The Mountain of Love

by Barbara Cartland

  “I believe that the Earl has annoyed him on other occasions,” the Duchess replied vaguely.

  “Then, is it perhaps because his Earldom is older than Grandpapa’s?” Kayla enquired.

  “I think, although I am not certain that the Earl is the Premier Earl of Great Britain. You can always look him and his family up in Debretts Peerage.”

  “I will do that,” Kayla said, knowing there was a copy in the library. “But I should have thought that it was rather a compliment in a way that he should want his son to marry into our family.”

  The Duchess was silent for a moment.

  It was almost as if she was trying to look back at something she had heard a long time ago.

  “I believe I am right in saying,” she said after a bit, “that Viscount Roth has been somewhat of a problem. I do remember seeing him two years ago and thinking that he was very handsome, but there has been some talk of his enjoying himself in Paris and other parts of the world.”

  “In Paris?” Kayla questioned eagerly.

  Since she had come to Forde Hall, no one had ever mentioned France in her presence and she felt that it was a taboo subject because of her mother.

  Even to hear the exotic word Paris made her heart feel warm and eagerly she questioned the Duchess,

  “Do tell me what he has done in Paris that has upset everyone, Grandmama.”

  “I really don’t know, Kayla, as I did not listen when people were talking about him, but I recall them saying that, if he wanted to enjoy himself, that was the place to go.”

  “That is exactly what I have always been told too,” Kayla added. “When I was at the Convent, the French girls were always gossiping about what fun their brothers had and how amusing everything was for them in Paris.”

  As she spoke, she could remember one of the girls saying,

  “It’s not fair. My brothers go to parties every night with the most glamorous and exciting women, but I am told I shall never be allowed to join them.”

  “Why not?” one of the other girls asked.

  “Because the women they spend their time with are not ladies – they are – courtesans.”

  She lowered her voice as she spoke and glanced over her shoulder just in case one of the teachers was in the room and listening.

  “What is a courtesan?” another girl enquired. The older girl thought for a moment.

  “I am not absolutely certain,” she responded rather doubtfully, “but I think, although I am not sure, that, because they are so pretty and so smart and I have seen them driving in the Bois, that the men give them money so that they have the finest horses and the most glittering jewellery.”

  “The men pay them!” another girl exclaimed. “Why should they do that?”

  “Because they like being with them, of course,” the older girl answered. “All I know is that, when we drive in the Bois, Mama looks the other way when they pass us. But Papa watches them and seems amused at what he sees.”

  Kayla was not quite as innocent as that.

  She had heard some of her mother’s friends talking about the parties given by the courtesans.

  They seemed exceedingly unusual and at one party Kayla was told that every woman guest had on her plate a large oyster shell and in it was a one thousand franc note!

  There were other parties at which the gentlemen drew lots for the ladies who were there to ‘amuse them’. It cost each man a very large sum of money.

  Kayla had not been able to reason this out, but she was, however, very certain that it meant a great deal of fun and laughter for everybody present.

  If that was the way rich men wished to spend their money, she did not see any harm in it.

  Yet there was no doubt that people would lower their voices when they spoke of the Parisian courtesans.

  She had heard all the chatter about them amongst the French girls at the Convent and yet not one of them knew exactly why it was wrong, only that it was expensive for a young man to associate with them.

  Anyway, Kayla reflected, it did not concern her.

  She supposed that, if the bored Viscount was having a marriage arranged for him, he would not in the future be able to go to Paris and enjoy himself.

  She did not think about her grandfather’s temper tantrum again.

  When they had dinner that evening, she thought that he was in a slightly better mood and he spoke to her quite pleasantly without shouting as he usually did.

  He did not refer to the Earl of Rothwoode again.

  *

  She went to the library the next day.

  As she collected some books to read, she thought that it would be interesting to look up the Earl of Rothwoode in Debrett’s Peerage.

  Her grandmother had been quite right.

  He was indeed the Premier Earl of Great Britain and his eldest son, the Viscount Roth was called Christopher and then Kayla saw there was another brother, the Honourable Rupert Woode.

  ‘I must tell Grandmama she was right,’ Kayla said to herself and then she knew that it would not really interest her grandmother.

  She wondered what the Duchess did think about.

  She was quite obviously not attending to anything her husband said nor did she seem at all interested in anything in the house.

  Kayla tried to talk to her about the pictures and the books in the library, but the Duchess had only answered her abstractly and the conversation came to an end.

  ‘They are very funny people,’ Kayla reflected as she looked round the library.

  She was aware that no one seemed to visit it except herself and yet she was sure that her father would have done so frequently when he was young.

  If no one else had read any of the books since he had been in residence, then she would make up for it now.

  This thought was at least one comfort to her when she went upstairs to bed and she could read for two or three hours without being interrupted.

  There were hundreds more books she had not yet opened.

  ‘I am lucky, very lucky,’ she thought.

