Love Forbidden

by Barbara Cartland

  “I’m sorry! I didn’t understand that you wanted them sent at once.”

  “My usual instructions to anyone who works for me are to do it immediately!”

  “I will send them as soon as I get upstairs,” Aria promised.

  There was a pause as if Dart Huron did not know what to say and she did not quite know how to go and then he remarked a little abruptly,

  “That will be all then. I shall see you at dinner.”

  “Oh! You don’t want me to come down to dinner, do you?” Aria asked.

  “Why not?”

  “I-I would rather not.”

  His lips tightened as if he was incensed at being argued with.

  “Are you stating your usual preference in such matters or are you upset at what has just occurred?”

  “My usual preference,” Aria answered. “I did not expect to have meals with you and your guests.”

  “Most women I have employed in your position have sought such invitations,” he pointed out.

  She felt a sudden surge of anger because she was certain that inwardly he was sneering at her.

  “I am afraid I have no knowledge of what has gone on here in the past,” she said, holding her head very high. “But I should like to make it clear to you, Mr. Huron, that whatever did happen, I am not particularly interested. If you wish me to dine downstairs, I will, of course, obey your orders, but I would prefer, especially when I have more work to do, to have my meals in my own sitting room.”

  The anger and dislike that she had for him permeated her voice despite her efforts to speak entirely impartially.

  He looked down at her and for a moment their eyes met.

  Both were conscious of the sparks passing between them and then, as Aria waited, holding herself very erect, her chin up and with a sudden fire behind her dark eyes, Dart Huron turned on his heel.

  “I shall expect you to dine with us tonight,” he said abruptly and walked away.

  Chapter 5

  “I see that you have put down two dishes with white sauce,” Aria said, as she glanced up from the menu at the chef standing on the other side of her writing table.

  “Ma foi! Mais c’est impossible,” the chef exclaimed dramatically and then, as Aria held out the menu towards him, he added, “Oui, c’est vrai. Je vous demande pardon, m’selle. It was – how you say – slip of pen.”

  He made the alteration in pencil and then, as Aria approved his suggestions, gave her a very Latin bow and went from the room.

  She gave a sigh of relief when she was alone. At the same time she could not help feeling almost childishly elated that she had held her own and been quick enough to spot the mistake in the menu.

  Years of eating in hotels were likely to stand her in good stead now, but she could not help a little tremor of apprehension whenever she had to deal with the upper servants.

  She was well aware that they looked on her curiously, thinking her far too young for the post and being ready to resent any suggestion that she might make to them.

  Fortunately, Aria had a very good idea of how a big house should be run. One summer her father had rented an enormous villa in the South of Italy and another winter had been spent in Switzerland, where, because he had a row at the hotel, he had hired a large castle and they had lived in almost feudal state for the few months that it had amused him to ski.

  But experience had not prevented Aria from feeling very lonely and very frightened when she went down to dinner the night before to encounter the hostility of Lulu Carlo and the rather supercilious curiosity of the rest of the guests.

  It seemed to her that, for some extraordinary reason, Dart Huron was singling her out for attention, asking her opinion on various matters and giving her instructions for the staff that he could quite well have given himself.

  She hated every moment of the evening and her host most of all and it was with a sigh of relief that she managed to creep upstairs to her own room as soon as the party had settled down to games of cards.

  She had not gone to sleep as she had hoped, but had lain awake hour after hour, staring wide-eyed into the darkness, puzzling over so many issues and finding no satisfactory answer to any of her questions.

  She had thought that she would wake up depressed, but instead, with the sunshine streaming in through her bedroom window, she had felt excited and light-hearted when she had rose at eight o’clock.

  Her breakfast was brought to her room and with it the morning papers. She glanced through them to find a large picture of Dart Huron in The Daily Mail and several references to him in the gossip columns of other papers.

