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  “Juliette, darling, I am sure you are right. I do not, though, care for Charles – I mean, Lord Waterford. Come and sit down again. I want to hear everything about your engagement. When did you decide that Jean-Pierre was to be your husband?”

  Juliette’s fierce look did not waver.

  “Ah, so, I know it! You think I do not love Jean Pierre? That I marry him for money and for position? Do not deny it. You think I should marry silly Henri, or the so correct but funny Willie, or so ’andsome Freddie. Pouf!” She clicked her fingers. “I give that for Henri and Willie and Freddie.”

  Valeria wanted to giggle again, but Juliette looked so serious she quelled the impulse.

  Julliette resumed her seat beside Valeria.

  “Chérie, love with men like them, is like rainbow! It comes suddenly, is full of colour, then after little time, it fade. With man such as Jean-Pierre, I build a marriage, a family. ’E just like Lord Waterford, ’ave great position. I know ’is family. ’E knows mine. Maybe ’is looks not so great, but ’is character, that is great. Maybe when ’e kiss me, sparks do not fly, but in ’is arms I am confortable.”

  Valeria reached out and hugged her friend.

  Juliette was indeed beautiful and full of fun, yet she was practical as well. She thought deeply about her future and made her choices with her head rather than her heart.

  Yet, had Valeria been someone who placed wagers, she would bet that Juliette’s marriage would be a success.

  “So, when Lord Waterford visit us, you laugh with ’im, smile your special smile, make ’im think you should be Lady Waterford, hein?”

  “Oh, Juliette, do not give that possibility a second thought. Lord Waterford would never think of me that way and I don’t want him to. I don’t like him – in fact, I hate him,” Valeria added with passion.

  “Oho, already you feel for him! I see it.”

  Juliette was gleeful.

  “No, Juliette. Don’t get ideas. I want nothing to do with that man. He is hateful, understand?”

  Juliette gave her a mysterious smile.

  “Mais oui, chérie, whatever you say. Come, soon we ’ave luncheon. You must change and while you do so, you tell me of your morning, eh?”

  “Later. If I chat to you instead of concentrating on dressing, we shall be late and your Mama will be cross.”

  Valeria had to hurry, but, before she changed, she took a long look at herself in the mirror.

  What had Lord Waterford seen that morning?

  Last night her blonde hair had been piled on top of her head with tendrils hanging down and white camellias carefully placed above her right ear.

  Today, for riding, her hair was scraped back into a bun captured in a net that sat low on the nape of her neck. A few strands had escaped. She exclaimed with irritation and brushed the wandering tresses back into place.

  Lord Waterford must have thought her some sort of hoyden!

  She checked to see if her face had been splattered with mud from her fall. But the creamy skin was without blemish and her lips were sweetly pink.

  Her large green eyes, though, stared back at her as she decided that her cheekbones and chin might be called classical, but she would have preferred a heart-shaped face and a cupid mouth like Juliette’s.

  She stamped her foot in frustration. Had she done nothing right this morning?

  No wonder the noble Lord had been monosyllabic on their way back to the château. No wonder he had found it such hard work to say something nice to her as he left.

  Juliette might decide on her marriage with clinical care, but Valeria knew that when she married it had to be to someone she loved with all her heart.

  Her mother and father had adored each other. Each would have given their soul for the other.

  When Mama died, the light went out of Papa’s life.

  Valeria would demand from her marriage the same devotion her parents had brought to theirs.

  *

  That night Juliette and Valeria left with Jean-Pierre to a neighbouring château for yet another ball.

  Dressed in her pale green lace dress, Valeria felt at her most attractive.

  She had managed to forget the humiliations of the morning and now looked forward to a delightful evening of dancing and flirting.

  The château was set by a long lake and approached across the water by a long stone bridge, edged with flaring torches.

  Their carriage drew up at the bridge behind several others and as they sat waiting across the water came the sound of violins. The night air was warm and a full moon reflected into the lake. Everything was set for a perfect evening.

  The ballroom was already more than half full with guests. Running about were a number of giggling children amongst them a small girl with her arm in a sling. Valeria wondered what mischievousness had caused her accident.

  Then, advancing swiftly towards them, she saw Lord Waterford.

  At once Valeria’s enjoyment of the ball vanished.

  Juliette, however, was thrilled.

  “My Lord Waterford,” she twinkled. “Valeria ’as told me everything that ’appened yesterday morning. ’Ow you rescue ’er when ’er ’orse fall down and then about that poor family! Quelle tragedie! Mon père, ’e will try to talk to neighbour who own that land. Not a good man, but who knows? Valeria, see, ’ere is Lord Waterford!”

  Valeria had no alternative but to proffer her hand,

  “How very pleasant to see you again so soon, Lord Waterford.”

  The tall figure with the grey eyes gazed at her and again, despite everything, Valeria felt that unaccustomed tingle run again through her body.

  “Miss Montford,” he replied to her, bending over her hand. “A pleasure.”

  She sighed.

  Lord Waterford did not shine as a conversationalist.

  Then he turned to Juliette,

  “Mademoiselle, I failed to dance with the star of the evening yesterday, would your fiancé permit me to invite you to take the floor with me now?”

