Love At Last

by Barbara Cartland

  “One night the boy wades across the stream and persuades the girl to come back with him. Once they are married, he says, all this stupid business of being enemies will be put aside and their families will be friends. But when they try to cross into Rusitania, an enormous storm comes up, the stream is flooded and they both drown.”

  “Oh, how sad!” exclaimed Cecilia.

  “I am afraid many of our legends are sad.”

  “Tell me,” Cecilia asked impulsively, “why is there such enmity between Voskia and Rusitania?”

  Natasha gave her a forlorn smile.

  “That is too long a tale for an occasion such as this. But I am determined to bring Ivan and Peter together. I love both of them too much for such senseless conflict to continue.”

  Cecilia had the impression of an intelligent, warm and likeable woman.

  “Tell me,” said Natasha, dropping her voice. “Who is your couturier? I have been admiring your gown. I did not expect to be in London for so long and I need to extend my wardrobe, but have no idea where to go. I have seen no one with style to match yours.”

  “Why do I not take you there tomorrow?” Cecilia said impulsively, liking this sophisticated woman. “If you need a gown quickly a personal introduction might help.”

  An arrangement was made and shortly afterwards Cecilia and the Earl took their leave.

  “I was very taken with the Countess, Papa,” Cecilia admitted as they rode home in their comfortable carriage.

  “I had the impression that you were also taken with Prince Peter,” teased her father.

  Cecilia laughed.

  “Were you not impressed with his charm, Papa?”

  The Earl paused for a long moment.

  “I think I would count the silver after a visit from him,” he muttered finally.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ivan sat at the desk in his suite at the Embassy.

  In front of him was a piece of writing paper.

  He had every intention of writing a letter to Cecilia expressing profound regret that he was unable to accept her kind invitation for the weekend. But something seemed to be stopping him.

  Then a footman came in and announced that the Honourable Algy had called.

  Ivan sprang up in relief.

  “Excellent, please show him into the small salon, and bring a bottle of champagne.”

  He pushed away the piece of writing paper – that could wait until later.

  “My dear fellow, how good of you to come,” Ivan began as he entered the salon. “Have you any news from the Racecourse?”

  “Don’t waste time on preliminaries, do you, Ivan?” Algy grinned.

  Ivan threw himself into a chair.

  “Algy, this is serious, I found out yesterday that my cousin Peter is in London. He has been sending invitations to everyone who matters for some Exhibition of Voskian Folk Art. Peter has never been interested in art – he can only be here for one reason – to plot against me.”

  “I say, old fellow, steady on. Isn’t the chap allowed to visit his own Embassy without you suspecting him of foul motives?”

  The champagne arrived and Ivan told the footman that he would pour it out himself and as soon as they were alone, he turned back to Algy,

  “You don’t know my cousin Peter.”

  The cork popped and then Ivan filled two glasses and handed one to his friend.

  “The Racecourse, Algy?”

  “Nothing doing there, old thing. They are all very regretful, but say no one was able to identify the horse or its rider, who seemed to disappear just before the boy was injured. Onlookers said that the rider was thrown, got up without injury and walked away.

  “The horse was then abandoned, but, here’s a thing. When it was finally caught and unsaddled, there was a big prickly burr under the saddle. No wonder the poor animal went so berserk, it must have caused infinite pain. I’m not surprised it threw its jockey.”

  Ivan sat up straight.

  “Much more likely he decided to jump. I think the whole thing was planned!”

  Algy regarded him dubiously.

  “That’s ridiculous, old boy.”

  Ivan studied the polish on his boots before saying,

  “I think I am going to have to excuse myself from Lady Cecilia’s invitation for the weekend.”

  “Where did that notion come from? For Heaven’s sake, Ivan, you can’t do that. I’ve been invited too and the lovely Rosalind is going to be there!”

  Ivan waved a dismissive hand.

  He had already turned down an invitation to dine with Rosalind’s parents pleading a previous engagement.

