A Kiss from the Heart

by Barbara Cartland

  And the way he had spoken to her attacker – so strong and resolute, so protective.

  ‘Dare I believe that he feels for me as I have come to feel for him?’ she asked herself, rising from her bed and going over to the window.

  Outside the sun was shining and Church bells were chiming in the distance.

  She heard the sounds of her father’s carriage being brought round and she realised that he had left her to sleep while he and her mother went to Church.

  Picking up her shawl from the chair, she wrapped it around her and allowed her thoughts to return to the Earl.

  He had been so much her hero as a child and now, since he had returned to the Hall, she could hardly believe the transformation in him.

  She had been told that he had become a good-for-nothing whose only concerns were pleasures and keeping away from the responsibilities of the Hall.

  Yet nothing could have been further from the truth.

  ‘I would not have thought it possible,’ murmured Miranda to herself.

  Feeling tired but still unable to sleep she decided to go downstairs for breakfast.

  The house was quiet as she walked to the dining room. As she pushed open the glazed door, she noticed that just one place had been laid.

  She sat down and picked up the small bell by her place and rang it. Within moments Mervin arrived in the room, asking her what she would like to eat and drink.

  “Just toast please, Mervin, and a small cup of tea,” she replied, tucking a stray strand of her hair into her low chignon.

  The toast arrived and she sat and ate it thoughtfully – her thoughts still lingering on the Earl.

  ‘Could he love me?’ she mused, spreading butter on her toast. ‘We were childhood sweethearts of sorts and he always said he would marry me – ’

  She shook her head at her own frivolousness.

  ‘Even if he did have any feelings for me, his mother would never allow him to pursue me,’ she sighed.

  Mervin refilled her teacup and the front door bell suddenly interrupted the morning quiet.

  “Are we expecting visitors, miss?” he asked, setting down the teapot.

  Miranda’s heart leapt.

  Was it the Earl?

  Mervin went to answer the door.

  She heard voices and Mervin reappeared bearing a letter. Her heart leapt again as she recognised the now familiar notepaper.

  “A messenger is at the door, miss. He says that his Lordship needs to see you at once.”

  Miranda’s heart skipped several beats. He needed to see her! Was this the day she had secretly hoped for?

  She took the letter and puzzled at the jumbled script that requested that she meet him at once at the site of the new dairy.

  Yet the signature was most certainly the Earl’s.

  “Please come at once to the site of the new dairy,” it read. “There is an urgent matter I wish to discuss with you. Regards, Robert, Earl of Templeton.”

  ‘How strange that he should be so formal,’ she pondered. ‘But perhaps, as he was entrusting the message to someone else, he did not wish for his true meaning to be divined?’

  “Will you take the buggy, miss?” asked Mervin.

  “No,” she replied. “I will take Bluebell. Can you ask the groom to have her made ready at once?”

  Mervin bowed and left the room.

  She quickly made her way back to her room, put on her hat and picked up her lace gloves. She had not ridden Bluebell since her return and she hoped that she was not too out of practice.

  She ran towards the stables and heard Bluebell’s whinny before she saw her being led out.

  “Hello, old girl,” she crooned whilst patting the horse’s neck fondly.

  The stable boy pulled a box towards the horse and helped Miranda up.

  Soon she was trotting down the lanes, revelling in the breeze that caressed her cheek.

  All that mattered to her was seeing the Earl again.

  ‘It must be very important if he has summoned me on a Sunday,’ she wondered as Bluebell picked up speed.

  She was blissfully unaware that she was riding into a trap.

  *

  Lord Brookfield had paid the man to take the letter to The Grange after spending several hours practising the Earl’s signature from the example he had stolen.

  He had thought it best to keep the letter short.

  ‘She will think the strangeness of his handwriting is due to his urgency,’ he told himself wryly. ‘She will flatter herself that he has been awake all night thinking of her and that he has some great secret to impart to her.’

