Love At Last Page 6

  The day was fine and crisp, but not too cold and the Embassy chaise was comfortable and in good repair.

  As soon as they had arrived in Belgrave Square to pick up Rosalind from her father’s mansion, Ivan realised that his memory had not played him false.

  Her eyes were as large and blue as he remembered and her face as heart-shaped, her mouth just as sweet.

  She was wearing a fur-trimmed fine wool suit in a blue that matched her eyes and she smiled up at him from beneath a broad-brimmed hat with heart-warming candour.

  “This is so nice,” she sighed as he helped her into the coach. “Why, it’s Algy,” she added as Ivan arranged a rug around her knees. “We met at a dance last month.”

  Algy muttered something about being grateful she had remembered and they proceeded to Mayfair to pick up Cecilia and her aunt.

  If Ivan had been delighted that his memory had not played him false over Rosalind’s looks, he was taken aback at how much more attractive Cecilia was than he recalled.

  As she came into the hall at Beaumont House, he realised that her eyes were even larger than Rosalind’s. Her nose might be tip-tilted, but it gave her a delightfully gamine air that softened his memory of a vital intelligence and her wide mouth smiled appealingly.

  She wore an amber-coloured suit in soft tweed that set off her pale golden hair smoothly arranged beneath a rakish shako-shaped hat – and the effect was striking.

  “Thank you so much for the lovely flowers you sent to me after the luncheon,” enthused Cecilia. “I so enjoyed arranging them.”

  Ivan thought just how delightful she looked as she smiled at him. She might not be as pretty as Rosalind, but her dimples were very attractive.

  “It is so kind of you to invite Aunt Mary and me to the steeplechase,” Cecilia added, as they waited for Lady Broadstairs to join them.

  Ivan, who had feared that including her aunt, as convention required, would mean reigning in their spirits, soon found that Lady Broadstairs could be the life and soul of any party.

  She and Cecilia swapped many intriguing stories of racehorses and hunts and even Algy contributed.

  Only Rosalind sat silently in a corner of the coach, smiling sweetly and laughing when everyone else did.

  Once or twice Ivan wondered if she had actually understood what they were laughing at.

  But it did not matter, she was the most sympathetic female he had met for a long time. The contrast between her and Natasha could not be more striking.

  “Why is the meeting called a steeplechase?” asked Rosalind as they arrived at the small Racecourse and the coach stopped in a spot where they could see the action.

  All around them were more coaches. The first race was not due just yet and the Embassy coachman and groom brought out a picnic basket filled with endless delicacies and bottles of champagne.

  It was Algy who answered Rosalind’s question,

  “It’s because in the old days the races used to be run over the countryside from the steeple of one Church to the steeple of another, Miss Dampier. Such cross-country races are still held, of course.”

  “By the hunts, you mean,” added Lady Broadstairs. “We have some cracking hunts around my place. I still hunt, you know?” she turned to Ivan. “Do you?”

  “Whenever I can. It’s very different in my country. There we usually hunt the boar rather than the fox.”

  “Shall we now take a walk round the course, Miss Dampier?” proposed Algy.

  “Let’s all go,” came in Cecilia.

  After a short stroll among the other race goers, they returned to the coach for a picnic before climbing onto the roof to watch the first race.

  Half way through the day, Ivan whispered to Algy,

  “Thanks, old man, this was a terrific idea.”

  “I can see why you’re so attracted, old boy. She’s a sweet little thing.”

  Ivan nodded and tried to feel as enthusiastic about Rosalind as he had that very morning – in truth her lack of conversation and seeming inability to provide anything but her charming presence was beginning to pall a little.

  Still, perhaps her lack of conversation was because Cecilia and Lady Broadstairs were both such stimulating company.

  Ivan told himself that Rosalind was probably shy. He must try and draw her out, after all, he should be able to mould her into the very kind of wife he required.

