Love is Triumphant

by Barbara Cartland

  To Rosina, 'Uncle William' was the greatest man in the room, since she was sure William Gladstone would be Prime Minister in a few weeks.

  But Mr. Disraeli was still the Prime Minister, and to have drawn him to their house was a coup. He was in his sixties and splendidly ugly. Beside him was his wife, twelve years his senior and with an excited manner that concealed a shrewd brain.

  Like everyone else Rosina was charmed by them and their devotion to each other. At the same time, she could not help viewing 'Dizzy' slightly askance.

  "Everyone knows he originally married her for her money," she murmured to Sir John.

  "True, but I've heard him say so openly, joking, and then announce that he'd do it again for love. However it started, it's a love match now."

  He added wryly,

  "Besides, aren't you trying to marry me off to a rich wife?"

  She gasped at this frankness, but before she could reply, he said,

  "Ah, I see her now. Excuse me."

  Infuriated she watched him walk over to the Holdens, and raise Lettice's hand to his lips.

  At that moment there was a small commotion by the door. Rosina turned her head just as her mother gave a little shriek of joy. The next moment they were both racing across the floor to greet the newcomer.

  "Charles, my dear boy!" Lady Clarendon cried, hurling herself into her son's arms. "You managed to get here."

  "I've only got a few days' leave, but I wouldn't miss Rosina's ball for anything," he said.

  He kissed his mother, clapped his father on the shoulder, and then embraced his sister.

  "You look wonderful, sis," he said affectionately.

  "So do you," she said sincerely, for Charles was in the full dress uniform of a naval lieutenant, and it suited his tall, handsome figure.

  There was a flurry of introductions. Everyone wanted to meet him, and everyone was impressed by his handsome, laughing countenance, especially the ladies.

  After that the evening went by in a whirl of success. Mr. Disraeli himself begged the first dance with Rosina, then Uncle William. If Rosina had wanted to flaunt her high political connections, she was being given every chance to do so.

  The young men competed for her hand. She danced with the heirs of Dukes, Marquises, and Earls. Twice she danced with Lady Doreen's brother, George, the pleasant young man whom she had met at their house.

  As they twirled around the floor, she studied the other dancers and saw Sir John with Miss Holden, and Lady Doreen dancing with Arthur Woodward.

  As they passed each other he looked up and their eyes met. There was the same look of fear that she had seen before, and she was not surprised when he approached her as soon as the dance was over.

  "May I have the honour of this dance, Miss Clarendon?" he asked.

  "Very well," she said, rising and giving him her hand.

  She danced in silence, refusing to make things easy for him. As last he said desperately,

  "I was most interested in what you were telling me about Laine Hall, Miss Clarendon."

  "Do you mean the death of my friend, Miss Draycott?"

  "I – yes. I was most distressed to hear of it."

  "Really? Did you know her then?"

  He blenched.

  "I was not personally acquainted with her – "

  "Really? That's not what your letters say?"

  This time he almost stumbled.

  "I really don't know what you're talking about."

  "'I know that you will understand the need for me to do this,'" she said, quoting from his last fatal letter. "I'm sure you recognise those words."

  "I – I – " he swallowed convulsively.

  "Or how about these? 'I beg you to return my letters. They can have no meaning for you now.'"

  Rosina's eyes flashed.

  "No meaning, Mr. Woodward? What passed between

  you may have had no meaning for you, but she loved you with all her heart, and she died for it."

  "But surely – her death was an accident?"

  "That is what the world believes because I have protected her reputation by removing all trace of you."

  For a moment his face showed his relief, but the next moment she snatched it back from him again, saying,

  "You will never get those letters back, Mr. Woodward, or your picture, or the gifts you gave her, or the lock of your hair."

  "Oh heavens! Miss Clarendon – "

  "I trust I make myself clear."

  He began to burble.

  "You don't understand. I meant no harm. It was a wild infatuation but she misunderstood. She thought I meant more than I did."

  "Don't force me to quote your own words to you again."

  "I meant no harm," he repeated. "It was all a misunderstanding. I have my way to make in the world, and I'm ambitious, which surely is not a crime? You think badly of me, but I know I have it in me to be a great man, and be of service to this country, if only I can make a start."

  He was talking very fast, almost falling over his words in an attempt to make her see matters his way. Rosina listened with contempt.

  "And you intend to 'make a start' with my friend, Lady Doreen?" she asked sweetly. "I don't think that's a very good idea."

  Suddenly his face became hard and cruel.

  "Miss Clarendon, if you're planning to thwart me, let me advise you against it. I have made my plans, and I will not be deterred now."

  "Are you threatening me?" she asked lightly. "How very foolish of you. I am not Miss Draycott, all alone in the world."

  He realised he had erred and back-tracked hastily.

  "You misunderstand me – I only meant to say that my intentions are good, and the country will benefit if I am allowed to serve as I mean to and – and – Miss Clarendon, I will do anything if only you will return my letters."

  "But I will not return them."

  "You must." He said frantically.

  In his agitation he raised his voice, causing several heads to turn in their direction.