  But at the same time she missed her mother almost unbearably – and the girls at the Convent too.

  She needed desperately to talk to somebody and to exchange ideas – to plan what they would do tomorrow and the next day and share adventures in the grounds.

  As it was, she knew that her days would be just the same as they were at present.

  Although she must not complain, it would have been unbearably dull without the horses.

  She loved them and she knew they loved her too.

  Even so, it would be nice to talk to someone.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Earl of Rothwoode was waiting impatiently for a reply to the letter he had written to the Duke of Barningforde.

  He had been in a furious rage for the last three days and the household could not imagine what had upset him.

  He was a man of many moods.

  And, when he was in one of his rages, the housemaids tiptoed along the corridors and the many footmen in the hall shivered when they heard him coming.

  His family, if they were lucky, disappeared and they could only hope that the storm would soon blow over.

  When his wife was alive, she had been the only one who could restore his good humour and she managed most of the time to restrain him from venting his feelings on those he came into contact with.

  After she died, the Earl’s temper had grown worse.

  When there was the sound of his raised voice echoing down the passages, anyone with any sense vanished.

  His present rage had been roused by his cousin, Lady Ackroyd, who had called to see him unexpectedly.

  “I am on my way to have luncheon with the Lord Lieutenant,” she had said, “and I thought, Harold, I would drop in and see you.”

  “It’s very kind of you,” the Earl responded gruffly.

  “As a matter of fact,” Lady Ackroyd went on, “there is something I felt that you ought to know, although it may upset you.”

  The Ea
rl looked at her suspiciously.

  It was well known that Gertrude Ackroyd was one of the biggest gossips in London. She was always up-to-date with the latest scandals about everyone and anyone in Society indulging in an affaire-de-coeur avoided her as if she was the plague.

  However she could be witty and amusing and the Earl rather enjoyed her company.

  Living in the country he found it entertaining to hear what people were ‘up to’ in London and he had therefore encouraged Gertrude by pouring her a glass of champagne.

  Then he sat down beside her on the sofa.

  “Who is in trouble now, Gertrude?” he asked. “And be quite sure of your facts before you embroil me in one of your scandalous stories!”

  “It’s not just a question of embroiling you, Harold, “but I do think that you should know what Christopher is doing.”

  Christopher, the Viscount Roth, the Earl’s eldest son, would in time inherit the Earldom.

  He had been rather evasive recently, saying that he was bored with London and wanted to travel.

  The Earl suspected that he might have a broken heart or alternatively the Cyprian he fancied had rebuffed him.

  As Christopher did not confide in him, he merely asked him where he was going.

  “I have a friend who is leaving in two days time for St. Petersburg,” he said. “As I have never seen Russia and he is thinking of going down to the Caucasus, I intend to join him.”

  The Earl thought it was a good idea if an expensive one, as he believed in young men seeing the world as he had himself.

  He also felt that his son had caused enough gossip in London to last him for a very long time.

  He was extremely good-looking, amusing and witty. He was therefore in great demand by all of London Society from the Prince of Wales downwards.

  With the long history of the Rothwoodes behind him and his father’s title dangling over his head, every ambitious mother pursued him relentlessly.

  The Viscount, however, was accustomed to them and indeed he had been pursued by females ever since he had left Eton.

  He was, however, sensible enough to seek the favours of older women with complacent husbands. They were only too willing to fall into his arms almost before he even asked their name.

  It was four months ago that the Earl had sent him off to Russia and very occasionally he received a letter from him saying where he was going next.

  It was quite by chance that someone had mentioned that he had bumped into Christopher in Paris.

  Gertrude confirmed it when she began her story,

  “You may remember, Harold, that Hugo and I were in Paris a week ago. He had a diplomatic mission to perform for the Prime Minister and, as we were staying at the Embassy, we had quite an entertaining time.”

  The Earl was only listening vaguely as he knew only too well that Gertrude’s stories were very often long-winded and tedious.

  “But I was exceedingly surprised,” she went on, “to see Christopher in Paris. I thought he was in Russia.”

  “So did I,” the Earl replied. “But I think he said in his last letter, which I had some time ago, that he was on his way home.”

  “Well, he has reached Paris and I would expect it’s a welcome change from those gloomy over-serious Russians to be with the French demi-monde.”

  “Is that who he is with?” the Earl enquired a little sharply.

  He thought as he spoke that, if Christopher was in Paris, he would be spending a great deal of money.

  It was well known that the demi-monde in Paris were attractive, vivacious and extremely amusing and, of course, they were also undoubtedly the most expensive in Europe.

  “The last night before we came home,” Gertrude was saying, “Hugo and I managed to escape from what was quite obviously going to be a dull party at the Embassy.”

  She looked at the Earl to see if he was listening and continued,

  “We went to the theatre and saw a delightful show even if it was rather improper. Then Hugo took me to supper at the Cafe de Paris.”

  “The food there is always really excellent,” the Earl commented rather abstractly.