  He grinned as he tucked the pistol into his trousers and made certain that the chloroform and pads were in his coat pocket. Placing his hat on his head he ran downstairs and asked the concierge to have his luggage loaded onto his carriage.

  “You are leaving us, my Lord?” said the concierge sorry to see the source of so many large tips leaving the hotel.

  “I am afraid urgent business impels me to go North. I have an estate there.”

  “Fetch his Lordship’s luggage,” the concierge ordered the bellboy, “while I ask for his bill.”

  Lord Brookfield pulled out his wallet. Opening it he took out a pound note and slid it over to the concierge.

  “If anyone makes enquiries as to my whereabouts, you will be certain to tell them I have returned to London, is that clear?”

  “Very, my Lord,” smiled the concierge, his eyes bulging with greed.

  ‘My alibi is now in place,’ said Lord Brookfield to himself with a sinister smile. ‘And now, to business!’

  With a confident stride he paid his bill, then left the Spa Hotel, grinning like the cat that had been given the cream.

  *

  At Ledbury Hall, the Earl was in a foul humour.

  He had not slept well, thanks to Lord Brookfield’s words and a surfeit of brandy. His head was thumping and the icy vibrations from his mother were worse than if she had berated him non-stop.

  They sat at the dining room table in silence.

  Stringer brought their breakfast and the only sound apart from the chink of knives and forks was the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece.

  Finally unable to stand it any longer, the Earl rose up from the table and strode out of the room.

  He did not stop until he reached the garden, taking solace in a gentle breeze that ruffled his hair and the dewy grass beneath his boots.

  As he stood staring into the distance, he suddenly knew what he must do.

  ‘I must go to Miranda and ask her if she is, or has been, betrothed to this Brookfield,’ he murmured with a decisive nod of his head. ‘I cannot let this matter rest until I have heard the truth from her own lips.’

  Without waiting another second, he ran towards the stables, his thoughts all concentrated on finding Miranda.

  *

  Miranda pulled Bluebell to a halt before she urged her along the last stretch of lane leading to the site of the new dairy.

  Her heart was beating fast with anticipation as she smoothed her hair and composed herself.

  ‘Perhaps there is some matter that has occurred to him that he now wishes to draw to my attention,’ she told herself, ‘and I am simply being foolish for thinking that he might have some personal reason for summoning me.’

  Taking several deep breaths she dug her heels into the mare’s side and covered the last few yards before the turn in the lane.

  She bent her head as they moved along the narrow track to avoid low branches, emerging some moments later into Flodder’s meadow.

  Miranda smiled as she recalled the scene all those years ago, when she had dug the young Lord Robert out of the huge snowdrift and hauled him onto the icy toboggan to drag him to safety.

  Now the barn that had been the centre of the drama had been demolished and the workmen had already sunk the foundations for the new dairy.

  ‘I am a little early,’ she realised as she dismounted. ‘It will take him longer to ride h
ere from the Hall.’

  She tethered Bluebell to an old fence at the edge of the field and viewed the worksite.

  Soon the builders would be arriving and new brick walls would shortly spring up as well as a cottage for the dairyman. There would be a milking parlour and a place to make and store the cheese.

  ‘He has such vision!’ thought Miranda with a smile. “I had thought this place would forever remain a barren field with its forgotten barn.”

  The sound of horses made her turn around.

  ‘It is Robert! He is here!’

  She wondered if she should run and greet him, but decided that would make her look too eager. Instead, she sat down on the sawn-off stump of a tree and waited.

  Through the trees she spied the tall figure of a man coming towards her on foot.

  ‘He must have left his carriage in the lane.’

  She started to smile, but the smile froze on her face when it dawned on her just who was walking towards her.

  “You!” she screamed, throwing her hands up to her face. “Y-you have tricked me! Where is Lord Templeton? Have you harmed him? If you have, I will – ”

  “You will do what, my dear?”

