The Keys of Love

by Barbara Cartland

  The dress will certainly suit me now, she thought.

  She had no doubt that the Duke of Merebury would enjoy pointing her garishly garbed figure out to the Prince of Wales!

  The musicians had supper in the servants hall.

  Then they hurried to the ballroom where they were in place and striking up as the doors were thrown open for the Prince of Wales and his retinue.

  The Royal stare swept appreciatively all round the room and over the orchestra.

  Eddie gave a cheeky deep bow which the Prince of Wales graciously acknowledged.

  The other guests surged in behind the Prince.

  Henrietta tried not to look but her eyes, lashes laden with mascara, continually flicked at the those milling about on the floor.

  She could see Mrs. Poody beaming on the arm of an elderly Admiral and could not but smile to herself.

  Then she caught sight of the Duke.

  The dishevelled tousled Joe had disappeared. In his place was a tall commanding figure in black evening dress and white gloves.

  His hair was all smoothed back, revealing a dark, brooding brow and hooded eyes. He was by far the most handsome man in the room.

  Henrietta tore her gaze away from him to examine his companions, Romany and Lady Butterclere.

  Romany was in a most unbecoming pink. Her hair, piled unsteadily high, threatened to topple at each nod of her head. Her hand lay like a claw on the Duke’s forearm.

  Lady Butterclere was in an innocuous blue muslin, the mild colour belying the baleful glare of her eye.

  Henrietta stole another glance at the Duke.

  To her horror she saw he was now looking directly her way, his forehead furrowing as he took in her outfit.

  She looked quickly down at the keyboard, a blush suffusing her face, surging up her cheeks beneath the rouge and making it seem even more vivid.

  For the rest of the evening she never once looked up from the piano.

  She relinquished herself up to the music, accepting with gratitude its power to soothe.

  At last she began to forget her surroundings, forget the Duke, Romany and Lady Butterclere. Eyes closed, her body swaying, she seemed increasingly consumed by some deep and secret passion and her playing became inspired.

  The interval came and Henrietta’s hands dropped to her lap, but it was a moment or two before she was fully aware of the tumultuous applause.

  “Bravo! Bravo!” cried the Prince of Wales.

  The orchestra was clearly a huge success.

  Champagne was brought to the dais for the players.

  Still in a daze, Henrietta accepted a glass. She took a sip and almost sneezed as the bubbles danced in her nose.

  “Harrie?” Eddie was hovering by her with a smile. “The Prince of Wales would like to be introduced to you.”

  “T-to me?” echoed Henrietta fearfully.

  “Yes,” nodded Eddie. “He wants to meet us all, but he particularly asked for you.”

  “Eddie, I c-can’t.”

  All confidence in her disguise had gone. Surely the Prince would recognise her under all the powder and paint?

  Eddie held out his hand.

  “I don’t know much about your English customs, but even I understand that no one refuses a Prince.”

  Henrietta blinked unhappily and then rose, taking Eddie’s arm and allowing herself to be led from the dais.

  “Quite a performer!” came a hearty voice.

  Henrietta glanced up at the Prince of Wales’s genial features and gave a small curtsy.

  “Your Royal Highness,” was all she could reply, her gaze roving to where the Duke was standing.

  The Prince was surveying her with interest, but not recognition.

  “The effect upon the eye of your costume is so very American,” he commented.

  “Our exact intention, Your Royal Highness!” Eddie offered quickly.

  Henrietta curtsied again, aware now that the Duke kept turning to throw a still puzzled glance her way.

  “You must be delighted to have discovered such a unique talent, Mr. Bragg,” the Prince was musing.

  “I am,” said Eddie, before adding with a theatrical sigh, “I fear, however, that I may lose her before long ”

  “Not, I hope, before you agree to come and play for me?” demanded the Prince.

  Eddie hesitated, throwing at Henrietta a meaningful look, which she studiously avoided.

