A Lucky Star

by Barbara Cartland

  Anthea then moved a bit closer to the French doors to hear more clearly.

  “That’s just what I intend to do,” replied her stepmother. “And I agree – she is a little old to be matched up, but there must be some men from good families who are available. A widower, perhaps?”

  “The dregs – ” answered her friend.

  “I would not care if he was the Hunchback of Notre Dame, my dear, as long as he has a good income and can look after her,” her stepmother laughed. “The sooner I get her off my hands, the better!”

  Anthea staggered back into the garden as the two women inside dissolved into peals of spiteful laughter.

  ‘So, this is to be my fate?’ she sighed, tears filling her eyes. ‘And, as for Papa, I do believe that he will turn a blind eye to her plotting.’

  Moving out into the sunshine, she turned her face to the sky and sent a silent prayer up to her mother.

  ‘Who can I turn to Mama?’ she implored. ‘Am I to be treated like a parcel of laundry? Please, if you can hear me – help me! For Heaven’s sake, help me!’

  CHAPTER TWO

  Anthea spent the night agonising over ways to stop her stepmother in her tracks.

  What her stepmother’s friend had said was true – there were not many, if any, eligible young men about and although she could never imagine her father allowing his new wife to hitch her up to an elderly man, he might in his present state of thrall.

  It was not as if the family was in need of the money that a wealthy man might bring, as her father’s investments were shrewd and there was plenty to go round.

  So on the next day when her stepmother announced that she was going to throw a grand ball next weekend, Anthea knew only too well what lay behind the idea.

  “That sounds splendid,” said her father. “This house has been silent for too long, in fact, I cannot remember the last time we had music and dancing.”

  “It will provide an ideal opportunity for me to meet some of your friends and business partners, Edward, and for you to become acquainted with mine.”

  “Spend as much as you like, Frances. I am feeling in a generous mood, as I have just had news that one of my factories has been sold for an extremely large profit.”

  Lady Preston rose and kissed him on the lips.

  Anthea was shocked at this display of affection. Although her Mama had loved her Papa dearly, she would never have behaved in such a way in front of the servants!

  She caught Anthea’s disapproving look and simply smiled to herself.

  “And, with that in mind, I have made arrangements for you to visit Monsieur Henri’s shop in Bond Street this afternoon,” she added, staring at Anthea. “You must be the loveliest girl there and I want everyone to admire you.”

  “But I don’t need a new ball gown!”

  “Nonsense, a woman can never have too many. Besides, you don’t want to let your father down, do you? Imagine what people will say about him if he does not pay for a new gown for his only daughter.”

  “Quite,” agreed her father. “You are most fortunate that Frances is such a considerate woman, organising a trip to Monsieur Henri’s like that.”

  Anthea sighed inwardly.

  The change in her father was extremely unnerving. When her mother was alive, he would have at least listened to her before dismissing her opinion.

  “And, by the way, Sally has handed in her notice.”

  “I beg your pardon?” exclaimed Anthea.

  “Yes, Fricker informed me first thing this morning. It appears that her parents have been left a shop in Kentish Town and she is going to work in it with them.”

  “That is a great pity – I shall miss Sally,” stammered Anthea miserably.

  She was wondering who she would be able to talk to. The house would be a very lonely place without Sally.

  And as for trips away –

  The spectre of the Dowager Duchess of Markyate hung over her like a grim shadow.

  “Servants are ten-a-penny,” added Lady Preston. “I have asked Fricker to send out to the agency for a new one. I will do the interviewing myself this afternoon whilst you are out shopping.”

  “But surely, as you are hiring a new maid for me, I should be here?” ventured Anthea.

  “Nonsense, you are far too inexperienced to be able to judge the character of a servant. Besides I am now the Mistress in this house and I shall employ the servants.”

  Anthea wished she could reply that had she married Jolyon Burnside, by now she would have a large house of her own to run with numerous servants.

  But she knew that if she started an argument with her stepmother, it would only upset her father.

  “Rest assured, Anthea, by the time you return from Monsieur Henri’s, I will have engaged someone suitable.”

  Anthea dreaded to think about the sort of maid she might designate as being ‘suitable’.

  ‘If she is so keen to get me off her hands, might she not employ a sour-faced old crone at the end of her useful life? Or worse, a young ambitious maid who will want to snoop and pry into my private affairs.’

  Excusing herself, she ran to fetch her hat and coat.

  ‘I really need a great deal of fresh air,’ she thought, as Fricker opened the front door for her.

  Outside the day was overcast and chilly.

  ‘I wish I did not feel so uncomfortable in my own home,’ she grumbled to herself. ‘I was so looking forward to coming back after my Grand Tour and yet I felt more at home in those hotels than I do now in Mount Street!’

  After a bracing walk, she arrived back in good time for luncheon.

  Lady Preston had ordered a light meal of soup and rolls as, she said, she did not want Anthea disgracing them by inflating her waistline with a heavy luncheon.

  “I don’t want Monsieur Henri thinking that I have an overfed heifer for a stepdaughter,” she remarked tartly.

