THE KEYS OF LOVE
BARBARA CARTLAND
www.barbaracartland.com
Copyright © 2009 by Cartland Promotions
First published on the internet in July 2009 by Barbaracartland.com
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent.
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THE KEYS OF LOVE
As soon as Romany was well out of earshot, Lady Butterclere leaned menacingly towards Henrietta.
“Now you just take heed, Miss Reed. I know your sort only too well. You intercepted that note. You aim to set your cap at the Duke and distract him from Romany.”
“I c-can assure you, such a thought was n-never on my mind.”
“Was it not?” asked Lady Butterclere sarcastically. “Then would you explain to me why you were on your way to see the Duke in that provocative condition?”
For a moment, she was horribly confused. What did Lady Butterclere mean in that provocative condition?
With dawning horror, she remembered that she had not been able to hook up her dress she had rushed out of Kitty’s room without asking for help.
Now she glanced into the mirror on the stairs and almost burst into tears at the sight that met her eyes.
Her hair had come loose and now fell over her face untidily. Her dress had slipped off, exposing an alabaster shoulder and the tip of a heaving breast.
What was more, she had forgotten to put on any stockings or shoes and was standing there in her bare feet.
“Oh. Oh. Oh,” she cried.
“I should think so too,” said Lady Butterclere with grim satisfaction. “You look like a a common harlot!”
THE BARBARA CARTLAND PINK COLLECTION
Barbara Cartland was the most prolific bestselling author in the history of the world. She was frequently in the Guinness Book of Records for writing more books in a year than any other living author. In fact her most amazing literary feat was when her publishers asked for more Barbara Cartland romances, she doubled her output from 10 books a year to over 20 books a year, when she was 77.
She went on writing continuously at this rate for 20 years and wrote her last book at the age of 97, thus completing 400 books between the ages of 77 and 97.
Her publishers finally could not keep up with this phenomenal output, so at her death she left 160 unpublished manuscripts, something again that no other author has ever achieved.
Now the exciting news is that these 160 original unpublished Barbara Cartland books are ready for publication and they will be published by Barbaracartland.com exclusively on the internet, as the web is the best possible way to reach so many Barbara Cartland readers around the world.
The 160 books will be published monthly and will be numbered in sequence.
The series is called the Pink Collection as a tribute to Barbara Cartland whose favourite colour was pink and it became very much her trademark over the years.
The Barbara Cartland Pink Collection is published only on the internet. Log on to www.barbaracartland.com to find out how you can purchase the books monthly as they are published, and take out a subscription that will ensure that all subsequent editions are delivered to you by mail order to your home.
If you do not have access to a computer you can write for information about the Pink Collection to the following address :
Barbara Cartland.com Ltd.
240 High Road,
Harrow Weald,
Harrow
HA3 7BB
United Kingdom.
Telephone & fax: +44 (0)20 8863 2520
Titles in this series
These titles are currently available for download. For more information please see the Where to buy page at the end of this book.
1. The Cross Of Love
2. Love In The Highlands
3. Love Finds The Way
4. The Castle Of Love
5. Love Is Triumphant
6. Stars In The Sky
7. The Ship Of Love
8. A Dangerous Disguise
9. Love Became Theirs
10. Love Drives In
11. Sailing To Love
12. The Star Of Love
13. Music Is The Soul Of Love
14. Love In The East
15. Theirs To Eternity
16. A Paradise On Earth
17. Love Wins In Berlin
18. In Search Of Love
19. Love Rescues Rosanna
20. A Heart In Heaven
21. The House Of Happiness
22. Royalty Defeated By Love
23. The White Witch
24. They Sought Love
25. Love Is The Reason For Living
26. They Found Their Way To Heaven
27. Learning To Love
28. Journey To Happiness
29. A Kiss In The Desert
30. The Heart Of Love
31. The Richness Of Love
32. For Ever And Ever
33. An Unexpected Love
34. Saved By An Angel
35. Touching The Stars
36. Seeking Love
37. Journey To Love
38. The Importance Of Love
39. Love By The Lake
40. A Dream Come True
41. The King Without A Heart
42. The Waters Of Love
43. Danger To The Duke
44. A Perfect Way To Heaven
45. Follow Your Heart
46. In Hiding
47. Rivals For Love
48. A Kiss From The Heart
49. Lovers In London
50. This Way To Heaven
51. A Princess Prays
52. Mine For Ever
53. The Earl’s Revenge
54. Love At The Tower
55. Ruled By Love
56. Love Came From Heaven
57. Love And Apollo
58. The Keys Of Love
THE LATE DAME BARBARA CARTLAND
Barbara Cartland, who sadly died in May 2000 at the grand age of ninety eight, remains one of the world’s most famous romantic novelists. With worldwide sales of over one billion, her outstanding 723 books have been translated into thirty six different languages, to be enjoyed by readers of romance globally.
