“Just a moment.”
Skilfully evading her arms, he rose from the bed, pulled on a rich brocade dressing gown and walked to the door.
“Don’t go,” Colette pleaded huskily. “Stay with me.”
To underline her point she stretched out on the bed, contriving to reveal even more of herself.
“You look glorious,” Robin said appreciatively.
“Then come here to me!”
“I will only be a moment. Stay just like that.”
Then he was gone, leaving Colette wanting to scream and throw something at the closed door.
From below Robin could hear the sound of increasing commotion. A woman was shrieking,
“I will not allow you put me off! I demand to see him. Let me pass.”
He grinned. Trust Monique to make her presence felt.
Hurriedly he descended the stairs, calling to his harassed footman,
“It’s all right, Francois, this is a friend of mine.”
Francois cast him a look of reproach, for it was well known that no lady was allowed to intrude on his Lordship whilst he entertaining another female. But Robin merely signalled for the footman to move aside, then advanced, open-armed, on Monique.
From her dress and jewellery she was clearly a highborn lady. From her wedding ring, she was married. And from her flashing eyes she was in a temper.
She turned on him like a whirlwind, with a torrent of jealous reproaches.
“She is here isn’t she? I know she is. Faithless one! How could you so deceive – ?”
The words were cut off by his mouth, pressed crushingly on hers. His arms wound around her tightly, leaving her with just enough breath to kiss him back.
When she had almost fainted in his arms, he loosened his grip slightly.
“Now, be good,” he commanded. “Not another word.”
For a moment she was incapable of anything except a long, blissful sigh. But then her head stopped spinning long enough for her to cry –
“Deceiver!”
His response was to kiss her again. For a few moments she fought him, but again her arms fell slack.
“That’s better,” he said approvingly. “There is nothing to make a fuss about, Monique.”
“You have another woman.”
“I have a dozen.”
“You are unfaithful to me.”
“No, I am always faithful – when I am with you.”
“But when you are not with me – ”
“Then I am being faithful to someone else. Why worry about it.”
“You think every woman in Paris is part of your harem!”
“Monique, you are entrancing.”
“So are you. Let’s go upstairs.”
“I don’t think that is a very good – ”
His words were cut off by a shriek from Monique, who was staring and pointing over his shoulder. Following her gaze, he saw Colette descending like an avenging fury.
“Oh, no,” he groaned. “Ah, well, there’s only one thing for it.
“Ladies, ladies,” he cried, just managing to hold them apart, “there is no need for this. Come now, let us all be friends. There is love to spare for everyone.”
Still holding them, he turned and began to climb the stairs. They went with him, reluctantly at first, then with resignation and then with growing excitement.
As he vanished into his bedroom and closed the door, they were all over him.
In the hall below Francois regarded this retreat with awe. To think people said the English were cold!
*
It took a few days for Celina to settle into her home again. Uncle James was pleased to see her and did not seem too distressed that she had not secured a husband. She guessed that he secretly did not want her to leave.
Some of her neighbours came calling, to welcome her home and ask curious questions about London. And from the Dowager Lady Torrington came a note,
‘My dear Celina,
How nice to have you home. I would have called on you before, but I am feeling a little unwell. Do come to see me and tell me all your news.
Letitia Torrington’
Celina journeyed straight to Torrington Castle, driving the pony and trap herself.
The Dowager received her lying down on the sofa.
“I am so sorry you are not well, ma’am,” Celina said, receiving the older woman’s embrace and hugging her back.
“All the better for seeing you, my dear. How lovely to have you home again.”
“I want to hear all your news,” Celina asked, trying to sound casual. “Do you hear anything from Paris?”
“You mean from that infuriating son of mine? Well, I hope we may see him here fairly soon?”
“Really? Does Paris begin to bore him?”
“I think he is beginning to understand that rank brings its obligations,” said the Dowager, choosing her words carefully. “He is now thirty and it is time he did his duty.”
“But people have been saying that ever since he inherited the title,” Celina remarked, laughing. “He has never yet taken any notice.”
“Well, things may be changing,” the Dowager replied vaguely. “But now, let’s talk about you. I expected to see you flaunting a huge diamond ring after your Season in London.”
“Why, whatever can you mean, ma’am?” Celina enquired with mischievous innocence.
“We hear rumours, even here. I gather you took the social world by storm and received any number of proposals.”
“But did you hear of my accepting any of them, ma’am?”
“I heard of several that you would have been wise to accept.”
“All at once? Would that not cause a good deal of talk?”
The Dowager laughed heartily. “Wicked girl,” she chided. “Now, seriously, tell me if you have given any of these gentlemen reason to hope.”
“None of them, ma’am.”
“Not even the Marquis?”
“I am not ambitious for a title.”