  All too soon it was time for the last race. As they had earlier, the party went to see the runners parade before gathering on the course for the ‘off’.

  “Oh, do look at that darling little horse,” Rosalind called out as they studied the animals that made up the field. “He’s got the sweetest ears.”

  Cecilia surveyed the horse with a practised eye.

  “Back’s too long,” she said. “Rosalind, look at that grey instead, he’s much more the real thing.”

  Ivan, studying the runners, agreed with Cecilia and was impressed with her eye for the points of a horse.

  Soon it was time to return to the coach for the race and somehow he found that Algy now was escorting Lady Broadstairs and Rosalind, whilst he walked beside Cecilia.

  Talking happily about horses, they were nearing the coach when there came the thunder of galloping hooves and a growing sound of cries that turned into screams.

  It all happened so quickly that later Ivan found it difficult to disentangle exactly what had happened.

  All he was sure of was that, hearing screams, he looked behind and saw a runaway horse galloping straight for them.

  Without time to think, Ivan swept up Cecilia in his arms and then threw them both out of the way of the crazed animal.

  For a minute Ivan lay gasping on the ground with Cecilia’s soft body on top of his.

  Her light fragrance drifted into his nostrils and for a brief moment it was as if the crowds, all the shouting, the screams and the hardness of the ground had vanished and the two of them floated on a cloud in some heavenly space – quite quite alone.

  Then they were surrounded by people eager to help and Ivan came back to earth. Cecilia was gently lifted off him and concerned voices asked if they were injured.

  “I am fine,” said Ivan, rising up. “A bruise or two, no more. Lady Cecilia, are you injured?”

  He was desperately concerned.

  “No, I don’t think so. What happened?” she asked, seeming a little dazed.

  “It was that durned ’orse,” said a racing enthusiast. “Went clean orf ’is ’ead. Tell you, missus, you’re lucky. If it ’adn’t been for this gentleman, you’d been a goner. It came straight for you.”

  Cecilia looked at Ivan.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. “It seems I owe you my life.”

  Ivan felt embarrassed.

  “It was nothing. As long as you are unhurt.”

  “What about the horse?” she asked.

  Later Ivan thought how splendid it was of her to worry about the horse that had come so near to killing her.

  At the time someone ran up and said breathlessly,

  “The ’orse’s run down a boy and ’e looks real bad!”

  The speaker indicated a spot a little way off where more racegoers were crowding around.

  In the far distance Ivan caught sight of the horse, now safely in the custody of several race Officials. There was no sign of the rider.

  “Injured?” asked Cecilia. “Come, show me where he is. Have you sent for a doctor?”

  Gathering her skirts together in one hand, she set off running across the rough ground.

  Ivan quickly followed.

  They reached the scene of the incident and Cecilia moved through the crowds with calm authority, clearing a path to where the boy lay.

  He was unconscious and frighteningly white with one of his legs lying at a most peculiar angle.

  Cecilia knelt beside him.

  “I wouldn’t touch him, ma’am,” came in an elderly bystander. “A doctor should be here soon.”

  Suddenly there was Algy with
Rosalind and Lady Broadstairs.

  “You need not worry,” he said. “Lady Cecilia has had medical training.”

  “Oh, how dreadful, the poor little boy,” moaned Rosalind, her hand to her mouth. “We knew something awful must have happened, but at least it isn’t either of you.”

  She glanced at Ivan with an expression of concern as an Official rushed up.

  “This is terrible,” he said, wiping his brow. “And the doctor has just had to take another accident victim to hospital.”

  “Same horse?”

  “No, some chap fell and hurt his back. In agony apparently.”

  Cecilia paid no attention to all this chatter.

  “Are the boy’s parents here?” she demanded.

  A man pushed through the crowd. His well-cut suit and top hat identified him as someone of standing.

  “Philip – is it Philip?” he was saying in a worried voice. “The boy wanted to see the horses before the last race. I said I’d join him.”

