In the Arms of Love

by Barbara Cartland

  Thinking that this was as surprising as everything else that had happened since she came to the house, Aspasia undid the blue ribbons of the plain bonnet she wore.

  Because she was calling on the Duchess she had not put on her riding habit to go to Grimstone House, but instead had worn the pretty gown she wore on Sundays which had a full skirt and a small tight-fitting jacket over it.

  Her clothes were always made by Martha, who was very skilful with her needle, and she would have been horrified if she had known that Aspasia was riding in one of the few decent gowns she had to wear on other occasions.

  She had, however, wished to look her best at her interview with the Duchess, although now she had seen her and the house she realised that nothing she possessed would look anything but inadequate in such surroundings.

  She pulled off her bonnet and the sun from the window caught the fiery gold in her hair and made it look as if there were little flames dancing on her head.

  Aspasia tried to smooth it neatly into shape and, as she raised her dark-blue eyes, she saw that both the other women were staring at her strangely in a manner that she did not understand.

  “You say you are staying with your uncle,” the Duchess asked. “Where are your parents?”

  “My father and mother are – both dead.”

  The Duchess glanced at the woman standing next to her and it seemed as if they communicated without words.

  There was silence and then the Duchess said slowly,

  “You came here to petition me on behalf of your uncle. To beg that he should be allowed to stay in his Living?”

  “That is right – Your Grace.”

  There was just a flicker of hope in Aspasia’s heart. She did not understand what was happening, but she sensed that the atmosphere had changed.

  The Duchess was no longer angry and she felt that perhaps at the eleventh hour Uncle Theophilus might be saved.

  “I have a proposition to put to you,” the Duchess now said. “If you will stay here for the night and do exactly what you are told without arguing and without complaining, then I will agree that your uncle may stay where he is.”

  Aspasia gave a gasp and the room seemed suddenly to be filled with sunshine.

  “Do you really mean that – Your Grace? Of course I will stay. I will do – anything you ask of me if Uncle Theophilus may remain at – Little Medlock.”

  “He may,” the Duchess agreed, “but you must swear to me on everything you hold sacred that you will do exactly what you are told to do.”

  “I – swear,” Aspasia said.

  The Duchess looked at the woman standing next to her.

  “You have not long to instruct her.”

  She was again speaking in a low voice which Aspasia felt that there was no reason for since she could easily hear what was said.

  “I’ll manage, Your Grace.”

  “She is to wear the snowdrop gown,” the Duchess ordered. “It always works with the more sophisticated ones.”

  The other woman gave her a smile.

  “You leave it to me, Your Grace. I’ve never failed you yet.”

  “Nor has my luck,” the Duchess replied. “Who would have thought that the Vicar of Little Medlock would come to my rescue?”

  She laughed, but Aspasia felt that it was not a particularly pleasant sound. At the same time she was too happy to be critical.

  She had won! She had won!

  The only thing that worried her was what Jerry would think when she did not return home as he expected.

  “Now you come along with me,” the woman was saying.

  Aspasia, however, remembered her manners.

  “Thank you, Your Grace, more than I can possibly say,” she said. “I am very very grateful to you – as I know my uncle will be and all the people in the village.”

  “Well, show your gratitude by doing what you are told,” the Duchess replied.

  Then, as she looked at Aspasia, the expression on her face seemed to change and, although it was difficult to explain even to herself, Aspasia realised that in some way the Duchess was hating her.

  For a moment she was surprised and then almost as if she had been told the reason she knew that it was because she was young and the Duchess was old.

  Once again feeling frightened she curtseyed and hurried after the other woman who had almost reached the door.

  As they left the salon for the corridor, the woman said,

  “We’ve a lot to do so I suggest if you’re hungry you’d better eat first and then let’s get to work.”

  Aspasia looked at her as if for explanation and she said,

  “You’ll find out what it is as we go along. But I hope if you’ve been nicely brought up you’ll know how to handle your knives and forks and how to behave at the table without my having to teach you that.”

  Aspasia looked at her in sheer astonishment before she exclaimed,

  “I should hope so!”

  The woman laughed.

  “You’d be surprised how ignorant most girls are when they’ve never been in a place like this before.”

  “Nor have I,” Aspasia admitted, “and it is very beautiful and very magnificent. When there is time I would love to look at the pictures.”

  “Pictures? You won’t have time for them.”

  They reached the hall and went towards the stairs.

  As they did so Aspasia said,

  “My horse was taken to the stables. Perhaps I ought to say that I shall not be wanting him – until tomorrow morning.”

  “Yes, of course,” the woman agreed.

  As she spoke, Aspasia had another idea.

  “I wonder,” she said hesitatingly, “if it would be possible for a groom – to take a message to the Vicarage to say that – I shall be staying here tonight. My uncle will be worried if I do not return.”

  She knew as she spoke that it would not be her uncle who would be worried but Jerry, but that was something she could not mention.

  “Yes, I am sure that can be arranged,” the woman said.

  She turned to the butler.