  His photograph did not do him justice, she thought. It seemed to accentuate his high cheekbones and to give his face almost a savage look as if he was much more uncivilised and uncultured than he was in reality.

  She found herself wondering about him as she dressed. There was a harshness in his voice when he spoke to her that was not there when he addressed other people. And yet, if he disliked her, there was no explanation for his continually singling her out and his insistence on her being present at dinner the previous night.

  As soon as she was dressed, Aria went to her sitting room, where she found the morning’s post awaiting her. She opened Dart Huron’s mail with the exception of the letters marked ‘Private’ or ‘Personal’.

  There were over a dozen fan letters from idiotic women writing to tell him how much they admired his pictures in the Press and invariably suggesting on some pretext or another that he might care to see them.

  Aria set these on one side and made another pile of those that concerned business matters.

  There were at least a dozen invitations, all from important and distinguished people inviting him to dinner, to luncheon or to stay the weekend. And not unexpectedly there were dozens of appeals from charities, all begging a donation towards some particular worthy cause.

  Aria arranged them all carefully and wondered whether she should take them down to Dart Huron’s own study or whether he came to her. She had decided that she must consult McDougall on the matter when the door opened and the Head Housemaid arrived to enquire what guests were expected that day.

  When she left, the telephone rang and Aria had just finished taking down a message about the boxing of a polo pony when the door opened and Lord Buckleigh came in.

  He was wearing riding breeches and a well-cut tweed coat.

  “Good morning!” he said. “Would you like to come riding with me?”

  “I should love it!” Aria answered. “But you know I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I have work to do. Do you know whether I take these letters down to Mr. Huron’s study or do I wait until he sends for me?”

  “I think you wait until he sends for you,” he answered. “If he does! He has a habit of leaving his correspondence to his secretary.”

  “But I don’t know how to answer these,” Aria said helplessly.

  Lord Buckleigh came over to the desk and stood beside her.

  “Let me help you,” he suggested.

  “Oh, would you really? Thank you so much,” Aria replied.

  She looked up at him as she spoke and then something in his face made her turn her eyes away quickly.

  “You’re very pretty,” he said in a very different tone. “I am prophetically aware that I am about to fall in love with you.”

  “Oh, don’t be so silly,” Aria pleaded.

  “I am not being silly, as a matter of fact,” he answered. “The very first moment I saw you yesterday something very strange happened to my heart. Are you engaged to anyone else by the way?”

  “No, of course not,” Aria replied. “And you are not to say such things to me.”

  “It wouldn’t have made much difference if you had been,” Lord Buckleigh went on. “But an infuriated he-man ramping about the place wanting to punch me on the nose has never seemed to me a particularly desirable asset to a love affair!”

  “Well, there isn’t such a per
son and there won’t be any love affair,” Aria said firmly “I am here to work for Mr. Huron.”

  “You’re not thinking of falling in love with him?” Lord Buckleigh enquired.

  “No, I am not,” Aria replied almost angrily.

  To her surprise Lord Buckleigh put his hands on her shoulders and turned her round to face him.

  “You said that almost too vehemently,” he said. “What’s Dart been doing to you?”

  “Nothing!” Aria answered, trying to free herself. “Please, Lord Buckleigh, go out riding and leave me alone. I have a lot of work to do and I am not in the mood for being teased.”

  “I’m not teasing you, you ridiculous child. Yes, you are a child, despite the fact that you try to look grown up. Tell me about yourself. Where you have come from and who are you?”

  With an effort Aria wrenched herself free from him.

  “Please go away,” she said. “I haven’t the time to relate my family history at this time in the morning. Mr. Huron may be wanting me.”

  “You look adorable when you try to be cross,” Lord Buckleigh smiled. “I’ve always fallen in love with girls with red hair. But yours is different from most, it looks as if it has specks of gold in it. There is gold too in the green of your eyes.”

  “It’s likely to be the only gold I shall ever have then,” Aria responded sharply.