  “And I know Cecilia isn’t exactly the prettiest girl in the world and she is, I suppose, almost on the shelf, but my goodness, Ivan, she has as much money as any fella could ever wish for.”

  Ivan sat up abruptly.

  “Algy, you are a complete philistine. Lady Cecilia is far more attractive than those silly little girls who think they are so pretty. I would call her stunning. She is also sophisticated and intelligent, not someone who simpers and doesn’t have an original thought in her head.”

  Algy stared at him for a moment.

  “Oho, my friend, so that is the way the wind blows, eh?”

  “You are an idiot, Algy.”

  “So why are you turning down such an attractive invitation?”

  “Do you not see, Algy? If Peter is determined to assassinate me, I bring everyone I consort with into danger. Lady Cecilia might easily have been killed the other day.”

  “My dear old friend. Down in the country, where every stranger is noted by at least a dozen pairs of eyes, you could not be much safer. However, I’ll tell you this – even though you are a Prince, you won’t stand a chance with Cecilia. Her affections are already bespoke.”

  “She is engaged? Perhaps to that bore, Sir Guy – what was his name – Arbuthnot?”

  “You mean Sir Guy Anstruther. Heavens, no, not him. Cecilia is devoted to her clinic.”

  “Clinic? What is that?”

  Ivan listened dutifully as Algy told him all about Cecilia’s clinic for the East End poor. How she had hoped to become a doctor and had undergone three years’ training before her mother died and how she had to abandon her ambition.

  “So she founded the clinic instead. Spends all her spare time there. Her mother left her wealthy in her own right, never mind the Yarlington millions she will inherit, and Cecilia spends both her own funds on the clinic and raises more from her well-heeled friends. Good Heavens, I’ve even given her a donation or two myself! She makes it sound so worthwhile, don’t you know?”

  Ivan was impressed.

  His opinion of Cecilia, already growing, increased dramatically. What a really amazing girl she was!

  For a moment Ivan allowed himself to think that, as far as this weekend went, his friend had reason on his side.

  He realised that he wanted to accept the invitation. Rosalind might prove herself to be naïve and he would die of boredom before he had trained her to the position of Princess of Rusitania, but he increasingly enjoyed talking to Cecilia –

  Perhaps Algy was right that she was, as the English might put it, ‘on the shelf’, but the weekend could well be entertaining, especially now he knew how dedicated she was to her clinic.

  Ivan had been most affected at the way Cecilia had attended to the injured boy. If he had not recognised how tired she was as they drove home, he would have asked her how she had acquired her medical knowledge.

  A weekend at the Yarlington country estate would also give him the opportunity to converse with the Earl.

  He was a man of sense, knew Eastern Europe and its politics and would undoubtedly be worth listening to. The mention of graphite tied in with what his Ambassador had been telling him about mineral deposits in Rusitania.

  “You are sure Cecilia will not be placed in danger if I accept her invitation, Algy?”

  “Can’t see how your evil cousin can manage to get anywhere near her, old b
oy.”

  So instead of writing a letter full of excuses for the Yarlington weekend, Ivan formally accepted the invitation and made a list of points to discuss with the Earl.

  *

  On Friday morning, Yuri discussed with his Master the clothes he should pack for Yarlington.

  “Do you wish to take your violin, Prince?” the valet asked, bringing the instrument through from the dressing room. He carried the case with an air of expectation on the thin face that so often wore a discontented expression.

  Despite all the many calls on his time, Ivan had not neglected his violin, regularly practising each morning.

  “Yes, Yuri, excellent idea.”

  There would certainly be music in the evenings at Yarlington and maybe his playing would impress Cecilia.

  He refused to consider why he should even wish to impress his hostess in this way.

  *

  On the train later that day, Ivan was dismayed to find Sir Guy Anstruther in his First Class compartment. He sensed that the other man was no more pleased to see him.

  “Prince Ivan, is it not? We must be travelling to the same destination.”