  She was not going to commit herself to playing for the Prince of Wales just to accommodate his ambitions!

  Eddie understood her silence.

  “I may not be able to persuade her to stay ”

  “Pity, pity,” muttered the Prince. “Well, we’ll see, we’ll see.”

  He turned to his aide-de-camp and instructed him to take Eddie’s card.

  Henrietta imagined that she was now free to return to what she considered was the safety of the dais.

  She was uncomfortable at being on the floor, where anyone present might scrutinise her at close quarters.

  As she gathered up her skirts and turned, however, she was arrested by the voice of the Duke.

  “Do you need your pianist for the next number?” she heard him ask Eddie.

  She could see Eddie give a nonchalant shrug.

  “I reckon I can do without Miss Reed for a melody or two,” he responded with a knowing smile.

  The Duke turned to Henrietta.

  “Then, madam, I trust that you will agree to offer me the next dance?”

  Henrietta was confused beyond measure.

  What sort of game was the Duke playing now?

  It was one thing for the Prince to address himself to the members of the orchestra. Surely it was quite another for the host to lead the piano player particularly one who resembled nothing so much as a tawdry showgirl out on to the floor?

  She cast frantic glances about her. For once she hoped for the intervention of Lady Butterclere, who would surely not countenance the Duke in this request. But she and Romany Foss were trailing in the wake of the Prince’s retinue, eager for the least crumb of Royal attention.

  Eddie leaped back onto the dais and lifted his baton as Henrietta gazed ruefully after him.

  “Madam?”

  The Duke stepped forward and held out his hand to her. Hesitatingly, she turned and head low placed her hand in his.

  It was just as if a jolt of electricity passed between them. She almost gasped out aloud at the sensation that thrilled through her limbs.

  At the very same time he gave a barely perceptible shudder, closing his fingers over hers so tightly that her hand was caught as in a vice.

  She gave a low soft moan and the Duke, checking himself, loosened his grip.

  “Do I still hurt you, madam?” he asked in a low voice.

  “N-not now, Your Grace.”

  He was then silent for so long that at last she raised her eyes to his. His black pupils were dilated, shining with almost unbearable intensity as he feasted on her features.

  “God, madam, but even under that ridiculous paint, you draw the eye,” he muttered.

  Henrietta began to tremble and her skin seemed to burn under his gaze, a gaze that now lingered on her lips.

  If he did not look away soon, she would certainly faint. Faint with the longing to raise herself on tiptoe and meet his mouth with hers

  She was unutterably relieved as the orchestra struck up and the Duke drew her in one swift move to his breast.

  There she could at least hide her scalded face for a moment and recover her disturbed senses.

  She might not have moved at all, but the Duke’s arms, strong and insistent, urged her into a slow waltz.

  Raising her head as she circled round the floor, she glimpsed Mrs. Poody’s startled stare.

  Then Lady Butterclere’s mouth open in outrage and astonishment. Next, Romany, her hairdo bobbing on her head with indignation.

  This was very cruel of the Duke, thought Henrietta, cruel! Yet the beat of his heart so close to hers d
id not feel cruel. His breath, stirring the curls on her forehead, did not feel cruel. His fingers entwining hers did not feel cruel.

  ‘What is happening to me?’ she cried to herself in alarm.

  She tried to twist away from the Duke’s breast, but his arm around her waist tightened and he bent his head to her ear.

  “What, do you still harbour such distaste for the company of the Duke of Merebury?” he murmured.

  Henrietta flushed.

  “The last time I was asked a question like that,” she replied stiffly, “it was posed by a certain Joe the g-groom.”

  “The last time I heard an answer to a question like that,” replied the Duke gravely, “it was given by a certain Miss Harrietta Reed not by Sadie the saloon girl.”

  Henrietta flushed an even deeper red.

  “M-meaning?”

  The Duke raised his eyebrow.

  “Meaning we both seem to have a certain talent for disguise!”

  Henrietta was flustered.