  "The dance is ending," she said. "It's been such a pleasure talking to you Mr. Woodward."

  "But – "

  "Miss Clarendon," said a welcome voice.

  It was Sir John, appearing by her side, ignoring Arthur Woodward.

  "I believe the next dance is mine," he said, opening his arms.

  "So it is," she said, going into them and whirling away from Arthur Woodward, who was left glowering.

  "Why was Woodward becoming so agitated?" he asked. "What is it that you must do – marry him?"

  "Certainly not."

  "Then what were you talking about?"

  "That does not concern you," she said loftily. "Suppose I asked you what you talk about with Miss Holden?"

  "Chiefly about her father's money," he said calmly.

  "What?"

  "She introduces the topic in every conversation. I think I must know what every one of her diamonds is worth, plus all the other jewels that she could have worn but didn't."

  "How vulgar!"

  "But you're the one who pushed me into her arms," he said innocently. "And I must say, I'm very grateful to you."

  She glowered at him but he continued, unperturbed.

  "After all, a man has his way to make, and in that respect Mr. Woodward is an example to us all."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Look at him."

  Following his gaze she saw what he meant. Arthur Woodward was talking to the Prime Minister, his head inclined at an intent angle as though he lived only to drink in the great man's words.

  "But Mr. Disraeli is a Conservative," Rosina protested. "We're trying to drive him out of power."

  "Obviously Mr. Woodward is protecting himself from both sides," Sir John said blandly.

  "You don't mean that he – surely not?"

  "Why not? His position is precarious. The party hasn't even nominated him for South Gradley yet. And if they do, who's to say he'll win it? It's a new constituency, and could go either way. I can't mak
e myself like Woodward. I think he'll do anything, even making up to you because of your father. Don't listen to him."

  "He's not making up to me."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Quite sure?"

  He gave her a strange look, then asked quietly,

  "Is it him?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Is he the man Miss Draycott loved? He is, isn't he?"

  She shrugged.

  "And you were threatening him?" he said, astounded. "Good grief! I never heard anything like it. Don't you know what a dangerous thing you're doing?"

  "Why should it be dangerous? There's nothing he can do to me." Her eyes kindled. "But there's a great deal I can do to him."

  "Rosina, I beg you, give up this idea."

  "I won't give it up. You didn't see my friend fall, as I did. I held her in my arms as she was dying, and I'll never forget it. Nor will I ever forgive him. I hate him, and I always will."

  "Rosina – " he said. "Rosina – please."

  Something in his voice seemed to go through her, making her tremble. He spoke her name with a soft, yearning note that was unbearably sweet to hear. She wondered if he used that tone to Miss Holden.

  "Don't," she said. "Don't say any more."

  "You're right. Talking is dangerous. Dancing is better."

  He was right, she thought. Who cared for words when she was in the arms of such a superb dancer? Fleet-footed, he swept her across the floor, and suddenly she knew a sensation of soaring, as though her body had been created to move in time with his.

  If only, she thought as she spun round and round in his arms, this wonderful feeling could go on forever.

  But when the dance was over she wondered at herself. This was only Sir John, whom she had decided was an enemy.

  But sometimes it was hard to remember that.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Next morning the door knocker never stopped. Bouquets and gifts arrived for Rosina every few minutes, plus a stream of invitations.

  "You're the belle of the season," her mother said in delight.

  She and Charles went riding together in Hyde Park. Lady Doreen and her brother appeared, and the two couples fell in together. Charles edged his way forward so that he could ride beside Lady Doreen, while Rosina fell back and chatted to George, who was in a downcast mood.

  "Debts," he mourned. "They just pile up."

  "You mean you're extravagant?" she teased.

  "And I gamble a bit," he confessed. "Well, more than a bit. Papa is furious, but he doesn't know everything."

  "More gambling debts?"

  He looked uncomfortable. "And a few other things."

  "There's nothing for it," she said merrily. "You'll have to marry an heiress."

  "You're quite right," he sighed. "I'd ask you, since like all the others I'm madly in love with you. But I don't think you have nearly as much as I need."

  At this Rosina laughed so hard that the other two

  turned and looked at her, and Lady Doreen observed to Charles how well Rosina seemed to getting on with her brother.

  "I dare to hope that she has a partiality for him," she said.

  In a sense she was right. Rosina did have a partiality for George, but only a sisterly one. She especially appreciated the honest way he had confessed his situation, thus clearing the air between them of any misunderstanding.

  After that they were the best of friends, and he confided in her things he did not dare to tell even to his sister.

  They met repeatedly at parties and balls, glittering, colourful occasions that she realised made up the marriage market. She despised it because of Miss Draycott, but she also found some of it very enjoyable.

  She often met Arthur Woodward at social gatherings. He was popular and known as a man with a promising future, and there were several houses, with daughters, in which he was welcome.

  In Rosina's presence he was always careful to conduct himself with decorum, but he never ceased trying to talk to her alone. Sometimes she avoided him, sometimes she permitted him a word or two.

  Sir John was often present at these parties, and she was always conscious of his eyes on her whenever Arthur came near.

