Haunted

by Barbara Cartland

  Isabella Hertford was a very rich, handsome and stately woman of ample proportions.

  It had astonished everybody when she became the favourite of the Prince Regent, for she had already been a grandmother for more than twelve years and those who were jealous of her averred that she ‘looked her age’.

  It was Lady Stafford who had commented,

  “Elderly Dames seem to be to His Royal Highness’s taste!”

  But those close to the Prince Regent understood that his strange somewhat complex character made him need to be dominated by an authoritarian woman older than himself.

  As, however, his infatuation with Lady Hertford began in 1806, it was not surprising that now, eleven years later, it was whispered amongst those who were regularly in attendance that the ardour of his affection was cooling a little.

  At the same time, because of the Prince Regent’s fanatical loyalty to whose whom he loved, he was almost fighting with himself to prolong his affection for the ageing woman who had been at his side for so long.

  Although she did not say so to Mimosa, Lady Barclay, who had listened during the past weeks to what was being whispered about the fading attractions of her friend the Marchioness, could not help remembering that it was here at Carlton House that Mrs. Fitzherbert had been pushed into the background when Isabella took her place.

  Now there appeared to be another elderly woman, who was also a Marchioness, Elizabeth Conyngham, on the horizon.

  She was not, of course, present this evening, but Lady Barclay had been told that the Prince Regent had definitely cast his eye in her direction and the Marchioness of Hertford’s enemies were already whispering that her ‘reign’ was over.

  There was, however, no sign of this at the moment as she stood beside the Prince Regent and occasionally touched his arm to draw his attention to something or somebody she wanted him particularly to notice.

  “It is lovely to see you, dearest Emily,” she said to Lady Barclay. “We have heard so much of the gallantry of your dear husband during the war and what a tremendous help he was to the Duke in all the troubles over the Army of Occupation.”

  “You always say such kind and charming things, Isabella,” Lady Barclay replied.

  Then, as the other guests were announced, they moved on to allow them to take their place.

  Once again, Mimosa was looking around her at the beautiful pictures when she heard Sir Alexander say,

  “How pleasant to see you again, Heroncourt! I missed you when you left Paris.”

  “I was glad to come home,” the Marquis replied. “Equally, Sir Alexander, I have often recalled how skilful you were in coping with all the complaints and disagreeableness of the French.”

  Sir Alexander laughed and then he asked,

  “You remember my wife?”

  “Of course!” the Marquis said. “How are you, Lady Barclay?”

  “I am also glad to be home,” Lady Barclay replied, “and I have brought somebody here with me tonight whom I would like you to meet.”

  As she spoke, she put her hand on Mimosa’s arm, who was staring at an extremely fine Titian.

  She had been unable to turn round when she heard the Marquis’s voice, because he set her heart beating so wildly that she was afraid he would hear it.

  Now she was obliged to do so, as Lady Barclay drew her towards him and, as she did so, she saw the astonishment in his eyes.

  “Lady Mimosa Field – the Marquis of Heroncourt!” Lady Barclay was saying. “A most gallant young man who helped us defeat that monster Napoleon!”

  Mimosa could only glance quickly at the Marquis and, as she curtseyed, her eyes dropped.

  Then the Marquis said in the dry voice she knew so well,

  “Lady Mimosa and I have met before.”

  Lady Barclay looked surprised.

  “I had no idea of it!”

  Before Mimosa could speak, somebody came up to greet Lady Barclay and she was left facing the Marquis, who was staring at her, she thought, in a very strange manner.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked abruptly.

  As he spoke, she saw his eyes flicker over her gown, the diamond collet around her neck and the diamond stars, in her hair.

  “Sir Alexander – Barclay was – my father’s General.”

  Feeling desperately shy, she found it hard to speak at all and the words seemed to come jerkily from between her lips.

  Then, as she looked at him, she longed to see the expression of admiration she had dreamed of in his eyes, when she had longed to have only one beautiful gown that might please him.

  But it was not admiration she saw.

  Instead, incredibly, so that she could hardly believe it, he looked angry.

  Then before he could speak or Mimosa could say anything more Charles Toddington appeared at his side.

  “Mimosa! It is really you!” he exclaimed. “When I spotted across the room the most elegant woman I had ever set eyes on and was wondering how I could get an introduction, I suddenly realised that I already knew her!”

  It was impossible for Mimosa not to smile at the compliment and, very conscious of the Marquis who still looked angry, she replied,

  “‘Fine feathers make fine birds!’ But I am still the same – underneath!”

  Charles laughed.

  “That I believe and hope. Don’t change. Mimosa. I like you as I know you really are.”

  “Looking like – a country bumpkin?” she asked.

  Because she had used the same words as the Marquis had, there was a distinct twinkle in Charles’s eyes as he replied,

  “That is not the way I would describe you! Undoubtedly a magic wand has been waved over you and now you look like a Princess in a Fairytale!”

  Mimosa laughed and it was a very pretty sound.

  “I only hope that at midnight I don’t revert back to being the ‘Goose Girl’ in my rags and tatters!”

  Then, as she spoke, she felt her spirits drop for, without saying another word, the Marquis turned and walked away across the room.

