A Kiss from the Heart

by Barbara Cartland

  “Yes, Mama,” he replied, kissing her soft cheek.

  He had expected her to rebuke him for running away from what was expected of him and had been a little surprised when she had acquiesced so readily to his announcement that he was going to London.

  “The estate is in good safe hands with Alec,” he said, walking towards his carriage.

  “Yes,” she answered noncommittally.

  But after a week in London, the Earl found himself tired and jaded.

  He had visited the Headquarters of the Household Cavalry, but when he entered their premises, he dismissed any notion of continuing his military career.

  An excellent lunch later at Brooke’s Club with a comrade soon put paid to any lingering vestige of nostalgia for the Army.

  “We have had done with all that, old man,” said his friend, Lord Dewbury. “The events we have seen do not bear recalling – no, we are both young men, we should be enjoying ourselves. Now, tell me, are you available on Thursday evening? Only I have just discovered this rather topping establishment just off St. James’s. Darned good-looking gels on the card tables.”

  “Women? On the card tables?”

  The Earl looked at once astonished and intrigued.

  “Yes, I know it’s a tad out of the ordinary, old man, but Mrs. du Barry who owns the place knows a thing or two about what gentlemen like.”

  “And these women – ?”

  “Same as any other – they all have their own price. Now, are you in or not? It is a dashed difficult place to get into unless you know someone who is already a member.”

  The Earl licked his lips in anticipation.

  There had been women in India. Mainly wealthy widows who were in the market for a degree of adventure and who would oblige one. They understood how a man feels after the heat of battle has subsided.

  And, although he had a man’s needs, he had no stomach for the high-class houses around Oxford Street –

  “Yes, David,” he replied after a short deliberation. “Perhaps we shall dine here first and you simply must let me pick up the bill.”

  With a convivial clinking of glasses, the deal was sealed and the Earl was looking forward with relish to the forthcoming entertainment.

  *

  As the Countess was later to remark, that very day marked the beginning of the long slide from grace for her eldest son.

  While Alec proved himself to be a man in every sense of the word at the family home in Worcestershire, the Earl took to the London high life like the most hidebound of buccaneers.

  Not long after he installed himself in London, his mother had made the decision to follow suit in order to keep an eye on him.

  The weeks turned into months and she scarcely recognised the surly man who kept such nocturnal hours.

  “I am worried for Robert,” she wrote to Emmeline.

  “He is as a stranger to me since the funeral. He stays out carousing all night and Heaven only knows where he might be! He is drinking far too much and, I believe, gambling heavily. I do not much care for the company he keeps, but I hesitate to mention it for he has the filthiest temper these days!”

  After the Earl had spent yet another night on the town, his mother steeled herself for a confrontation.

  The way he was conducting himself was in danger of blighting the family’s name and she could not tolerate it. Besides, they were still officially in mourning!

  She paced the floor, waiting for him to rise from his bed.

  Hiscock had just informed her “his Lordship arrived home just as the maids were cleaning the drawing room.”

  “Goodness!” she had exclaimed. “You mean six o’clock in the morning?”

  “It would have been around that hour, my Lady.”

  It was mid-afternoon when he finally showed his face.

  His mother was seated in the drawing room with her embroidery when he entered, blinking against the light.

  “Must you have it so dashed bright in here, Mama? It reminds me of the stage at the Lyceum!”

  She shuddered as she noted the theatrical reference. She had ears enough to note the gossip that her son had been consorting with low actresses.

  “It is a beautiful day outside and you should be out in the fresh air and not in here, Robert!”

  She looked up at him with a stern gaze.

  Her son’s face bore all the marks of a debauched evening. His cool blue eyes were bloodshot and there were marked pouches beneath them. His skin no longer lightly tanned but sallow and lined.

  Had she not known that he was twenty-six years of age, she would have taken him for a much older man.

  “Robert, there is a matter I wish to speak to you about,” she began. “It is high time that you shouldered the responsibilities that come with your title and take the yoke from Alec.”

  “But Alec enjoys it!” he protested with a careless shrug. “It makes him feel important. I would not take that small joy away from him.”

  His tone was so sarcastic and unbecoming, it made her wince to hear such world-weariness in his voice and it pained her that he seemed utterly disinterested in his duties.

  “Robert, the time has come for me to put my foot down. You are the Earl – not Alec – and it is not right that he should continue to run the estates while you idle away your days on questionable pursuits. Do you realise how your reputation could affect the ability of your sisters to attain a good match? They are now about to undertake a Grand Tour of Europe and I cannot allow their chances to be ruined by you.”

  “Emmeline and Alicia will have no trouble finding husbands, Mama – ”

  The Countess cut him dead.

  “‘Honour thy father and thy mother” it says in the Good Book,” she said in an icy tone. “These days, I do not see much of that from you, Robert. No, I have decided. It is high time you found yourself a wife and settled down. All your friends are either engaged or married and some have children and it is your duty to provide heirs!”

  There was now a stony silence as he regarded his mother. It had been a long while since he had seen her look so stern.

  Crushed with the weight of her expectations and a little guilty for the way he had been conducting himself, he reverted to his childhood and threw a fit of temper.

