203. Love Wins Page 6

  Her skin was white and translucent as a pearl and he thought again how lovely she was and how ill-equipped to be alone in what would undoubtedly be a hostile and frightening world.

  As they walked towards the dining room, Lord Heywood wondered how many men of his acquaintance would have behaved as he was doing in the same circumstances or how many women would make no effort to attract him physically.

  There were few women in the same position who would not have flirted with him and tried to entice him. But Lalita was provocative only in a mischievous and teasing way.

  He supposed that it was her age and innocence that prevented her from regarding him as a man.

  He knew, because she told him, that she thought he was handsome and magnificent and she deferred to his judgement, which in itself was a subtle form of flattery.

  But it was very different from the blandishments and the amatory indiscretions that Lord Heywood had previously found were inevitable when he was alone with a woman.

  He found himself thinking of Lady Irene and knowing how very different everything would have been if she had been alone here with him at The Abbey.

  Lady Irene Dawlish had made it very clear when he was in Paris what her feelings were towards him. But, although he had found her exceedingly attractive and she had provided for him a fiery interlude in the midst of his other duties, he had not been sorry to say ‘goodbye’ to her when he left for England.

  Her husband had been killed in action and buried in France so she had come out from England after hostilities had ended to see his grave.

  It was the Duke of Wellington who had introduced them. Lady Irene being a distant cousin of the Duchess and Lord Heywood had more or less been told to look after her and prevent her visit from being entirely a sorrowful one. He had soon learned that Lady Irene was not as broken-hearted over her husband’s death as might have been expected.

  She had married when she was very young, but had soon regretted her impetuosity. She had not therefore found it a hardship to find herself widowed with enough money to live in comfort and be acclaimed as one of the most beautiful women in the Beau Monde.

  The Duke of Wellington, who always had an eye for a pretty woman, undoubtedly would have looked after her himself if he had not been heavily engaged with another charmer who was extremely jealous and possessive.

  He therefore left it to Lord Heywood to show Lady Irene the delights of Paris, to escort her to the graveside of her husband and then back again to the gaieties of the French Capital.

  Lady Irene had been very satisfied with the escort chosen for her by the Duke.

  She lost no time in making Lord Heywood aware that the only way she could be quickly consoled for the loss of her husband and amused by Paris was in his arms.

  It had been a long time since he had enjoyed any female companionship, except of the more sordid nature and now there was no fighting to be done he had time on his hands.

  Lord Heywood would not have been human if he had not accepted what the Fates offered him.

  He had, however, become uneasily aware as time passed that Lady Irene was asking more from him than a fiery interlude in a busy life, which was all she meant to him.

  Although she was promiscuous in her affaires de coeur and regarded in her mind every man who approached her as a potential lover, Lady Irene also wished to marry again. When she learned that the man she knew as ‘Colonel Romney Wood’ was in fact Lord Heywood, she decided that she was willing to become his wife.

  She was aware that he had little money, but that was immaterial beside the fact that he owned one of the finest and most magnificent houses in England.

  Lady Irene could see herself entertaining there and at Heywood House in London, which was considerably larger and more impressive than the house she had been left by Lord Dawlish.

  “I love you, Romney,” she had said the night before Lord Heywood left Paris. “As soon as I come back to London, we must make plans for our future.”

  It was the first time she had said anything so direct, although she had hinted that she wanted them to be together for life, but Lord Heywood had said nothing.

  “I have never loved anybody as I love you,” Lady Irene continued, moving closer if it was possible and putting her arm around his neck to pull his head down to hers.

  “We will be very very happy together and, darling, no woman ever had a more ardent or demanding lover.”

  Her lips, fierce and hungry, swept away any reply that Lord Heywood might have made.

  While his body found it impossible not to respond to the fire she ignited in him, his mind told him firmly and dispassionately that he had no intention of marrying Lady Irene or anybody like her.

  He did not know what sort of wife he wanted, but he was quite certain that for many years yet he would avoid taking one.

  If, however, he had to marry, then it would certainly not be to a woman whom he suspected as soon as he left Paris would console herself with one of his brother Officers or the young Diplomats who were only too delighted to become involved in a tempestuous if short-lived love affair.

  As he and Lalita entered the dining room, they saw Carter come hurrying from the kitchen entrance with a steaming dish in his hands and Lord Heywood thought that money or no money, he would much rather be here with Lalita than with Lady Irene.

  They rode after luncheon until they thought that the horses had had enough for one day and then came back to explore, as Lalita had suggested, the Kitchen Garden.

  Lord Heywood saw that the peaches, having been left to grow wild, were not nearly as large as he remembered them being, although the trees were laden with them.

  The grapes were ripening too and he cut down a bunch for Lalita and she ate them appreciatively while they went on to explore the greenhouses.

  The orchids had suffered through neglect, but they were still blooming, while the carnations made her cry out with delight and she picked a large bunch to carry back to the house.

