The Ship of Love

by Barbara Cartland

  She had to agree with him when she inspected the cabins and he showed her the cunning arrangement for keeping everyone cool.

  "When the ship's in motion the working of the paddles causes fresh air to circulate by means of fans worked by the steam engines, so that the air of the whole ship is changed in half an hour."

  "That sounds very agreeable," she said. "And I like the awning on the upper deck too. It'll be so pleasant to be protected from the sun in hot weather."

  Down below there was even more to make her stare. Apart from the spacious saloon, dining room and kitchens, there were ten double cabins, each with two sleeping berths, a sofa and elegant fittings.

  In the stern of the ship was a smoking room, with a small billiard table.

  As well as the kitchens being well stocked, there was a fine wine cellar, and the ship's tanks could hold two thousand gallons of water. Nothing was lacking for a comfortable journey.

  "Why Papa," she said, amazed, "it's like a whole little world. You could hold a country house party here."

  "That's just what I thought," he said. "And it's exactly what I mean to do. What could be nicer than a few days cruising in such comfort?"

  That night he gave a party. Several aristocratic members of the Clipper Club were there, some with wives and daughters, and for once their rank made no difference.

  They all had titles of some kind, and the Thornhills had none, yet the atmosphere was charmingly informal, for here they were all sailors together. Or so they enjoyed telling themselves.

  "I say, did you hear that Wenfield is in Dover now?" Lord Stanton said languidly. "They say he's disposed of the Ariadne."

  "No choice after all the debts he inherited," another man said. "Pity. I believe he enjoyed the sea."

  "Anyone know who bought it?" Lord Stanton asked.

  "Someone the Prince introduced to him. He and Wenfield are thick as thieves."

  "Who's Wenfield?" Rowena asked Jane Stanton who was standing close to her father.

  "The Duke of Wenfield. He came into the title last year, rather unexpectedly. It should have gone to his cousin, but he died after a fall in the hunting field, so when the old Duke died it went to Mark."

  "Do you know him?"

  "I've met him twice and danced with him once. He's rather grim and serious, which is all very well in its way, but I like a man who'll play the society game without being disagreeable about it."

  "What do you call the society game?"

  "Pretty compliments, making you feel that you're a goddess, nothing is too good for you. No girl ever got a pretty compliment from Mark."

  "But why should he pay compliments that aren't sincere?" Rowena asked. "Perhaps he's just an honest man."

  "But who wants a man who's honest in the ballroom?" Jane asked. "My Frank says the most delightful things to me, hour after hour."

  The Honourable Francis Dillon was the man she would marry in a few months. Rowena considered him an amiable nonentity, harmless and rather dull. But Jane thought he was perfect in every way, so Rowena smiled and said something kind about him.

  She realised that Jane had found exactly what she herself wanted. She was betrothed to a man she adored and who adored her, yet Rowena couldn't envy her friend.

  'I should hope for a man with more brains than poor Frank,' she thought. 'Oh dear, I'm afraid I'm becoming rather demanding. But somewhere in the world there must surely be a man I can love and also respect. Is that really asking for the moon?'

  Thinking of some of the men of her acquaintance, she began to fear that it was.

  Next day they took the boat out and had a splendid day on the waves. Rowena instinctively loved the sea, and when they returned she felt more in sympathy with her father than she had done ever since she had discovered his plan for her.

  As they drifted home in the evening she leaned over the rail, gazing across the sea, wondering what the future held for her.

  "I wish we could sail on like this forever," she told her father, who came to stand beside her. "And just forget about worldly ambition."

  "You know I only want the very best for you, don't you Rowena darling?" he said. "I want you to be as happy as I was with your mother. We loved each other from the first moment."

  "But you left Mama and went off to America," Rowena said quietly.

  "I did that because I wanted her to have anything she wanted, however expensive it might be."

  "But she didn't want things, she wanted to be with you," Rowena protested. "She missed you so much."