  Because she could not help it, she said to Charles in a whisper,

  “What has – happened? Why is – his Lordship –angry?”

  “Is he?” Charles asked vaguely. “If so, it does not surprise me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he has been like a bear with a sore head ever since we came back to London. Everything bores him and he wishes that he was back in the Army.”

  Mimosa looked worried.

  “Y-you don’t – think it is anything I – said that upset him?”

  “Why should it be?” Charles asked. “Don’t worry about him, Mimosa, he is well able to take care of himself. Tell me why you are here and where is Jimmy?”

  Mimosa told him how she had called on Sir Alexander to ask him to help Jimmy in finding a suitable manager for his estate who might be able to make it pay.

  “An excellent idea!” Charles approved. “I am sure that the General will know of somebody retiring from the Regiment, who might be exactly the sort of man you require.”

  “That is what I hoped,” Mimosa agreed, “but what I did not know was that my father had saved Sir Alexander’s life and, because Lady Barclay is so grateful to him, she has given me the most wonderful gowns and is introducing me to the Social world!”

  “Now I understand,” Charles smiled, “and I am certain that the Social world will really appreciate you!”

  There was no doubt about that, for by the end of the evening Mimosa found herself bewildered by the compliments she received and the way that almost every man present had contrived to be introduced to her.

  When the long-drawn-out and very large dinner was finished, there was dancing in the music room and a great many guests who had not been invited to dinner arrived.

  Amongst them were a number of young gentlemen who had not sat at the table in the dining room, but were no less anxious to dance with Mimosa.

  Although she was a little nervous that she would not be
able to dance well enough, they all assured her that she was perfect in everything she did.

  By the time the evening was ending, she felt that she must have danced with every man in the room who was capable of taking the floor with the exception of the Marquis.

  She was vividly conscious of him even while she was dancing and nervous that she might make a mistake.

  He was looking, she thought, more magnificent than ever, since she had not previously seen him wearing his decorations on his evening coat and with the blue ribbon of the Order of the Garter across his chest.

  Although she looked towards him frequently and in fact found it difficult to look anywhere else, she never caught his eye.

  She had the depressing feeling that he was deliberately avoiding her and showing quite clearly how uninterested he was in anything she did or how she looked.

  Quite suddenly the glamour, the beauty and the excitement of Carlton House were displaced by a dark fog that seemed to encompass her.

  Now all she wanted was to be alone and able to cry forlornly as she had done every night for the moon that was out of her reach.

  ‘How can I be so stupid as to love him?’ she asked herself.

  She thought that the question was definitely answered by the way a very lovely lady, whom she had not noticed at dinner, was talking animatedly to the Marquis.

  She was at the same time looking up at him in a manner that proclaimed all too clearly how much she was attracted by him.

  Because Mimosa could not help being curious, she asked the gentleman she was dancing with,

  “Who is the very enchanting lady wearing an emerald necklace, who is sitting at the far end of the room with the Marquis of Heroncourt?”

  Her partner looked in the direction she had indicated and replied,

  “That is Lady Isme Churton, the Duke of Dorset’s daughter.”

  “She is very beautiful!” Mimosa said with a little throb in her voice.

  “I agree with you,” her partner said, “and naturally Heroncourt thinks so too. He has as good an eye for a pretty woman as he has for a fast horse!”

  He laughed at his own joke that seemed to Mimosa to pierce her heart as if he had stabbed her with a dagger.

  Although she knew that it was something she should not ask, she could not help saying,

  “Is Lady Isme a very close friend of the Marquis?”

  “If that is how you like to put it,” was the answer, “but I can think of a more intimate way of expressing their feelings for each other!”

  Mimosa closed her eyes.

  For a moment she felt that she must turn and run away from the sight of Lady Isme gazing up at the Marquis with her red lips curved in a provocative smile that said more than words.

  Then, as the dance came to an end and her partner led her into the Chinese Room, which opened out of where they had been dancing, she managed with a superhuman effort to pull herself together.

  Even so it was an inexpressible relief when Lady Barclay indicated that it was time they returned home.

  “It is growing late,” she said, “and our host dislikes late nights and I can see that he is already a little fidgety. I know he wishes his guests to leave. ”

  The Prince Regent certainly made no effort to dissuade them from doing so.

  He complimented Mimosa again as he said,

  “You must come and decorate my rooms again, Lady Mimosa.”

  “I hope I may have the opportunity to do so, sir,” Mimosa replied, “for I have never seen so many wonderful treasures before.”

  The Prince Regent was delighted as he always was when anybody praised his possessions.

  “I will show you around myself,” he said genially. “You will not forget, Lady Barclay, you must come to luncheon and afterwards I will show Lady Mimosa the latest things I have acquired, which I believe are quite exceptional.”

  “I am sure they are,” Lady Barclay replied, “and thank you indeed, sir, for the invitation. We shall look forward to such a privilege.”

  Mimosa curtseyed and once again she felt the Prince Regent squeeze her hand before she followed Lady Barclay through the beautiful rooms to the graceful double staircase, which led down into the splendid hall decorated with Ionic columns of brown Siena marble.

