The Mountain of Love Read online

  And there was, of course, Rothwoode House in Park Lane.

  Every woman who saw it wished to be its chatelaine, but so far, however ardent Christopher might be in pursuing them, he did not offer any of them marriage.

  After Gertrude had left, the Earl began to think that the story she had told him was nothing but humbug.

  Christopher would never, under any circumstances, make a woman of easy virtue, to put it mildly, his wife, yet cleverer men had been trapped before they realised what was happening.

  Looking back, the Earl could remember the son of a Peer, who had been duped by one of the more voluptuous Parisian courtesans.

  He had woken up in the morning to find her wearing a wedding ring and there were a dozen witnesses to swear that they had been present at the marriage ceremony.

  Another much younger man, the son of one of the Earl’s friends, had been besotted with an actress, who had a leading role at one of the largest theatres in Paris.

  Her considerable success on the stage was largely due to the efforts of a European Prince on her behalf, but there was no question of his marrying her. He already had a wife and family in the Principality he ruled.

  Yet the actress craved, for no reason anyone could understand, to wear a respectable wedding ring.

  The son of the Earl’s friend had fallen head over heels for her seductive blandishments and had then brought her to England proudly.

  There was nothing that his family could do but try to make the best of it.

  The Earl thought, and thought again, over all what Gertrude had told him.

  And finally he decided he must go into action.

  He sent an urgent telegram to Christopher, which no young man could possibly refuse to answer.

  The Earl had taken some time in composing it,

  “Absolutely essential that you return immediately and as quickly as possible. Please reply time of arrival at Dover where a carriage will be waiting for you.”

  The Earl sent a groom riding into the village to the Post Office with the telegram.

  Then, because he was feeling so anxious, he vented his rage on everyone in the house.

  *

  The Viscount Roth was indeed, as Gertrude had so accurately reported, enjoying himself.

  He had found his visit to Russia most interesting but somewhat exhausting.

  It was not only the parties in St. Petersburg that lasted until dawn and where everyone drank too much vodka that had tired him.

  It was the long rides in the Caucasus and the climbing of several challenging mountains that had totally exhausted his energy. His travelling companion, Fergus, proved insatiable and however far they went, he always wanted to go just a few miles further.

  He also insisted on rising early in the morning and pushing on as far as possible before the worst heat of the day.

  By the time Christopher returned to civilisation all he wanted was a soft bed and a pretty woman.

  There was nowhere else in the world that could cater for a man’s desires as seductively, as charmingly and indeed as expensively as Paris.

  Christopher found that he was not alone in seeking escape, relaxation and amusement.

  Several of his close friends were also in Paris. At his invitation two of them came to stay with him in his cousin’s house.

  “If we do nothing else,” one of them professed, “we will paint the town red.”

  That is what they set off to do.

  And it was not difficult.

  Everywhere they looked there were beautiful women with outstretched arms and the extravagant parties they gave became more notorious and more original every night.

  Naturally the food and wines were superlative.

  That was a compliment Christopher could not make of the Russian food and he found that champagne raised a man’s spirits far more quickly than vodka, which he felt was more of a depressant.

  It was inevitable with his looks and his money that Christopher would end up with Yvonne Villette.

  She was known as being the most fascinating and entrancing of all the demi-monde.

  She had a house of her own just off the Avenue des Champs Élysées and a great number of famous gentlemen had already passed through it.

  The furniture for her house had been provided by the King of the Netherlands and the beautiful carved gilt bed where she slept by the King of Spain.

  Yvonne was not only glorious to look at, she had an extremely sharp brain and a most amusing way of saying something outrageous.

  She kept everyone with her laughing.

  At all the parties given for her it was a challenge to produce something different and that naturally applied to the presents she accepted in abundance, especially from those on whom she bestowed her enchanting favours. Because he had been to Russia, Christopher provided the finest caviar at his parties and it was specially conveyed to Paris for him by courier from St. Petersburg.

  The caviar was served on a table covered completely with white orchids.

  When dinner was over, balloons descended from the ceiling onto every woman present and a glittering gift was attached to each one.

  Yvonne’s balloon was white while all the others were coloured and her gift shone with diamonds.

  She thanked Christopher very prettily when the party was over and he was satisfied that every penny it had cost him had been worthwhile.

  *

  When he received his father’s telegram, Christopher was just leaving the house.

  Outside, his cousin’s carriage drawn by two excellent horses was waiting, ready to convey him to the Racecourse.

  Christopher read the telegram and then read it again. He wondered what could possibly have happened that made it imperative for him to return home so quickly.

  However urgent it might be, he most certainly could not leave Paris without saying goodbye to Yvonne.

  She was waiting for him in her house.

  She was wearing a voluminous new hat that she was sure would stun everyone who saw her in it. And her gown revealed her perfect figure with every step she took.

  Christopher showed her the telegram.

  “What do you think can have happened?” she asked, her huge blue eyes mesmerising him.