  Lord Brookfield’s face twisted into a sneer. He was soon by her side towering over her with a threatening air.

  “Wh-where is Lord Templeton?” she asked again, trying to sound as if she was not terrified.

  “He is certainly not here, if that is what you are thinking. No, my dear Miranda, we are quite alone.”

  “But the letter – ”

  “Written in my own fair hand. Quite a good copy of his Lordship’s script, was it not?”

  Miranda’s thoughts raced. She had no idea how he had forged the letter so well, but yes, she had thought the writing a little strange.

  She rose from her makeshift seat.

  She focused on Bluebell who was munching at some sweet clover she had found.

  ‘If I can just reach Bluebell – ’

  “And where do you think you are going?” grated Lord Brookfield, roughly pushing her back down onto the tree stump once more.

  He pulled the pistol from his trouser waistband and aimed it at her.

  Miranda cried out loudly, the blood draining from her face as he gripped her shoulder with his free hand and pointed the pistol at her head.

  “Now, if you know what is really good for you,” he muttered, “you will do as I say and will be unharmed. I have not come to kill you, but to take you away with me. I can see that you seem far too attached to this Templeton character and need to be shown the error of your ways.”

  “What are you – going to do with me?” she quavered.

  “I am afraid I shall have to restrain you and I would ask that you don’t attempt to run away whilst I am doing so. Will you do that for me?”

  In terror Miranda agreed with a nod of her head.

  He took his hand off her shoulder and dipped into his pocket. He pulled out a long cord.

  “Please put your hands behind your back.”

  Compliantly she did so.

  She put her head down – she did not want him to see the tears in her eyes.

  ‘I must be brave!’ she told herself, as she felt him tie her hands together.

  “Now get up,” he demanded. “Once we are in the carriage I am afraid I shall have to put you to sleep until we reach Gretna Green.”

  “Gretna Green!” cried Miranda, halting in her steps. “Why are we going there?”

  Lord Brookfield laughed.

  “You have so far eluded all my attempts at making you mine. At Gretna Green we shall be married.”

  “But what about my things? I have nothing with me!” she screamed, trying to buy some time.

  “I will purchase more clothes for you than you have ever dreamed about, once we are both in my castle in Northumberland,” he replied with a manic light in his eyes.

  “I shall take you to Princes Street in Edinburgh and you shall have the best of everything! With your Scottish connections and mine, I will be the most important Noble in Scotland and England!”

  “But I don’t want to marry you! I am in love with another!”

  “Silence!” he cried. “We will have no more of this. Don’t mention that odious idiot’s name again.”

  Miranda whimpered and allowed her head to droop forward into a posture of resignation.

  Satisfied that he had subdued her, Lord Brookfield slowly lowered his pistol and put it into his pocket.

  ‘Perhaps he will see sense and let me go,’ thought Miranda hopefully. ‘He must have gone completely and utterly mad!’

  “Now, just be a good girl – ” he was saying as he moved towards her, tipping the bottle he now held into a wad of cotton wool –

  *

  The Earl dug his heels into Monty’s smooth flank and the stallion shot off down the drive of Ledbury Hall.

  They flew over the fields and very soon the distant chimneys of The Grange came into view.

  He did his best to ignore his throbbing head and the queasy feeling in his stomach.

  He knew that he would not rest until he had seen Miranda.

  Out of breath he now slowed Monty to a trot as they approached the house. He was pleased to see Sir George standing by his front door.

  “Sir George!” he called, panting from his exertions. “Is Miranda at home? I need to speak with her!”

  “Mervin tells me that she has already gone to meet you at Flodder’s meadow,” replied Sir George in a jocular manner. “Your note – ”

  An awful terror clutched at the Earl’s thundering heart.

