A Kiss from the Heart Read online

  The Earl now changed the subject.

  “So, Albert, tell me of this paragon who is about to yoke you to the cart of matrimony!”

  *

  An hour later after several turns round the Park, the two friends parted company, promising to dine together the following week at Lord Albert’s Club.

  The Earl rode back to Brook Street, feeling that his humour had somewhat improved.

  He was even looking forward to dining with his mother at the Criterion.

  “Back already, my Lord?” the coachman greeted him. “Was Monty bein’ a handful again?”

  “Monty and I have established an understanding,” he smiled. “He only behaves impeccably when there are ladies present!”

  The coachman did not comment, but simply held the reins while he dismounted.

  Striding back through the house, he was accosted by Hiscock, bearing a silver salver.

  “My Lord, a letter arrived while you were out.”

  Even before he took the letter, the Earl recognised the handwriting.

  He turned the letter over in his hands repeatedly. The elaborate script seemed to taunt him as he mulled over whether or not to open it.

  He dismissed Hiscock and retired to the study. He held the letter in front of him as if it contained something unknown and dangerous.

  “Constance,” he sighed.

  Constance was a pretty actress he had recently met at the Lyceum one evening after his friend Lord Dewbury had persuaded him to go backstage.

  With her huge brown eyes and a mass of red curls, the Earl had immediately been attracted to Constance. Her softly rounded figure with its promise of physical delights had been offered to him willingly.

  Constance was witty and fun without being overly educated and that appealed to the Earl.

  He ripped open the letter, smiling to himself as he recalled their last meeting and read her script quickly.

  “I would be so delighted if you would join me for a glass of champagne in my dressing room to celebrate the end of our long run,” it read.

  The Earl wafted the note under his nose. It smelled faintly of the kind of fragrance that ladies did not wear – it was neither lavender nor eau de Cologne, but something far heavier, French and enticing.

  He thought most affectionately of Constance with her tumbling red hair, clad only in a silk dressing gown.

  ‘Yes, if I dine early with Mama, then I can easily escort her back home and have her tucked up in time for me to make it to the Lyceum before the curtain falls! And then champagne and maybe more with Constance – ’

  He smiled again as he thought of the delights in store for him in her arms. While his heart was utterly cold towards her, he still desired her.

  He rose to his feet with a satisfied air. An hour in the bath, a shave and a nap would set him up perfectly for the evening ahead.

  ‘Yes,’ he told himself as he lowered his muscular frame into his bath some ten minutes later, ‘all has fallen into place in a most agreeable fashion.’

  *

  But the Earl’s good mood was not to last. After Monkhouse had assiduously shaved him and turned down the bed so that he might rest, he slept for an hour, only to be woken again abruptly.

  “Yes?” he grunted grumpily.

  “I am very sorry to disturb you, my Lord, but her Ladyship wishes to see you in the study at once.”

  “Tell her I’m asleep, dammit!”

  “I apologise, my Lord, but she was most insistent.”

  He now climbed reluctantly out of bed and walked to the clothes stand.

  ‘I wonder what Mama wants that is so urgent!’ he muttered to himself.

  Silently he allowed Monkhouse to dress him and at last he proceeded downstairs.

  The door to the study was ajar and taking a deep breath, he pushed it open trying to quell the irritation rising within him.

  “Ah, there you are, Robert,” his mother now called, looking up from the desk.

  She had open in front of her a large ledger he had never seen before. A pile of papers from the estate sat next to it, scattered in an untidy heap.

  “What is it that is so urgent that I am woken from my nap?” he asked in an irritated voice.

  “Darling, I am sorry to disturb you so, but I have just read a letter from Alec that has worried me terribly. In it he says that the estate is in dire need of repairs and renovation, but that he does not have the funds.

  “I cannot understand where all the money is going! Your father was a very wealthy man and the estate always ran itself during his lifetime. Darling, would you be a dear and look over these with me?”

  The Earl frowned as she gazed at him pleadingly and reflected how quickly his good mood could sour.

  He sighed deeply before joining her at the desk.

  Even he could see that the columns of figures were not balancing. For the past month the outgoings were far exceeding any incomings and household expenses seemed to have increased alarmingly.

  “It can only mean one thing. Someone at the Hall is pilfering,” he said decisively, snapping shut the ledger. “It is quite clear that without Papa’s firm hand, the servants are taking advantage.”

  “But some of them have been with us for years!”

  “Alec will have to nip this in the bud,” he replied in an offhand manner. “Someone has been taking advantage of you, Mother, in Papa’s absence.”

  She looked down and paused. Her bosom heaved anxiously as she gathered her thoughts. She knew that her son would not care to hear what she had to say next.

  “I think it would be best if you returned to the Hall and took care of it for me,” she said firmly.

  “Alec is more than capable of doing it himself,” he replied wearily, as he threw himself down on a button-back chair. “Write to him and tell him of your suspicions and he will act accordingly.”

  She bit her lip. Her gentle approach had failed and now she would be forced to use a sterner hand.

  “But, darling, you are the Earl now, it is your duty.”