  “I have not the slightest idea,” he responded. “I was thinking as I came here that if the house had fallen down or my father was dying, he would have been more explicit.”

  “You will have to go,” Yvonne counselled him softly, “but I shall miss you more than I could ever possibly say, my darling Christopher.”

  Her hand fluttered over his as she was speaking and he raised it to his lips.

  “I shall miss you terribly, my Yvonne. It has all been wonderful and I have enjoyed every minute we have been together.”

  “Good things must always come to an end. ” “I shall come back again,” asserted Christopher.

  “I have a feeling that it will not be the same. Family affairs take time and what we have enjoyed together will not keep.”

  She looked up at him with a smile that was irresistibly fascinating, but there was a slight twist to her lips.

  “It is au revoir,” she sighed, “and thank you for what has been for me a particularly happy time.”

  “And for me,” Christopher added.

  He kissed her hand passionately when he left her.

  He knew only too well that there would be a dozen men ready to rush to her side as soon as she appeared.

  She turned round to wave to him as he drove away.

  He recognised without wasting any more words that it was the end of what had been a delightful and in many ways an unforgettably blissful episode in his life.

  Yet he told himself that it was a liaison that could never continue for very long.

  If it did, it might lose all its spontaneous excitement.

  In fact by the time he was on the ship taking him from Calais to Dover, Christopher was not thinking particularly of Yvonne.

  He was wondering what could have occ
urred in his family for him to have received such an urgent and forthright summons. It was unlike his father to make such a fuss.

  The carriage was duly waiting for him at Dover and it took him across country.

  He thought it would really have been easier to go by train to London and from there to travel to the nearest Station to Rothwoode Court.

  However, he could only leave the arrangements in his father’s hands and he recognised that, if he should try to alter them, it would cause an unseemly row.

  It was five o’clock when the horses finally drew up outside Rothwoode Court.

  It was a fine and overwhelming building and there had been a house on the same site for more than four hundred years. In 1750 the Adam brothers had completely restyled and rebuilt the façade as it was standing now.

  It had a beauty about it that Christopher thought was unique and he was intensely proud of what would one day be his heritage.

  When he strode into the hall, the old butler welcomed him.

  “It’s very nice to have you back, my Lord.”

  “Tell me, Stevens,” Christopher quizzed him, “what is wrong? I know that his Lordship would not have sent for me unless there was a crisis.”

  “There be a crisis right enough, my Lord,” Stevens replied. “But I don’t know what it be – and that’s the truth.”

  Christopher smiled.

  “I always thought you knew everything, Stevens!”

  “There ain’t much that escapes my eye, my Lord, but his Lordship’s been in a towering temper ever since Lady Ackroyd called on us.”

  “Lady Ackroyd!” exclaimed Christopher.

  He knew his cousin Gertrude was the biggest gossip in the whole of the London Society and, if she had called, she would undoubtedly have left a trail of trouble behind her.

  There was no need for Stevens to show him into his father’s study, where he knew the Earl would be.

  When he opened the door, his father jumped up from the writing table.

  “You’ve been a hell of a long time getting here!” he called out angrily.

  “I left Paris as soon as I received your telegram,” Christopher replied. “What has happened? I expected to see the house falling down, the lake empty and a coffin coming out of the front door.”

  He had meant to make his father laugh, but he only replied,

  “If I had died of shock, it would not have been surprising. As it is, I am alive and I want to know what the devil you have been up to in Paris.”

  “Is that all you have called me back for?” Christopher asked. “Really, Papa, you might have guessed that after a somewhat gruelling time in Russia I would feel that I needed a little fun.”

  “Fun!” blustered the Earl. “Is that what you call it? You have got yourself engaged to a harlot and if you think I can accept that as my future daughter-in-law, you are very much mistaken.”

  Christopher stared at him in astonishment.

  “What are you talking about, Papa? I am guessing that you have heard some cock-and-bull story from Cousin Gertrude.”

  “Your cousin informed me of what she had seen and heard in Paris,” the Earl snapped. “So let me make it clear to you once and for all that you are my son and I will not have you messing up a family that has existed for as long as ours has and been respected and admired by every generation.”

  Christopher had heard all this a thousand times.

  He walked to the corner of the room where his father kept a grog table and poured himself a drink.

  “Do stop being so theatrical, Papa,” he said. “I assure you I have not done anything that will degrade the almighty family name by which you set so much store. It is extremely annoying to be brought back from Paris at a moment’s notice without any good reason for it.”

  “No good reason!” the Earl screamed. “Your cousin saw a woman wearing your engagement ring and announcing that you were to be married. If you do such a thing, it will be over my dead body!”

  Christopher now realised what had happened. He had bought an amusing set of jewels as a surprise birthday present for Yvonne It had just been designed by one of the great jewel-makers of Paris. It consisted of earrings, a bracelet and a ring and they all came in a velvet box on which was inscribed the recipient’s name in gold lettering.

