The Love Trap

by Barbara Cartland

  Now there was definitely a light in Janeta’s eyes that had not been there before.

  “I want to see both,” she said, “but, if you think that is very greedy of me, perhaps I should see the pictures first in case I am unable to enter The Castle again.”

  “I promise you will enter it many times and I have said that once I have the right chaperone for you, you can stay here.”

  He knew that she was very excited by the idea and he held out his hand as if to a small child and said,

  “Come along, we will go to the Picture Gallery first and you can tell me what you think of my collection, which I am assured by everyone is one of the finest in England.”

  “Of course it is,” Janeta replied.

  “Why, of course?”

  “Because everything about you is so perfect, so exactly as it should be, that I keep thinking that – you are not real.”

  The Duke laughed and it was a spontaneous sound.

  “That is the nicest compliment I have ever had,” he said, “and I hope, Janeta, you will continue to think the same when you know me better.”

  He took her into the Picture Gallery that ran the whole length of one wing and as he expected she was entranced by the pictures.

  What did surprise him was that she knew so much about them. In fact in some cases when they discussed the artist she knew more about his life and work than he did.

  She also had original ideas about each masterpiece, which were very different from the gushing and trite remarks of the women he had shown his collection to in the past.

  He had known then that, when they appraised a picture and spoke of it in glowing terms, they were really speaking of himself. Every word each one uttered and every look given him was a deliberate enticement for him to appreciate the woman speaking.

  As they walked the whole length of the Gallery, he was aware, and it rather amused him, that Janeta had eyes only for the pictures and for her he was just a well-informed guide who could tell her what she wished to know.

  Long before they had finished the Gallery, let alone looked at the other rooms where the Duke had also hung his pictures, luncheon was announced.

  They sat together in the large Baronial Dining Hall with its minstrel gallery at one end and at the other the huge stone medieval fireplace that had been carved for one of the earlier Earls of Chester.

  Because Janeta wanted to know the history of everything she saw, the Duke searched his memory for stories that he had heard as a boy and had half-forgotten in the passing years.

  To his surprise, the luncheon, which was quite a large one, seemed to pass far quicker than he had expected and he found that he had enjoyed having such an appreciative audience who listened attentively to everything he said.

  After luncheon he had his phaeton brought round, drawn by a pair of magnificent chestnuts that matched each other exactly and which he had bought recently at a private sale.

  He not only enjoyed driving them but Janeta’s appreciation of them. They drove through the woods and along the stream that fed the lake.

  The Duke explained the alterations and improvements he was making to the estate and found to his surprise that Janeta was genuinely interested.

  He was used to women listening to him because he was an attractive man. But he was well aware that the subjects he spoke of were immaterial so long as ultimately the conversation would go back to their feelings for him, which, of course, were expressed in just one word, which was – love.

  Now he discovered, unless she was a consummate actress, that Janeta was really eager to learn about the rotation of crops and was thrilled with the brood mares they inspected in one of the fields, several of which had their newly born foals with them.

  Only when the Duke turned his horses towards a house did he feel her body tense and knew once again that she was afraid.

  “My grandmother is over eighty years old,” he said “and most people find her rather formidable, but I want you to try not to be afraid of her but just be happy until I return from London tomorrow.”

  “You are – going to – London?” Janeta asked.

  “To see your father,” the Duke replied, “and, of course, to ask him if I may pay my addresses to you. I cannot believe he will refuse me.”

  There was a faintly sarcastic note in what he had said, because he knew only too well from what Olive had told him that Lord Brandon was not as wealthy as she could wish.

  He was, therefore, quite certain that the advantage of having an exceedingly wealthy son-in-law would not go unnoticed.

  There was a little pause after he had spoken, and then Janeta said in a very low voice,

  “Suppose Papa will not – allow us to be – engaged.”

  The way she spoke told the Duke that she was really thinking of her stepmother and he too was thinking of Olive.

  However, he was sure that his plan was the perfect answer to her intention of forcing her husband to divorce her. He would get his story in first and that would explain why he had visited the house so often.

  It would be impossible after he had declared his wish to marry Janeta for Olive to make her tale credible.

  ‘I have been clever, very clever,’ the Duke told himself and he was smiling as he drove his horses up the short drive to the Dower House.

  It was an attractive building built in the reign of Queen Anne and, as the groom ran to the horses’ heads and the Duke helped Janeta down, he knew because her fingers were cold and trembling that she was still frightened.

  An aged butler with dead white hair escorted them across the hall and into a drawing room that looked out over a Rose Garden with a sundial in the centre of it.

  Sitting in the window in the sunshine was an elderly woman who gave a little cry of delight when the Duke was announced.

  “Hugo, my dear boy,” she exclaimed. “This is a surprise and I am delighted to see you!”

  “I am glad about that, Grandmama,” the Duke said, kissing her cheek. “I have come in fact to ask your help in looking after Janeta Scott, as I have to leave for London tomorrow morning.”

  “Janeta Scott?” the Dowager Duchess queried.