  What on earth would he say if he knew that she was actually in disguise twice over, that the person he knew as Miss Reed was as unauthentic as Sadie the saloon girl?

  “I ask again,” he persisted. “Do you still harbour a distaste for my company?”

  Henrietta closed her eyes. Oh, how she wished she could confess that her heart was now opening like a flower beneath his blazing scrutiny, her flesh melting like snow at his urgent touch.

  Yet she dared not could not!

  He was destined for another and she had become known to him in such a way that all future contact between them was impossible.

  She must remain Harrietta Reed to him or forfeit forever any shred of respect he might have for her.

  “I h-have no feelings regarding your presence one way or the other,” she ventured lamely. “It’s just that I-I do not feel I should be dancing with you like this since I am nothing but a a mere piano player.”

  “Never ‘mere’,” added the Duke softly. “You are exceptional. I could not take my eyes from you when you were playing. You seemed to deliver yourself up, to burn with devotion and I could not help but wonder what other cause might elicit such devouring passion ”

  His words trailed away.

  When she looked up, his jaw had tightened as if he was forcing himself to say no more.

  She cast about for some innocuous response to his words, but could find none.

  The two whirled on in silence, his brow indicating a struggle within himself that she, lost in new sensations, did not notice.

  The ardour in his voice stirred her and rendered her helpless in his arms.

  She felt herself lost as never before to the moment.

  ‘Everything would be just perfection,’ she sighed to herself, ‘if only I was here as Miss Radford and not Miss Reed and if only Romany Foss did not exist!’

  The Duke’s voice now intruded on what she guiltily knew to be an uncharitable thought.

  “So, Miss Reed, what other unlikely talents do you possess? Apart from playing the piano?”

  The unexpected levity of his tone confused her.

  “Oh, I can hunt racoon and shoot rapids and play poker as well as any man!” she responded airily.

  The Duke threw back his head with a laugh.

  “Touché, Miss Reed,” he murmured.

  The music ended with a flourish.

  Henrietta imagined the Duke would release her and she began to withdraw her hand from his. To her surprise, however, his grip tightened yet again.

  “I am not yet ready to let you go, madam,” he said.

  Exclaiming, she found herself swiftly manoeuvred through the open French doors and out onto the terrace.

  She was glad of the fresh breeze on her hot cheeks.

  They stood, she panting, he taking deep controlling breaths, his eyes fixed on her face.

  “So what is this all about?” he demanded.

  “W-what do you mean?”

  “This! The dress the make-up the wig?”

  She wondered at his concern. What did it matter to him how she chose to appear at a performance?

  “It it’s how Eddie wants me to l-look.”

  The Duke’s eyes narrowed.

  “Or how you wish to look?”

  Stung at his derision, she drew herself up.

  “I have answered your question, Your Grace, which is more than I am required to do, I am not your s-servant.”

  She did not read his expression as he stared at her. His eyes were dark, the lids lowered over inky depths.

  “Indeed you are not,” he answered at last. “Forgive me. I accept your rebuke.”

  Yet he did not tear his gaze away from her face for a second it travelled down her face, from her hair to her large liquid eyes to her red bow-shaped lips.

  He lingered at length on her lips, his head inclining as if wishing to meet them with his own

  Beyond him, in the shadows, Henrietta espied the tiny red glow of a cigar.

  “There is s-somebody here,” she muttered.

  The Duke straightened and slowly turned. Too late! The red glow was extinguished.

  “There was somebody there, I am sure just by that open window,” Henrietta insisted.

  The Duke said nothing.

  “I-I should g-go, Your Grace,” mumbled Henrietta uneasily. “Eddie will be wanting me to resume playing.”

  “You are not dismissed!” he retorted.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Henrietta was shocked.

  “I have said before, I am not your s-servant. You have no right to give me such orders.”

  The Duke turned on her savagely.

