Love At Last

by Barbara Cartland

  “What subject shall we converse on, my Lady?”

  “Why, Rusitania, Prince. My parents and I found our visit absorbing.”

  The salon they were standing in was L-shaped and Ivan manoeuvred Cecilia into the less crowded part.

  Soon he found himself talking eagerly to her about his country. He seldom had a listener who displayed such an acute grasp of its geography and problems.

  When he commented on this, Cecilia blushed and explained,

  “Rusitania is one of those countries for which my father’s desk in the Foreign Office has responsibility. As he knows how much I enjoyed our visit, he keeps me up-to-date with developments. Nothing secret, of course – ”

  Then Cecilia murmured,

  “Perhaps you can tell me the reason for your visit to London, Prince? You have, I do know, recently agreed a Treaty with Voskia. Does your presence here suggest you are discussing an alliance with England?”

  She looked at him, her head held slightly on one side.

  Ivan thought rapidly – this was a member of the English aristocracy, who moved in the highest of circles.

  She was only a few years older than the sort of girl he hoped to meet.

  He then breathed deeply and took one of the biggest gambles of his life.

  “Perhaps, Lady Cecilia. Only it is not the sort of alliance you mean. May I confide in you? I am in need of a wife. I wish to meet a suitable young lady who could become Her Royal Highness the Princess of Rusitania.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Could you be offering me the position – ?” Cecilia heard herself say.

  For once her savoir faire and her ability to handle any awkward situation with her accustomed skill had quite deserted her.

  She watched what had been a charming anxiety on the face of this fascinating man she had so enjoyed talking to turn to deep embarrassment and cursed herself.

  Of course she was far too old and not nearly pretty enough to become Princess of Rusitania.

  He made a quick recovery.

  “I feel sure – ” he said, leaning forward as though to share an intimate secret. “I feel sure that the position of Princess of a small, insignificant and poverty-stricken state is not one that would attract someone as sophisticated and intelligent as yourself.

  “No, the reason I mentioned it to you was because you have been so sympathetic and interested, I wondered whether you might just possibly effect an introduction to the sort of young girl who perhaps – well – perhaps might take me – on.”

  He faltered to a stop, seemingly overcome by the enormity of his faux pas.

  Cecilia suddenly saw the humour of the situation.

  Here was Prince Ivan presenting himself as a suitor for a pretty young girl willing to become his wife.

  He was obviously desperate to meet a girl with the right background. Then he meets someone at a very boring Reception much nearer in age to the sort of girl he should be considering.

  They chat away and, Cecilia flattered herself, there grew between them a certain level of understanding and he must have thought it worthwhile trying to enlist her help in his search.

  And what did she do?

  Instead of offering to help, she behaved just like an innocent little teenager straight out of school. Poor man, no wonder he looked embarrassed!

  “Here you are, my dear,” said her father, suddenly appearing. “I wondered where you had disappeared to.”

  He put out his hand.

  “Prince Ivan, is it not? I have just been talking to your Ambassador. He wants to introduce us. Perhaps my daughter has just told you how much we enjoyed visiting Rusitania some years ago. Your dear parents were most hospitable.”

  “Lord Yarlington, I believe? I have been enjoying an amusing conversation with your charming daughter.”

  The Earl’s shrewd eyes looked at Cecilia.

  “I hope she has been entertaining you, Your Royal Highness?”

  “She has indeed been most delightful and I have greatly enjoyed discussing my country with her.”

  By now Cecilia’s sense of humour had completely restored her normal sensible outlook on life.

  “Papa, I am inviting Prince Ivan to a luncheon in a couple of days’ time,” she cried. “I want to introduce him to some of my young friends.”

  She saw the look of relief on Ivan’s face and felt a deep sense of satisfaction.

  “Would you be able to come to us the day after tomorrow, Your Royal Highness?”

  Ivan took Cecilia’s hand and kissed it;

  His lips were not hovering just above, as was the accepted etiquette, but actually touching her soft skin.

  She felt an unaccustomed thrill run through her.

  “You are most kind,” he replied, glancing up at her with a warm smile. “I shall be honoured to attend.”

  Then he turned to the Earl,

  “And I look forward to talking with you, my Lord.”

  “I am afraid I shall not be at the luncheon, Prince, my attention is required elsewhere. But I will arrange a meeting very soon. Now, my dearest, it is time we left.”

  Already the Reception had thinned out.

  Cecilia extracted a calling card from her reticule, scribbled on it with her pencil and gave it to Ivan.

  “All the details,” she sighed. “A formal invitation will follow. A bientôt, Your Royal Highness.”

  She swept him a little curtsy and raised her hand in farewell before following her father.

  Ivan raised his hand in an answering salute, which sent a warm glow through her.

  As Cecilia and her father were driven home to their mansion in Berkeley Square, he remarked,

  “He is a very dashing young man, my dearest. I do hope you were not too taken with him? I would not like my only child to desert me.”

  “No, Papa! There is no chance of that. I think the Prince is only interested in young girls.”

  “Ah, he wants someone he can train into his way of doing things. Well, I can understand his reasoning, but if he overlooks my darling and precious daughter, he lacks an appreciation of a rare jewel of womanhood.”

