A Heart of Stone Read online

  She had therefore obeyed them and instantly caught the attention of the King.

  His Majesty gave party after party for her and the Viscount was present at one which in the usual lavish way of the King’s entertaining was a very large one.

  On his first sight of the Countess he knew that she eclipsed the beauty of every woman he had met.

  He would not rest until he possessed her.

  They danced together and he felt her body moving against his and there was an expression in her eyes that he was very familiar with.

  He knew that it was just a question of time.

  “How could you be so beautiful, my darling?” he asked later when she was lying in his arms.

  “I think I must have kept it for you,” she cooed.

  Although he had heard all that before, the Viscount wanted to believe it.

  Doreen, for that was her name, had made it quite clear from the first moment they met that he interested her more than anyone else.

  It was only a few days before they became lovers and the Viscount had to admit that he had never known a woman who was so insatiable.

  She looked like an angel and behaved like a tigress and, because he was so infatuated, he spent every moment he could with her.

  The Countess had rented a house in Park Lane and the Earl learned that her husband had been a very rich man and she herself had some money inherited from her father.

  Her family lived in Northumberland and she was reluctant to come to London after she had been widowed.

  As she told the Viscount,

  “I must have been waiting until you, dearest, were here and it was Fate we should meet and love each other.”

  He found it decidedly sad that she had had such a short married life.

  She had been only just twenty, when her husband, driving his phaeton far too fast, had collided with another vehicle in a very narrow lane. He had been killed instantly and it was only by a miracle that she had been spared.

  “I was laid up for what seemed a long time,” she said. “Then I had no wish to go to parties or even to meet other men.”

  “And now you have met me,” the Viscount said.

  “What could be more wonderful or more perfect?” Doreen asked.

  Because she was so insistent, he found it difficult to concentrate on his Regimental duties.

  All he could think of was Doreen holding out her arms as he arrived at her house in Park Lane and the large scented bed they always found themselves in immediately the candlelit dinner was over.

  “I love you, I love you,” Doreen said again and again. “Tell me, my wonderful handsome lover, that I hold your whole heart.”

  The Viscount, who had always been very much the King of his own castle, felt at times that he was being manipulated.

  It was Doreen who had taken control, not himself.

  He had very often been the hunted rather than the huntsman and yet once a love affair started he expected to be in control.

  It passed through his mind several times that maybe Doreen was becoming too possessive and he would have to exert himself if he was not to let her take control of him.

  She must, he thought, allow him to do the running and give the orders.

  Then one night when they were both exhausted by the fire and excitement of their lovemaking, the Viscount was just thinking that it was time for him to return home.

  Because he was always so late with Doreen, he did not keep his carriage waiting, but walked back from Park Lane to Berkeley Square.

  It did not take him long, but at the same time when he was sleepy it was somewhat of an effort.

  He was thinking that he should make a move, as otherwise it would soon be dawn and he had a great deal to do that morning.

  Then in the soft coaxing voice he loved because it was so musical, Doreen said,

  “If we are going to have children, which I know is important to you, Neil darling, I think that we should get married.”

  For a moment the Viscount was too astonished to move or breathe.

  Then he was alert and, because it was something he had never thought of before, he closed his eyes.

  When Doreen, whose face had been close against his neck, looked up, she saw that he was asleep.

  Some minutes later the Viscount, with an extremely imaginative piece of acting, said,

  “I must have fallen asleep. Why did you not wake me? You know I have to be up early in the morning.”

  “You have not been asleep long,” Doreen replied.

  “You have tired me out,” he muttered with a smile.

  He climbed out of bed and started to dress.

  She lay watching him and to his relief she did not repeat what she had said before.

  When he kissed her goodnight, she clung to him.

  “I will see you tomorrow night,” she sighed, “but it will seem a long time before I do.”

  “I will not be late,” he replied, “and thank you, my lovely one, for a very wonderful evening.” He moved towards the door.

  “Go to sleep at once,” he said. “I want you to look beautiful tomorrow.”

  He did not wait for an answer. He ran down the stairs and let himself out of the front door.

  As he closed it behind him, he was thinking with some alarm about what she had said.

  It was almost as if she had thrown a bomb in front of him.

  He had promised himself when he had first come to London that he would not marry until he was much older and then only because he must have a son, or for safety two or three sons, to carry on the Earldom.

  It had never struck him for one moment that anyone like Sybil or Doreen would want marriage.

  He loved them, but they were in fact only partners in an affaire-de-coeur.

  That was very different in his mind to being tied for life to a woman who would bear his name and his children.

  She must be pure and innocent when he married her.

  Perhaps this idea had come to him from one of his ancestors and he must have been very much more moral than was expected today at the Court of King George IV.