  Her father hesitated for a moment before he said: "I will never forgive myself for not being with her when she died. I hurried home, but I arrived too late."

  Rowena knew by the pain in his voice he was speaking the truth. She slipped her arm into his.

  "I know you loved her, Papa," she said. "That kind of love is what I want too, some day. But I haven't found it so far."

  "Are you quite sure of that?" her father asked.

  "Quite, quite sure," she replied.

  "Then we must just go on looking. After all I cannot live for ever and I would hate you to be alone in that great house without a man to look after you."

  "You are only trying to make me feel sorry for you," Rowena retorted, attempting to make him smile. "You are in very good health and are likely to live for at least another forty or fifty years."

  Her father held up his hands. "Heaven forbid!" he exclaimed.

  "Nonsense," Rowena said. "You will enjoy every moment of it and I will do my best to please you. But I won't marry a man who is only interested in your money and not in me."

  "I think you could make any man happy, but I would still like you to have a coronet on your head."

  Rowena laughed and kissed him.

  But when she went to bed that night she was thinking that sooner or later she would have to find a husband.

  Her father would never be content until he was certain the great fortune he had acquired would be looked after by a sensible man, with a great name.

  This happy time together couldn't last. She sensed the battle was about to begin, and she was right.

  The following day they received an invitation from Lord Stanton to a 'small reception' he was giving aboard his boat to meet 'a very distinguished guest'.

  "Papa," Rowena said, awed, "is this – ?"

  "Hush my dear. Just be quite certain that you are looking your very best."

  It soon became clear exactly what that meant. Mrs. Kilton, her dresser, had with her a lavish evening dress of ivory satin, heavily trimmed with lace. The waist was tiny, the bustle impressive. It was the very latest Paris fashion and had arrived too late for Rowena to wear it during the season.

  The front was very low, almost immodestly low, she thought as Mrs. Kilton fastened it at the back.

  "You'll understand why in a minute," Mrs. Kilton said.

  Under Rowena's astonished eyes she opened a large jewel box and took out a three stranded pearl necklace, which she draped about Rowena's neck. Then she fitted a pearl tiara on her shining golden hair, heavy pearl drops went on her ears. And to finish there was a splendid five stranded pearl bracelet.

  Rowena gasped at her own magnificence. The mirror reflected back a very fine lady indeed, but it didn't look at all like her.

  "Surely I recognise these pearls," she said. "I've seen them in one of the portraits at Haverwick Castle."

  "Indeed you have, miss. They're the family pearls of the Haverwick family. Your Papa had them specially cleaned to be ready for you."

  So the family had had to sell their jewels as well as everything else, she thought. It made her feel uneasy to be so grand at the expense of somebody else's misfortune.

  She said as much to her father when he came to collect her.

  "But of course you must look fine, my dear. Anything less would be an insult to His Royal Highness."

  Rowena had met the Prince once before. Since the death of Albert, the Prince Consort, Queen Victoria had gone into seclusion, and de
butantes were presented to the Prince and Princess of Wales. But it had all been over in a moment, and she was curious to meet him again at a smaller gathering.

  The carriage conveyed them to where Lord Stanton's ship was berthed. Rowena saw her father glancing over it and knew he was thinking that it wasn't as splendid as his own. But then, he lacked the standing to invite the Prince to his yacht.

  Nonetheless, when they entered the great saloon below, the Prince of Wales greeted him very affably as a fellow member of the Clipper Club.

  "Thornhill, m'dear chap. Glad to see you."

  The Prince was in his middle thirties with a fleshy face, whose petulance was hidden beneath a beard. He was married with four children, and lived the life of a bachelor, doing as he pleased, surrounded by loyal friends to minister to his every whim. Whether it was drinking heavily, gambling, disporting himself with willing ladies, he could always be sure that his dissipations would be hidden from the world and, if possible, from his wife.

  Yet he had a great deal of charm that won him forgiveness wherever he went. Within a few minutes of his turning his attention onto her, Rowena felt that he must be the most delightful man alive.