  Then he saw the boy lying on the ground and cast himself down beside him.

  “Philip – ” he groaned.

  “I think it’s a broken leg and concussion,” advised Cecilia gently. “Since he’s unconscious, I’ve been able to manipulate the leg into its proper position. It seems to be a clean break and that stone there – I think he must have caught that with his head as he fell.”

  “His leg was hit by one of that horse’s hooves,” volunteered a man in the crowd. “I saw it all and right unfortunate he was.”

  His father’s face was almost as white as his son’s.

  “Will he be – all right?” he asked tremulously.

  “We are going to need a couple of strong straight sticks,” said Cecilia.

  “Leave it me.” A race Official hastened off.

  “What about a hospital?” asked Ivan, impressed at the way Cecilia was managing this unpleasant situation, especially after she had so nearly suffered the same fate as the boy.

  Cecilia looked up at Ivan in faint surprise – it was almost as though she had forgotten he was there and then she turned back to the stricken boy.

  “He must go to the nearest hospital immediately,” she said.

  “I’ll get my carriage as close as possible,” said the father as various voices eagerly gave instructions on how to find the local hospital.

  Soon the Official was back with two straight pieces of wood that looked as though they were part of a fence.

  “Ideal,” sighed Cecilia.

  She whipped off her long chiffon scarf and, using her teeth, tore it into three. Then she tied the sticks along each side of the broken leg into a makeshift splint.

  The boy’s father came up with his carriage and the Official had produced a stretcher.

  Cecilia looked at Ivan.

  “Could you and Algy please, very carefully, put the boy onto the stretcher and carry it into the carriage?”

  Ivan was delighted to be able to do something to help. Under Cecilia’s direction the boy was placed onto the seat of the carriage. Immediately he started to groan and move his head.

  “He’s coming round!” the father exclaimed with relief. He turned to Cecilia. “Please, please will you come with us?”

  Cecilia looked at Ivan.

  He nodded.

  “We can follow on behind and pick up you at the hospital. I am sure your patient would benefit from you being with him all the way.”

  So Ivan’s carefully planned day at the races ended with his party waiting outside the local hospital for Cecilia.

  At least it enabled Ivan to get to know Rosalind a little better and to find out that her conversation failed to extend beyond inconsequentials.

  Had she any mind of her own at all, he wondered?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Finally able to leave the hospital, Cecilia then felt unusually tired. It was a most emotional end, she thought, to an exceptionally enjoyable day.

  However, she was touched by the way Ivan helped her into his coach, tucked a travelling rug around her knees and offered her brandy from his flask.

  She thanked him for his offer, but said she would be fine without it.

  Then, for no good reason that she could understand, she had a sudden vision of him pulling her out of the way of the galloping horse and her falling on top of him.

  With astonishing clarity she felt again his strong body beneath hers.

  The only other man she had ever been so physically close to was her father and the sensation of being held by Ivan had been deeply troubling.

  The firm muscles, the beat of his heart, the way his arms had held her so close to him, all rushed back to her and she could feel a blush rising up through her neck and flooding her face.

  Grateful for the darkness inside the carriage, she sank back against the cushions, closed her eyes and tried to control her breathing.

  “How is the poor little boy? Will he be all right?” Rosalind enquired in her little girl voice.

  Cecilia opened her eyes back to reality.

  “I think so. He had regained consciousness by the time I left and a surgeon was about to set his leg properly.”

  She smiled to herself in the darkness as she recalled how complimentary the doctor had been about the way she had arranged the boy’s splint.

  “Could not have done it better myself,” he praised her, looking at her curiously. “Did you say that you had studied medicine, Miss – ?”

  “Cecilia Beaumont.”

  They discussed her abortive attempt to become a doctor for a few moments, then she had taken her leave, promising to enquire about the boy’s progress the next day.

  “I am sure dear Cecilia must be very tired,” Lady Broadstairs said in a tone that brooked no argument. “I think we should allow her to collect herself in peace.”