  Anthea’s delicate waist was no more than nineteen inches and, even with the new fashions that called for ever tighter lacing, she still fitted effortlessly into every design.

  By contrast her stepmother’s figure was somewhat lumpen and underneath her long sleeves Anthea could see that she was a rather chubby woman.

  ‘Mama was so slender,’ she thought, trying not to stare at the roll of flesh popping over the top of her corset. ‘What on earth does Papa see in her?’

  “Fricker will tell us when the carriage is ready. I hope you don’t mind going without a chaperone, Anthea, I simply cannot spare you a servant at present. This house is filthy and I have had to make them clean it again.”

  Anthea opened her mouth to protest, but something told her to hold her tongue.

  Although it was true that the house could do with a lick of paint and new wallpaper, the servants always kept it spotless even when there was no one in residence.

  She so hoped that her stepmother had not offended Fricker – he was such a valuable and loyal man, that she did not know what they would do if he became disgruntled and decided to seek a post elsewhere.

  As they were finishing luncheon, Fricker came in and announced that the carriage was ready.

  Anthea rose from the table at once, grateful she did not have to spend any further time with her stepmother.

  “Monsieur Henri has been given strict instructions to make you the belle of the ball,” mouthed Lady Preston, as Anthea put on her coat in the hall, “he has been told that money is no object and to do his utmost for you.”

  Although Anthea had gone shopping for gowns on her own, she had not visited Monsieur Henri’s shop before as she had always considered it far too grand.

  She climbed into the carriage and sat back to enjoy the short journey to Bond Street and after a few minutes, they drew up outside Monsieur Henri’s shop.

  Anthea felt quite nervous as she stepped down onto the pavement. Taking a deep breath, she put her hand on the brass door handle of the shop and pushed.

  Almost as soon as she set her foot inside, an elegant middle-aged w
oman in black came towards her.

  “Do I have the honour of addressing Miss Anthea Preston?” she intoned in a precise voice.

  From her clothing and the way she carried herself, Anthea had expected her to be French and was surprised when the woman was obviously English.

  “Why – yes!” stuttered Anthea, quite overtaken by the richness of her surroundings.

  “Come with me, please.”

  The woman led her to a showroom at the rear of the premises. They passed through a wide velvet curtain and the assistant then indicated that Anthea should take a seat in one of the plush velvet chairs.

  “Now, allow me to bring you a cup of tea?”

  “Thank you.”

  Anthea took off her gloves and hat and waited.

  She had been to many a couturier’s establishment and knew what would happen next.

  Sure enough, a diminutive man with a moustache and dressed in an immaculate suit appeared in the doorway.

  “Mademoiselle Preston? Enchanté!”

  He rushed over and took her hand, kissing it lightly – then, held her at arm’s length while his beady black eyes swept over her form.

  “Très elegante,” he then declared, “et si belle. Lady Preston did not say ’ow lovely you are!”

  Anthea smiled to herself.

  It did not come as any surprise that her stepmother had not praised her to Monsieur Henri.

  He clapped his hands and out of nowhere appeared two young girls dressed in beautiful ball gowns.

  “Elise and Jeanne will model my latest designs,” he announced in his flamboyant French accent.

  They glided over the carpet towards Anthea so that she could examine the dresses.

  One was of oyster silk and the other rose pink.

  Both boasted daringly low necklines and, although lovely, Anthea shook her head. She knew that it would be immodest for her to display so much flesh.

  Monsieur Henri dismissed the two girls and in their place came another two.

  This time Anthea made a close inspection of one of the gowns, a silver creation with puffed sleeves and a more modest neckline.

  “Would Mademoiselle care to try it on for ’erself. It is ’er size.”

  Anthea blushed.

  ‘How does he know what size I am when he has not had me measured yet?’ she wondered.

  “Madame Morrison will escort you to the changing rooms. I ’ope you do not mind, but another young lady is in there. We are very busy at the moment, but I promised Lady Preston I would squeeze you in.”

  “Not at all,” replied Anthea, her curiosity aroused.

  Madame Morrison stepped forward and gestured to Anthea to follow her and as she passed Monsieur Henri, he murmured,

  “If Mademoiselle will permit it, I also ’ave a very special gown – très chic – that is just your size. I will ’ave it brought over if you would care to see it?”

  “Yes, I would love to try it on.”

  Already she was feeling that she could place herself in Monsieur Henri’s hands, as she had, so far, been very impressed with his gowns – even if the first ones were not entirely suitable.

  Madame Morrison took her to the changing room and sat her down inside one.

  “Please wait here. I will leave the curtain open.”

  On the other side of the room was another cubicle over which the curtain was drawn and she could hear the sound of voices.

  Inside a young woman was complaining about the tightness of a sleeve.

  “If I am to travel to Italy, I shall bake in this!” she moaned in a girlish voice.

  “But your father will not allow you to wear a short sleeve,” answered the assistant firmly.

  “Papa knows nothing at all about fashion,” retorted the girl behind the curtain, “and in any case, he will not be with me for the voyage to Italy.”

  “No doubt he is very occupied with his business.”

  “Yes, boring ships! I so wish he owned something more interesting – a department store or, perhaps, a stable of fine horses for stud.”