  Valeria watched as Juliette put her hand in his, gave Jean-Pierre a pretty smile and then gracefully took the floor with Lord Waterford.

  Once again she felt humiliation burn through her.

  No use to tell herself that he was only being polite – he should surely have secured her hand for the next dance before leading out Juliette.

  Even worse, as she watched them circle around the floor, she noticed that Lord Waterford seemed to talk quite happily to his partner.

  “S’il vous plait,” said Jean-Pierre. “I would be very honoured if Mademoiselle Montford will dance with me.”

  Suppressing a sigh, although she did not find talk about cows entertaining, she put her hand in his, swept up her hem by its loop and stepped onto the dance floor.

  At the end of the dance, Jean-Pierre suggested,

  “I wish to introduce you to another English friend of mine. I think you will like him.”

  He tapped on the shoulder of a tall man with very straight polished blond hair.

  “Peter, voilà Juliette’s chère amie. Valeria, may I introduce Sir Peter Cousins. Peter, Miss Montford.”

  Valeria found herself looking into the intense blue eyes of the most attractive man she had ever met. Broad shoulders, slim hips, commanding features – he must, she decided, have Viking blood flowing in his veins.

  Sir Peter took her hand in both of his, holding it as if it was a precious piece of glass.

  “Jean-Pierre, I believed you had secured the most beautiful girl in the land for yourself, but now I think there is hope for the rest of us!”

  He bowed deeply over Valeria’s hand, his lips just skimming her flesh.

  She shivered – it was as though a torch had been waved over her hand.

  “Come,” Sir Peter invited. “We shall dance.”

  As he led her to the floor, Valeria was besieged by a number of young gentlemen who begged her to save a dance for them.

  Rapidly she wrote their names into her programme while Sir
Peter waited, tapping his foot impatiently.

  “Enough!” he suddenly barked. “You must all wait your turn.”

  Then he swept Valeria onto the floor. It was a waltz and Sir Peter was a superb dancer.

  Whirling round the floor in his arms, Valeria felt she was in a dream.

  “You dance like an angel,” he whispered in her ear.

  Valeria looked up into those blazing blue eyes and could only murmur,

  “Then you must be an archangel!”

  He laughed loudly, throwing back his blond head and revealing a set of perfect white teeth.

  Another shiver ran through Valeria.

  The ballroom blazed with candles, their soft light illuminating banks of bright flowers, their scent heady in the warm air, as Valeria, Sir Peter’s hand firmly held in her back, was swept into a series of spinning turns.

  She could not say anything nor did her partner seem inclined to talk as he whirled her across the floor.

  Valeria caught a glimpse of Juliette dancing round with one of the Desrivières’ guests.

  She sent Valeria a quick, approving glance as the two couples swooped by each other.

  There was no sign of Lord Waterford.

  The children were still running around the edge of the floor with no adult seemingly in control of them.

  Breathless at the end of the dance, Valeria laughed up at Sir Peter,

  “It is just as though we have put a girdle around the earth at the speed of light!”

  Another flash of those white teeth.

  “I feel that we are still up in the clouds. Perhaps I may find you a glass of champagne?”

  She longed for a cool drink, but she feared that Sir Peter would leave her side and then Lord Waterford would reappear.

  “Perhaps we could take a breath of fresh air out on that loggia?” she suggested.

  “I think you can read my mind,” he replied, steering her towards the door into the garden.

  Sir Peter somehow managed to secure two glasses of champagne on the way to the garden.

  Valeria stood sipping from her glass.

  The lake was edged with lanterns, their differing colours reflected in the still waters.

  “It’s enchanting – ” she murmured.

  “You are enchanting,” Sir Peter came in, leaning on the balustrade and gazing into her eyes. “Why have we not met before?”

  “I have been in Brussels where I met Juliette, the Count’s fiancée.”

  “Yes, I know Mademoiselle Desrivières, a most charming girl.”

  From the way he spoke and a fleeting expression on his face, Valeria felt sure that Sir Peter had been one of Juliette’s flirts.

  “She is my closest friend,” Valeria asserted.

  “Of course, beauty travels with beauty.”

  Sir Peter grinned disarmingly at her and her heart gave a crazy leap.

  “And when you are not with the beautiful Juliette, where, pray, do you live?”

  “In Richmond, just outside London.”

  “With your parents, I suppose.”

  Valeria felt tears prick at the back of her eyes. She looked down at the water.

  “I am afraid it is only my father and me. We lost Mama a little time ago.”

  “And may I know who it is who has fathered such an incredibly beautiful daughter?”

  Valeria laughed.

  “You are too extravagant in your compliments, Sir Peter, but I am more than happy to tell you that my father is Sir Christopher Montford.”

  “Sir Christopher,” he muttered.

  “Have you met him?”

  “No, no,” Sir Peter replied very quickly. “I may have heard mention of his name, that is all.”

  “He is known as an authority on racehorses.”

  “Ah, that will be it. I am a bit of a follower myself. But your champagne is finished, so I will find some more.”

  Before Valeria could protest, Sir Peter had whipped her glass away and disappeared back into the ballroom.

