Stars in the Sky Read online

  "Oh, you should. Indeed you should." The Count began to whistle again. He was rather enjoying the situation.

  Sylvia looked up at him, perplexed.

  "Were we…well acquainted?" she asked falteringly.

  The Count stopped whistling. He regarded her thoughtfully. Better be careful here. Play his cards right. Mustn't alienate her. What he needed to do was get her on his side and then hurry this wedding along.

  "My dear Lady," he said in as soft a tone as he could muster, "we were most intimately and legitimately acquainted. Your step-mother herself will enlighten you."

  "My step-mother? She has said nothing that indicated such a friendship existed between myself and…any other."

  The Count adopted an expression of deep concern. "Ah! My dear Sylvia! We wished to let you gently recover your memories. But alas! I see that you have forgotten your devoted friend."

  Here he trailed off, shaking his head mournfully.

  Sylvia felt helpless. "And what is…my devoted friend's name?"

  The Count hesitated. Here was the crucial moment. Would the sound of his name quicken memories that he would prefer to lie buried forever?

  "I am – Count von Brauer," he said slowly.

  Even as he spoke Sylvia turned her head sharply. Was that the sound of coach wheels? She thought so, she hoped so!

  "Madam?" the Count prompted her with a frown.

  She turned back to him. "I'm sorry, I…"

  "Count von Brauer," repeated the Count, endeavouring to hide his annoyance.

  Sylvia shook her head, near to tears. Why could she not remember this man?

  "Sir, tell me please, for the love of God…what were you to me, or I to you?"

  The Count drew in his breath. She did not remember. He was, for the moment, quite safe. If he could marry her within the fortnight, he was surely home and dry.

  He leaned down and took up her hand from where it lay in her lap. She shrank away as he raised it to his lips.

  "I was your future and you were mine," he replied.

  Sylvia stared at him, aghast. Could he mean what she thought? Heavens, let it not be so.

  As if to compound her misery and confusion, she heard at that moment the voice of Lord Farron as he approached the orchard.

  "Sylvia! We are returned."

  He stopped short as he saw that she was not alone. Then he came more slowly towards her. He bowed civilly to the Count, but as he straightened and looked more fully upon him, his brow suddenly furrowed.

  Sylvia felt it incumbent upon her to make an introduction.

  "This is…Count von Brauer," she said unhappily.

  "Your servant," said Lord Farron stiffly to the Count.

  He turned to Sylvia. "My humble apologies, madam. Had I known you were not alone, I should not have intruded upon yourself and your friend."

  "Oh, ha!" exclaimed the Count. "You are mistaken, sir, if you think me a friend of this young lady."

  Sylvia was shocked. Lord Farron regarded the Count in amazement.

  "What the deuce do you mean, sir?"

  "Oh," shrugged the Count coolly, "what I mean is that I am no mere friend of this pretty lady. I am rather the man privileged to be her future husband."

  Lord Farron seemed to reel back as if struck. He was utterly speechless.

  Sylvia, stunned, stared at the ground.

  The Count took hold of the end of his moustache and rolled it between his fingers, his eyes narrowed. He had seen Lord Farron's reaction and recognised it immediately for what it was. The reaction of a man who suddenly discovers he has a rival.

  Sylvia lifted her head at the soft cooing of a wood pigeon. Everything – the orchard, the house, the estuary, looked as it had five minutes ago, but her world had changed irrevocably.

  The Count felt he had ventured enough for now. He took hold of Sylvia's hand again. Lord Farron flinched and turned away. The Count expressed his desire to visit Sylvia tomorrow. She looked up at him and nodded miserably. She did not know how she could refuse. The Count then bowed to Lord Farron and set off along the path.

  It was Lord Farron who spoke first. "What do you know of – your fiancé?"

  She looked up, startled. Was Lord Farron under the impression that she had remembered from the first that she was engaged, but had said nothing to either him or Charity?

  "N..nothing. How could I…?"

  Lord Farron snapped a twig from a nearby bough in two.

  "Are you in love with him?" he asked abruptly.