  “My note?” he asked, his voice strangulating as he attempted to speak. “I sent no note. I have come to clear up a certain matter – ”

  “Then who the devil did?” demanded Sir George. “Good Lord, I think there may be something amiss! If she is not with you, then I believe that blackguard Brookfield is behind this. We must take immediate action!”

  But before he could say another word, the Earl had run back towards Monty and leapt up on his back.

  “Raise the alarm!” he shouted, his voice almost lost to the wind.

  Sir George hurried inside and rang for his fastest rider to leave immediately for Malvern and alert the Police, his hand shaking as he wrote a brief note for the Chief Constable.

  If he had been younger and fitter, he would have climbed up on a horse as well and followed the young Earl. But his heavy frame and bad heart would not allow it.

  The Earl’s face was white with fury as he quickly covered the short distance to Flodder’s meadow.

  As he approached the narrow lane that led to the site of the new dairy, he brought Monty to a halt.

  By the side of the lane he noticed a carriage. The driver was asleep on top of the box with his hat tipped over his eyes.

  Stealthily he tied up Monty to a post and crept past the carriage. It suddenly occurred to him that Lord Brookfield might be armed –

  ‘Then let the damn blighter take a pop at me!’ he muttered, as he made his way to the clearing at the top of the narrow lane.

  What he saw when he emerged from the trees made his heart stand still.

  To his utter horror there was Miranda, seemingly limp and lifeless, being carried by Lord Brookfield along the path.

  He could not have seen the Earl approach, as he had his head bowed with the effort of carrying her.

  ‘It will do me no good to apprehend them in the open field,’ he told himself recalling his Army training.

  Quickly he sought the cover of the trees at the side of the field and flattened himself against them.

  Lord Brookfield had clearly tired himself out with his exertions. Staggering slightly he halted for a moment and wiped his face with the cuff of his coat.

  Resuming his exertions he carried Miranda away from the field and down the track to his waiting carriage.

  ‘What must his carriage driver think?’ mumbled the Earl under his breath. ‘That his Master is a total bound
er and abductor of women?’

  He watched from behind a bush carefully planning his move while Lord Brookfield shouted to his driver and demanded his help.

  The driver did not utter a single word of reproach and treated Miranda as if she was a parcel.

  ‘That sort of loyalty does not come cheap,’ mused the Earl, inching his way towards the carriage. ‘He looks a rough fellow whose silence would be easily bought with a well-placed note or silver coin.’

  With Miranda now bundled inside the cabin, he was shocked to see Lord Brookfield close the door behind her and start to climb up onto the box next to his driver.

  ‘I must seize my opportunity now!’ the Earl quickly decided.

  As the carriage began to move off, the Earl broke cover, ran behind the carriage and, as it bumped over the rocky track, he threw himself at the postillion just seconds before the horses reached the lane beyond.

  He clung onto the postillion and hauled himself up and over onto the roof.

  The horses were now beginning to gather speed and he realised he did not have a moment to lose.

  He hung down over the side of the carriage and was just able to force the window open.

  Within a few seconds he had swung himself down through the window and into the cabin.

  Miranda groaned as he dropped to the floor. The strong smell of chloroform permeated the leather interior.

  ‘He has drugged her!’ he muttered, moving towards Miranda’s slumped form.

  He could have cried when he saw that she had been both bound and gagged. Tenderly he pulled down the gag. As his hand touched her face, her eyelids fluttered.

  “Miranda!” he whispered. “My dear, dear darling! Don’t cry out or say a word – I have come to rescue you!”

  “I – ”

  “Hush, beloved. Do not attempt to speak. Your father has alerted the Police and they will be here soon.”

  Feeling for the penknife in his pocket he was soon sawing at the thin cord binding her wrists.

  As soon as the cord fell apart he crushed Miranda against his heaving chest and with a whispered “darling!” sought out her lips with his.

  “Oh, Robert!” mumbled Miranda weakly.

  “Now listen to me very carefully, my darling,” he urged her, holding her face tenderly in his hands.