  “The cuisine was superb and obviously your son was enjoying it – amongst other things.”

  She spoke in a meaningful tone.

  The Earl asked her rather gruffly,

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “He was in a party with the most alluring women and none of them ladies,” said Gertrude, “and there is no need for me to tell you that the champagne was flowing.”

  The Earl did not speak and she continued,

  “A waiter told us it was a party for Yvonne Villette who Hugo knew was acting at the Theatre de Variétés and the most admired and sought after of the demi-monde.”

  The Earl was frowning.

  He was wondering if Christopher, or rather he, was paying for the party.

  “It was the birthday party for that woman,” Gertrude went on, “and just before we were leaving, because the place was becoming overcrowded and noisy, Christopher rose to propose a toast to her.”

  The Earl made a snorting sound, but did not interrupt.

  “He made a speech which I could not hear and then they all cheered and drank to Yvonne Villette. When they had done so, Christopher handed her a present which he had obviously brought with him.”

  There was a note of envy in Gertrude’s voice as she elaborated,

  “Of course I was anxious to know what it was and, when the actress gave a scream of delight, I rose a little in my seat to see better.”

  “‘Merci, merci, mon brave,’ she cried and held up her left hand. “I could see a ring on her third finger. ‘The Bond of Matrimony,’ she cried in French. There was a shriek of laughter and everyone drank her health again!”

  Gertrude sighed loudly as she came to the end of her dramatic story.

  The Earl was looking at her penetratingly.

  “Are you saying that she actually said, ‘the Bond of Matrimony’?” he demanded.

  “She said it in French and one of the women repeated it in English, so I could not be mistaken, Harold. As the ring had been given to her by Christopher, I thought you ought to know.”

  There was a note of satisfaction in her voice and it made the Earl think that she was rather smugly delighted to have told him the story before anyone else did, and she would doubtless repeat it to everyone she came into contact with.

  It was with difficulty that the Earl managed to thank her for calling.

  He took her to the door without letting her be aware of the fury that was gathering strength inside him.

  It seemed incredible to him.

  He had spoken a hundred times to his son on the subject of matrimony. He had begged him, as he thought, although it was more like bullying, to take a wife.

  “You are nearly twenty-eight,” he had said before Christopher set off for Russia, “and it’s time you settled down and had a family.”

  He paused for a moment before he went on,

  “We just cannot afford to take any chances. As your brother is in the Army, there is always the possibility that he may lose his life in battle.”

  “There is no war at the moment,” Christopher replied. “There is plenty of time, Papa, as I have told you before, for me to settle down when you can no longer manage the estate. There is little point in both of us giving orders.”

  “I have offered to let you run the estate, Christopher, if you will stay here,” the Earl persisted.

  Christopher smiled.

  He knew that, as long as his father lived, he would not let anyone give orders on the estate except himself.

  Aloud he declared,

  “There is still plenty of the world I want to see before I tie myself down and produce enough children to fill the nursery!”

  He was making a joke of it, but his father failed to see the humour of the situation.

  “It is your duty,” the Earl said sharply, “and that is what you must do.”

&nbs
p; “But not for a long time,” replied Christopher, “and that, Papa, is my last word.”

  He had then travelled off to Russia.

  The Earl had to content himself with knowing that his second son was married, although unfortunately so far Rupert had only produced two daughters. His wife was far too weak from the last somewhat troubled birth for them to think of trying again in the near future.

  Now that the Earl had heard Gertrude’s story, he was determined that he would tolerate no more nonsense from Christopher.

  He did not really believe that he would indeed marry a French actress and a demi-monde, but there was always the possibility that he would be caught by this woman.

  She would clearly use every trick in the book to get what she wanted from a man and especially if it concerned money.

  The Earl was wise enough to realise that Christopher with his looks, his charm and his title was the answer to any woman’s dreams, but up to now he had been quite certain that his son’s pride, like his own, would prevent him from making a misalliance.

  But he was taking no chances.

  He knew exactly where Christopher would be staying in Paris. It was where all the family stayed if they happened to be in the most glamorous City in Europe.

  One of their many cousins had bought an attractive house in the Rue de Rivoli. He occupied it himself only for perhaps two months in the year and the rest of the time he preferred to be in Monte Carlo.

  He most generously opened the doors to any of the family who were visiting Paris.

  “You will be more comfortable with me than you will be in any hotel,” he always asserted, “and you will also find it less expensive.”

  He knew it was a gesture that would be appreciated by his older relations, who endlessly complained that they were hard up because their children spent so much.

  The Earl, rich though he was, had reason to complain, as Christopher’s trips abroad had always cost more than he had expected.

  At the same time he could understand his need to see the world before he undertook the management of the family properties.

  There was not only the huge estate at Rothwoode Court, but there was a large house at Newmarket where their racing stables were kept.

  The grouse shooting was excellent at their Castle in Scotland and the salmon fishing superb.