  Lord Buckleigh sat down on the edge of the writing desk. Although Aria felt embarrassed by his behaviour and by what he was saying, she could not help feeling that his charm and his air of boyish irresponsibility made it difficult for anyone to be really angry with him.

  “Do go away!” she begged. “It’s hopeless to try and talk sense to you and I really haven’t got the time to talk at all.”

  “You will need me as a friend, you know,” Lord Buckleigh said.

  “Yes, I know that,” Aria answered soberly. “I think I am going to need friends here.”

  Lord Buckleigh grinned.

  “Are you thinking of Lulu?”

  Aria nodded.

  “Dart’s inviting trouble, if you ask me. But actually he has no right to drag you into it.”

  “But I don’t understand,” Aria said. “Why should she hate me?”

  “You are being rather obtuse, aren’t you, sweetie? She wants to marry Dart. She hasn’t hooked him yet and he’s being pretty wily. She’s not the first or the last woman who will fight like a tiger to get him into the matrimonial net.”

  “What has that got to do with me?” Aria enquired.

  “Surely it’s obvious!” Lord Buckleigh replied. “Lulu wants to marry Dart and he is determined not to commit himself, especially in public. Hence a housekeeper who is a hostess, who makes the arrangements of the household, who looks after the guests and pours out the tea.”

  He laughed as he spoke, but Aria’s face was serious.

  Much that had seemed unaccountable was now becoming clear.

  “Dart has rather a unique position over here,” Lord Buckleigh went on. “He knows everyone – Royalty, Society, the stage, diplomatic bigwigs and, of course, all those who are interested in sport. He doesn’t want to do anything so stupid as setting up house with Lulu Carlo, which is just what she intends he shall do.

  “She never stays here unless there is a married woman in the party. But Dart also has to prevent her from assuming a position inside the house where his other guests are concerned. And you, my dear, are the answer to that!”

  “Why didn’t he explain it to me?” Aria asked.

  “Dart explain anything!” Lord Buckleigh threw back his head and laughed. “He is a law unto himself, a man who really believes that he can do as he likes without being accountable to anyone, not even to his fellow men. That’s why I like him, I suppose – and envy him. One has to have a lot of money to get away with that sort of thing.”

  Aria sat down in the writing chair.

  “I don’t know whether you have made things better or more complicated! Now at least I understand what is happening, but it is not the sort of situation that I am likely to enjoy.”

  “I expect Lulu is thinking the same,” Lord Buckleigh said with a wicked grin.

  “She is very beautiful,” Aria sighed. “I can’t think why Mr. Huron doesn’t want to marry her.”

  “Can’t you?” Lord Buckleigh questioned. “Well, I can! And now, enough about Dart and his women. Let’s talk about us.”

  “I have told you, I haven’t the time,” Aria replied.

  “I don’t believe that you have anything to do at all,” Lord Buckleigh retorted. “You’re just making excuses. But I don’t mind. I’m a simple sort of fellow. I’m content just to sit here and look at you. There’s something about the way your mouth turns up at the corners that fascinates me.”

  Aria put her hands to her cheeks.

  “Please!” she cried. “You are making me embarrassed. I don’t know what to say to you.”

  In answer Lord Buckleigh held out his hands towards her.

  “Say that you like me a little bit,” he said pleadingly.

  “I don’t – ” Aria answered. “I don’t know anything about you. I only met you yesterday for the first time.”

  “I met you yesterday, but I know exactly what I think about you. You are lovely, you are sweet and at this moment I would like more than anything else in the whole world to kiss you.”

  Aria rose to her feet.

  “Go away,” she said. “You are not to talk to me like this. If you don’t go, I will – ”

  She hesitated.

  “Well, what will you do?” Lord Buckleigh enquired

  “I – don’t know,” Aria said helplessly. “You are being hateful!”