  At one evening function, where the guests were being entertained in the garden under trees hung with coloured lamps, she found Mr. Woodward by her side.

  "I must talk with you," he muttered.

  "I have nothing to say to you, Mr. Woodward."

  "But I have much to say to you, madam. I will not tolerate having a sword hanging over my head."

  "And I will not tolerate you buying your way into society by making false love to innocent women. Keep your distance from young ladies, and behave like a gentleman."

  She could see that he was inwardly seething with rage, but caution forced him to keep his voice low.

  "You have property of mine that I want returned," he said through gritted teeth.

  "I have nothing that belongs to you."

  "My letters – "

  "Letters belong to the recipient, who was Miss Draycott, and she entrusted them to me. You might call me her executor."

  Driven beyond endurance, he seized her wrist and dragged her into the darkness beneath the trees.

  "Don't play games with me," he snapped.

  "I'm not playing," she assured him. "If you're so sure these things belong to you why not make a legal challenge, and we'll face each other in court?"

  Even in this light she could see him grow paler. She knew he couldn't risk anything that might expose the contents of those letters.

  "Leave my friend alone," she told him, "or I'll ruin you."

  "It's not as easy as you think. I have made – certain pledges – to Lady Doreen, and if I were to – that is – "

  "If you were to offend her now, she might complain to her father who would withdraw his influence," Rosina supplied. "You will simply have to take that chance, because I will not allow a man like you to marry her. Now let me go."

  She wrenched herself free of him and ran away, back into the light, almost into the arms of Sir John. "Good heavens, what's happened?" he demanded.

  As he spoke he took hold of her, and she felt how much more pleasant it was to be held by Sir John than to be held by Mr. Woodward.

  "Take me home," she begged. "Just take me home, please."

  He did so, putting his arm about her and hurrying away towards the waiting carriage.

  Neither of them saw Lady Doreen standing there watching Rosina's departure with a face full of disillusion.

  *

  The following morning Rosina was alone when the butler announced,

  "Lady Doreen Blakemore, madam."

  The girl who entered the room was unlike the person Rosina knew. Gone was her youthful exuberance. Now her face was sad and haunted.

  "How could you do it, Rosina?" she asked with tears in her eyes. "I thought we were friends. I trusted you, and you try to take my Arthur from me."

  "I? – Try to take him from you?" she echoed, astounded.

  "I saw you last night, running out of the trees, and Arthur coming out after you. You had been together. Don't try to deny it."

  "I don't but – "

  "I spoke to him, and he confessed everything."

  "He did?"

  "He told me how you'd tried to come between us because you wanted him for yourself."

  "How dare he!" Rosina exploded. "Me? Want that greedy, deceitful, callous, heartless, lying – me?"

  Despite her distress Lady Doreen stared at her, astonished and impressed by Rosina's forcefulness.

  "It's true that I've tried to break you up, and I won't give up until I've done so. But not because I want him myself. He's the last man I could ever want."

  "Then I don't understand you," Lady Doreen said.

  "Mr. Woodward is not the injured innocent he pretends to be. Only very recently he was writing passionate love letters to someone else, swearing eternal fidelity, saying that no other woman in the world could mean anything t
o him.

  "She fell madly in love with him, and every day she waited for him to propose. Instead, he wrote to her breaking it off, saying he had found a better match. The woman was devastated."

  Lady Doreen had recovered her composure and was looking at Rosina with scorn.

  "And this woman – I suppose she is yourself?"

  "Oh no," Rosina said sadly. "Her name was Elizabeth Draycott, and she was my friend."

  Lady Doreen stared at her.

  "Was?" she asked.

  "Yes, was. She is dead now."

  The other girl made one last attempt.

  "I do not believe you," she said. "This is all lies."

  Rosina sighed.

  "In that case, come upstairs. There's something I must show you."

  Reluctantly Lady Doreen followed her up to her room and sat down as far away from Rosina as possible.

  Rosina pulled out the box where she kept the letters, unlocked it, and took out the contents.

  "Here are all the letters he wrote her," she said,

  handing them over.

  Her friend read in silence for some minutes before saying bleakly,

  "This is his handwriting, and these are the self-same phrases he has used to me. And this – "

  She was holding the final letter, the one that had driven Miss Draycott to her death.

  "This one is dated a week after he and I met, when he was already speaking words of love to me. He was already planning to marry me for mercenary reasons, wasn't he?"

  "I'm afraid he was," Rosina said gently.

  "I don't understand. How do you come to have these?"

  "As I have told you Miss Draycott is now dead. She threw herself off a balcony and died in my arms. I took these things from her room to preserve her reputation.

  "In her dying moments she thought only of him. She wanted no harm to come to him, so I tried not to injure him. I simply told him to leave you alone, under threat of being exposed. But I would never have exposed him, if he'd simply backed away from you.

  "But when he told you such lies about me, I had no choice but to defend myself with these letters."

  "She is dead," Lady Doreen murmured. "She died for love of him. How terrible."

  "Bad news is always terrible," Rosina said. "Forgive me for the distress this must cause you, but believe me, if you had married him you would have been wretched."