From the corridor outside, footsteps retreated and a faint sound of laughter echoed down the corridor.
*
Next morning, Richard awoke to the smell of bacon cooking in the kitchen below, an unheard-of occurrence at Mrs. Oldroyd’s.
He groaned as he rolled over in his narrow bed.
How could he have slept?
Last night he had gone to bed in such an agony of body and soul that he was sure that he would remain wide awake until the cock in Mrs. Oldroyd’s hencoop crowed.
But exhaustion must have overcome him and now the sun was up and shining brightly.
He groaned yet again as the picture of Elissa in the arms of her dark-haired cousin swam before his eyes again.
‘I just cannot believe it, I cannot!’ he whispered to himself as he had done so many times since those terrible moments yesterday afternoon.
The smell of bacon grew stronger and reluctantly he dressed and went downstairs.
“How do laddie,” Mr. Oldroyd welcomed him from where he sat behind a large plate of bacon and eggs.
“Good morning. We do not usually see you here at breakfast, Mr. Oldroyd.”
“Ah!” he grunted. “I must drive ’is Lordship and the young lady to London today. The Missus always cooks bacon if I’m to be away.”
Mrs. Oldroyd had just put a plate of crispy rashers in front of Richard, but he could not touch them.
His whole body had turned cold with foreboding.
“Who? What young lady – ?” he stammered.
“His fiancée!”
He stared at Richard, surprised at his distress.
“Aye, laddie – they’re to be married, Lord Hartwell and that poor young cousin of ’is.”
“What do you mean?” Richard caught hold of Mr. Oldroyd’s arm. “Why do you call her ‘poor’?”
Mr. Oldroyd put down his fork and turned to face Richard.
“He’s a fine gentleman, Lord Hartwell, but ’e ’as a devilish temper if ’e don’t get ’is way.”
“But – surely she must love him if she – is to marry him – ”
Richard hated the thought so much that the words stuck in his throat.
“I would not know, sir, for such matters are not my concern. But nowt at all will come of frettin’ on an empty stomach – eat up, lad!”
“You are very kind, but I am not at all hungry,” said Richard. “Mr. Oldroyd – I must go to The Towers – ”
“Wait a little, sir, and eat your bacon, and then you can come with me in the dog cart.”
But Richard was already on his feet and heading for the door while Mrs. Oldroyd watched him with her mouth hanging open in surprise.
“Do you have a horse or a pony I might borrow? I really cannot wait!”
“Take the little brown mare, Minnie, if you must,” the coachman told him. “She’s surefooted on the ’ill and that is the quickest way since you be in such ’urry.”
Richard raced out into the bright spring morning.
He found Minnie tied up by the barn.
He leapt onto her without stopping to saddle up and headed at a gallop for the path that lead over the hill and to The Towers.
*
Richard pulled the iron doorbell expecting that they would turn him away, but as soon as he gave his name to a footman, the door opened and he was ushered inside.
“I am glad you have come,” the tall old woman said in greeting and her silvery voice rang through the hall.
She smiled graciously at Richard.
“We must talk privately – will you come with me to my parlour?”
He followed her rustling purple skirts, breathing in a sweet scent of violets and was very aware that there was mud on his boots and his clothes smelled of horse sweat.
But Lady Hartwell’s manner was exquisitely polite as she led him on into her private sanctum and ordered her maid to bring coffee.
“So, you are a friend of my granddaughter?” she began, her dark eyes fixed on his face.
“Yes – I knew her in London and I – am a friend of her family and a great admirer of her father.”
He was about to ask her if he could speak to Elissa, when the maid appeared and offered him a gold-and-white china cup filled with steaming coffee.
“Oh!” he exclaimed, as he took the first sip, as it was just as he loved it, strong and fragrant. It was the best coffee he had tasted since he had been in South America.
“Do tell me about yourself – Mr. Stanfield,” Lady Hartwell continued. “You are a painter, I believe?”
Richard explained that he was just starting out, but that he had already placed one of his works in a prestigious London gallery.
“But Lady Hartwell, I did not come to talk about myself. I – would like to see Elissa.”
“That is not possible.”
“But – ”
“My granddaughter is not at home.”
Richard felt his face grow warmer.
“I saw her here yesterday. And she cannot have left for London yet.”
Lady Hartwell frowned.
“Who told you she is going to London?”
“Why, Mr. Oldroyd – the coachman.”
“A gentleman should not listen to servants’ gossip.”
“I am sure that’s right, Lady Hartwell, but I must see Elissa, I must speak to her before she leaves.”
“She is not at home.”
“She is still here – I know she is!” Richard jumped to his feet, but Lady Hartwell remained motionless, sitting on the sofa with her hands in her lap.
“When I say that she is not at home, Mr. Stanfield, I mean that she is not at home to you.”
“But – I – ”
“Do you love my granddaughter, Mr. Stanfield?”
Richard was not expecting this.
“Yes!” he replied immediately.
“Do you care about her future, her well-being and happiness?”
Lady Hartwell’s voice was soft almost tender.
Richard sat down again.
“I do! That’s why I am here. I love her and I – ”
“You are a gentleman, Mr. Stanfield?”