“And yet, my dear, if ever a woman was born to be a wife, I believe it to be you. You have a warm heart and you know how to create a home. I have watched how you have transformed your uncle, who can be such a curmudgeon, but he has flowered under your care.”
“Well, I am very fond of him.”
“Heaven knows how you can be,” commented the Dowager caustically, “even though he is my oldest friend. You deserve something better than your present life.”
“But I am perfectly happy as I am,” Celina protested, trying to sound convincing. “Clearly I am destined to be an old maid.”
“Stuff and nonsense! I have other plans for you.”
“You have – ? No, please, Lady Torrington, I don’t want you to try to find me a husband.”
“Of course not. You have shown that you can do that for yourself. But finding the right husband is another matter. My dear, you have always been like a daughter to me.”
“And you have been a second mother to me,” Celina admitted warmly.
“I have tried to be. But now, I want to ask you to do something for me. It is something very dear to my heart.”
“Then I will do it, ma’am. You know I am glad to do anything for you that I can. What is this favour?”
“Simply this. I want you to marry my son.”
*
It was Robin’s habit to rise early and take his breakfast alone, even if he had entertained company the night before. In his opinion, few women looked good in the harsh glare of early daylight.
He had experienced some difficulty evading Monique and Colette the next morning and it had wearied him of females for some days.
While he drank his coffee his mail was brought to him. One letter, he noticed, came from England and he opened it first.
It was from his mother’s sister, Clarice, a lady of whom he was very fond, although he saw very little of her.
She wrote,
‘Your dear Mama is the last person to complain, but the fact is that she
is very weak and growing weaker with every day that passes. Her heart has never been strong and it would not surprise me to find that she does not have long to live.
There is just one favour she desires, Robin dear, and that is to see you.
She loves you very much and it has made her very sad that she has not seen you for several months.’
Robin rose sharply to his feet, his face clouded by concern. Despite his self-indulgent life he adored his mother and knew that, however much he was enjoying himself in Paris, he must return immediately to England.
He could have no peace of mind until he had seen her.
“Call my valet,” he ordered the hovering footman. “Tell him to prepare for a speedy departure.”
He dressed hurriedly and as he did so he gave a stream of instructions to his secretary.
“You will need to cancel all my social engagements,” he said. “I am afraid there may be quite a number of them.”
“Yes, my Lord,” the secretary replied woodenly. “May I ask if there are any ‘social engagements’ lingering in the house at the moment?”
“No, damn your impudence! But you will need to write a lot of letters refusing invitations, making my apologies and such like, as I am called home to England by my mother’s illness.”
“Can I say when your Lordship intends to return to Paris?”
“I have no idea, but I will not stay away longer than necessary.”
He recalled that his mother had always been delicate, but a new diet and the right medicine could strengthen her. He had no doubt that it would be the same this time.
He decided, therefore, to take only the bare minimum of luggage which meant five heavy cases.
At last the carriage arrived at his door and he climbed into it with Stigwood, his valet. A short ride took them to the railway station and from there it was a three-hour journey to Calais.
Here they were forced to stay the night, as a storm had blown up that kept the boats in port.
Having eaten a good dinner, drunk the excellent wine and flirted with the landlord’s pretty daughter, Robin wandered out onto the seafront where the wind was blowing gustily.
The brilliant moon cast a silver glow on the turbulent waters beneath, giving the earth and sky a look of ghostly terror.
He stood there watching while the wind whipped his cloak about him and he found a kind of pleasure in the violence of the scene.
Looking at the wild night he found that his self indulgent life seemed tame by contrast. The pleasures that came so easily because he always possessed the wherewithal to pay, the procession of willing women, the instant gratification of every whim – reluctant as he was to admit it, these were actually beginning to cloy.
Where were the mountains to climb? Where was the excitement that gave savour to life? Where was the challenge that could make his heart beat faster with the determination to overcome all obstacles in its pursuit?
He had everything a man could want – except something to long for.
He turned to make his way back to the hotel. Then he stopped in his tracks, alerted by something he had seen.
At least, he thought he had seen it.
He looked around him. He was alone.
For a moment he could have sworn there was another presence there, a face that he recognised, that he had last seen filled with hate.
Giving himself a little shake he returned to the hotel and ordered brandy to be served in his room.
“The storm’s quietening a bit,” Stigwood observed, folding clothes away and glancing out of the window. “We should be off tomorrow.”
“Good. I am beginning to see ghosts in this place.”
“What kind of ghosts, my Lord?”
“Things that cannot be there, like Pierre Vallon.”
“The thief you put away two years ago?”
“That’s right.”
“I remember him cursing and swearing revenge,”
Stigwood said with relish. “Ah, but that was a splendid scene. Ten years he got, didn’t he?”
“Yes. So he must still be behind bars and I cannot have seen him. Besides, if he had been there I am sure he would have tried to kill me.”
