THE ISLAND OF LOVE
Barbara Cartland
A Camfield Novel of Love
Was it the Power of Love itself that cast Lydia and the Earl ashore under the sensuous Hawaiian sun? Never would they be free to speak of the love that devoured them—and that could never be theirs, prisoners as they both were to the code of honor they shared. For although it was the Earl's position that Lydia's sister desired—indeed, intended to marry—it was his very position that denied the Earl of Royston the freedom to surrender his heart to the woman who held it captive ...
Caulfield Place, Hatfield
Hertfordshire, England
Dearest Reader,
Camfield Novels of Love mark a very exciting era of my books with Jove. They already have nearly two hundred of my books which they have had ever since they became my first publisher in America. Now all my original paperback romances in the future will be published by them.
As you already know, Camfield Place in Hertfordshire is my home, which originally existed in 1275, but was rebuilt in 1867 by the grandfather of Beatrix Potter.
It was here in this lovely house, with the best view of the county, that she wrote Tale of Peter Rabbit. Mr. McGregor’s garden is exactly as she described it. The door in the wall that the fat little rabbit could not squeeze underneath and the goldfish pool where the white cat sat twitching its tail are still there.
I had Camfield Place blessed when I came here in 1950 and was so happy with my husband until he died, and now with my children and grandchildren, that I know the atmosphere is filled with love and we have all been very lucky.
It is easy here to write of love and I know you will enjoy the Camfield Novels of Love. Their plots are definitely exciting and the covers very romantic. They come to you, like all my books, with love.
A JOVE BOOK
A Jove Book/published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY Jove edition/November 1984
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1984 by Barbara Cartland Cover art copyright © 1984 by Barcart Publications (N.A.) N.V. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. For information address:
The Berkley Publishing Group, 200 Madison Avenue,
New York, N.Y. 10016.
ISBN: 0-515-07911-1
Jove books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, 200 Madison Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10016.
The words “A JOVE BOOK” and the “J” with sunburst are trademarks belonging to Jove Publications, Inc.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
chapter one
1883
Sir Robert Westbury came into the Morning-Room where his two daughters were arguing.
This was nothing unusual because, whatever Lydia said, her sister Heloise always contradicted it.
After years of trying to placate Heloise, Lydia had found it was simplest to agree to what she said and thereby prevent, what she often thought, was an undignified and rather vulgar exchange of words.
Heloise Westbury was so beautiful that from the moment she became aware of her own face she felt the world was made for her to walk on.
She was about fifteen when she realised she had only to look at a man from under her long eye-lashes for him to talk to her in a different tone from the one he had been using before, and to have what she often described to Lydia as a “swimming look in his eyes.”
Last year when she had appeared in London as a debutante, she had been acclaimed, feted and extolled by everybody except the girls of her own age who were trying to compete with her.
She had come back reluctantly to the country for Christmas only slightly appeased by the certainty that she would be the Belle of every Hunt Ball, and that a great number of her admirers in London contrived to stay either at Westbury Park if Heloise could arrange an invitation for them, or at other houses in the neighbourhood.
All this meant a great deal more work for Lydia who, since her father had become a widower for the second time, had run the house for him besides being expected to dance attendance on her half-sister.
Lydia’s mother had died soon after she was born and Sir Robert had quickly married again, hoping for an heir to the Baronetcy.
He would have been even more disappointed if Heloise had not been so lovely even when she was in the cradle, that it had been a compensation to know, when he learnt that his wife unfortunately could give him no more children, that at least he had an exceptional and outstandingly lovely daughter.
Although it was very unfair, he vented his anger and disappointment on his elder daughter rather than on his second-child.
“Why could you not have been a son?” he would ask furiously. “It would have simplified everything!”
“I am sorry, Papa,” was all Lydia could say meekly.
She thought at times that he looked at her with positive dislike because she would not be able to follow in his footsteps and become the fifth Baronet.
Although she tried to tell herself sensibly that this was something she could not help, it often preyed on her mind.
When two years ago her Stepmother had died after a long, lingering illness during which time she would ordinarily have made her own debut, she hoped that her father would marry for the third time.
He had, however, last year when mourning was over, seemed to be obsessed with presenting Heloise to the Social World.
Lydia thought that perhaps once Heloise was safely married she would have another Stepmother, and then there might be a chance of escape from what had become a monotonous treadmill.
All day long it was: ‘Tell Lydia to do that!”—“Why does not Lydia see to the arrangements as she should do?”—“Send for Lydia!”
If the food was not appetising enough, if the gardeners had neglected part of the garden, if the footmen failed in their duties, it was Lydia who had to cope with it.