  He glared at his mother and spat,

  “To the devil with all that! I have no intention of marrying!”

  Before she could reply, he had spun on his heel and left the room, his body tense with anger, his fists urgently seeking something or someone on which to vent his rage.

  The Countess felt shaken by their encounter, but his petulant attitude only strengthened her resolve. She quietly folded up her embroidery and walked to the study.

  If Robert would not marry of his own volition, then it was up to her to force the hand of fate – and she knew just the person who would aid her.

  She was pleased to see that in the study everything was as it should be – a new pen was by the inkwell and there was a stack of fresh paper.

  Taking a sheet she began to write,

  “Dearest Florence – ”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Countess wrote fluidly for half an hour.

  She was most careful over her choice of words, as so much rested on the effect that her letter would have on Lady Florence Waterton.

  She had been introduced to the twenty-five year old wealthy widow a few years earlier in 1878, when she had undertaken a trip to Biarritz without her husband.

  He had been occupied with an important Bill in the House of Lords and so had exhorted her to go on her own accompanied by her lady’s maid.

  Lady Florence was also travelling on her own and the two women quickly made friends with each other.

  She had felt tears prick her eyes as she listened to her describe how she had just lost her husband in a tragic accident in South Africa earlier that year.

  “But you are so young!” she had declared, patting her new friend’s hand. “And married, for how long?”

 
“Barely a year,” Lady Florence replied, bottom lip trembling. “And the saddest thing of all is that we were not blessed with children. At least if I had borne him a son, I would now have a tangible reminder of my James.”

  Gradually the two women had become inseparable and even after returning home they maintained their friendship.

  It had of course occurred to the Countess that her new friend might make a good wife for her eldest son.

  She now sealed the letter and rang for Hiscock to post it at once.

  ‘Together we could be one of the most influential families in all the country with the Templeton aristocratic background and her wealth,’ pondered the Countess. ‘In addition to which, Florence is beautiful, accomplished and a keen horsewoman. It is not her fault that she now finds herself second-hand goods – besides, I should not think that would be an impediment as far as Robert is concerned – what with his predilection for married women!’

  She recalled vividly the ugly gossip she had heard about him and a prominent married lady, whose husband was either too ill or too stupid to pay any heed to his wife’s peccadilloes.

  It pained her that her family’s good name was being dragged through the smart salons of London as a topic of salacious speculation. And what was worse, it was all true!

  ‘What Robert needs is a wife,’ she told herself, as Hiscock arrived. ‘And young Lady Waterton would be the perfect candidate. I do hope she responds swiftly!’

  *

  By mid-afternoon, the Earl had thought better of his bad-mannered outburst towards his mother. He sought her out in order to make amends.

  Although it was not at all in his nature to apologise, when he found her seated in the morning room enjoying the sunshine streaming through the window, he proceeded directly towards her and kissed her head.

  She turned her face upwards in surprise.

  It had been quite a while since he had last displayed any openly affectionate behaviour towards her.

  “Mama,” he began simply. “You are looking very well today.”

  “Thank you, darling,” she replied demurely.

  He still appeared tired and drawn, although there was less evidence on his face of the night’s escapades than there had been earlier that day.

  “I was thinking that it would pleasant if we dined at the Criterion tonight. I know how much you enjoy their chops and grills – ”

  The Earl hesitated.

  He had intended to dine at his Club and then go carousing with his former Army friends. There had been talk of slumming it at Vauxhall Gardens or braving the Tewkesbury Theatre to see some low life and notorious entertainment involving a contortionist.

  “I know I am still in mourning, but I do so long to spend an evening outside of these walls!” she pleaded with an expression that softened his resolve to fritter away his time on idle pursuits.

  “That would be delightful, Mama,” he said, smiling at her. “It is very thoughtful of you to remind me of their delicious fare.”

  “I shall ask Hiscock to have the carriage brought to the front door for seven o’clock,” she stated decisively.

  “Splendid, Mama. Now, I feel the need for some fresh air. A ride around Hyde Park, I think.”

  “Excellent idea, Robert, you will work up a good appetite for dinner!”

  He left the room and made his way to the study.

  He ignored the pile of papers that had just arrived from the estate and rang for Hiscock.

  Within moments the butler arrived.

  “Hiscock, I wish to go for a ride. Would you have the coachman saddle up Monty for me?”

  “At once, my Lord.”

  Feeling considerably happier he strode upstairs and ordered Monkhouse to lay out his riding habit.

  As he admired himself in the mirror, his blue eyes stared back and he noticed how pale his skin had become since his return from India. He had grown so accustomed to seeing himself with a tanned complexion that he did not find this new pallor appealing.

  Yes, there was definitely something amiss and he could not help wondering if a moustache would rescue his ailing attractiveness. He had heard that ladies were fond of the way it tickled.

  “My Lord, Monty is ready for you.”

  Monkhouse’s discreet voice broke directly into his indulgent train of thought and he pulled himself away from the mirror.

  A few moments later he was outside in the mews being helped up onto Monty.