  “There is far too much fruit here for us to eat it all,” she said, “I will tell you what I will do with some of the peaches, I will make you the most delicious fruit drink that Mama used to make for me when I was a little girl. It was something she learned when she was a child in Boston.”

  She saw Lord Heywood look at her sharply and she gave a little rueful smile as she said,

  “That is undoubtedly your clue for today.”

  “So your mother was American.”

  “I suppose after that slip it would be stupid for me to lie or refuse to answer.”

  “Very stupid,” Lord Heywood agreed. “And gradually, like a puzzle, I am fitting what I learn from you into place. Soon you will be obliged to tell me the whole story.”

  “But think how disappointing it will be for you when you have nothing else to think about,” Lalita replied.

  “Nothing else,” he exclaimed and then laughed. “You cannot side-track me so easily.”

  “I would like to – tell you everything,” Lalita said, “but I think it would be – a mistake.”

  “From your point of view or mine?”

  “Really from yours,” she answered. “You see, if you knew everything about me, then you might feel it your duty to find my Guardian and take me back to him. As it is, you can salve your conscience – if you have one – by saying that I kept you in ignorance and therefore there was nothing you could do but act like a Good Samaritan.”

  Lord Heywood knew that this was very near to the truth, so he asked no more questions.

  Lalita had admitted that she had jewellery with her and money and he knew that, if she wandered about the country alone, sooner or later she would be robbed and perhaps injured in the process.

  He had noticed the newspaper reports of the trouble that had been caused by men who had disbanded from the Army and the Navy without pensions and, having quickly spent what they had, were roaming about the country either begging, stealing or robbing travellers.

  It frightened him to think of wha
t dangers Lalita would encounter in such circumstances and he was well aware that she had no idea, having always been looked after and cosseted, what life could be like if she was alone and unprotected.

  As if she followed the train of his thoughts, Lalita slipped her hand into his.

  “I am very grateful, very very grateful,” she said, “and sometimes I think Mama, who believed in prayer, guided me here and brought you home at just the right moment – to look after me.”

  Lord Heywood wanted to reply that he thought that was too fanciful and impossible to substantiate.

  But there was something very young and confiding in the way that Lalita spoke and he thought her fingers in his were those of a trusting child.

  So instead of the words that trembled on his lips he said,

  “I should like to drink your peach juice, which I am sure will be a delight I have never tasted before.”

  *

  Before dinner that night Lord Heywood told Carter that he intended to go to London the next day.

  “How’s your Lordship a-travellin’?” he asked.

  “I thought I would ride Waterloo.”

  “There’s a nice curricle in the stables, my Lord, and it can’t be very old as I sees it’s an up-to-date model.”

  “A curricle?”

  “Your Lordship can ’ave Conqueror. Waterloo wouldn’t stand for it, but there be a young horse the farmers been a-drivin’ with a gig, which’d make a pair.”

  “It would certainly be a better way to travel to London,” Lord Heywood mused.

  “I’ll go up to the farm and borrow the ’orse, my Lord. Give ’em a good rest when your Lordship gets there and plenty of oats and they’ll bring you back safe and sound the next day.”

  “You are right, Carter. It would certainly be more comfortable and I should not have to change when I reach London.”

  Although Conqueror was a far better bred animal, the young horse from the farm obviously had stamina and they were not badly matched.

  The curricle was painted black and yellow and Lord Heywood thought it very smart. It would be comfortable to drive and he looked forward to the journey with pleasure.

  He was aware as he put on his tall hat that Lalita was staring at him in admiration.

  She had in fact been surprised when she came down to breakfast to find him dressed in a way she had not seen before.

  As he had previously only worn riding breeches and a comfortable riding coat with a cravat tied loosely round his throat, she had not expected him to be wearing clothes that would have adorned any buck or beau in St. James’s.

  His tight-fitting, knitted, champagne-coloured pantaloons that had been introduced by the Prince Regent were worn with highly polished Hessian boots in which, Carter said proudly,

  “You can see your face in ’em if you wants to.”

  The cutaway coat with its long tails had, Lalita knew, been originally introduced by Beau Brummell and Lord Heywood’s cravat was tied in a mathematical style, which was always described in the newspapers as being the most complicated of those favoured by the dandies.

  She had stared at him wide-eyed and Lord Heywood had smiled a little self-consciously before he admitted,

  “I never expected that the clothes I wore when I was young and foolish would have survived for so long.”

  “They fit you perfectly,” Lalita cried.

  “Too perfectly!” he replied. “I think life in the Army has enlarged my muscles, so my coat, I may tell you confidentially, is uncomfortably tight.”

  “But you look marvellous. What I have always heard described as a very ‘Tulip of Fashion’!”

  “Thank you,” Lord Heywood laughed. “It is something I do not aspire to be, but it was either these clothes or the ones you have seen me wearing up until now.”

  “You would have been ashamed to appear in London in those.”

  “Perhaps you are right,” he said, “and Banks don’t give credit to those who look impoverished.”

  “Is that where you are going?”

  “I intend to try to obtain a loan, but I am not particularly optimistic that I shall succeed.”