  “Darling, I am a beast to tease you,” he laughed. “But you’re so adorable when you are annoyed and so utterly fascinating when you are not. Please tell me that you like me a little bit.”

  He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips.

  They were standing in the sunshine from the window, her hand close against his mouth, when the door opened.

  Aria started guiltily, but to her relief it was a woman who stood there, not, as she had been half-afraid, Dart Huron himself.

  “Miss Carlo would like to see you, please, miss,” the woman said and Aria recognised her as Lulu Carlo’s personal maid.

  “Yes, of course,” Aria answered, disengaging her hand from Lord Buckleigh’s. “Where is Mists Carlo?”

  “In her bedroom. I’ll take you there, miss, if you like.”

  “Thank you! I will come back at once,” Aria said.

  She picked up a notebook and pencil from her desk and, without even looking back at Lord Buckleigh, followed the maid from the room. She hoped that she appeared composed, for her cheeks were burning and she felt both embarrassed and irritated that she should have been so weak with him and that the maid should have seen him kissing her hand.

  Lulu Carlo’s bedroom opened off the wide landing at the top of the stairs. The maid knocked on the door and, as a petulant voice answered, she opened it and Aria passed into the room.

  It was a large high-ceilinged room with long windows opening onto a balcony, facing which was a huge bed upholstered in peach velvet and ornamented with carved angels.

  Lulu Carlo was lying back against a pyramid of large pillows, a dressing jacket of pink chiffon trimmed with swansdown covered her nightgown and her lips were a slash of red against the pale purity of her face.

  “Good morning!” Aria said tentatively from the end of the bed.

  “Where’s Mr. Huron?” Lulu demanded in a hard rather aggressive voice.

  “I have not the slightest idea, Miss Carlo. I have not seen him this morning.”

  “That’s a lie!” Lulu Carlo ejaculated.

  Aria felt herself stiffen.

  “I am afraid I don’t understand,” she said quietly.

  Lulu Carlo gave a rude laugh.

  “You understand me well enough,” she said. “I sent down a message to Mr. Huron
some time ago and was told that he couldn’t come to see me as he was attending to his correspondence. You are his secretary, so I imagine he was with you.”

  “I am afraid you have been misinformed,” Aria said.

  “Well, then, go and find him for me,” Lulu Carlo commanded. “I want to see him – and at once.”

  Aria wanted to tell her to get out of bed and go and find him herself, but she decided that, if there was any argument, Lulu was much more likely to be ruder than she could ever possibly contrive to be.

  So without saying another word she went from the bedroom and down the stairs that led into the hall.

  There was no one about and after hesitating for a moment Aria opened the door that led into the study. She had learned the night before that it was a room that was considered Dart Huron’s sanctum and into which the guests did not percolate unless specially invited.

  It was a pleasant room lined with books and having an essentially masculine smell about it, which in itself was a relief, Aria thought, after the heavy exotic fragrance of Lulu Carlo’s bedroom.

  The room was, however, empty, and Aria would have left at once if her attention had not been attracted by a picture over the mantelpiece. It was a framed portrait of a man by Lawrence. It was not unlike one that hung at Queen’s Folly. There was the same wonderful green tone to the coat and the same exquisite drawing of the turn of the head.

  The picture at Queen’s Folly had been damaged and was not in particularly good preservation. This one was perfect and Aria stood staring at it, taking in every detail of the beautiful painting and the charm that always seemed evident in anything portrayed by that nineteenth century Master.

  “Delightful, isn’t it?” a voice said behind her.

  She turned with a start to see Dart Huron standing just inside the doorway.

  “I-I am sorry – ” she began.

  But he interrupted her as he crossed the room, saying,

  “I think if I could own anything that is in this house I would choose that picture. There is so much life in that face and a light in the eyes which seems to tell me that the gentleman has just achieved something he most desired!”

  “You are like my brother,” Aria said impulsively. “He always makes up stories as to what people were thinking about when they were painted.”