  “It has all been very dramatic,” breathed Rosalind with an air of helplessness.

  “Algy,” asked Ivan, “do you know what happened to the rider of that runaway horse?”

  “Didn’t see the rider, old chap. All I could see was a riderless animal running amok. Took more than three Officials to take him in hand.”

  Cecilia tried to think back to the commotion that had suddenly arisen. As Ivan had thrown them both out of the way, she had only a brief glimpse of the runaway horse.

  “I am sure when it rushed on us there was a jockey on its back,” she mumbled.

  She could sense Ivan’s attention sharpen.

  “You are certain, Lady Cecilia?”

  She thought back again to that terrifying moment.

  “Yes, I am sure.”

  “He must have fallen off,” suggested Algy.

  “It was galloping so fast,” said Rosalind. “I hope he wasn’t hurt.”

  “I will make enquiries tomorrow,” added Algy with a yawn. “My, all that fresh air has been quite enervating.”

  “I am not at all tired,” pronounced Rosalind.

  “I am happy to hear it,” volunteered Ivan. “Please, Miss Dampier, what is the most interesting experience now in London? I mean exhibitions, concerts and the theatre.”

  Rosalind was happy to produce some ideas. Algy came up with a few more and even Lady Broadstairs was able to contribute and the conversation grew lively.

  Eventually Cecilia was able to take part, but by the time the carriage drew up outside Beaumont House, she had seldom been more relieved to arrive home.

  Ivan escorted her into the hall.

  As he bade her farewell, he kissed her hand.

  “I do apologise, Lady Cecilia, for the way our day ended. It was not at all what I planned, but I admired the way you conducted yourself. That young boy was indeed very fortunate you were on hand and I shall call tomorrow morning so that I may satisfy myself you have not suffered as a result of all this trauma.”

  Cecilia tried to dismiss the thrill that ran through her at the prospect of seeing him again so soon and at the touch of his lips on her hand.

  “Prince Ivan, there is no need
. I promise you I have not suffered at all. However, I should be delighted to see you,” she added quickly.

  In the hall light she was able to see his face clearly for the first time since they had left the hospital.

  His intense blue eyes seemed mesmerising as they looked carefully into hers, as though checking that she was telling him the truth. Then the sweetness of his smile took her aback. He had such a commanding air and seemed so in control that a touch of uncertainty in his expression was disarming.

  “You must not keep the others waiting,” she told him, conscious of her aunt still in the carriage.

  “Of course, Lady Cecilia,” he answered smoothly, gave her a little bow and left.

  As the heavy front door closed behind him, Cecilia felt strangely bereft.

  She thought of him re-entering the carriage and the jokes and laughter that would ensue and for an instant she wished she was still there with them.

  Then her normal composure returned and she told herself to stop being ridiculous.

  She was so tired, it was as much as she could do to climb upstairs to bed. Which in itself was strange. As she had spent many days expending much more energy at the clinic than had been required of her that day.

  It must, she told herself, be something to do with having to employ her medical skills in such a strange place.

  Just before she slipped into sleep, she had a sudden vision of Ivan’s sweet smile as he bade her goodnight.

  Would he, she now wondered, fulfil his promise of calling on her the following morning?

  She had intended to visit the clinic, but maybe it would not matter if she waited until late morning before arriving there.

  *

  Cecilia woke early and dressed quickly.

  She shared breakfast with her father and saw him off to his day at the Foreign Office.

  Then she went to the study, where she tried to deal with a large pile of correspondence.

  Once again her usually disciplined mind wandered, so she got up and checked that the fire had been lit in the morning room and that the flowers were fresh.

  Then she abandoned her letters and picked up the menu the chef had sent up for a diplomatic dinner she and her father were to hold the following evening.

  Before she had finished working though the dishes, she had risen again and gone over to the newly installed telephone in the hall. Calling up the operator, she asked to be put through to the hospital.