  Anthea smiled to herself.

  Had she not often thought the same thing herself of her own Papa’s business?

  “I really don’t want to travel to Italy,” grumbled the girl. “But Papa says I must. Oh, it will be so dull! I am there to make conversation to his boring customers and to look attractive. He says a pretty face helps sell his stupid ships, but I would far rather be in London and have fun.”

  “But Italy is so beautiful and the people are said to be charming and vivacious,” came back the assistant. “We have lots of customers who praise it to the skies.”

  “It would not be so bad if I had someone my own age to accompany me, but they are always ancient crones with disapproving faces. Papa insists I have a chaperone and now the woman who was to go with me has broken her leg and cannot travel.

  “He says he does not have time to find another for me and so he has gone to an agency to find one. I shudder to think what they will root out for me – probably some old horror in a mobcap who will make me wear sailor dresses and pinafores!”

  “Yes, it’s a shame you cannot find someone a little older than you are but who is still young and lively. Now, please take off the dress and I will ask Monsieur if we can do something with those sleeves.”

  Anthea heard the girl sigh, then the rustle of fabric as she took it off.

  She waited until she heard the swish of the curtain as the assistant left and then she peeped out of hers.

  The curtain was half drawn, but there was a gap and she could now see the slim figure of a young girl probably no more than twenty with dark hair and a sulky expression.

  She was fiddling with the belt of her dressing gown and looking thoroughly miserable.

  Before she knew what she was doing, Anthea was up on her feet and standing outside the other girl’s cubicle.

  The girl looked up and smiled at her.

  “Terribly dull isn’t it? I hate buying new clothes.”

  The girl was very pretty with deep blue eyes and a sweet heart-shaped face. Her skin was as white as snow and that made an attractive contrast with her dark hair.

  “I want to wear grown-up clothes, but Papa insists on making me dress like a child.”

  Anthea laughed.

  “Yes, my Papa can be quite strict with me and I am a good deal older than you.”

  The girl eyed her carefully.

  “But not by much, if I am a good judge.”

  “I am twenty-six,” replied Anthea.

  “Oh, that is a little more than I thought,” answered the girl, distractedly. “I am just twenty, but Papa treats me as if I was twelve.”

  “It’s the way with fathers – until the day we marry, of course,” added Anthea.

  “Ugh! I don’t think I could ever marry. I find most men so dull – like the men Papa does business with.”

  “I hope that you don’t mind, but I could not help but overhear you just now. You are bound for Italy?”

  “Yes, Naples. Have you been there?”

  “No, not yet. I was in Italy in the summer, but we were forced to curtail our trip and so did not visit Naples as we had planned.”

  “Oh, that is a pity, I was really hoping that someone might tell me how exciting it was – and then, I would not feel so hard done by.”

  “Surely it will be an adventure?”

  “Not really. I expect I shall be stuck with a lot of old men, making tedious conversation. I don’t speak much Italian and my Papa tells me that his customers – he builds ships, by the way – don’t speak English. Oh, I know Papa is doing important work and promoting Britain, but I wish it was not so boring!”

  “Ship building is an important business, we British are famous for our Navy and we are admired by the entire world for our prowess on the ocean.”

  “That is what Papa says. You must meet him. I think you and he would get on very well, and it sounds as if you would enjoy this trip far more than I would.”

&nb
sp; The assistant came back with a dress for the girl to try on and another assistant followed her close behind holding the dress for Anthea.

  “Do come along, my Lady,” the assistant urged her sternly. “Your Papa said that his carriage would return for you at half past two and it is now a quarter past.”

  The girl smiled apologetically at Anthea.

  “I am sorry, I must try this on. Oh, how rude of me – I have not introduced myself, I am Linette Hayworth, my father is the Earl of Hayworth – what is your name?”

  “Anthea. Anthea Preston.”

  Linette thrust her hand through the curtain.

  “So nice to meet you, Anthea. Are you rushing off very soon?”

  “Well, no – ”

  “Good, I would love to chat some more with you. I confess I don’t always find it easy to speak to strangers – which is why I hate these trips of Papa’s so much, but it is as if I have known you for ages.”

  “Miss Preston?” said the second assistant, thrusting the silvery gown at her.

  Anthea’s mind was whirling as the assistant helped her into the dress.

  ‘Could it be that Linette has inadvertently given me the solution to my problems?’ she thought. ‘What if I was to offer to accompany her to Italy? I was so disappointed we did not see Naples and I speak fluent Italian. Surely her father would have no objection to me – a young woman of good family and it would save him the agency fees!’

  By now Monsieur Henri was making the finishing adjustments to the gown and Anthea was feeling excited.

  She could not wait to talk to Linette again.

  “Parfait!” he exclaimed. “Mademoiselle will be ze belle of ze ball in zis gown!”

  Anthea looked up and gasped.

  What Monsieur Henri said was true, even she could see how lovely she now looked in this gown. The silvery material threw lights onto her face and made her skin like pearls, while her eyes seemed bluer than ever.

  “Yes,” she murmured, “I will take it. Can you have it delivered to my home by Saturday morning? It is most important that I have it for this weekend.”