  Everyone knew of His Majesty’s love affairs and they were walked about quite openly. His marriage had been a failure and his wife was behaving very badly, but fortunately in foreign countries rather than in England.

  It was to be expected that as a man he would have other women in his life and he certainly made no secret about it and the Officers who served him did the same.

  The Viscount as a matter of course had accepted the favours which were offered him so willingly and he put the idea of marriage completely aside until, he told himself, he became the Earl of Glenfile.

  He would then be expected to spend much of his time in Scotland with his Clan and it was not until then that the question of marriage would arise.

  He would then doubtless find someone suitable and acceptable to the Clansmen and it would be wise for her to be a Scot.

  Now, he thought, Doreen had set him a problem he had not anticipated and it was definitely a difficult one.

  He loved her, of course he did.

  She was undoubtedly the most enticing woman that he had ever known, but he could not see her fitting in with those who would follow him as their Chieftain.

  They would undoubtedly be shocked if they knew how he had behaved in England and it was very different from how he would conduct himself in Scotland.

  Yet Doreen wanted to marry him.

  As she was so beautiful and he was good-looking, their children would be outstanding.

  It was a problem he had never imagined he would have to face for a long time.

  Now he was involved and would have to make up his mind one way or the other.

  It would be difficult to say to Doreen that he loved her, but did not consider her suitable to be his wife.

  It might be even more difficult to marry her and try to make her behave in a way that would please the Clan.

  It was no use thinking that the Clan did not matter simply b
ecause he was a long way from it. Their needs, their homage and they themselves were in his very blood.

  Because his father was still the Chieftain, he need not apply himself for the moment to what was happening at The Castle.

  Yet he knew that as soon as he took his father’s place, the Clan would be all-important, as it had been to every Chieftain in the past all down the centuries.

  Doreen was beautiful, more beautiful than anyone he had ever seen before.

  Yet somehow he could not see her with the women of the MacFiles, listening to all their troubles, helping them with their children, worrying if there was a bad harvest or if there were too few fish to catch in the river.

  How could he say that to Doreen without hurting her?

  Although he had evaded the question tonight, it was one she would undoubtedly ask again very soon.

  It preyed on his mind and he found himself not paying proper attention at the meeting he had that morning at the War Office.

  It was only when it was over he realised that there were points he should have made but had not done so.

  Back at the Barracks the Colonel sent for him and again he found it hard to concentrate.

  It was with a sense of relief that he drove early in the evening to White’s Club and he thought that, if he sat there quietly, he could think more clearly as he wanted to have something ready to say to Doreen.

  She might easily approach him in the same way this evening as she had last night.

  It was a relief to find that the coffee room was not full and he could sit quietly in a corner.

  He ordered a drink from the Steward and then he sat back in his comfortable leather chair.

  Yet he was hearing once again that soft seductive little voice saying,

  “If we are going to have children, I think that we should get married.”

  “What can I do? What the devil can I do?” the Viscount asked himself.

  Then at that moment a voice said,

  “Hello, Neil. I rather expected to see you here.”

  It was a man called Richard Dickenson, who had been at Oxford with him where they had been great friends.

  So the Viscount replied in all sincerity,

  “It’s delightful to see you, Richard. I did not know you were in London.”

  “I have only come up here for a few days,” Richard Dickenson said. “I was going to get in touch with you after I had finished the long boring meetings I have had to have with my father’s Solicitors.”

  The Viscount looked surprised, but he did not ask the obvious question.

  “My father died a month ago,” Richard Dickenson explained. “And, as you can well imagine, everything is a mess, although it’s difficult to see the reason for it.”

  “I know just what you mean,” the Viscount replied. “Solicitors always make the worst of everything simply to tell you at the end how clever they have been.”

  His friend laughed and sat down beside him.

  “Let me stand you a drink,” he said. “Surprisingly, I can afford it much better than I expected.”

  “I think under the circumstances you should have one with me,” the Viscount said, “but we will not quarrel about it.”

  Richard Dickenson laughed, hailed a Steward and ordered champagne.

  “I have been hearing about you, Neil,” he said.

  “Nothing to my advantage, I suppose.”

  “On the contrary. I hear that you are with the most acclaimed beauty in London and what man could ask for more?”

  The Viscount laughed.

  “What indeed? You must meet her, she is indeed very beautiful.”

  “I remember seeing her several years ago,” Richard Dickenson said, “and I have heard of her since, because my mother knew her mother. I think that they were distantly related.”

  “That is interesting, Richard, you must certainly meet Doreen again now you are in London.”

  “I would love to. I have always been so terribly sorry for her that she had that dreadful accident with her husband so soon after they were married.”

  “It was certainly a tragedy for him,” the Viscount said. “But Doreen has recovered from it now.”