It was Lydia who had to soothe down ruffled feelings and especially to keep her father from losing his temper.
It was not surprising that she was very thin and there was a permanently worried expression in her large eyes.
She never had time to think about herself, and if she did she merely shrugged her shoulders and said truthfully that nobody would look at her when Heloise was there.
Heloise was every man’s ideal of what a young English girl should look like.
“She is a perfect ‘English Rose,”’ was how her admirers described her and it was an accurate description.
She had hair the colour of ripening com, eyes as blue as a summer sky, and her complexion was the perfect pink and white that every artist aspired to put on canvas.
It was unfortunate that when the fairies bestowed their gifts on her at her christening two qualities had been inexplicably missing.
Nobody who lived with Heloise for long could have failed to realise that she was not very intelligent.
She never read a book and her conversation was limited to one subject—herself.
What was more, ‘unselfishness’ was a word that could not be found in her vocabulary, and certainly not in her heart.
“I am tired, Heloise,” Lydia had said to her once, having run up and down the stairs for what seemed like a hundred times before Heloise was finally ready to attend a Ball.
“Tired?” her half-sister had repeated. “Why should you be tired? Anyway, it is your duty to look after me and do as I want.”
Lydia wanted to ask why, but she knew it would only annoy Heloise who would then be very rude and fly into one of her tantrums which upset everybody except herself.
Now as Sir Robert came into the
Morning-Room the girls’ voices faded away.
Lydia’s cheeks were a little flushed with the argument, Heloise was looking sulky and her Cupid’s-bow lips were turned down at the comers.
Sir Robert walked across to where they were sitting in the window and said:
“A note has just been brought to me by a groom. You have pulled it off, Heloise!”
“I have, Papa?”
Heloise gave a scream of excitement and jumped up from the table.
‘Tell me what he says!”
“The Earl has asked for my permission to pay his addresses to you,” Sir Robert replied, “and hopes he may call this afternoon to discuss with me a very important matter.”
Heloise gave another scream.
“Oh, Papa, I was so afraid, even after what he said at the Ball last night, that he would not come up to scratch!”
“Well, he has, and I am delighted, my dearest,” Sir Robert said, “and very, very proud of you!”
He put his arm round his daughter and kissed her cheek.
Lydia who was watching realised that Heloise stiffened in case he should crease her gown or untidy her hair.
Then she asked quietly:
“Are you saying, Papa, that the Earl of Royston has proposed to Heloise?”
“He has asked my permission to do so,” Sir Robert replied.
“It is wonderful! I am so happy!” Heloise cried. “I shall be a Countess, with a traditional position at Court, besides being hostess at Royston Abbey and all the other houses the Earl owns.”
She spoke with a lilt in her voice which made it sound almost an exaltation.
“I am so glad, Heloise, that you will be happy,” Lydia said.
“Happy? Of course I shall be happy!” Heloise retorted. “This is what I have been working for, for a long time. Of course I was quite certain I would get him in the end.”
She did not notice Lydia wince as if the way she spoke jarred on her.
Sir Robert glanced down at the note in his hand. “I am going to answer this,” he said, “and tell Royston we shall look forward to seeing him at teatime. We must certainly have a bottle of champagne ready on ice to celebrate!”
“Yes, of course, Papa,” Heloise agreed. “But mind that you leave him alone with me first. He has not asked me formally and that is what I want to hear.”
“It is formal enough for me to announce your engagement in the Gazette,” Sir Robert replied in a tone of satisfaction.
He walked out of the room as he spoke and when the door had closed behind him Heloise said:
“There! I told you I would marry the most important man in England, and that is what I am going to do!”
“Do you love him, Heloise?”
There was just a little pause before Heloise replied: “Where marriage is concerned, it is important to marry a man in the right position.”
Lydia looked at her half-sister searchingly before she said:
“You did not think of that yourself. It is something Lady Burton taught you.”
“It is something I have always thought,” Heloise said defiantly.
Lydia however, knew she was lying.
Heloise wanted to be important, but she would not have put it in those, words.
Lydia thought, as she had thought before, that it had been a mistake for her father to ask Lydia Burton, who was a distant cousin, to present Heloise at Court and chaperon her during her Season in London.
She knew, if she was honest, that she had disliked Lady Burton from the first moment she had met her.
Worldly-wise, avaricious, greedy for anything she could gain personally by chaperoning Heloise, and as hard as nails, she had, Lydia was convinced, entirely the wrong attitude to life.
Lady Burton, like her father, had taken for granted that Lydia should run the house in London as an unpaid housekeeper where she was at everybody’s beck and call for anything that was required.