Writing her first book ‘Jigsaw’ at the age of 21, Barbara became an immediate bestseller. Building upon this initial success, she wrote continuously throughout her life, producing bestsellers for an astonishing 76 years. In addition to Barbara Cartland’s legion of fans in the UK and across Europe, her books have always been immensely popular in the USA. In 1976 she achieved the unprecedented feat of having books at numbers 1 & 2 in the prestigious B. Dalton Bookseller bestsellers list.
Although she is often referred to as the ‘Queen of Romance’, Barbara Cartland also wrote several historical biographies, six autobiographies and numerous theatrical plays as well as books on life, love, health and cookery. Becoming one of Britain's most popular media personalities and dressed in her trademark pink, Barbara spoke on radio and television about social and political issues, as well as making many public appearances.
In 1991 she became a Dame of the Order of the British Empire for her contribution to literature and her work for humanitarian and charitable causes.
&n
bsp; Known for her glamour, style, and vitality Barbara Cartland became a legend in her own lifetime. Best remembered for her wonderful romantic novels and loved by millions of readers worldwide, her books remain treasured for their heroic heroes, plucky heroines and traditional values. But above all, it was Barbara Cartland’s overriding belief in the positive power of love to help, heal and improve the quality of life for everyone that made her truly unique.
“We all seek love, but never never try too hard to find the keys of love, because love will find you in the end and often in the most unexpected way.
Barbara Cartland
CHAPTER ONE
1890
Henrietta Radford stifled the urge to yawn.
Straight above the head of Count Majstorovic, who was kneeling passionately in front of her, she could see her reflection in the mirror across the room.
An eighteen-year old girl with long blonde tresses and sea-green eyes in a grey dress and pretty red boots.
She gave a start as the Count suddenly grasped her hand and dragged it to his fervid lips.
His minute kisses made her think of mosquito bites and she disengaged her hand with a barely disguised flinch.
The Count looked at her questioningly.
“You do not like me?”
Henrietta swallowed.
There was nothing at all particularly wrong with the Count, but there was nothing particularly right either. His jowls quivered when he became heated and his hands were large and ungainly and the colour of smoked ham.
And she did think that large sword he insisted on wearing as part of his Bulgarian Army costume was rather preposterous.
He looked so like a figure from feudal Europe when this was Boston, United States of America, 1890!
“Miss Radford, my cherub, won’t you answer me?”
Henrietta sighed.
“I’m so sorry, Count, but you see you are suitor number four this week and I get rather muddled!”
The Count bridled.
“There are others?”
“Oh, yes,” replied Henrietta mournfully. “Many.”
The Count rose majestically.
“Then I salute you and withdraw. When a young lady does not see the virtue of a Bulgarian, she is blind!”
The Count bowed, clicked his heels and was gone.
Henrietta had been living in America for two and a half years, but it was only in the last months that she had been able to purchase some superb items for her wardrobe.
She gave another sigh and leaned back in her chair.
Despite the pleasure of such luxuries as handmade boots, she had grown tired of life in Boston.
She missed England and her home there, Lushwood Manor, even though she and father had left it under very sad circumstances.
Lushwood had once been a beacon for elegance and gaiety. Many lavish balls were held there when old Lord Radford Henrietta’s grandfather was alive.
She recalled creeping out of the nursery in order to gaze down through the banisters of the great stairway at the guests arriving. Lords and Ladies, Dukes and Duchesses, Counts and Countesses.
She remembered one night in particular.
Her mother was playing French airs on the piano in the drawing room and the sound drifted into the hall where a young man had just arrived late and was in the process of removing his cape.
He was very tall with raven black hair and a strong profile. He looked every inch a Prince out of a storybook.
Catching sight of the little girl peering breathlessly down at him, the young man gave a conspiratorial wink.
“What, are you not dancing this evening?” he asked mischievously.
Henrietta shook her head.
“I am not allowed into the parlour at this hour,” she explained shyly.
The young man thought for a moment.
“But you are allowed into the hall at this hour?”
Henrietta considered gravely.
“I think so. Nobody has ever said I shouldn’t!”
The young man held out his hand.
“Then why not come down and waltz with me?”
The housemaid in the hall looked disapproving, but Henrietta did not care.
She tripped lightly down the stairs, holding up her night shift as if it was the most beautiful ball gown.
“It isn’t quite a waltz that is being played,” said the young man. “We will have to improvise!”
Henrietta did not know what the word ‘improvise’ meant, but she said nothing.