  The little orchestra was now playing a vigorous and noisy number and everyone was dancing.

  Valeria realised that she was alone.

  Then the small group of noisy children joined her, chasing the little girl with the injured arm.

  With shrieks of triumph the children ran towards the balustrade, certain that they could now catch her.

  But with an athletic wriggle the little girl slipped through a gap in the balustrade.

  She must have thought there would be room for her to stand on the other side of the supports.

  Instead seconds later there was a scream followed by a huge splash.

  Valeria leaned over and saw the girl’s white dress spread over the water and her one hand waving frantically – then she disappeared into the water, only to re-emerge for a brief second, choking, before vanishing again.

  Valeria looked frantically around.

  Only the children were there, all horrified at what had happened. So noisy were the dancers, no one in the ballroom had heard the screams.

  A small boy ran up and pulled at her dress to help his friend, Marie.

  Valeria looked over the balustrade.

  She could see no sign of the little girl. There was no time to go for help if she was to be saved.

  Her dear Papa had seen to it that she could swim.

  “In the first place it is a most pleasant exercise,” he had said. “In the second, you never know when you may need it to save either your life or the life of someone else.”

  Never had Valeria been more thankful either for his training or for the fact that she was wearing a dress whose bodice did up in the front.

  Not bothering to undo the little buttons, she ripped it open and then pulled down her skirt and petticoat, at the same time calling out to the girl to hold on and telling the children to run for help.

  Then Valeria, in pantaloons and chemise, climbed up the balustrade, held her nose and jumped into the water.

  It was not cold but the depth was much greater than she expected.

  Rising to the surface, she swam to the spot where she had seen the little girl fall in.

  There was no sign of her.

  Valeria dived down and found tough weed rising up from the bottom of the lake.

  Through the gloom she could just see the white of the girl’s dress caught in the clinging stalks.

  Surfacing briefly to fill her lungs with air, Valeria dived again to where the girl was struggling in the weeds.

  Frantically she pulled at the strands.

  Her lungs were bursting and she felt she would fail.

  Then suddenly there was someone beside her with a knife, slashing with hard strokes at the murderous plants.

  In seconds, the girl was free. With her in his arms, the man rose to the surface, followed by Valeria.

  She broke through to the surface gasping for air to find a small boat had been hastily launched.

  Eager hands pulled the little girl on board, laid her on her front and applied frantic pressure to her back.

  Valeria trod water shivering and watched until the girl suddenly coughed up water.

  The two men in the boat gave an exultant cry, then rowed to the bridge where the girl was carefully wrapped in a blanket and taken to warmth and safety.

  Valeria sighed with thankfulness.

  She looked around for the man who had managed to wield that life-saving knife, hoping to see Sir Peter.

  Strong arms suddenly held her under her elbows.

  “Lie back,” she was told. “I will pull you to shore.”

  She knew that voice and it was not Sir Peter’s.

  For the second time that day Lord Waterford had come to her rescue!

  With strong strokes he steered her back to the stone steps that led up to the château.

  There waiting for her were Juliette and Jean-Pierre, both holding huge towels.

  “Wait a minute,” called out Lord Waterford.

  Then, in fluent French, he instructed those
on the bridge to douse the torches. With a surge of excited chatter, the lights were extinguished and darkness fell on the scene.

  Lord Waterford then told everyone but Juliette and Jean-Pierre to go back into the château and with more excited chatter the bridge was cleared.

  “Now, you can come up,” Charles called out, as he released his hold on Valeria.

  She reached the bottom step and stood up in her sodden chemise and pantaloons.

  Shivering as well as embarrassed, she stumbled up the steps, but instantly Juliette was there, wrapping her in a towel.

  As she was hurried up the rest of the steps, Jean Pierre helped Charles.

  “You are a real ’eroine,” crowed Juliette. “You ’ave saved her. And Lord Waterford, ’e is such un gentilhomme. ’E does not look. ’E waits for you to be respectable.”

  “He speaks French! Fluently!” Valeria stammered through chattering teeth.

  “Mais oui, why not? ’E is educated, n’est ce pas?”

  It was too much.

  Valeria burst into tears.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Trying to control her tears, Valeria was hurried up into one of the château’s bedrooms.

  Juliette was horrified at the state of her hands.

  Valeria’s efforts to tear away the weeds that had held little Marie meant that her skin was badly lacerated.

  A doctor was found to bind up her wounds.

  “Change these bandages every day and use this oil. If they don’t heal quickly, come and see me, here is my card. Mademoiselle, I stand and salute your bravery.”

  Hot water was brought and a bowl of soup.

  As Valeria sipped at the broth, her strength began to come back and she listened to Juliette’s chatter intently.

  Apparently it had taken some time for the children to make anyone understand the situation.

  Such was the noise of the orchestra and the dancing, their story that a beautiful lady had jumped into the water to save little Marie was treated as a joke.

  Then her parents heard the tale and rushed out to the loggia to find Valeria’s abandoned dress.

  Someone had shouted that they could see her in the water, struggling to release Marie from the weeds.

  The Count de Gramont produced his knife and said that only a fit and strong young man should go in.