  Sylvia's head swam. How could she know if she were in love with a man she did not remember? At the same time, she felt her fate was sealed. She had just learned that she had a fiancé. It was news that rendered her desolate, but she had no doubt of where her duties now lay. It was not for her to reveal her unhappiness at the situation.

  "I c..cannot remember," she stammered, "but anyway I am told…that love grows once you are…wed."

  Lord Farron wheeled on her with a face full of bitterness. "That, madam, depends on who you marry!" he growled. Without another word he gave a curt bow and walked away.

  Sylvia stared after his retreating figure, feeling as if all the hope, all the light of her life, went with him.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Count von Brauer lost no time in informing the Duchess of his impromptu visit to Farron Towers. He was anxious to impress upon her the desirability of removing her step-daughter from the company of the dashing Lord Farron.

  "After all," he shrugged, watching the Duchess closely, "Sylvia does not remember me and – she is in a highly susceptible state at the moment."

  The Duchess was so distracted by this intimation of an unwelcome friendship between Sylvia and Lord Farron, that she quite forgot to rebuke the Count for visiting Sylvia without her express command. The Duchess was sure that Lord Farron, though of an old and distinguished family, was by no means as wealthy as the Count. The Count, after all, owned vast estates in Bavaria!

  She must act quickly or all would be lost!

  She sent a message to Sylvia announcing that she would be coming to fetch her home later that day.

  At Farron Towers, meanwhile, Charity and Sylvia sat down to lunch without Lord Farron. Hattie said he had gone out on his horse and would not return till late. Sylvia, head low, sat toying with her food. Charity glanced at her now and then from under her brows.

  Charity was aware that something had occurred between her brother and Sylvia, something that had rendered them both equally miserable. For the moment neither of them wished to enlighten her on the subject and she respected their silence even as it troubled her.

  A hundred times, Sylvia was on the point of telling her friend what had happened and a hundred times she held her tongue. She could not bear it if the same bitter look crossed Charity's face at the news as had crossed Lord Farron's.

  It was during dessert that a message for Sylvia was brought in on a tray.

  Sylvia went pale as she read the message. Then she burst into tears and rushed from the table.

  Charity went after her in alarm. When she tapped on Sylvia's door, however, Sylvia simply called out in a choked voice that she was obliged to prepare to return home. She offered no further explanation for her tears and Charity retired, hurt and puzzled.

  An hour later, her cheeks still damp, Sylvia sat disconsolately at her window. She stared out at the green sward of lawn that ran down to the estuary. Her heart was so heavy she could imagine it sinking like a stone into those grey-green waters.

  She had been so happy here at Farron Towers, so happy in the company of Lord Farron and his sister. It was in all innocence that she had allowed herself to feel more for Lord Farron than was, as it turned out, appropriate. Yet still she berated herself.

  How could the fact that she was engaged to be married have been so completely wiped from her mind?

  When she thought of the Count her heart gave a wild, unhappy lurch. In what circumstances had she accepted his proposal of marriage? Could she ever have been i
n love with him and if so, would that love return with her memory of him?

  She assumed the Count had informed the Duchess of his visit that morning and that was why her stepmother was coming to fetch her home.

  It was time for her to resume those duties that fell upon an engaged young lady!

  Feeling a sob rise in her throat she pressed her handkerchief to her lips. It would not do to let Lisbeth hear her cry.

  Lisbeth, Charity's lady's maid, was in the room packing Sylvia's trunk.

  "Shall I put this shawl in or will you wear it on your journey?" asked Lisbeth.

  Sylvia looked at the white shawl dully. "Oh – put it in the trunk. I'll wear my cloak home."

  At that moment she heard the sound of carriage wheels on the cobbles below. She quickly dried her eyes and rose from the window.

  "It's all packed now, my lady," said Lisbeth. "I'll have it carried down to the hall right away."

  "Thank you," said Sylvia. She moved to the door just as a soft knock sounded on the other side.

  It was Charity.

  Charity regarded her friend anxiously. "Your stepmother has arrived," she said.

  Sylvia had long since enlightened Charity as to her true relationship with the Duchess.