“Oh, no, my Lord, he was planning something worse. Do you not remember that he said he’d do something that would break your heart? And one of them fine ladies said you had no heart.”
“That’s right,” Robin remembered with relish. “I took her to bed that very night, as a token of my appreciation.”
Stigwood grinned.
“With most gentlemen it’s the other way round,” he commented. “They want the women to think they do have a heart.”
“More fool them! A wise man lays out his stall honestly so that they cannot complain. Goodnight Stigwood.”
To his relief the storm had abated by next day and they were able to board ship. As it pulled away from the quay he looked back at the coast of France, wondering when he would see it again, hoping that it would not be too long.
But he knew that however great a pull Paris exerted on him, he must see first to his mother’s welfare. Apart from his affection for her, he was truly grateful for the way she had run the Torrington estate so well, enabling him to spend so much of his life abroad.
Suddenly he grew very still, watching one particular face. A man stood on the quay, staring as the boat pulled away. There was a terrible stillness about him, and it seemed to Robin that, just as his own eyes were fixed on the man, so the man’s eyes were trained on him.
And those eyes were full of terrible meaning.
“Look there,” he called to Stigwood. “Do you see Pierre Vallon?”
“No,” Stigwood replied, scanning the quay. “How could it be him when he’s still in prison?”
“True,” Robin agreed with a shrug. When he looked again there was no sign of Vallon.
*
Robin reached Torrington Castle in the late afternoon and the first person he saw was the doctor coming downstairs.
“How is she?” he asked at once.
Dr. Thorell hesitated before saying cautiously,
“Let us just say that I am glad you are now here. Your mother is very weak –
“But she will recover,” he continued tensely. “She’s had bad turns before, but they pass. She is not a young woman and the present situation cannot last forever. I know there are things she wants to say to you while there is still time.”
“Still time?” Robin echoed, aghast. “What the devil do you mean by that?”
The doctor’s only answer was a look. It was enough to send him flying up the stairs and along the corridor to his mother’s room.
“Mama!” he cried, bursting in, running to the bed and clasping his mother in his arms.
From her pillow she looked up at him mistily, eyes glowing with joy at seeing her son again.
“It’s been so long,” she murmured. “I was not expecting you.”
“Aunt Clarice wrote to me that you were ill, so of course I came at once. You should have told me.”
“My dear boy, I don’t want to alarm you for every little thing. I have my funny turns, as you know.”
“But you always recover quickly,” he said. “This will be the same.”
“I am not sure that it will. Something tells me that my illness is more serious this time. If you had not returned now, I was planning to send for you. I must speak to you seriously before I – ”
She was stopped by her son’s fingers laid quickly over her lips.
“Don’t talk now,” he urged. “We will have plenty of time later.”
“I fear not. My dearest Robin, my time is running out. I cannot last much longer. Let me go to my grave knowing that all is well with you.”
“But if you are not here, all cannot be well with me,” he said fervently.
His mother smiled.
“I know, my darling,” she answered. “But no one lives for ever and when I finally go to Heaven, I want to know that what I leave behind me is as
safe and perfect in your hands as it has been in your father’s.
“And that means that you must now do your duty, not only in looking after your great inheritance, but in founding a family to carry on into the next generation, and the next.”
“Mama – ”
“Yes, I know. I have often begged you to marry, have I not? And you have always asked me to be patient. But I can be patient no longer. Allow me the happiness of seeing you married before I die.”
“But Mama, I have never found anyone that I wanted to make my wife.”
“Of course not, because you are not looking in the right places. Now listen to me, darling.”
Robin took her hand and kissed it.
“I am listening, Mama,” he said.
“People of our rank cannot always hope to marry for love and I think you will certainly never do so. You need a bride who is suitable and I have found her for you.”
“Mama!”
“She is young and well-born, although not so wellborn that she could ever outrank you. She has lived in this part of the country for several years and knows what will be required of her when she is Countess of Torrington.”
“She lives here? Have I met her?”
“Of course. She is Celina Storton, whom I know you like.”
“Celina?” he repeated stupidly.
“Celina. The best possible choice in the world. She already knows the worst of you, so you will not come as too much of an unpleasant surprise!”
“Unpleasant?”
“Well, my dear boy, your reputation is hardly of the best, but she knows you well enough to make allowances.”
“Very kind of her.”
“Yes, and you should be grateful, for you need a woman who will be kind to you and not mind too much if you try her patience.”
“Mama, what an extraordinary idea!”
“It is an excellent idea and you will come to believe so too.”
He was silent for a moment and then he burst out laughing.
“Celina?” he echoed. “Me, marry Celina? No really, that is too much!”
He carried himself off into another burst of hilarity. His mother watched, exasperated, waiting for him to stop.
But he did not stop. Instead he laughed and laughed and laughed.
CHAPTER THREE
They Sought love Page 3