  “I don’t think I have heard you speak of her before.”

  There was an enquiring look in the old lady’s eyes as she saw how young Janeta was.

  “Tell me about yourself, my dear,” she said as Janeta rose from a curtsey. “It is unusual for my grandson to have anyone so young staying with him at The Castle.”

  “I thought that might surprise you, Grandmama,” the Duke interposed, “and now I will let you into a secret. Janeta and I wish to become engaged, but first I have to approach her father, Lord Brandon, and ask his permission.”

  “Lord Brandon?” the Dowager Duchess repeated.

  There was a quizzical look in her eyes, which told the Duke without words that the name Brandon certainly meant something to her and he suspected that she had heard rumours of his affaire de coeur with Olive.

  Although she lived quietly in the country, the Dowager had innumerable friends in the Social world who kept her informed of all the latest gossip, especially when it concerned him.

  “Janeta’s real name, as I expect you know, Grandmama,” the Duke went on, “is Brand, but for reasons which I shall explain to you another time, she stayed last night at The Castle as Janeta Scott and, until I return from London tomorrow with her father’s approval, I want her to be known here in your house as Miss Scott.”

  “If there is one thing I love,” the Dowager Duchess said, “it’s a mystery, but I also prefer it to be solved for me.”

  “You will have to wait,” the Duke said. “Then Grandmama, you shall be the first to know exactly what is happening.”

  He thought as he spoke that he should have warned Janeta before they had arrived that she would have a lot of questions to answer.

  Then to make it easier for her he elaborated on what he had just said.

  “The truth is, Grandmama, that Janeta has been very unhappy
with her stepmother and so I spirited her away from London without anybody being aware of what I was doing.”

  He paused, but as the Duchess did not speak, he went on,

  “We did not have time for her to pack anything, so I have brought her to stay with you without any clothes and can only ask you to be kind enough to manage as best you can until, as I hope, I may bring several trunks back with me when I return from visiting her father.”

  “It certainly sounds the beginning of a dramatic tale,” the Dowager Duchess said, “and naturally you can trust me to keep your secret at least for the moment. Actually there is no one here at present I could talk to except your cousin Emily, who is as deaf as a post and anyway never listens to anything I say!”

  The Duke laughed. He was used to his grandmother finding fault with her relations and declaring that all of them, with the exception of himself, were exceedingly dull.

  But Janeta still looked worried.

  “I hope, ma’am,” she said in a low voice, “you will not find it a – nuisance having me to stay – unexpectedly.”

  “Of course not,” the Dowager Duchess replied. “I am delighted, dear child, not only to have you with me but to be a part of this intriguing tale.”

  Her eyes twinkled as she looked at her grandson and said,

  “You had better be careful, Hugo, or you will be taken before the Magistrates for abducting a minor!”

  “If I am,” the Duke replied lightly, “I shall look to you, Grandmama, to bail me out and save me from being imprisoned!”

  He had tea with his grandmother and Janeta, and when he rose to leave, he saw a desperate look in Janeta’s blue eyes that made him say,

  “Will you allow me, Grandmama, to have a few words in private with Janeta before I go?”

  “That is something I quite expected you to ask,” the Dowager chuckled. “Of course you want to be alone with her. Take her into the morning room. No one will disturb you there.”

  “Thank you,” the Duke said.

  He kissed his grandmother’s cheek and then with Janeta beside him crossed the hall to the morning room, which was a small attractive room looking out over another part of the garden.

  As they entered it and closed the door, Janeta said,

  “When will you be back?”

  “As soon as I possibly can,” the Duke replied. “I intend to see your father as soon as he comes downstairs for breakfast.”

  “That will be at eight-thirty,” Janeta said. “He is never late and he will be alone.”

  The Duke was already aware of that, knowing that Olive never rose before, as the servants put it, ‘the world was well-aired.’

  Aloud he replied,

  “That is what I thought. I shall be able to talk to him without any interference.”

  He saw that Janeta’s eyes were still troubled and he went on,

  “The moment your father gives his consent, I will arrange to have it put in The London Gazette and The Morning Post. Then, once we are officially engaged, nothing need disturb you and you can forget your troubles and I can forget mine.”

  He spoke lightly and he thought that Janeta would smile at him. However, she still looked troubled and after a moment he asked,

  “What is worrying you?”

  “I cannot help feeling,” Janeta said, “that it will not be as – easy as you think it – will be.”

  The Duke told himself that he was not thinking it would be easy, because he knew that Olive would not only be furiously angry but also murderously frustrated.

  But there would be nothing she could do and even if in her fury she blurted out that he and she had been lovers, he did not think for a moment that Lord Brandon would believe her nor that actually would she dare to gamble on the hope that she might convince him.

  What was more, once the engagement to Janeta was announced, whatever she said and however spiteful she might be, everyone would be certain that it was just jealousy and would not take her seriously.

  “Leave everything to me, Janeta,” he said. “All you have to do is forget how unhappy you have been and I promise the future that will be very different.”