It was assumed that so demanding a responsibility made it out of the question for her to take part in any of the social activities which occupied Heloise from dawn until dusk.
She, of course, had luncheon and dined with the family unless the party consisted of an odd number of guests, in which case she was expected to eat elsewhere.
Lady Burton seldom addressed her unless it was to demand something or give her an order, and she could hear her indoctrinating Heloise with the idea that the only thing that mattered in life was a social position.
She also heard her say that Heloise was so beautiful that she could pick and choose amongst the gentlemen who admired her.
She should assess their qualifications entirely by how many quarterings there were on their escutcheon, how many generations could be counted on their Family Tree.
Besides this, of course, they had to be titled and extremely rich.
Nothing, in Lady Burton’s estimation, could be worse than poverty.
If Heloise had been self-centered and ambitious before she went to London, by the time she returned to the country she was echoing Lady Burton and determined that her marriage should be sensational.
And yet, even allowing for her loveliness and the fact that it seemed almost impossible when she was in the room for a man to notice there was any other woman present, it seemed incredible to Lydia that she should, in her own words, have ‘caught’ the Earl of Royston.
Lydia knew a great deal about him because as Royston Abbey was not far from their own house she had often seen him out hunting.
The one activity in which she had a close affinity with her father was the fact that she rode well and during the Hunting Season they attended every Meet.
She was well aware this favour would have been denied her if Heloise had shown any desire to hunt.
But while she would ride elegantly in Rotten Row, she was so frightened of having a fall and in any way damaging her beautiful face that she had refused categorically since she was seventeen to ride anything but the most docile of horses and to go further than the Park.
“If I had a son he would appreciate the way I have built up my racing-stables, and acquired some of the finest hunters in the County!” Sir Robert often said. “They are wasted on women! Absolutely wasted!”
This was not true as far as Lydia was concerned, but then she did not count, and she knew that her father genuinely did not realise what a good rider she was.
She could control, as well as he could, any horse, however wild.
When she had first seen the Earl of Royston she had realised that he was exactly how she thought a man should look.
It was not only that he was extremely handsome and undoubtedly a brilliant rider, but also that he had a fascinating buccaneering face that complemented his reputation.
He looked, Lydia told herself, rather like the explorers and English pirates must have done in the Reign of Queen Elizabeth when they had gone out to discover new worlds, fight the Spaniards, and bring home cargoes of treasure richer than anything that had ever been seen before.
Watching the Earl in the hunting-field, she had thought that he should in fact, be galloping towards new and distant horizons, rather than being confined as it seemed, by the small English fields, the social life of the County, or even that of London.
Only once had she dined in the same room with him, and that was when he had come to dinner at Sir Robert’s house in London, before a Ball that was being given for Heloise.
As the most important person present, he had sat on her right, and looking at them sitting side-by-side Lydia thought it would be impossible anywhere in the world to find two people who were each so outstandingly beautiful in their own way.
This she knew was a strange adjective to apply to a man.
Yet it seemed fitting because the Earl had so positive a personality and his whole being was far more arresting than that of any other man she had ever seen.
She had however learned more about him, and what she heard was not altogether surprising.
At twenty-nine he had turned th
e heads of a great number of beautiful women and captured their hearts.
He was celebrated for being convincibly elusive and every ambitious Mother had known even before they started the chase that they had no hope of catching him.
Because he was a great landowner and possessed some of the finest race-horses in England, as well as being an outstanding sportsman who held a great number of personal trophies to show for it, other men admired and envied him.
But it had never entered Lydia’s mind for a moment that he might marry Heloise.
Lydia did not herself talk very much, as nobody seemed to wish to hear what she had to say, but she was a sympathetic listener.
The Earl because he lived near them, was a frequent topic of conversation in the country, and in London his various love-affairs were agreeable tid-bits of gossip.
Lydia learnt more and more about him, until she felt that she could write a book about the Earl of Royston, and still fill another two volumes.
Everything about him was intriguing, and perhaps even his nickname by which he was always known had added to the aura that encircled him.
The story was that when he was born his father was out hunting, and a groom was sent from the Abbey to inform His Lordship that he had an heir.
Unfortunately, breathless from the speed at which he had ridden and also rather nervous of his master, the groom blurted out the news to which the Earl listened without a great deal of interest.
Then as he turned away the man asked:
“Is there any message for Her Ladyship, M’Lord?” For a moment the Earl looked at him in surprise. Then he said:
“Good God! Are you telling me that it is Her Ladyship who has given birth? I thought it was one of my hunters!”
The Island of Love (Camfield Series No. 15) Page 1