  “Sir Guy, how pleasant to meet up with you again,” replied Ivan, striving to inject enthusiasm into his voice.

  With his innate politeness he then tried to develop a conversation with the man, at last hitting on politics and finding that Sir Guy intended to seek a seat in Parliament.

  With relief Ivan was able to sit back and let Sir Guy educate him into how the English Parliamentary system worked.

  They were collected at the station by a handsome carriage.

  “What a splendid house,” Ivan commented as they were driven through a huge Park full of deer and up a long drive towards a gracious mansion.

  Built of rose-coloured brick with gothic windows, it lay long and low surrounded by well maintained gardens. At this time of year there were no flowers, but evergreens and sculptured hedges provided interest.

  Ivan found he was looking forward immensely to seeing his hostess and was unreasonably upset when the dreaded Sir Guy eagerly strode up the very moment Cecilia appeared and clasped her hand tenderly.

  “Cecilia, it’s wonderful to see you,” Sir Guy cooed, looking deep into her eyes.

  Whilst he stood modestly just inside the hall, Ivan watched her closely and thought he was not mistaken in deciding that she was a little embarrassed by this approach.

  Indeed she almost immediately gently removed her hand from Sir Guy’s and turned to Ivan.

  “Your Royal Highness, it is so good of you to come and join us in our country retreat.”

  Ivan clicked his heels and bowed over her hand, looking up at her face and thinking that Algy was quite wrong to call her plain.

  Her looks were not in any way conventional, but he contented himself by again calling her ‘stunning’.

  He found himself feeling protective of her in a way that was unusual for him – he wanted to hold her close and tell the rest of the world to keep away.

  He was staggered by this reaction and so he tried to ignore it and merely asserted,

  “Lady Cecilia, I am so delighted to be here.”

  She did not seem to have noticed anything strange in his manner and brought forward a middle-aged woman standing at the back of the hall.

  “Can I introduce our housekeeper, Mrs. Palmer? I have told her, Prince Ivan, that I will have the honour to escort you to your room myself. Guy, perhaps you would care to accompany Mrs. Palmer?”

  Ivan silently congratulated her at having trumped the Baronet for not allowing his lovelorn eagerness to take precedence over a Royal Highness at their arrival.

  Cecilia led him up a wide staircase.

  “This is such a lovely house,” he muttered, looking at the graceful proportions, the attractive plasterwork and endless paintings and furniture.

  Cecilia was genuinely pleased at his compliments.

  “I am glad you like it, my great-great-grandfather pulled down a ramshackle place that had grown higgledy-piggledy since Medieval times to build it.”

  “Higgledy-piggledy,” repeated Ivan delightedly. “I don’t have to ask you what it means, it is all in the sound of the word!”

  Cecilia laughed.

  Ivan remembered that she had often done so on the steeplechase outing and it was very musical laugh and he found himself delighted to be enveloped in it again.

  She showed him into a charming room where Yuri was already unpacking his cases.

  “I will leave you to settle in,” said Cecilia. “Your valet will be able to acquaint you with the layout of the house. Come down when you are ready, we shall be in the drawing room. And,” she added with a mischievous look, “I expect to have a surprise for you.”

  Ivan felt an unusual tingle of anticipation.

  He rid himself of the grime of the journey and went downstairs.

  He was shown by a footman into a large, sun-filled reception room.

  Cecilia came forward to welcome him.

  “Let me introduce you to our other guests,” she began, taking him by the arm.

  Ivan felt an unexpected thrill at the touch of her slender hand on his arm.

  “Of course, you already know Sir Guy Anstruther.”

  The man had managed to beat him downstairs, a small fact which Ivan found inexplicably annoying, but Sir Guy looked equally annoyed at having to break off what seemed to be a deep conversation with their hostess when Ivan was announced.

  “And here is my aunt, Lady Broadstairs, whom you already know – and my father.”

  Ivan bowed to Lady Broadstairs and held out his hand to the Earl.