  He stared at her and a mist descended unbidden in front of his eyes. He clenched his fists and banged them on the hard chair arms, hurting his hands in the process.

  “Dammit it all, Mama!” he snapped. “Why should I? Alec is doing a fine job and he will take care of this problem once I draw it to his attention. It does not require my presence at Ledbury Hall.”

  “Robert,” said his mother in a voice like iced steel. “It is plain the servants believe that they can pull the wool over his eyes. Although they might respect him, they do not fear him in the same way that they do you. No, I am sorry – you must go to Ledbury Hall as soon as possible. Your father would turn in his grave if he could hear you show so little concern for his beloved estate.”

  “I don’t care a fig for the estate!” shouted Robert; his blue eyes red balls of fury. “I did not ask to be born first and I do not see why I should interfere when Alec is perfectly capable of clearing up this awful mess himself.”

  With that he rose and tore open the door.

  Tears pricked her eyes as she listened to his angry footsteps thundering down the corridor and up the stairs.

  Upstairs he nearly wrenched his bedroom door off its hinges and locked it behind him.

  Almost immediately he became consumed with remorse for speaking to his mother in such a disrespectful manner.

  Of course, she was right. It was his duty to take charge and discipline whosoever was responsible for the goings-on at Ledbury Hall. Indeed he already had his own suspicions as to who the culprit might be.

  But the yoke of responsibility was strangling him and made him unable to breathe or to think.

  This was not how he imagined life after the Army would be. He had never envisaged that his father would die so early and leave him to cope so unprepared.

  ‘When I was in the Army, my life had meaning,’ he mumbled, holding his head in his hands. ‘And now, it has none. With Papa gone I feel like a rudderless ship.’


  Suddenly as if from nowhere, great heaving sobs wracked his body. He missed his father greatly and wished he was still here to guide him and, yes, he did want him to be proud of him.

  Yet he still could not grasp the nettle and do what was required.

  A soft knock followed by Monkhouse’s low tones forced him to pull himself together. Steeling himself, he moved to the locked door and turned the key.

  “My Lord, her Ladyship has asked you to be ready at seven o’clock. I believe you are dining out?”

  The Earl nodded.

  “That is correct, Monkhouse. Please make certain that the carriage is on time. And have my evening clothes ready for me in an hour, please.”

  The Earl sank down on the bed and felt a wave of despondency. Even the thought of Constance’s charms did nothing to lift his spirits. At least in the Army he had something to live for and to spur him on. And now?

  ‘I am a man without purpose,’ he murmured, as he moved towards the tall cheval mirror near the window.

  His eyes were hollow as he once again regarded his own reflection.

  ‘Nothing or no one can touch my heart – I am like a dead man inside.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  By the time that seven o’clock came, the Earl had managed to pull himself together and he greeted his mother with a kiss and a smile.

  “You are looking very well this evening, Mama,” he intoned, as she took his arm.

  She was wearing a black velvet cape on which was pinned an intricately carved brooch of bog oak. Her dress was dull black satin and she wore a hat with a few black ostrich feathers in it to relieve its severity.

  He was glad that Monkhouse had been wise enough to lay out a suit for him that was just as sober.

  Although the Countess did not normally give a hoot about what other people thought, she wore full mourning to honour the memory of her husband as well as from a sense of what was considered correct.

  Their black phaeton was waiting for them outside in Brook Street. The chestnut team stood restlessly while Hiscock opened the carriage door for them.

  He helped his mother into the plush leather interior and as the carriage pulled off on its short journey to the Criterion in Piccadilly, his thoughts turned to Constance, who he would be visiting later.

  He was certain that he was not the only gentleman she liked to entertain, but he felt instinctively that he was her favourite.

  It invariably amused him to consort with a woman whose morals were those of a man. She had indeed a lusty appetite for life’s more physical pleasures in a refreshingly straightforward manner.

  Had she been a lady, he would not have regarded this trait as appealing, preferring to be made to work for his rewards. But, as an actress, she was not a lady and he did not expect a certain degree of refinement from her.

  “Robert?”

  His mother had been speaking to him, but he had been so deep in his reverie about Constance that he had not heard her.

  “Yes, Mama?”

  “Shall I write to Alec soon and tell him when he might expect you at Ledbury Hall?”

  He bit his lip to stem the tide of rising irritation.

  ‘Not that subject again!’ he thought to himself.

  But he just managed to control his annoyance and simply answered,

  “In due course.”

  Not wishing to spoil the evening, she changed the subject to what she expected to eat that evening.

  “I shall be very disappointed if they do not offer their fine pork chops on the menu!” she said, still holding her son’s arm.

  “So shall I, Mama! It has been a very long while since I last tasted them and if they are not available, we shall send the Head Chef out to scour London for some!”

  Her gentle laugh soothed the atmosphere.

  The Earl had no desire to argue this evening as he wanted to escape from his cares and what better way than with a plate of the best chops in London, followed by a night in Constance’s welcoming arms?

  *

  Their dinner at the Criterion was everything they could have wished for. The Countess clapped her hands with glee when their waiter told them that yes, pork chops were on the menu that evening.

  She ate with much relish when they arrived, as did the Earl.