  “Damn you, but I do have a right! Tonight, at least, I have the right, for tonight I am paying your wages! And I wish you to remain here until I understand what it is about you that so disturbs and incites a man! Quite against his better instincts!”

  His better instincts!

  Henrietta’s lips trembled.

  The Duke was reminding her that Miss Reed and by default Sadie the saloon girl were not the kind of women who would normally come within his sphere of interest.

  The chasm between their world and his was clearly insurmountable.

  Yet it was unfair of him to address her in this way.

  “T-then will you p-please now employ your better instincts and l-let me go indoors,” she asked haltingly.

  For an answer, he then took Henrietta’s chin in his hand and held her face up to his. Tugging a handkerchief from his pocket, he roughly applied it to her lips.

  Though she twisted her head back and forth, it was only a moment before all traces of her scarlet lipstick were removed.

  “Now, madam,” he breathed softly, “there are your own ruby lips exposed. And no instinct exists within me beyond the desire to claim your pretty mouth for mine ”

  A sudden and unwelcome voice arrested him.

  “Your Grace? Your Grace? Are you out there?”

  A curse escaped his lips. He relinquished his hold on Henrietta and moved from her side as Lady Butterclere and Romany careered through the French windows.

  “I have been looking for you all over,” complained Lady Butterclere, as she caught sight of Henrietta and gave a furious snort. “What! You are out here too?”

  Henrietta still trembling from the Duke’s words and touch, now dropped her gaze.

  “They were dancing,” piped up Romany, gnawing viciously at one of her fingernails.

  “Yes most inappropriate,” sniffed Lady Butterclere. “Romany, dear, take your fingers out of your mouth. And you, Miss Reed desist.”

  “I-I’m sorry?” Henrietta looked up, bewildered.

  “Desist, I say. You are a common conniver and my stepbrother should beware. Your conduct could very soon be the talk of ”

  The Duke raised a warning hand.

  “Madam, you forget where you are,” he said icily.

  “I certainly do not forget where I am or who I am,” responded Lady Butterclere heatedly. “I
am the stepsister of the Duke of Merebury and it is my duty to protect his good name and standing wherever I see it threatened. Miss Reed here has already compromised her reputation.”

  As the Duke drew in his breath, Henrietta rounded on Lady Butterclere in outraged disbelief.

  “What on earth do you mean?” she demanded.

  “On The Boston Queen,” replied Lady Butterclere grandly, “did you or did you not enter the Second Class section of the ship on more than one occasion?”

  “Yes, I did, but ”

  “And was that not for the sole purpose of meeting Mr. Eddie Bragg?”

  “I met him there, yes, but that was not the sole ” Lady Butterclere turned in triumph to the Duke.

  “There you are stepbrother. She is Eddie Bragg’s creature. Her attire tonight tells you everything. Need I elaborate more?”

  Henrietta turned imploring eyes upon the Duke, but he would not look her way. He stood, his jaw flexing, his eyes black as the night sky.

  Then he turned on his heels and strode to the house.

  “Stepsister Miss Foss let us go in,” he snapped over his shoulder.

  Henrietta was stunned and barely able to breathe.

  She had made no play for the Duke.

  It was he who had pressed her to dance, he who had led her out here onto the terrace. Whatever struggle had ensued in his breast had not been of her doing.

  Oh, how she wished that she had never come here to Merebury Court. It might have been that some time in the future Henrietta Radford would meet the Duke at some London party and be introduced on equal terms.

  Even had he then been married to Romany Foss, he would at least not have regarded her with such contempt. He would not have talked to her against his better instincts.

  Henrietta now pressed her hands to her face with a groan. Tears welled through her fingers.

  She did not hear footsteps cross the terrace until it was too late.

  “We are meeting again, Miss Radford.”

  She froze in utter disbelief. That voice. It was not possible. Not here. Surely she was hearing things?

  Slowly she took her hands from her face.

  When she saw who was standing sneeringly before her, she gave a strangled cry and fell in a dead faint on the stones.