  Sylvia nodded and looked away. "I know. I am going down now. Has…Lord Farron…returned from his ride?"

  Charity shook her head.

  Sylvia's sense of desolation was immense.

  She had longed to see his face just one more time before she left.

  The two young women descended the stairs together in silence.

  Sylvia still could not bring herself to tell Charity about her sudden discovery that she had a fiancé.

  Lord Farron would tell his sister soon enough.

  The Duchess greeted Sylvia and Charity coolly in the hallway below. She made it clear she had no desire to loiter at Farron Towers and ordered Sylvia's trunk to be immediately loaded on to the carriage.

  She was secretly shocked at Sylvia's stricken expression and surmised she was whisking her step-daughter away not a moment too soon.

  Charity and Hattie went out onto the steps to bid them farewell.

  The coach driver handed the Duchess in. Sylvia turned and clung for a moment to Charity.

  "S..say good-bye to…your brother for me," she whispered.

  At that moment there came the sound of hooves on the road to the house.

  Sylvia swung round to see Lord Farron galloping almost recklessly into view.

  Rather than take the curve east of the drive he urged his horse over the orchard gate and on through the trees. Sylvia's hand flew to her throat. The Duchess, leaning from the coach to see what was going on, gave a frown.

  Lord Farron pulled up with a loud 'whoa' and leapt from his horse. His face was pale, despite his ride, as his eyes took the scene in at a glance.

  "You – are leaving?" he asked breathlessly.

  "Yes," murmured Sylvia.

  "Come along," the Duchess scolded Sylvia, "I must get back to your father."

  Lord Farron turned and quickly bowed to the Duchess. "I trust – the Duke of Belham's health is improved?" he enquired politely.

  "Vastly," replied the Duchess coldly," especially since he knows his daughter will be secure under his roof tonight."

  Charity started in astonishment. "She has been secure enough under our roof, I would hope!' she said with some heat.

  "Oh, indeed, I am all thanks," replied the Duchess. "But such a young gel is better off under her parents' eye, you know."

  Charity said nothing more. Lord Farron held out his hand to help Sylvia into the coach. She trembled at his touch. The Duchess watched all the while with pursed lips.

  Sylvia leaned forward in her seat to speak to Lord Farron at the still open door.

  "You will…bring Charity to visit me…at Belham?"

  Before Lord Farron could reply the Duchess spoke out. "Oh, but you won't be at Belham, my dear. Not for a while. Tomorrow we go up to London to put together your trousseau. Your brothers-in-law have most generously offered to pay."

  With that, the Duchess signalled to the waiting coach driver to slam the door. Sylvia caught one last glimpse of Lord Farron's anguished gaze before the driver's whip cracked through the air and the coach jolted into motion.

  *

  It was very warm for a day in early May. All the windows in the Belham's Mayfair house were flung wide open.

  Sylvia sat on her bed in her petticoat, her arms locked around her drawn-up knees. Edith and Charlotte were busy opening all the packages that had been carried up from the coach a few minutes before.

  For seven frantic days, Sylvia had been dragged from one fashionable boutique to another. She had been dressed and undressed in every fitting room in London. Edith and Charlotte had held up exquisite garment after exquisite garment – satin corsets, silk lingerie, velvet stockings, embroidered hats. They were bitterly disappointed that Sylvia showed so little appetite for this most delectable of pursuits – shopping! Such was her disinterest that it was they who ended up choosing her wardrobe each day.

  "Just look at these shoes!" cried Edith. "Look at those tiny rosebuds stitched on the strap. Delectable!"

  Charlotte took a huge straw hat out of a cocoon of tissue. "Oh, my – imagine this at afternoon tea at Kumpfners."

  Sylvia dropped her chin onto her knees and stared at the counterpane. Kumpfners was the hotel on the Rhine at which the Count had suggested they spend a delayed honeymoon in September, on their way to his Bavarian estates.

  The whole idea of the wedding and the life that would come after, filled Sylvia with horror but she had been made well aware of where her duty lay. It had not taken the Duchess long to re-acquaint Sylvia with the imperatives of this marriage. Edith and Charlotte never wasted a moment in reminding her that it was probably saving her father's life.