  “I dreamed of such fare in India!” he sighed, as he finished the last morsel on his plate.

  They ordered dessert and then coffee. She refused a liqueur and asked that they might leave quite soon.

  Delighted that his schedule appeared to be running on time, the Earl clicked his fingers and requested the bill.

  Later as his mother was helped into her cloak, he checked his pocket watch and smiled to himself.

  ‘Nine thirty!’

  It was most fortunate that the evening had tired his mother, so as soon as they walked through the door, she announced that she was going to bed.

  “Will you sit up for a while, Robert?”

  “Yes, I will go and read in the study,” he replied, waving aside Hiscock who was hovering to take his cloak and hat.

  “But your outer garments, Robert – ”

  For a second, the Earl wondered if she had guessed what his plans were.

  “I will send for Monkhouse. This old cloak needs pressing and my hat needs sponging.”

  “Very well, goodnight, darling. And thank you for a wonderful evening!”

  She kissed his cheek before walking upstairs. He waited until he heard her bedroom door close and then he proceeded quickly to the study.

  Inside he pulled the bell to summon Monkhouse, who soon appeared with a bow.

  “My Lord?”

  “Monkhouse, I shall be going out again shortly. Do not wait up for me. Oh, and I would appreciate it if you did not inform my mother that I am not here. Should she ask after me, which is unlikely, I am not to be disturbed.”

  Monkhouse’s implacable face did not register any emotion. Since his Master had returned from India, he had grown accustomed to many strange requests and nocturnal wanderings.

  “Very good, my Lord. Shall I ask the coachman to bring the carriage back round to the front?”

  “No, I will hire a Hackney cab in the street.”

  “Then I shall bid you goodnight, my Lord.”

  He waited a further ten minutes before he made for the front door. Hiscock was not around, so he slipped out without being noticed.

  He walked briskly down Brook Street and found a Hackney cab even before he had reached Davies Street.

  “The Lyceum,” he shouted up to the driver.

  The cabbie cracked his whip over his pair of horses and the cab shot off towards The Strand.

  *

  Arriving at the stage door, the Earl saw that there was a quite a throng crowded around it.

  He smiled as he noticed a few fresh-faced young men. He also recognised a Duke whom he knew only very vaguely, but the two men simply nodded at each other and did not pursue further exchange.

  At last he managed to push his way to the front and hailed the stage doorman.

  “Good evenin’, my Lord!” he called out in cheerful anticipation of pocketing the silver guinea the Earl always slipped him. “Miss Armitage’s dressin’ room is just three flights up on the left. Door number twelve.”

  “Thank you, Brown,” he said, grateful to be free of the crush outside.

  He was soon on the correct floor and pushed open the glazed-oak doors that led to a corridor full of dressing rooms.

  Constance was playing the lead role in Mrs. Henry Wood’s East Lynne as Catherine, the ill-fated heroine who runs away with her lover only to spend the remainder of her days regretting her decision of leaving her two children with her abandoned husband.

  The Earl had dismissed the production as women’s nonsense and had refused to watch a single performance, a fact that had irked Constance a great deal.

  Pausing outside dressing room number twelve, the Earl adjusted his top hat and white cravat. He wished he had changed out of his sombre mourn
ing suit, but it was now too late.

  He knocked softly on the door twice and waited.

  “Come in!”

  Constance’s lovely voice was low and melodious.

  When she was on stage it was impossible to hear any trace of her Devon burr that belied her origins. Yet when offstage and not on guard, her extenuated vowels and rolling rs betrayed her.

  Now as he strode in, he could see that Constance’s dresser, Lily, was still present. She was carrying the white gown that Constance wore in the final death scene.

  “Good evening, Robert,” she welcomed him, not looking away from her own reflection in the large mirror in front of her. “I am glad you received my note.”

  “I am sorry I did not see your performance – ” he began, taking off his top hat.

  “Lily, shoo!” pouted Constance, suddenly turning around to flap her hands at the young girl. “Leave it until tomorrow.”

  The girl did not say anything, but simply scuttled towards the door and closed it quietly behind her.

  “That’s much better,” she purred, her long Devon r curling around her lips like a cat’s paw.

  She turned to face him and, in one swift movement, leapt to her feet and threw her alabaster-white arms around his neck. Her warm red mouth sought his and they kissed.

  “I am so glad to see you,” she murmured, nuzzling his neck with her thick curls. But, as she spoke, the Earl could feel himself disengaging from her.

  Even though he had been looking forward to seeing her and enjoying her charms, now that she was wound around him like a climbing plant, he felt suffocated.

  Her bright brown eyes shone as she handed him a bottle of champagne to open.

  He thought that perhaps some alcohol would make him feel more receptive to her, but even after draining two glasses, he felt numb inside.

  ‘What ails me?’ he asked himself, as Constance now invited him to sit down and then immediately installed herself upon his lap. ‘I do not feel the slightest desire for her tonight. When I received her note, I was eager to see her and now I find myself longing for solitude.’

  Constance chattered away and paid him a great deal of attention, calling him “her own” and “dearest”, all the while failing to sense his distance. Or perhaps she did – which is why she became so affectionate towards him.