“Yes!”
Richard caught sight of his boots, which had left a muddy mark on the parlour carpet.
“Well – I apologise for my appearance, but – ”
“And you have a fortune?”
Richard’s face now burnt with embarrassment.
“Not exactly – ”
Lady Hartwell shook her head.
“You do not? Now young man, listen carefully, as I am going to tell you a pertinent story. Once upon a time, a beautiful young woman fell in love with a penniless artist, a bold and handsome man just like yourself.”
Richard listened to her with growing horror as she told him how her daughter, the beautiful Helena Hartwell, had run away and how, unsuited to the harshness of life on a low income, she had sickened and died.
“And this is the life that you would ask my precious granddaughter to share with you, is it? No food, no decent place to live, no servants to wait on her?”
“But Elissa – wouldn’t mind – ” he stammered.
“And you call yourself a gentleman!” sneered Lady Hartwell.
“Do think, Mr. Stanfield! My grandson, her cousin, just adores her and will give her every luxury, everything she desires. How long do you think she would love you, when she must mop your floor and wash your dishes every day? How can you even think of asking her to live like that?”
Richard could not answer her.
He remembered Elissa in the garden yesterday, so very elegant in the fashionable grey dress, the gloves and the extravagant feathered hat.
It might be many years before he could buy her such lovely expensive luxuries, if indeed, he ever could.
But, far worse than that, what if he was unable to care for her, to keep her warm, to feed her, to give her the basic necessities of life?
The picture that Lady Hartwell had painted for him
of the death of Lady Helena had struck deep into Richard’s soul.
So, when the old woman rose gracefully from the sofa and asked if he was ready to leave, he nodded silently.
As he then set off on Minnie to ride back over the hill, he heard a crunch of hoofs and a rattle of wheels over gravel.
A closed coach, pulled by four black horses, was speeding down the drive that led away from The Towers.
‘Elissa!’ he whispered, as his heart leapt inside his chest. ‘Goodbye, my darling. Be happy!’
He could never give her a fine carriage and sturdy horses to pull it. He did not even own the rough little pony he was riding on now.
All he had in life was his art, his work and the tiny allowance that was just enough to keep him going.
But his love of art was little consolation as he rode back over the hillside and he felt deeply sad and lonely.
Even the beauty of the valley as he rode down into it on the other side of the hill could not raise his spirits.
‘I can’t stay here,’ he thought. ‘She will come back to The Towers when she is married and I could not bear to think of her so near. It’s time to move on.’
He dug his heels into Minnie’s sides and urged her forward, so that he could return to the cottage and pack his bags as soon as possible.
*
Mercedes de Rosario stepped out of the lift and into the lobby of the smart hotel in Mayfair, her red silk skirts sweeping over the marble floor.
The lobby was now thronged with fashionable and elegant people, but Mercedes ignored them, looking only for the handsome young man who had been following her around over the last few days and who seemed to turn up everywhere she went.
He was not there this morning and although there were several other gentlemen who looked as if they would like to talk to her, she could not help feeling disappointed as she sat down on one of the hotel’s striped sofas.
“You look so sad, what’s wrong?”
With a flounce of yellow skirts, Mercedes’ younger sister, Dolores, came to join her.
“My boy is not here, you know him, the one who follows me everywhere,” Mercedes pouted.
Dolores was as pretty as Mercedes with huge eyes and shining black hair.
Since they had arrived from Buenos Aires several weeks ago, the two Argentinean girls had attracted a great deal of attention.
“Oh, he is nobody, Mercedes!” Dolores rolled her eyes impatiently. “Just remember you are here to marry a Lord or maybe even a Duke.”
She nudged Mercedes as an elderly gentleman with white hair and an eagle’s beak approached the sofa.
“The Duke of Welminster!” Dolores hissed in her sister’s ear. “His wife died last year.”
The Duke bowed over Mercedes’ hand and asked her if she would care to accompany him to the opera that evening.
But Mercedes was staring over his shoulder at the entrance to the lobby.
Her handsome young follower had just come in and was making his way to the bar.
“Please excuse me,” she said to the Duke. “I have an appointment. Perhaps my sister would go with you?”
She rose rapidly from the sofa, leaving the Duke with Dolores and made her way to the bar.
“Who are you?” she asked, gazing into the young man’s brown eyes.
“My name’s Milward,” he answered and, taking her hand, gave a little bow. “Montgomery Milward, everyone calls me ‘Monty!’”
As she felt his hand touching hers, Mercedes’ heart gave a little flutter. Now that at last she was standing close to him, he was even better looking than she had thought.
“I am Señorita Mercedes de Rosario,” she told him.
“Yes, I know,” he replied with a little smile.
CHAPTER TEN
The clamour of voices hushed to a low murmur as Elissa entered the ballroom at the Piccadilly Hotel where Lord Hartwell was hosting a party to celebrate his return to London and his engagement to her.
She could hear the whispers of the people standing close by,
“Why, it’s her! His new fiancée! They say she has won him a fortune at the races!”
Elissa’s heart shrank with misery.