  One or two hazy memories of the Count had returned to Sylvia, such as his first visit to Castle Belham, and the day she encountered him in the mist near the estuary. She still had no memory whatsoever of the night she had fled from Endecott. Nevertheless, she harboured an instinctive dislike of the Count and barely permitted him to touch her.

  He, worried that at any moment she might remember his attempt to ravish her, pressed now for a hastier marriage than planned. He cited Sylvia's obvious attraction to Lord Farron as the reason. Better to let him, the Count, marry Sylvia and take her away from England for a month or two. A new husband could soon banish all thoughts of another man.

  The Duchess, though regretting her plans for a huge county wedding, felt obliged to agree.

  The wedding was now set for three weeks hence, during the first week of June.

  Sylvia felt helpless, impelled towards the altar on a tide of dresses, shoes, hats, bloomers – impelled on a tide of money, money that would no doubt buoy up the Belham fortunes for generations to come.

  She had received various letters of congratulations but nothing from Lord Farron. Charity had sent a short, polite note. Otherwise an unnatural silence prevailed between the two erstwhile friends.

  Sylvia lifted her eyes at an exclamation from Edith. Her sister was in the process of drawing a white fur coat from its box.

  "Oh," breathed Charlotte. "This is divine. Imagine wearing it on a sleigh, driving round your Bavarian estates."

  The two sisters, eyes moist with romantic longings, rushed over and draped the fur around Sylvia's shoulders. They clapped their hands as they gazed on her.

  "The little Princess!" sighed Edith.

  "Countess!" Charlotte corrected her.

  Sylvia shrugged off the coat.

  "Oh, can't you be even a little bit enthusiastic!" complained Charlotte.

  "You're like a – a wet fish!" joined in Edith. "Won't you enjoy having all these lovely things?"

  "Not if the price is marrying Count von Brauer," riposted Sylvia bitterly.

  The sisters raised their eyes to the ceiling.

  "Such ingratitude!"


  "You're just being stubborn."

  "You're going to be very happy with him!"

  "Just wait and see."

  Sylvia said nothing. Her sisters, having unpacked everything from their boxes, rushed off to refresh themselves before tea. They would send a maid to put everything away for Sylvia.

  Sylvia's eyes slowly took in the room, the discarded items, the mounds of lingerie, the dresses flung over the chaise. She sighed and put her hand over her face.

  If only all this had been for a marriage to someone else!

  She was disturbed from her reveries by the sound of a carriage drawing up outside the house. She wondered who it might be at this hour of the afternoon. Not the coach to take her sisters home. They were staying to supper and then accompanying the Duchess with Sylvia and the Count to Lady Lambourne's birthday party. Not so her brothers-in law, who were both away attending to matters at their country estates.

  She leaped up when she recognised the voice that was ordering the coach driver to wait.

  It was the voice of Lord Farron!

  Sylvia had learned that both Charity and her brother were the god-children of Lady Lambourne. She had simply not allowed herself to hope that Lord Farron would come to London for his god-mother's birthday party.

  Yet here he was, not just in London, but at Sylvia's own door!

  She rushed around the room as the heavy door bell rang. Where was her dressing-gown…her dress…anything more seemly than her bodice and petticoat? She couldn't appear at the window in those!

  Hearing the front door open she ran to the bed and caught up the white fur. Drawing it around her she hurried to the window and pulled back the curtain.

  There were voices below but she could not make out what was being said. She leaned further out.

  She could see Lord Farron below. Her heart caught in her throat. Then she heard him being asked to wait. Asked to wait! Without inviting him in?

  Lord Farron bowed. He turned and stood at the top of the steps, looking down the street.

  Dare she call down to him? No, no, that was simply not appropriate behaviour.

  Yet how she longed for him to see her and address her.

  He turned. Someone had come back to the front door. There were low words. Lord Farron seemed to stiffen. He gave a curt bow and stepped away, crumpling something in his hand. For an instant he glanced up and his eyes alighted on Sylvia's fur-swathed figure at the window. He gave no sign of greeting to her, but turned on his heels and went swiftly down the steps.