  “Mr. Newlands will you see that Miss Stanton’s horse is taken back to the Vicarage and tell them that she will not be returning until tomorrow morning. We’ll send her home in one of our carriages.”

  “Yes, of course, Mrs. Fielding,” the butler replied. “I’ll see to it.”

  “Thank you,” Aspasia said. “Thank you very much.”

  Mrs. Fielding started to climb the stairs and Aspasia followed her.

  She was thinking as she did so that she had to let Jerry know that she would not be coming back, otherwise in his usual impulsive manner he might come in search of her and that would be disastrous.

  ‘By the time the grooms reach the Vicarage Martha will be back and will open the door,’ she told herself.

  Nevertheless she was worrying as she walked on up the stairs and along a corridor that seemed interminable. But whatever difficulties there might be about her staying, the only thing that really mattered was that Uncle Theophilus was saved and so was Jerry.

  He could now return to Oxford and her prayers had been answered.

  ‘Thank you, Mama, thank you,’ she said in her heart.

  *

  The Marquis rode towards Grimstone House and he thought as Aspasia had that it was certainly more impressive than he had expected.

  He had sent his valet ahead in a brake that contained his luggage and rode not only because he preferred riding and needed the exercise but also because he wanted to try out one of the latest acquisitions to his stable.

  This was an exceedingly fine stallion that was obstreperous enough to keep his Master interested in controlling him and had a speed that the Marquis appreciated was exceptional.

  He had bought the horse recently at a sale and knew the moment he saw it led into the ring that it was an animal that he must acquire whatever the price.

  It carried him from Newmarket to Grimstone House in what the Marquis was sure was a recor
d time and he was therefore in a very good humour when he pulled the stallion to a standstill outside the front door.

  Because he was expected, a groom was waiting together with several other grooms, which told the Marquis that he would not be the only visitor.

  He stepped in through the front door, handed his tall hat, gloves and whip to one of the footmen and the butler led him to a room that was obviously one of the State salons and as impressive as the house itself.

  Although it was still early in the evening, the candles in the huge crystal chandeliers were lit and they glittered on the Duchess as she advanced towards him.

  As the Marquis looked at her, he thought, as Aspasia had done, that he had never seen a more sensational or extraordinary woman.

  Charlie had certainly not exaggerated when he said that she had been beautiful, but the Marquis realised that at forty-five no artifice, however skilfully applied, could disguise the fact that she was growing old.

  Her figure, however, was thin and lissom. He fancied that there was something serpent-like about her, while he found that her hand as she held it out with an affected eagerness was cold when he touched it.

  “My Lord, I am so delighted that you should have accepted my invitation.”

  “It is exceedingly kind of Your Grace to invite me,” the Marquis replied.

  Her eyes with their green lids seemed to glint at him from under her darkened eyelashes.

  “Business is so boring unless we contrive to make it more amusing,” she said in a low seductive voice, “and that is what I hope we shall be able to do this evening.”

  “I hope so too,” the Marquis replied.

  A servant appeared at his elbow with a glass of champagne and, as the Marquis sipped it,m he was aware that Charlie had been wrong in claiming that a woman could not choose wine. The champagne was exceptionally good.

  ‘At least,’ he told himself, ‘the evening is starting well.’

  “I have a party tonight,” the Duchess was saying, “but some of my guests have not yet arrived. However I would like you to meet those who have.”

  The Duchess then introduced him to two gentlemen, each with high-sounding foreign titles and a rather vacant-looking Peer who the Marquis vaguely remembered having heard was making a fool of himself in London by gambling for astronomical stakes.

  The Duchess, however, had no intention of boring him with people he did not know.

  She led the Marquis across the room to a sofa where they were out of earshot of the others and she then started to flatter him in a manner that he realised was subtle and at the same time intelligent.

  The Duchess obviously knew more about him than he did about her and he found her amusing and she made him laugh.

  Finally, when they had conversed without referring in any way to the reason for his coming to Grimstone House, she suggested,

  “As you have quite a long evening’s entertainment in front of you, I feel sure you would like to be shown your room. You will not wish to hurry over dressing.”

  The Marquis agreed. He had no wish to take the initiative in what he either did or said until he could see how the land lay and make his own judgement as to what was to be expected.

  For the moment he certainly found the Duchess unusual and he could understand that her appearance, if nothing else, would scandalise any neighbours she might have.

  Where a woman was concerned, it was always to be expected that people would gossip and complain if for no other reason because they were jealous.

  At the same time he had not forgotten the things that Jackson had told him and he thought that he would be careful at dinner not to allow the wine, if it was as good as the champagne he was now drinking, to influence him.

  He was shown upstairs to what he was sure was one of the finest rooms in the house and he recognised that the Duchess was determined to impress him.

  He wondered if his letter asking for an explanation of the troubles on their boundaries had perturbed her. If it had, all the better.

  As he had said to Charlie, it was a great mistake for adjoining owners to quarrel with each other and the sooner the difficulties between them were cleared up the better.

  The Marquis’s valet, Jenkins, who had been with him for many years and had also been his batman in the Army, had already unpacked and was waiting for him.