She knew that she had never looked as impressive as she did tonight, her ice blue gown was sparkling with diamonds and her golden hair was dressed in a magnificent cascade of curls.
But there was no kindness in Lord Hartwell’s eyes as he approached and took her hand in a cruelly tight clasp.
She remembered how all afternoon he had paced up and down in the elegant suite of rooms he had rented for her overlooking the busy thoroughfare of Piccadilly.
“Why will you not do it?” he had hissed, thrusting a crumpled copy of The Racing Times into her hand. “What more do you want from me? I have given you everything – including myself! Just pick me another winner!”
Cold chills had run all through Elissa’s body as she tried to explain that she had no control over her ability to predict events. It was just something that would come to her when she was least expecting it.
“You are lying!” he exclaimed. “I have spoken to Grandmama – she tells me you have the power to foretell the future. It’s a gift that runs in our family. God knows, I wish I had inherited it myself.”
His face was dark red with rage as he gripped the arm of the sofa where she sat.
“Please, do not ask me to choose another horse for you,” Elissa begged him, fighting to keep her voice from shaking. “You will lose the wager.”
Lord Hartwell muttered a curse and struck the arm of the sofa with his fist.
Elissa shrank back from him, fearing that he might hit her, but he took a deep breath and swallowed his anger.
“My angel,” he coaxed, “I know what it is. You are afraid that if we have another great success at the races, I will take the money and then not marry you after all.”
“No – ” Elissa tried to say, but her voice completely deserted her.
Lord Hartwell knelt in front of her, his fierce black eyes fixed on her face.
“You must not be afraid, sweet one. Tonight all of Society will be at the party I am giving for you. In front of all of them I shall renew my promise to make you my wife. Your reputation is totally spotless and your brilliant future is guaranteed.”
And now the party was in full swing as she paraded in front of the assembled Society guests, her hand on Lord Hartwell’s arm.
“Let them see you smile, cousin,” he urged. “That is what they will expect, for they know you are wearing the most expensive gown in London.”
Elissa forced her trembling lips to comply with his request as she walked beside him, seeing little of the eager faces that loomed up to congratulate her.
Even the two young women, as vivid and gorgeous as tropical flowers in their bright silks, who duly curtseyed before her, lisping out their good wishes with a charming Spanish accent, escaped her notice.
“Now that is what I call a man!” Dolores confided in her sister, as Lord Hartwell moved away, continuing his circuit of the ballroom. “So very handsome. And – he is a Lord!”
“He is already spoken for, the girl on his arm is his fiancée,” Mercedes told her and she turned away to search in the crowd for Monty, who had promised her he would be at this party tonight.
“Hmm.” Dolores bit her full lower lip. “That cold little ice maiden will not be able to keep him for long!”
Her eyes flashed with excitement at the challenge she saw ahead of her.
Mercedes did not hear her, as Monty had just come in, handsome and dapper in his white tie and tails.
She hurried to him, dodging between the Lords and Ladies who blocked her way.
“Oh, Monty!” she sighed, as he raised her hand to his lips.
He was perfectly English, so cool, formal and polite and yet his brown eyes gazed at her in such a delicious way and the thrill that she felt as he kissed her gloved fingers glowed through her whole body.
“Señorita!” he breathed
.
He turned away from her to introduce a young man who was standing behind him.
“I would like you to meet a good friend of mine. Richard Stanfield. I believe that you may have made his acquaintance already.”
*
The bodice of her gown felt tight around Elissa’s chest and her embroidered skirts dragged heavily as she followed Lord Hartwell around the ballroom.
‘I cannot breathe and I shall suffocate if I do not get away,’ she fumed.
Surely she must have nodded and smiled graciously to everyone at the party by now.
“I feel unwell – ” she whispered to her cousin. “I should like some air – ”
He shrugged.
“Go and stand by the door then and make sure you are nice to anyone arriving. They will not be impressed to see you looking miserable.”
And he brushed her hand away from his arm.
As Elissa moved away from him, a girl in a bright magenta gown approached Lord Hartwell, her head on one side as her shining black curls hung enticingly across her bare shoulder.
‘Maybe he will leave me alone for a few moments,’ Elissa mused, relieved that someone else had attracted his attention.
In the very next instant the crowded throng of faces vanished and Elissa totally forgot the tightness of her dress.
For standing by the entrance to the ballroom was an elegant young gentleman in formal clothes, his blue eyes wide as he gazed at her in astonishment.
“Richard!” cried Elissa and gathered up her skirts to run to him.
But someone else was already distracting Richard’s attention
It was a tall woman in a bright red dress that echoed the highlights in her glowing russet hair.
And now, to Elissa’s horror, Richard was no longer looking at her, but was speaking urgently and passionately to this red-haired woman.
“I thought I would never see you again,” she heard him say.
And the red-haired woman threw her arms around his neck and was weeping on his shoulder.
Elissa gave a little cry of pain.
It was as if her heart had broken apart inside her.
She did not linger to hear more, but ran from the ballroom, through the crowded lobby of the hotel, and out onto Piccadilly, where a soft spring rain was falling on the gleaming pavements.
The Trail to Love Page 12