  He thought that she was thinking about what would happen when their engagement was terminated and after a moment he said,

  “There is no hurry for us to do anything except make everyone believe that we are in love and looking forward to being married. In six months’ time, perhaps sooner if you wish, it will be easy to plan what we can say and how we can find somewhere for you to live without coming into contact with your stepmother.”

  “You are – very kind,” Janeta said in a low voice. “I know you are thinking of me – and no one since Mama died has been so – kind and considerate.”

  There were tears in her eyes as she went on,

  “I shall pray very – very hard while you are – away that I shall be able to – help you as you are helping – me.”

  “That is exactly what I want you to do,” the Duke said, “and I am sure that your prayers will be heard. Don’t worry, Janeta, everything will be all right. Now come and see me off.”

  He put out his hand to take hers as he had done before and, as she took it, Janeta raised it to her lips.

  Then, as the Duke wondered if he should kiss her in return, she wiped her eyes and said in a different voice,

  “Please, if it is possible, bring me some of my clothes back with you. I shall feel very – embarrassed borrowing – everything from your grandmother.”

  The Duke opened the door of the morning room.

  “I shall do my best,” he said, “and I shall hope to be back here tomorrow in time for luncheon or certainly for tea.”

  The servants were waiting in the hall and he walked out through the front door and climbed into his phaeton.

  As he picked up the reins, he looked back at Janeta and saw her standing a little forlornly at the top of the steps and he had the idea that there were tears once again in her eyes.

  As he drove away, she waved to him and he raised his hat, finding himself thinking that she took things far too seriously for a girl of her age.

  During their pretended engagement he would do his best to see that she had the parties and amusements to which she was entitled as a debutante, but from which Olive had lamentably decided to exclude her.

  The thought of Olive made the Duke frown and now he was thinking that, although his plans seemed foolproof, he could not believe that she would accept such a situation without trying to make trouble.

  Once again he found his anger rising inside him as he remembered the determination in her voice when she had said that she intended to marry him and described how she had thought it all out so precisely and at the same time, although he hated to admit it, cleverly.

  ‘This will teach me a lesson,’ he told himself as he drew nearer to The Castle, ‘never to trust a woman and never again to make myself vulnerable to what is sheer blackmail of the very foulest sort.’

  Back at The Castle he had dinner alone and went to bed early. He did not sleep, going over and over very carefully in his mind what he should say to Lord Brandon.

  He was called as dawn broke and by six-thirty he was already on his way to London.

  His horses covered the miles quickly and he had time to go to his own house when he arrived to wash as well as change his horses before he drove round to Brandon House in Park Lane.

  The footman who opened the door seemed surprised to see him, but he walked into the hall saying,

  “Is his Lordship in the breakfast room?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Then please announce me.”

  The footman was too flustered to do anything but what he was told and he opened the door of the breakfast room saying,

  “His Grace the Duke of Wynchester, my Lord.”

  Lord Brandon, who was sitting at the table reading The Times, looked up in surprise.

  The Duke walked forward to say,

  “Good morning, my Lord. Forgive me intr
uding on you so early, but I have driven up from the country specially to see you and I wondered if I might join you.”

  “Of course, my dear fellow,” Lord Brandon replied. “Help yourself and tell me why you have come.”

  The Duke went to the sideboard where there was a row of silver entrée dishes and, as he helped himself, a servant hastily laid a place for him at the table.

  The Duke sat down and, when a cup of coffee had been set by his side, he asked,

  “How was the fishing?”

  “Very good indeed,” Lord Brandon said with satisfaction. “We landed over forty in the fortnight, nineteen to my own rod!”

  “That was very good,” the Duke said, “and what are the shooting prospects for this year?”

  Lord Brandon went into a long exposition on the breeding of grouse, the condition of the heather and the hopes of exceptional bags in the autumn.

  By the time he had finished speaking the servants had left the room and they were alone.

  “I wonder,” the Duke said, “why you don’t have a moor of your own in the North, seeing how fond you are of shooting.”

  “It is something I would very much like,” Lord Brandon replied, “but unfortunately I cannot afford both a moor and to keep up this house in London.”

  “Well, I hope you will come and shoot with me in August,” the Duke said. “My river is not as good as the Tay, but my moors are certainly the equal if not better than Kilkenny’s.”

  “It is an invitation I am delighted to accept,” Lord Brandon smiled.

  “And I hope you will be even more pleased to do so,” the Duke said, “when I tell you the reason that I am here this morning is to ask you to give your blessing on my engagement with your daughter, Janeta.”

  For a moment Lord Brandon stared at him almost open-mouthed.

  Then he exclaimed,

  “Janeta! But I had no idea that you even knew the girl. She has only just returned from abroad, where she was at school.”

  “I have seen quite a lot of her while you have been away,” the Duke said, “and, as we find that we have many things in common and everyone tells me that it is time I settled down, I am here to ask you formally for Janeta’s hand in marriage.”

  Lord Brandon forced the astonishment from his eyes and there was a smile on his lips that seemed to illuminate his face as he said,