  “Papa, what nonsense you do talk!”

  Cecilia slipped her hand through her father’s arm and pressed it warmly.

  *

  After dinner they retired to the library, where the Earl and his daughter preferred to spend their time if they had no guests.

  The Earl settled into his comfortable chair by the fireside and picked up some Foreign Office papers.

  Cecilia sat opposite him and started to prepare a list of guests for her ‘Royal Luncheon’.

  She firmly decided that selecting a suitable bride for Prince Ivan would be an entertaining project for her and as she noted down some names, she tried to decide exactly what he would look for in a candidate for his wife.

  A sizeable dowry was undoubtedly needed to bring in foreign currency and help fire the failing economy of Rusitania.

  She should also be compliant and able to fit in with any of his moods. Already at their brief acquaintance, Cecilia had caught sight of a fiery personality.

  When he had spoken of his cousin, Prince Peter of Voskia, she recognised a bewildered anger that someone he had known so well could behave so treacherously.

  The candidate should also, Cecilia fully recognised with certainty, be very very pretty.

  Cecilia herself was not pretty, she knew that.

  Her dearest Mama had told her once,

  “My darling, prettiness fades. The girls that have men swooning at their feet at twenty have lost their bloom and charm by forty. You have something much rarer – style. Men will never pen a poem to your eyes, although they should – or for any other of your features.”

  By this time, Cecilia had been laughing so much, she could hardly take in what her mother was saying.

  She had continued imperturbably,

  “Men will, however, always be happy to be seen with you. They will value you as a friend. They will enjoy conversing with a
girl of intelligence, charm and, I repeat the word because it is important – style.

  “And friendship is the most important basis for a marriage there can be. Your dear Papa and I were friends before we fell in love. We all know unions where love has faded and there has been nothing left to hold husband and wife together. Love has not faded with us.”

  Here her mother had smiled a little secret smile that confirmed everything Cecilia had already guessed about their marriage.

  “No, our love has deepened and strengthened as the years have gone by and so has our friendship. Therefore never regret that you are not pretty, my darling,” she added as she brought her little lecture to a conclusion.

  Cecilia gave a reminiscent smile as she worked on her list.

  Then she wrote five letters of invitation, confident that luncheon with a Prince would be so very attractive a prospect that any other plans the girls might have would be immediately discarded.

  She wrote invitations to young gentlemen including a formal invitation to Prince Ivan himself.

  “What are your plans for tomorrow, my dearest?” asked her father, as he finished the last of his papers and removed his spectacles.

  “I will go to my clinic, Papa. There is a new doctor who is considering working with us and I have promised to introduce him to everyone.”

  “Do you think he is a good prospect?”

  “He has been highly recommended and I was very impressed when I met him and he seems interested in our work. He is much needed. There are so many poor people who require our help.”

  The Earl looked at his daughter and sighed,

  “I am so sorry the death of your poor Mama meant that you had to give up your medical studies. You would have made a very good doctor.”

  Cecilia looked down at the little pile of letters and blinked rapidly.

  It had been the most testing decision of her life.

  When her mother knew that she was dying of the cancer she had fought so valiantly, she asked Cecilia to renounce her medical ambitions and become her father’s hostess and support.

  “He needs you, my darling – ” she had urged.

  Then she had added,

  “But only until you find the man you can love as I have loved him.”

  So Cecilia, bowed down with grief at the loss of her beloved Mama, had finally found the courage to obey her dying wish.

  “There are many doctors, Papa,” she said now, “but not many donors who are willing to finance and support a clinic for the poor in London’s East End. It’s not a task I could have done without your blessing and the generosity of so many friends and relations.”

  The Earl smiled.

  “I am so very fortunate. The Yarlington coal fields and iron deposits produce more wealth than you and I could possibly need however profligate we wished to be.”

  Cecilia laughed.

  “Oh, Papa! I cannot see you leading a profligate life! I, on the other hand, admit to a certain extravagance.”

  She looked down at the dress she was wearing. It came from a leading couturier and she knew that it was immensely becoming.

  “You know,” the Earl continued. “I do love having you by my side at events such as tonight’s and you run our homes here and in the country with great efficiency so that I am comfortable and can enjoy being with you.

  “However, my greatest wish is that you should find someone who will recognise your outstanding qualities and fall in love with you – and someone you can love in return. I don’t wish to see you decline into spinsterhood.”

  “Papa!”

  Cecilia could be silent no longer.

  “‘Decline into spinsterhood?’ I never heard such rubbish. You know I love being able in a small way to take dear Mama’s place at your side. I have never looked on marriage as an end in itself. It would certainly be very wonderful to fall in love with a man one day – who is in love with me.

  “I am not ready to settle for anything less, Papa. I am very happy to be single. My clinic is so worthwhile and involves every moment I can spare. Please, don’t let’s talk of marriage.”

  Her father looked at her fondly.

  “You are so sensible, my darling. Come, it is time we retired to bed, is it not?”

  “I shall come up in a moment. There are a few last things I need to do before retiring.”

  Left on her own, Cecilia then looked into the dying flames of the fire and ruminated about the possibility of marriage.