She just placed her hand in her partner’s and they were away.
The housemaid watched with pursed lips, throwing anxious glances at her, but she did not notice.
She felt like a feather, drifting here and there over the floor.
So this was what it was like to be grown-up!
When the dance finished, the young man bowed.
“Thank you, Miss Radford. I presume you are Miss Radford and not some changeling?”
Henrietta, unsure of ‘changeling’, but being certain of who she was, nodded proudly.
“And how old are you, Miss Radford?”
“Seven,” replied Henrietta gravely. “And a half.”
Her partner’s eyes twinkled.
“Well, when you are seventeen and a half, we will hopefully dance again.”
Henrietta had often thought since of the handsome young man who had danced so gracefully with her, but she never saw him again.
Perhaps it was because those days of splendour at Lushwood had ended soon after, when her grandfather died and it was discovered that he had squandered a large part of the family fortunes.
For years the new young Lord Radford and his wife struggled to maintain the house and its extensive estate.
Then Lady Radford died and Lord Radford lost all heart for the task. Day after day, Henrietta would find her father in his study, a glass of wine in his hand, as he stared disconsolately at the lovely portrait of his late wife.
Henrietta blinked away her own tears whenever she looked at the portrait.
Her mother had been regarded as something of a Saint. She had weathered the vicissitudes of her husband’s wealth with equanimity. She neither admonished him for his generosity to impoverished relations, nor pilloried him when that generosity was not returned in his hour of need.
Henrietta had always believed her mother to be the prettiest woman in the world with her thick dark hair and warm hazel eyes.
One morning, looking up at her portrait, Henrietta thought she could see something else in those eyes. There seemed to be an expression of deep concern in them as she
gazed down upon her grieving husband.
She followed her mother’s gaze to where her father slumped in his chair, his glass of wine at such an angle that it seemed it must spill on the carpet.
Gently Henrietta reached out and took the glass out of her father’s hand.
“Papa. Please don’t be so sad. Mama would not be happy to see you like this.”
Lord Radford repressed a sob as he replied,
“Ah, my dear, how can I not be sad? I have lost the dearest sweetest companion. She was always delicate, but to be stolen from me by a fever just a fever! How can I ever recover? No marriage was ever so content as mine. Now I have no one. No one!”
“You have me, Papa,” whispered Henrietta.
Lord Radford put his hand over his face in remorse.
“Child, how can I be so insensitive! Of course, I have you, but one day you will marry and leave me.”
“Everybody leaves in the end, Papa, so that there is always somebody who is left behind.”
He twisted in his chair to regard his daughter with astonishment.
“Those are sad but wise words for one so young!”
Henrietta was fifteen and a half, but, as she looked back at her father now, she felt much older.
“Papa,” she said, “let’s go out and prune the roses in Mama’s garden. They look so terribly overgrown.”
H
er father roused himself to do as she suggested, realising that he had somewhat neglected her in his allconsuming grief.
He could not lose his air of dejection, however, and Henrietta despaired as summer waned and the trees began to shed their leaves.
A long sad winter lay ahead.
*
Then one autumn morning a letter arrived bearing a very unfamiliar postmark.
“The United States of America,” Henrietta read out with surprise before handing the letter to her father.
“My goodness,” he exclaimed, “it must be from my old uncle Harold. He emigrated some thirty years ago and has not been heard of since.”
The letter was not from Uncle Harold, but from his lawyer.
Uncle Harold had died, bequeathing his nephew a large tract of land in Texas.
To Lord Radford, this seemed like a sign, a chance to leave the sadness of Lushwood behind for a while.
He decided he must travel to Texas and attempt to establish a farm there.
“Many people make fortunes in America!” he cried. “Think of how Lushwood would benefit if I was to return with loads of money!”
Henrietta begged to go with him and not to be left behind in a boarding school.
Too fond of his daughter to thwart her, he agreed.
Lushwood was closed and most of what remained of the staff, a cook and two scullery maids, were dismissed.
Henrietta’s old nanny, however, was recalled from retirement to travel to America with them.
Nanny readily assented, for she had been missing young Henrietta a great deal.
Lord Radford, Henrietta and Nanny left Lushwood on a grey autumnal morning.
Henrietta leaned out of the carriage window for a last glimpse of her beloved home, which bore a dilapidated and abandoned air.
‘We’ll be back,’ she whispered. ‘I promise we’ll be back. And then you’ll be restored to all your former glory
just as Mama would have wished!’
At first it had not seemed that her promise would ever be fulfilled.
The land in Texas turned out to be dry and thorny. All efforts to farm the land successfully had failed.
Lord Radford and the local Mexicans he employed toiled day and night, but neither crop nor cattle flourished.
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