  He patted Monty’s strong black neck with pride and congratulated himself on having the stallion brought to London from Ledbury Hall. He would now enjoy his trot around Hyde Park and who knows whom he might see?

  With spirits rising he dug his heels into Monty’s side and he moved off down the cobbled mews. The warm summer breeze caressed his cheek as he turned towards Grosvenor Square.

  In the elegant Mayfair streets passers-by turned to stare at the good-looking figure on his handsome mount.

  Ladies felt their hearts beating a little faster as they eyed his broad shoulders and well-muscled thighs.

  However, the Earl’s eyes stayed steadfastly ahead as the ladies sighed in his wake –

  He was soon crossing Park Lane and through the gates that led to Rotten Row.

  ‘Dashed packed today,’ he muttered to himself, as Monty narrowly avoided being hit by a springy brougham that cut across their path.

  The June sunshine had obviously brought out every fashionable carriage and they were queuing three deep to enter the Park.

  With easy expertise the Earl guided Monty through the traffic and on to the soft earth of Rotten Row.

  He glanced at the carriages crawling along and cast a smile at a pretty blonde in an open phaeton. When he saluted her, her dour-faced chaperone glared at him, daring him to pursue the encounter.

  The Earl chuckled to himself and began to relax for the first time in days. The warm rays of the sun penetrated his jacket and stirred his blood. He trotted along, garnering yet more admiring glances from ladies.

  “What ho, Templeton!”

  The Earl jumped in his saddle as a chestnut stallion came alongside. In a flash he recognised the tawny hair and wide grin of his close friend and Army colleague, Lord Albert Chalmers.

  “On the look-out for popsies?” asked Lord Albert in an insidious tone. “Today you can have your pick of the bunch!”

  The Earl smiled broadly.

  Although rather coarsely expressed, his friend was right. It seemed that nearly every fashionable and eligible young lady was in Hyde Park that afternoon resplendent in her best finery.

  “I don’t need to search for female company,” he replied loftily. “Ladies flock to soothe returning heroes – ”

  “ – And are first to console the recently bereaved too no doubt,” added Lord Albert with an ironic note. “I was dashed sad to hear that your old man had bought it. Wish my Pater would hurry up and do the decent thing. I shall enjoy having the ladies comfort me.”

  “You are a callous fellow, Albert, but what is this I hear about you getting married this autumn?”

  He sighed, his pink-and-white features colouring.

  “It is true, I cannot deny it.”

  “I always thought that you and I were of the same kidney. Was it an entrapment? I confess I was shocked to hear that someone had put the yoke around your neck!”

  “Nothing of the sort,” replied Lord Albert, deeply embarrassed.

  Before he could elaborate, a small cream brougham pulled up beside them.

  The two of them stared as the occupant – a single lady on her own – closed her pink parasol and coquettishly greeted the Earl in a familiar tone.

  “Robert! A most unexpected pleasure!” she sighed, fluttering long dark eyelashes that fringed deep blue eyes the colour of Indian sapphires.

  “Miss de Montfort,” he exclaimed, with a bow from the waist. “The pleasure is all mine.”

  “It is such a beautiful afternoon,” she continued, smiling up at him and completely ignoring Lord Albert.<
br />
  “As ravishing as the lady I see before me,” the Earl muttered, trying to keep a restless Monty still.

  “I was rather hoping that you might call upon me this week, Robert. Mama is still in Bournemouth and Papa is in the country.”

  The Earl shifted in his saddle.

  He had passed an enjoyable evening with her some weeks ago but, afterwards, she had plagued him with notes and incessant invitations. Whilst it was true that she was desirable and beautiful, she presented no challenge to him and he had quickly lost interest.

  The problem was that she was the niece of a friend of his mother’s – and so he had to proceed with caution.

  “Ah, I am sorry, Miss de Montfort, but my father’s affairs are taking rather longer than expected to bring to a conclusion. Mama – ”

  “And how is your poor dear mother? My aunt informed me only yesterday of your father’s sad demise. You should have said – I would not have been quite so – persistent in my solicitude.”

  She looked down and the Earl thought he saw a tear forming in the corner of her eye. But her emotion did not touch or soften his heart. Instead it furthered his resolve to avoid her without causing undue offence.

  “Mama is as well as can be expected. We do not partake of much social interaction,” he explained, quietly urging Monty forward. “It has been pleasant to see you, but, if you will excuse me, it is not good for my horse to stand still for too long.”

  Before she could answer he had spurred Monty into a brisk walk with Lord Albert quickly following him.

  “Templeton, you are a rogue!” he sighed enviously. “Had such a pretty filly as that been making it quite clear that she was willing to be a good sport, I would not have been so quick to rebuff her.”

  “Did I rebuff her?”

  “Only in the most polite of terms, but I don’t think the poor dear thing is bright enough to have cottoned on to your meaning.”

  The Earl nodded with a satisfied air – that was just what he had intended.

  Serena de Montfort was well versed enough in the ways of Society to know that to pursue a recently bereaved person was ill bred. He knew he would have no further trouble from her at least until his period of mourning was over. And by then – who knew what his circumstances might be?