  She had not lacked for suitors, but she knew only too well that all the men who offered for her were really just attracted by the great fortune she would bring as her dowry.

  No matter how handsome or charming he was, she could never be happy with any man on that basis.

  She smiled to herself as she recalled Prince Ivan.

  She would greatly enjoy being friends with a man, particularly such an attractive one, who had no intention of offering for her. The list of qualities he was looking for were, apart from the dowry, ones she did not possess. So she could relax and be entertained by his charm and enjoy his intelligence.

  Cecilia went up to bed with a lightness of heart she had not known for some time.

  *

  The first of her guests to arrive for the luncheon was Rosalind Dampier.

  “Have you really asked us here to meet a real live Prince?” she cooed in her soft breathless voice.

  Cecilia nodded, laughing.

  “Yes, Prince Ivan is very much alive.”

  “And is he handsome and charming?”

  “Very handsome and very charming.”

  Cecilia surveyed her friend.

  Rosalind was the only daughter of a peer almost as wealthy as the Earl of Yarlington. She was eighteen years old, had just been presented at Court and was the toast of London.

  Small and dainty with a heart-shaped face and huge blue eyes, she was constantly surrounded by eligible young gentlemen. Cecilia’s mother had been a great friend of Rosalind’s and Cecilia was extremely fond of her. She was without guile and had the warmest heart in the world.

  “Have I dressed properly today to meet a Prince?” Rosalind asked, giving a twirl in the centre of the carpet. “Mama said this was the most suitable in my wardrobe, but I think she would have liked to have had a gown especially designed for me for the occasion.”

  She wore a white silk dress with a tucked bodice and sleeves puffed at the top. Her shining blonde hair was drawn back and fell from the top of her head in carefully arranged ringlets.

  “You look quite, quite perfect,” Cecilia assured her, amused that Rosalind, who must surely be the debutante of the year could be so nervous about her appearance.

  Rosalind clapped her hands together in relief.

  “When I saw what you were wearing, I wondered.”

  Cecilia gave a wry smile.

  She had chosen the most severe of her day gowns, one in an unfortunate shade of mauve that, the moment it had been delivered, she had instantly decided she would never wear and could not remember why she had chosen it.

  Perhaps influenced by the gown, Cecilia had drawn her blonde hair into a simple chignon that was undoubtedly stylish but hardly youthful.

  Rosalind blushed charmingly.

  “I did not mean to suggest that your dress was not becoming, just that it seemed a little, well, dignified, you know. But I would not have known how to look dignified so I’m so pleased you think I look right – please, Cecilia, tell me who else is coming.”

  Cecilia ran through the list of guests.

  “Why, apart from Lady Broadstairs, your aunt, they are all very young, just like me,” said Rosalind in surprise. “Have you not asked any of your proper friends?”

  “Are you not a proper friend, Rosalind?”

  “Oh, I do hope so. I really think you are the most wonderful friend, Cecilia.”

  At that moment more guests arrived and Cecilia was saved from having to respond.

  Soon everyone was there except for the Prince.

&nb
sp; Sir Guy Anstruther, a long standing friend and a bachelor of thirty, she had asked as someone who would balance the table.

  On arrival he whispered to Cecilia,

  “He is coming, isn’t he? This isn’t a practical joke, I hope?”

  Cecilia gave an inward sigh.

  Guy was a splendid character, but he was always so serious.

  She knew her father would love her to encourage Guy’s suit. Already a Baronet on the death of his aged and childless uncle, Guy would inherit the title of the Marquis of Donnington and the vast Donnington estates. It would, in her father’s eyes, be a very suitable match.

  “I am sure Prince Ivan will be here soon,” she said, giving him a smile. “Perhaps you could talk to that pretty Jemima Perowne – she seems just a little bored by young Marcus Stockton.”

  “I would rather talk to you, Cecilia. Apart from Lady Broadstairs, every other female here seems insipid. Why are they all so young?”

  At that moment the butler announced the arrival of Prince Ivan in stentorian tones.

  She went to him, deciding that her overwhelming delight at his appearance in her drawing room was due to a niggling worry that he might, after all, have forgotten the engagement.

  Instead of the dashing military uniform decorated with medals the Prince had worn at the Reception, he was wearing a superbly tailored dark suit with a grey waistcoat and a grey silk matching tie.

  Something about the way he carried himself made every other male in the room look instantly gauche and unfashionable.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Cecilia was amused to notice that Guy was adjusting his tie.

  “Lady Cecilia, I have to apologise most sincerely for my lateness,” Ivan began as he took her hand. “I had not allowed for so much traffic that was truly appalling. My Ambassador had indeed warned me, but I felt he was being over-cautious.”

  He smiled into her eyes and then gave her hand the same fleeting kiss he had at the Reception.

  And, as then, Cecilia felt a thrill travel all through her veins.

  “You are not at all late, Your Royal Highness,” she assured him. “It is most kind of you to join us. Now, I would like to introduce my aunt, Lady Broadstairs – ”

  Cecilia was amused at the way that her aunt, always inclined to view young men with a cynical eye, fell victim to Prince Ivan’s charm.