  "Only my very dearest friends are here tonight," he assured her. "Some, of course, don't know each other, so then it's my pleasure to introduce them. But perhaps you've already met the Duke of Wenfield?"

  Rowena assured him that she hadn't. She didn't add that since speaking to Jane, she was fascinated by the sound of the man who 'wouldn't play society's game'.

  "And you the debutante of the year?" he teased her.

  "Certainly you must meet Mark, for nobody is more of a connoisseur of beauty – unless perhaps myself." He winked at her, then called, "Mark, come and meet Miss Rowena Thornhill."

  Rowena looked up smiling at the coldly handsome man who came forward. Then her smile faded and her heart began to thump.

  This was her evil genius, the man who appeared out of nowhere and was frank about his poor opinion of her. This was the last man in the world she wanted to meet.

  "Miss Thornhill," said His Royal Highness, "allow me to present my good friend, Mark, Duke of Wenfield. Mark, Colonel Thornhill, and his daughter Rowena."

  "Sir." Rowena inclined her head as she spoke, and received in return a murmured, "enchanted," as the Duke carried her hand to his lips.

  Looking him in the eye, she realised that her first shocked impression hadn't been a mistake. This really was the man she'd met at the ball, and who'd hauled her down from her horse so ungraciously.

  At their first meeting she'd seen him only in semidarkness, and had received no more than an impression of force and authority. Plus she was sure that he'd been plainly dressed, and not attired in ballroom finery. When they'd met on horseback he'd been clad in a white shirt and plain breeches, with nothing to suggest his grand title.

  He had seized her ungently, and held her improperly close, so that she'd had a clear view of his face with its fine features. If she hadn't been angry with him she would have called it a sensitive face, even handsome, with its dark, expressive eyes and firm mouth. But because she'd been in a rage, she'd noticed only the stubbornness of his chin.

  She couldn't determine his age. His face was that of a young man, but there was a hint of grey at his temples, and maturity in his manner. Certainly he wasn't a callow boy like too many of the young men she met.

  He was finely dressed, as befitted a friend of the Prince of Wales, in white tie and tails, which he wore with an unmistakable air. Now there was no doubt that this man was an aristocrat, a man of pride, even of arrogance. Rowena felt that he had taken unfair advantage of her in concealing this in their previous meetings.

  But perhaps he wouldn't remember her, or would pretend not to. That, she felt, would be the gentlemanly thing for him to do.

  Behind them were more guests awaiting an introduction to the Prince, making it necessary for them to move away.

  "A very fine boat, you have," the Duke remarked to Colonel Thornhill. "She was pointed out to me."

  "I hope you will feel free to come and look her over whenever you wish," the Colonel said at once.

  "Thank you. I shall avail myself of your invitation. And you, Miss Thornhill, are you fond of the sea?"

  "I haven't been to sea very much, but I have enjoyed what little I've seen," she said, managing to speak with composure.

  "Does The Adventurer live up to her reputation?"

  "I do not know, sir, what her reputation may be – "

  "As the finest ship in port."

  "In any case, I beg you not to appeal to me for an opinion. I am ignorant of such matters."

  The cool tone in which she spoke amounted almost to a rebuff. Certainly, she thought, nobody could accuse her of trying to lure this man on.

  "You are too modest, I am sure," he said graciously.

  "No, why should you be sure of any such thing? You know nothing about me."

  "Rowena, my dear!" her father protested with a frown. "You must forgive my daughter, sir. She is sometimes a little too free-spoken."

  "But I like that," the Duke replied. "So much better than the simpering one endures from too many young females. How refreshing to meet a woman who speaks her mind."

  "You are too kind to say so," the Colonel replied.

  So that was it, Rowena thought. The Duke of Wenfield was the quarry her father had in his sights. And the Duke undoubtedly knew it. He was used to being pursued, he'd told her as much. And doubtless he despised her father for his tactics.

