grave with a whisper and a few mumbled prayers. We must do what is expected of us.”

  Her lip quivered as she spoke, but the Earl only too clearly recognised the steely tone.

  She had not agreed at all with her husband’s lenient treatment of their sons and had been secretly thrilled when Robert had informed her of his intention of joining the Household Cavalry.

  Although his posting to duty in India had caused her many a sleepless night, she was proud that he was in service to his country.

  “Mama, must we always do what is expected of us?”

  “Robert, we have a duty to lead by example. To be a member of the Nobility carries much responsibility.”

  “Well, it is one I don’t care for,” he replied in a tired voice.

  “Like it or not, Robert, you are now the Earl. Now, I will leave you to ruminate on your new responsibilities as I have much to attend to. I realise this has hardly been the homecoming you envisaged, but we must carry on as best we can. I will see you in the drawing room for tea at half-past three, I hope?”

  Sulkily he nodded his head.

  As the door banged behind his mother, he suddenly felt a wave of grief threatening to overcome him.

  He had always felt more in common with his father and he missed him terribly already. His mother came from a strict Scottish family, but when it came to raising their children she had been overruled by her more lenient spouse. Being a good wife had often meant bending to the will of her husband.

  “Ach, you will just turn them all into soft useless articles!” she would sigh, when the boys were younger and they had been excused from yet another slew of duties by their benevolent father.

  The Earl recognised that he would find it difficult to oppose her wishes in this matter, so he resigned himself to the funeral turning into a public spectacle and rose from his chair.

  He made his way to his father’s study and glanced at the piles of correspondence on the desk. The secretary was nowhere to be seen, but he could glimpse evidence of her handiwork in every corner of the room.

  A large ledger rested on a chair and he picked it up. Flicking through the pages, he could see it was a record of salaries paid to the estate workers.

  He sighed and closed it with a snap.

  ‘Perhaps Mama will take care of all this,’ he said to himself. ‘And the secretary will know what to do with the general correspondence.’

  In his mind he was already managing to abdicate his new responsibilities to others. After all was there not always someone else to take them off his shoulders?

  He stretched up to the ceiling and wondered how he might occupy himself.

  ‘Perhaps a ride,’ he muttered, before realising how heartless that might appear to the estate workers.

  Although the degree of mourning advocated by the Queen after the death of her beloved husband, Albert, was no longer considered at all fashionable, Society still expected certain rituals to be observed. Frowning deeply, the Earl tutted to himself at the prospect of confining himself to the Hall for the next few months.

  Had he not seen enough misery during the Afghan War? There may have been splendid balls and parties most nights, but death had always been around the next corner tainting his enjoyment of such frivolity.

  The truth was that he was a somewhat selfish young man. How could he be anything but? He had been spoilt and indulged by his father and now that the yoke of responsibility had been placed around his neck, it chafed him sorely.

  Gloomily he left the study in search of Emmeline or Alicia. But he was told by one of the footmen that both ladies were confined to their rooms.

  “And my brother
Alec?”

  “He is visiting the tenant farmers, my Lord. He expressed a wish to visit them personally to tell them the terrible news about his Lordship.”

  Robert nodded his head and felt a stab of guilt. As the eldest son, that should have been his task. However, if Alec chose to do it, he had no argument with that – yawning, he passed his hand through his hair.

  ‘How to while away the time?’ he mused.

  He had been used to being issued with orders and following them, but now he was just like a rudderless ship, wafting through the rooms at Ledbury Hall aimlessly.

  With the day being so fine, it was not long before he found himself outside in the garden. A gentle breeze caressed his skin as the sun shone down pleasantly on him.

  Looking around at the familiar scenes he now noticed that every servant was either wearing a black suit or, in the case of the women, stiff black dresses. Even the gardeners and all the stable boys were wearing black armbands out of respect.

  Seeing their bowed heads and obvious grief brought a lump to his throat. Walking quickly back to his rooms, he bolted the door and let the torrent of emotion that he had been bottling up inside him erupt.

  *

  The funeral was indeed a grand affair.

  Although they were not graced with the presence of the Queen herself, the Prince of Wales attended and made a great fuss of Emmeline and Alicia before he left Worcester Cathedral.

  Throughout the service, the Earl stood emotionless and dry-eyed while his mother and sisters wept bitterly.

  Afterwards he stood outside the Cathedral door to shake everyone’s hands and receive their condolences.

  “Make your father proud!” they exhorted him, one after the other.

  He wanted to shout at them and tell them to mind their own business, but instead he just gritted his teeth and mulled over what he would do next.

  ‘The rural life is not for me,’ he told himself firmly. ‘After the funeral I will proceed to London and decide what I will do next.’

  And so a few days after the funeral, unable to stand the gloomy atmosphere at Ledbury Hall, he commanded Monkhouse to pack up and ordered the carriage to take him to Worcester Station.

  “I expect your Regiment are requiring you to take up a post in London,” his mother had said. “Once I have tidied up your father’s affairs, I will join you in London.”