  “I feel sure that they will understand your circumstances,” Lalita said, “and I will pray while you are away very very hard that they will be accommodating.”

  “I am sure your prayers will help me,” Lord Heywood replied, “and now I had better be on my way.”

  Lalita walked with him to the front door, feeling, although it was absurd, somewhat forlorn because she could not go with him and had to be left behind.

  “I will look after the house until you come back,” she offered.

  “I thought it was looking after you!”

  “Carter will do – that.”

  “And I hope neither of you will get into any trouble in any way.”

  “We will not,” Lalita promised, “but – please – hurry back.”

  There was no doubt that it was a plea and for the moment he was rather touched that she would so obviously miss him.

  “I will be as quick as I can,” he said, “but if I am not back tomorrow night, don’t worry.”

  “That is very easy to say,” Lalita protested, “but I shall worry, so – please try not to – waste the delicious meal we will have – waiting for you.”

  Lord Heywood smiled at her and, as she lifted her face to look up at him pleadingily, he had the strange idea that he should kiss her goodbye.

  Then rapidly he stepped into the curricle, picked up the reins and drove off.

  As he looked back, he thought that Lalita standing on the steps with the great house behind her looked woebegone but very lovely.

  It was odd, but she seemed to belong there, almost as if the house itself framed her beauty and protected her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  As the horses disappeared out of sight, Lalita turned and walked into the house saying to Carter as she did so,

  “I do hope he will be all right.”

  “’Is Lordship can drive anythin’,” Carter answered, “even a mule and a donkey if you put ’em together.”

  Lalita laughed, then at that moment she heard somebody behind them.

  She looked back and saw that the postman had come round the house from the direction of the back door.

  He walked up the steps and thrust two letters into Carter’s hands.

  “I’ve been a-knockin’ me head off at the back” he grumbled, “and not a sight nor sound of anyone!”

  “The sixth footman must be a-lyin’ down,” Carter retorted.

  Lalita did not wait to witness this exchange of wit, but walked into the hall.

  And when Carter joined her a second or so later, she said,

  “I wonder if the letters are important. It’s a pity his Lordship could not have had them before he left.”

  “One looks to be a bill,” Carter suggested, inspecting the letters in his hand, “and there ain’t no ’urry for the other.”

  “How do you know that?” Lalita enquired.

  “’Cos it’s from someone ’is Lordship was real glad to leave behind when we left Paris.”

  Lalita realised that this must have been a woman and she could not help feeling curious.

  “Was she very – beautiful?” she asked, and was ashamed of herself for being so inquisitive.

  “Who? Lady Irene?”

  “Was that her name?”

  “That’s right, miss, Lady Irene Dawlish and the person who admired ’er the most were ’erself!”

  Carter spoke in a contemptuous tone that Lalita knew was impertinent.

  At the same time she was interested.

  “I suppose,” she said hesitatingly after a moment, “because his Lordship is so – handsome there are always lots of ladies to tell him so.”

  “You bet! After ’im like flies round an ’oney pot, they was,” Carter replied. “Always askin’ my ’elp and all.”

  Lalita looked puzzled and he explained, mimicking a woman’s voice,

 
; “‘Carter, what time can I see ’is Lordship alone?’ or ‘Carter, will you tell ’im I’m waitin’ and I ’ave somethin’ very important to say to ’im’.”

  Carter laughed derisively.

  “’Twas important all right – to them!”

  Lalita said nothing but she found herself thinking of Lord Heywood in a new light.

  It was perhaps his appearance when he had driven off to London looking so smart and so dashing that she thought that neither her father nor his friends would have been able to compete with him.

  He was a lot younger than they had been and very much better looking.

  But there was something more about him that she had never noticed in any other man.

  Now she wondered if he had gone to London not only to see his Solicitors as he had told her and if his visit would include meeting some beautiful lady like the one who had written to him.

  She had seen the handwriting on the letter that Carter had put down on a table at the bottom of the stairs, and she noted that it was very flowery and in a way flamboyant. Lalita found herself conjuring up a picture of the sort of lady who would be attracted to Lord Heywood and he to her.

  “I wonder why his Lordship has never married,” she said aloud.

  “Married?” Carter exclaimed. “That’s somethin’ ’e’s never thought about while I’ve been with ’im and it’s nothin’ ’e can afford anyway.”

  “He could marry a rich wife?”

  “And ’ave a woman hold the purse strings and order ’im about? Not ’is Lordship! But I’m not sayin’ ’e ’asn’t ’ad ’is chances.”

  Carter glanced at the letter on the table as he spoke and, as if she knew what he was thinking, Lalita said,

  “I suppose Lady Irene has – money.”

  “So I ’ears,” Carter answered cautiously.

  “Then if his Lordship married her he would be able to restore this house to its former glory. There would be servants and gardeners, horses in the stables and he would not have to worry over the farmers and the pensioners.”

  “If you asks me, miss, them worries wouldn’t count besides those Lady Irene’d bring ’im.”