  As the Marquis took off his riding coat, he said,

  “Well, Jenkins, what do you think of this place?”

  “I don’t like it, my Lord.”

  “Not like it? Why not?”

  “There’s somethin’ goin’ on here, my Lord, as ain’t right.”

  The Marquis looked at him in astonishment.

  “Now why should you think that, Jenkins?”

  He knew as he spoke that he wanted to hear his valet’s opinion.

  Jenkins had a sharp common sense that he had found advantageous not only in war but also in peace.

  He was not a scandalmonger, but what he ferreted out in his own way was usually accurate and the Marquis was well aware that he could always rely on Jenkins to tell him the truth.

  “It’s nothin’ I can put me finger on right away, my Lord,” Jenkins replied, “but I’ll get to the bottom of it before we leave, you can rely on that.”

  “I am relying on you, as I always do, Jenkins.”

  The Marquis knew that Jenkins would have learned when they were at Newmarket some of the information that Jackson had related to him and he was sure that when they came here that the valet would be curious to see if such stories were true.

  The Marquis found that a bath had been prepared for him in a powder room that had been converted from its original use.

  As he stepped into the warm water, which was at exactly the right temperature, he said,

  “At least we are provided with every comfort. Who else is staying in the house?”

  “They wouldn’t tell me that, my Lord, but I think, if you asks me, you’re in for a surprise.”

  “Surprise?” the Marquis queried.

  Jenkins nodded.

  “The servants won’t say anythin’ to me in case I should tell your Lordship, I was soon aware of that. There’s women here. I sees some of them as I comes down the passage and there’s some sort of performance tonight.”

  Jenkins knew nothing more, but, as the Marquis dressed himself, he thought that he was glad that he had followed his instinct in accepting the Duchess’s invitation rather than listen to Charlie.

  At least the evening might be original, whilst dinner at Newmarket, although enjoyable, would be very much like all the others he had given in his house.

  He tied his cravat in the very latest style and in a manner that was the envy of the dandies.

  He did not wear knee breeches, but instead the stovepipe pantaloons that had been introduced by the Prince Regent and which were, the Marquis thought, in the country far more comfortable than silk stockings.

  Because he was so tall and looked so impressive, although he was unaware of it, the footmen in the hall, and there was a long line of them, gazed at him admiringly as he came down the stairs.

  He would have been surprised if he had heard one of them whisper to the other,

  “He be a sportsman, that he be, and too good to be mixed up in this sewer!”

  “I agrees with you,” the other one replied out of the corner of his mouth.

  There were more people in the salon than there had been when the Marquis had first arrived and, if the Duchess had looked fantastic before, then now she was positively dazzling.

  She wore a gown of green sequins, the colour of her eyelids. It was not only cut outrageously low in the front but it fitted her almost like a skin and in any drawing room would have been considered unduly provocative if not indecent.

  As she moved, a train rustled behind her and the Marquis thought to himself how he would tell Charlie later that she definitely was a serpent and there was no other way to describe her.

  She wore an emerald tiara in her
red hair, huge emerald earrings swung from her ears and, as she glittered with every movement she made, the Marquis could understand how it was difficult for the men watching her to look at any other woman in the room.

  When he saw the other women, he could understand that they had been chosen because they were so different from their hostess.

  “I am not going to introduce you to a lot of people who I am sure you know already,” the Duchess was speaking again in that low seductive voice he found was very much in keeping with her appearance. “Instead, I am going to present to you a young woman who will look after you this evening, will make sure that you enjoy yourself and be happy to do anything you require of her.”

  The way the Duchess accentuated the word anything told the Marquis exactly what she implied and it brought a cynical smile to his lips.

  ‘So that is what is going on,’ he told himself and thought that it was what he might have expected.

  “This is Aspasia Stanton,” the Duchess was saying, “and I do hope you will have a very happy evening together.”

  She pulled Aspasia forward as she spoke, but the Marquis was not aware that the Duchess’s pressure on Aspasia’s fingers told her again as sharply and clearly as Mrs. Fielding had said to her in words.

  Aspasia was frightened, very frightened, but she knew that she had to hide it and she managed to curtsey while her eyes looked up at the Marquis almost frantically to see what he was like.

  She did not know what she had expected.

  She had merely been told over and over again that she was to please the gentleman with whom she would spend the evening. She was to amuse and entertain him. She was to do anything he asked of her and in return her uncle could stay on at Little Medlock.

  “You are not to talk about yourself,” Mrs. Fielding said sharply. “Flatter the gentleman you are with. Tell him how handsome and clever he is and make sure that he finds you desirable.”

  Aspasia wondered to herself what she meant by that, but she had no chance to ask her any questions.

  Mrs. Fielding’s method of instructions while she was being dressed was to reiterate over and over again that she must do whatever was expected of her.

  When the gown she was to wear was brought from the wardrobe by one of the servants on Mrs. Fielding’s instructions, Aspasia had thought that it was the prettiest she had ever seen.