  He thought as he spoke that she had not really been regretting the loss of her husband this past month.

  “It was very bad luck for him,” Richard Dickenson agreed, “and for her. After all no woman likes to think she can never have a child.”

  The Viscount stiffened.

  For a moment he could not believe what he had heard.

  And there was no possibility that Richard was not telling the truth.

  It was impossible, totally and utterly impossible and, for him, as the only son of his father, to marry anyone who could not carry on the line.

  He did not go back to Berkeley Square to change for dinner that evening. He dined at White’s with Richard Dickenson.

  *

  The next morning a message came from Scotland asking him to come home immediately.

  His father had had a stroke and the doctors thought it unlikely that he would recover.

  The Viscount did not say goodbye to Doreen.

  Nor did he write to her and let her know that he was leaving London. He felt that she would understand why he had gone when she read the newspapers.

  He could not bring himself to speak to her.

  She had deliberately tried to trap him and that was something he could never forgive.

  She loved him in her own way that he admitted.

  At the same time if he married her as she suggested, it would be a disaster.

  How could she ever account for the fact that she could not provide him with an heir?

  It would have been an utterly hopeless position to which there was no solution.

  *

  The Viscount travelled to Scotland as quickly as he possibly could.

  As he did so, he could only think that he had had an amazingly narrow escape, or rather two escapes, from two unscrupulous women.

  It made him feel frustrated and bitter.

  He told himself firmly that never again would he be deceived.

  As he was still quite young, the thorny question of marriage was not urgent.

  Perhaps in ten years’ time he would then consider it important that he have a son, an heir to follow him when he could no longer be Chieftain of the Clan.

  But there was no hurry.

  For the moment because he had been hurt, he felt that he disliked all women and had no wish for any woman to be in his life.

  For amusement there were always the courtesans and they at least were frank and open about themselves and not interested in trapping a man, only in wheedling money out of him which was their profession.

  What he loathed and what he would never forgive was that Sybil had merely wanted his money.

  He had believed that she loved him for himself and then Doreen had been prepared to lie her way to the altar and make him in consequence suffer as only a Scot would understand.

  And then he would not be able to give his people who believed in him and trusted him, a future they could be proud of.

  ‘I have learned my lessons,’ he thought bitterly.

  The yacht, which had been sent for him, moved into the bay opposite Killdona Castle.

  As it did so, he thought how beautiful it all looked in the afternoon sunshine and the light on the moors behind The Castle was exactly as he remembered it.

  The towers were pointing high above the garden and he could see the profusion of flowers which were there to greet him.

  As the yacht drew nearer, a number of people came running down the steps from The Castle and he knew that they had been waiting for him.

  He felt his heart leap because he was sure of one thing and that was their loyalty and their faith in him and his family.

  ‘That is what matters,’ he told himself. ‘Now I am in the North where I belong and I can forget the South with all its conspiracies and despicable deceptions.’

  As
the yacht drew nearer still, he heard the pipes beginning to play the tune he had known ever since he was a child.

  It was The Battle Song of the MacFiles.

  As he saw how many people were waiting for him, he was glad that he had put on his kilt and his sporran just in time.

  He had actually not thought about it until the last moment and then he remembered that the whole staff of The Castle would be waiting for his arrival.

  Some might be at the windows, but he was quite sure that the more enterprising would be up on the roof of the towers watching the sea with a telescope and this was the sort of attention that always touched him.

  However much he might have enjoyed himself in London, there was nothing like coming home.

  The yacht came to a standstill and he saw that the men waiting for him were each wearing a black band round his arm.

  Then, as the anchor went down, the pipers played another tune that he also recognised.

  It was The Welcome to the Chieftain and that told him without words that his father was dead.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The ninth Earl of Glenfile was buried in the family vault with honour and his Clansmen walked solemnly behind him.

  The Service was very sincere and emotional and, as was usual in Scotland, only the men attended and went on afterwards to the wake.

  There a huge amount of whisky was drunk and the new Earl and Chieftain made a speech.

  He was genuinely very moved by the sorrow shown by the Clan on his father’s death.

  *

  The next few days the new Earl spent talking with the Elders about the affairs of the Clan, because he was determined to alter a great number of customs he thought were old-fashioned and out of date.

  Then the moment came when he was to receive the allegiance of all the Clansmen and take his father’s place as Chieftain.

  With the pipers standing on each side of him, he sat in the chair made of stag’s horns that had been the throne of the Chieftain for two hundred years.

  Nothing could have been more impressive.

  Proudly dressed in their best kilts with plaids over their shoulders, the Clansmen came up one by one. They knelt in front of the new Earl and pledged their allegiance.

  After which venison was cooked over fires in the grounds and the men and women of the Clan celebrated the opening of a new era.