  But Lady Cecilia did not allow Ivan to develop a conversation with either of them as she swept him on to greet the other two guests.

  “No need to introduce Algy. And here is another who needs no introduction. I am sure you will be pleased to see Miss Dampier again.”

  Rosalind was looking very attractive in a dress of pink crêpe de chine that swirled deliciously around her small body and Ivan felt again some of the appeal she had had for him at Cecilia’s luncheon party.

  “We were so sorry, my parents and I, that you were not able to join us for dinner the other night,” she said, smiling up at him.

  “Affairs of state, I am afraid,” he answered with one of those special smiles he found eased his way out of most awkward moments with females.

  “I have been so longing to talk to you about your country,” purred Rosalind.

  “Why not take Prince Ivan over there?” suggested Cecilia, waving in the direction of two small armchairs in a corner of the room.

  She then, with a small nod and a smile, returned to her conversation with Sir Guy. Algy with a regretful shrug at losing his pretty conversationalist had joined the Earl and Lady Broadstairs.

  So Ivan sat down with Rosalind and embarked on a description of Rusitania. It was a subject he found easy to expound upon, especially when such a pretty face looked adoringly at him and its owner seemed to hang on his every word.

  Then the drawing room door opened and a new guest appeared.

  Ivan stopped dead in the middle of a description of his country’s spectacular mountains and felt deep shock.

  “The Countess Balinskova,” intoned the footman.

  In swept Natasha.

  She wore a dark grey silk outfit, buttoned up the front to a high neck that framed her beautiful face. A silver fox stole hung negligently over one shoulder and managed not to seem out of place in the well-heated drawing room.

  “Countess,” called Lady Cecilia, advancing to greet her. “I am so pleased you could accept our invitation.”

  “Most kind of you,” replied Natasha throatily. “I am so honoured to be in your beautiful home and to meet once more the illustrious Lord Yarlington.”

  She offered him her hand and was then introduced to Lady Broadstairs, Algy and Sir Guy, who seemed to be entranced by this sophisticated foreign beauty.

  Ivan, who rose o
n her entry, thought that Natasha was like some exotic bird arriving in a new land, dazzling everyone with her singular beauty.

  Even while he felt her magnetism, though, he was furiously angry that she should be here.

  Why? What had brought her?

  He felt a chill run down his spine.

  “Who is she?” whispered Rosalind, as caught in the spell Natasha wove as everyone else.

  With a sense of impending doom Ivan saw Cecilia advance towards them with the newcomer.

  Cecilia introduced Natasha to Rosalind then added,

  “Of course, you already know His Royal Highness, Prince Ivan.”

  There was a satisfied note in her voice that puzzled Ivan. It was as if Natasha had somehow been asked here by Cecilia because he himself was to be there.

  Ivan bowed over Natasha’s hand.

  “Countess, I think you must know how much of a pleasure it is to encounter you here,” he mumbled without expression.

  Natasha’s eyes narrowed and Cecilia’s attention appeared caught by his tone.

  “I am sure you are surprised that the Countess and I should know one another,” she smiled. “We met at the Voskian Art Exhibition the other night and she mentioned how much she wanted to ease relations between Voskia and Rusitania. I hope that here in the peace and quiet of the English countryside diplomacy may prevail?”

  Her tone made a question of her words.

  “Diplomacy must always be the first resort when dealing with all difficulties in international relationships,” Ivan responded smoothly, aware that the Earl’s attention was focussed on this encounter.

  “I am always happy to talk with the Countess about the situation between my own country and Voskia. Am I then to understand, Countess, that you have Prince Peter’s authority to hold these discussions?”

  “Prince Peter and I are as one on this matter,” she countered sharply.

  “Do you know, I have the distinct impression,” said Cecilia, “that our drawing room has suddenly become the cockpit of Europe!”

  Ivan could not determine Natasha’s motives, but he was sure that effecting a reconciliation between him and his cousin was not amongst them.