  The jewels were of topaz ornamented with diamonds and, although it had been a rather expensive present, its real interest lay in the fact that the look was something new and modern.

  He was aware that Yvonne had not received anything like it before and she had been delighted with it.

  She had put the ring on her engagement finger and had held up her hand as a joke and she knew that everyone would laugh at the idea of her being married.

  As it happened, she had been married when she was very young to a man of no account and he had swept her off her feet when she was just seventeen.

  She had lived with him for two years and then her beauty had enticed her to Paris and straight onto the stage at the Folies Bergères.

  And from that moment she had started to climb the stairway to success.

  She never gave a thought to the husband she had left behind. He vanished from her life so completely that she had almost forgotten his existence.

  She had, however, to his surprise, told Christopher the story of her life, which she seldom did to any of her other lovers and he had found her tale exceptionally interesting.

  He knew now he had only to tell his father the truth and he would then realise that he was making a huge fuss over nothing at all.

  Then suddenly, as his father was still shouting at him, repeating over and over again that he would not have a harlot in the family, Christopher felt rebellious.

  He was really far too old for his father to behave in this ridiculous manner. It was also insulting to accuse him of having so little respect for the family name.

  He would never in his wildest dreams be foolish enough to invite Yvonne or any other woman like her to become his wife.

  He now sat back in the chair sipping the drink he was holding in his hand.

  He let his father rage on until he stopped for a short moment because he was feeling breathless and he then turned savagely to his son,

  “I will tell you what I have done,” the Earl yelled. “I have been patient with you long enough.”

  Christopher did not speak. He merely gazed at his father.

  “You are being married tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock in our private Chapel!”

  Christopher felt he could not have heard him right.

  “What are you saying, Papa?”

  “I am saying that I have chosen a wife for you. You will be married by my Chaplain and then you will leave for your honeymoon immediately afterwards.”

  “I think you must be completely and utterly mad,” replied Christopher. “I have no intention of marrying anyone and certainly not someone chosen for me.”

  “You will obey me in this if in nothing else,” the Earl raged, “and, if you do not, I will cut you off completely and absolutely and you will not get another penny from me until I die.”

  Christopher drew in his breath.

  As in so many of England’s great ancestral families, the bearer of the title held all the money and wielded all the power.

  He was well aware that it was up to his father to make him a sufficient allowance and he would have no money of his own until he took his rightful place as the Head of the family when the great fortune would be in his hands.

  In the meantime the reigning Earl was responsible not only for his own children, but he also supported his relatives, of whom there were a great number.

  On top of this, there were those who served him and lived on his estates.

  The Earl had the power to cut any one of these people off completely or he could refuse to give them anything to which they had no legal rights.

  As his father spoke, Christopher remembered that he was heavily overdrawn at the Bank.

  Almost as if the Earl was
reading his thoughts, he added sharply,

  “You will do what I say or I will not only cut off your allowance but refuse to pay any of your debts. I imagine they are even larger than the last time you asked me to settle them for you!”

  Christopher was painfully aware that this was indeed the truth.

  In fact, now he thought about it, his debts ran into thousands of pounds and he always counted on his father paying up even though he then had to endure an interminable lecture at the same time.

  “Now please let’s be – sensible about this, Papa,” he began hesitatingly.

  “I am not going to listen to you,” the Earl interrupted. “I have made my arrangements and you will marry a girl who is of the same blue blood as ourselves.”

  “You just cannot seriously expect me to marry some young woman I have never even set eyes on,” he retaliated. “Really, Papa, that is going too far.”

  “Then what do you think you have been doing?” the Earl shouted.

  “As it so happens I have been doing nothing,” said Christopher. “You know that Cousin Gertrude is invariably a troublemaker.”

  “Troublemaker or no troublemaker,” the Earl snarled, “I have often told you that at your age you should be married and settled down. You can have any of the houses you like on the estate, the house in London or one of the other houses I own. But you will marry the bride I have chosen for you and that is final!”

  “And if I refuse?” “Then you can go to a debtors’ prison for all I care. I will make your brother heir to every penny I possess that is not entailed. If you starve, it’s what you deserve.”

  The way he spoke was frightening.

  At the same time Christopher recognised that he had worked himself up into a fury and, however absurd it might seem and however unjust, he would stick to his plan and dole out his punishment accordingly.

  Christopher had found out when he was quite small that at times his father was completely unmovable.

  Not even his mother, sweet though she was, could influence the Earl when he was determined to have his own way and at whatever the cost to others, he rode over them.

  “Now listen to me, Papa,” Christopher began again almost despairingly.

  “I am not listening to anything you have to say,” the Earl retorted. “I believe that what your cousin heard was the truth and, although you will try to talk yourself out of it, you will fail. So – you will be married at precisely two o’clock tomorrow afternoon or you can walk out of the house now to starve in the gutter for all I care. That is my decision and nothing and no one will change it!”