  It was only as she reached it that she realised that the Marquis was standing there with his evening cape over his shoulders, obviously waiting for his carriage.

  Their eyes met and Mimosa felt for one moment that he was about to walk towards her and speak to her as he had not done during the whole of the evening.

  But, before he could actually move, a voice from the doorway announced,

  “The carriage of the Most Noble Marquis Of Heroncourt!”

  As the Marquis turned and walked quickly through the front door, Mimosa felt her heart went with him.

  *

  Driving home, Lady Barclay talked of nothing but the success Mimosa had been, relating all the charming things that had been said about her, not only by the gentlemen present, but by many of her women friends who were too old to be jealous.

  “You could not expect a younger woman like Lady Isme Churton not to feel that you are a rival for the title of ‘The Queen of Beauty’ that she has held for so long,” Lady Barclay said with relish.

  “She is – very lovely!” Mimosa murmured.

  “And she knows it!” Lady Barclay replied. “But I doubt, however hard she tries, that she will get the Marquis of Heroncourt up the aisle without a violent struggle!”

  “A very brave man!” the General said. “I wish all the young Officers were not only as brilliant as he was during the war but looked after their troops with the same care.”

  “At the same time,” Lady Barclay sighed, “he is one of those tiresome young men who pursue the unattainable and it’s no use our hoping for one moment that he will fall in love with Mimosa!”

  Mimosa drew in her breath.

  It was what she had been thinking herself, but it hurt to have it confirmed so bluntly by Lady Barclay.

  “Never mind,” Lady Barclay went on, “at least half-a-dozen young men tonight asked if they could call tomorrow and it is obvious that from this moment on Mimosa will never have a second to herself!”

  “It is all due to you, Lady Barclay,” Mimosa sighed, “and I am – very very grateful.”

  Equally, while she tried to sound warm and enthusiastic, she felt as if a cold hand had been laid on her heart and tears were pricking the back of her eyes.

  It was not until she reached the privacy of her bedroom, however, and a maid had unbuttoned her gown and left her alone, that she was able to let the tears fall and face the fact that her last hope had gone.

  It had seemed possible in the lovely gown that Lady Barclay had chosen for her that by some fortunate chance or magic moment she would meet the Marquis.

  He would then be back in her life as he had been when he was saving her from the odious Norton Field.

  Now she had met him again, but he had made it very clear that she meant nothing to him.

  ‘He is not in the least interested in an episode, which he has now obviously forgotten, as I can never forget,’ she told herself.

  Then she thought,

  ‘I will go back to the country. What is the point of staying here?’

  She knew that, if she stayed in London, Lady Barclay would do everything in her power to marry her to one of the young gentlemen she had met this evening or would do so in a few weeks now that she was ‘launched’ in Society.

  She knew that however eligible they might be, however charming and influential, she would never be able to love one of them and give him her heart.

  It had been irretrievably and hopelessly given to the Marquis.

  ‘How can I be so foolish?’ she asked herself yet again.

  Because she could only think of the Marquis as being as far out of reach as the moon, she pushed back the curtains and opening the window looked out into the night.

  The gard
en at the back of the house, which was shared by other residents in Park Street was in the daytime a small patch of green grass.

  There were a few flowerbeds, but it had no outstanding beauty except for two trees that gave it character.

  The light, however, of the moon rising up the sky and the stars overhead enhanced its charm and gave it a silver magic that on a smaller scale almost emulated the beauty of the Park at Heron Hall.

  It was that which gave Mimosa the pain of recognition and a sense of loss that made her feel as if she was drowning in her own despair.

  She looked up at the moon.

  “I love him! I love him!” she murmured. “How can I live the rest of my life – knowing that I have lost the only thing that matters to me in the world?”

  There was no answer.

  Then, as she looked at the bright surface of the moon, there was a soft whistle, so low that Mimosa hardly heard it and took no notice.

  Hunter, however, who had been lying in his usual place near her bed, waiting to jump up as soon as she climbed into it, sprang to his feet and came to the window.

  He stood up on his hind legs with his paws on the windowsill and looked down into the garden, his whole body alert.

  The whistle came again and now Mimosa could not ignore it and looked to where standing in the shadow of one of the trees was a figure and, as she saw it, Hunter gave a little whine.

  It was then that Mimosa realised who it was and her heart gave a sudden leap.

  The Marquis came a few steps further forward and now he beckoned to her and, as she saw his hand moving in the moonlight, she could hardly believe it possible.

  There was no mistaking what he meant and she felt that it was just like him to demand her presence imperiously.

  And yet it was impossible for her not to do as he wished or to hesitate for a single second.

  Going back into the room, she picked up the negligée her maid had laid out for her on a chair, a very pretty one that Lady Barclay had bought in Bond Street.

  It was a concoction of turquoise blue satin and Valenciennes lace ornamented with small bows of blue velvet ribbon.

  She put it on, slipped her feet into satin slippers of the same colour and very cautiously opened her bedroom door.

  There was no sound in the corridor outside and she knew that by now Lady Barclay and Sir Alexander would have retired to their bedroom at the end of the passage that looked out onto the front of the house.