  How dare he! she thought. It was one thing for her to deprecate Papa's eagerness to marry her off well. But for this proud man to think badly of them both was quite another matter. She wouldn't allow it.

  Putting her head up she adopted a teasing manner.

  "Really, Papa, the Duke isn't kind at all. He merely respects my right to my own thoughts. I don't need his permission to think – or say – whatever I please. Do I, sir?"

  She swung round on the Duke suddenly, a pretty, coaxing smile on her face. Only he could see that above that smile her eyes were full of cool challenge.

  "Indeed you do not," he responded at once. "May I say that any man who tried to deny Miss Thornhill her liberty of speech and thought would be churlish indeed?"

  There was an equal challenge in his own eyes, and a glimmer of amusement.

  The Colonel began to repeat, "You are too kind – " then stopped. He was not a sensitive man, or even, socially, a very clever one. But he'd managed to discern that this conversation was moving into uncharted waters.

  "Thornhill, do you play cards?" That was the Prince calling.

  The Colonel bowed and departed, not without a certain relief.

  "It's rather stuffy in here," the Duke said. "Shall we take a turn about the deck, Miss Thornhill?"

  He held out his arm to her, and she took it. Together they turned to face the Prince, so that the Duke could bow, and she could curtsey, silently seeking permission to leave the royal presence. It was granted with a nod, and they retired from the saloon, watched by many curious eyes.

  The weather was warm and it was very pleasant on deck. Above them a brilliant moon floated in a sea of stars. For a while they walked together in silence, her arm through his, while she tried to think of something to say, and failed.

  "So now we both know the answer to our questions, Miss Thornhill," the Duke said at last.

  "Our questions?"

  "Surely you're not going to be missish and pretend not to understand me? We have each wondered about the other's identity, and now we know."

  "I think the least said about that matter the better," Rowena replied with an attempt at dignity. "We both said things we regret – "

  "I didn't. I regret nothing that I said or did."

  "Then – " she checked herself.

  "Surely, Miss Thornhill, you're not going to tell me that I'm not a gentleman?" There was no mistaking the irony in his voice. "I thought we'd settled that."

 
"No, we've settled that you're a Duke," Rowena said. "A gentleman is quite another matter."

  "Oh, well done, Miss Thornhill. Touché! I laid myself wide open for that, didn't I?"

  Rowena took a deep breath. This man's self confidence was insufferable. Was there nothing she could say to disconcert him?

  "Yes, I think you did," she replied. "I have no reason to think well of you, and I see no point in continuing this conversation."

  "I see every point. Chiefly the fact that if we end it too soon, your father will be deeply disappointed. So, for that matter, will the Prince."

  "It can be of no possible interest to the Prince."

  "Come, don't be naïve. The Prince is always loyal to his friends. He vowed to introduce me to a great heiress."

  "Indeed!" she replied in a freezing voice.

  "I told him that I had no interest in heiresses, and that he shouldn't trouble himself, but when he gets an idea in his head there's no stopping him. This is the result."

  "And no doubt the Prince is expecting an interesting announcement," Rowena said bitterly. "As is my father. Well, Duke, I suggest we return now and tell them plainly to put the idea out of their minds, as we dislike each other too much to contemplate it."

  "But do we dislike each other?" he mused.

  "Yes," she said firmly. "We do. We shall also add that we would be quite happy never to see each other again."

  "I don't think that would be wise."

  "I don't care if it's wise or not. It is what I wish to do."

  "It would earn the Prince's displeasure and your social ruin."

  "At this precise moment my social ruin is the last thing that concerns me. In fact it would be preferable to the kind of unpleasant experiences my father subjects me to in the name of his ambition."

  "You are very frank, madam. Most ladies, let me tell you, do not find my attentions an unpleasant experience."

  "I am sure of it. You have already boasted how anxious they all were to trap you into marriage. You even accused me of having designs on you."

  "Did I really say that?"

  "You know quite well that you did."