A Flight To Heaven

by Barbara Cartland

  “She could not wish for a better man than you, my dear brother.”

  “Absolutely and she’s not had much chance to look at the competition. Only been to one ball that I know of.”

  “We must keep it that way, Mervyn. We don’t want any other gentlemen sneaking past the post first.”

  A little smile crept onto Mrs. Fulwell’s face. An interesting idea had occurred to her.

  “I would like to meet this Lady Fairfax. Perhaps I should take the girls to Norfolk for a visit.”

  Mervyn Hunter’s eyebrows shot up.

  “I thought you had a big fish to fry in London.”

  “No, alas. The Russian Count has returned home. I would follow, but I don’t have the funds to take the three of us.”

  “Then yes – why not go to Norfolk. Lady Fairfax will be delighted, I am sure. Your girls will be company for the precious Lady Chiara and you can keep an eye on the little minx for me.”

  “I should love to do that for you, brother. She is still very young, as you say. Perhaps you have been a little too – how shall I put it – manly for her taste, my dear. But I am sure she’ll come round. I will do my best to plead your cause. And you may stay here, while we are away.”

  Mervyn Hunter lay back on the sofa and stretched out his boots to the fire that flickered in the tiny grate.

  “Your grasp of tactics is as good as ever, sister,” he said. “You would have made a first-rate General.”

  Mrs. Fulwell sniffed.

  “I should rather be a lady and live a life of ease and comfort,” she said. “I am very tired of this life – struggling to make ends meet. It’s now time things came good for us, brother.”

  Mervyn Hunter nodded his hearty agreement as his sister went to make tea for him.

  *

  “It really is exceedingly inconsiderate of Elizabeth to decide to get married now,” Lady Fairfax puffed. “There is so much to do for my own wedding and we have guests arriving tomorrow.”

  Chiara was packing her trunk to return to Ely for a few days.

  “It’s the only time that Arthur is free, Mama. You know that and if Elizabeth is to go to India with him, I may not see her again for many years. I must go.”

  “Well, I can only hope that your friend will be able to persuade you of the advantages of accepting the sincere attentions of a gentleman who cares for you as deeply as Mr. Hunter does.”

  A chill ran over Chiara’s skin, as it always did when she heard that name.

  “Speak with Elizabeth, darling. She is more mature and experienced than you are. Let her talk some sense into you,” Lady Fairfax burbled on.

  “Yes, Mama. I am sure we will not be able to stop talking – it’s so long since we have seen each other.”

  That, at least, was true, Chiara thought. But what would Elizabeth make of Mervyn Hunter?

  She closed the lid of her trunk and snapped the lock together. She was ready to go and her heart gave a little skip of joy at the thought of seeing Ely again.

  *

  “Chiara. You are blushing!” Elizabeth cried. “You turn pink every time we talk about Mr. Hunter!”

  The two girls were sitting side by side on the blue silk coverlet of Elizabeth’s bed.

  In between them lay a pile of lace petticoats that were to be folded and packed for Elizabeth’s honeymoon.

  “You must feel something for him, don’t you?” she continued.

  “Well, I suppose so – but it’s not a pleasant feeling, Elizabeth.”

  Chiara could not bring herself to talk of the deep revulsion that she felt when Mervyn Hunter touched her, even to her best friend.

  “How – do you feel, when Arthur – kisses you?” she asked, feeling suddenly shy.

  “Oh, goodness me! I just cannot begin to describe it! Marvellous! Just all warm and loved and – ”

  Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself at the thought, her eyes shining with joy.

  “Do you feel – like you could fly away? When he puts his arms around you?”

  Chiara remembered the ballroom at Sandringham and the Count’s light touch on the small of her back as they twirled around the dance floor.

  “Yes, sometimes and sometimes I just feel so safe and happy. I feel like I have ‘come home’, if you know what I mean.”

  Elizabeth frowned as she tried to put into words her deepest and most private feelings.

  Chiara gave a little shudder.

  “When Mervyn Hunter touches me, I feel just like I have to run away,” she admitted. “I actually fainted once – when he proposed to me.”

  “I well remember being a little nervous sometimes, when Arthur was first in love with me. He was so strong and so loving and I did even feel quite faint once.”

  “But Elizabeth – I don’t like him! When I see him – I feel cold. I have tried to tell Mama.”

  “You are going all pink again,” Elizabeth reached out and took her hand. “Chiara, if you don’t like him, you will never be able to love him.”

  “No! I cannot! I hate the way that he looks at me – there is nothing about him I like.”

  Chiara felt relief rush through her body, as she saw that Elizabeth understood and believed her.

  “You cannot marry this man,” her friend said. “It’s a shame, as I was so very excited to hear that you had had a proposal. And I am sure your Mama feels the same way, but you cannot accept him.”

  “I never shall,” Chiara answered, feeling very much stronger and happier now that she had Elizabeth’s support. “But – we must not talk any more about all that. You are getting married tomorrow and that is the most important thing.”

  *

  Next day, the sun shone through the great stained glass windows of Ely Cathedral, shedding bright jewels of light over the stone floor.

  But the brightest light of all shone from Elizabeth’s glowing eyes, as she walked back down the wide aisle on the arm of her new husband, Arthur.

  Chiara stared spellbound at her dear friend, hardly recognising the gracious woman in the cream silk gown, her red hair smoothed close to her head under the swept-back veil.

  All through the Reception, she could only marvel at the endless happiness and joy that seemed to radiate out of the couple, infecting all those who came near them.

  The Dean made a gracious sermon from the pulpit, but there were tears in his eyes as he made his speech at the Reception, wishing happiness and long life to his daughter and his new son-in-law.

  Chiara tried to imagine herself in Elizabeth’s place, with Mervyn Hunter at her side, but all she could feel was emptiness.

  There would be no light of joy in his eyes, as there was now in Arthur’s as he closely watched Elizabeth cut the wedding cake.

  Mervyn Hunter would take Chiara as his wife in the same way that he had danced with her, roughly and impetuously, without care or kindness.

  All too soon it was time for the couple to leave. Before she stepped into the carriage, Elizabeth raised her bouquet of white hyacinths and narcissus.

  As she threw it, her eyes met Chiara’s and her lips mouthed the words,

  ‘For you! Be happy!’

  And the flowers flew like a white bird through the air and landed in Chiara’s outstretched hands, their sweet perfume filling the air.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Chiara, I simply cannot believe my ears!”

  Lady Fairfax sat upright on the drawing room sofa at Rensham Hall, her face a picture of disappointment.

  “This is not what I was expecting to hear at all.”

  “I am sorry, Mama, if I have upset you. But I have to be truthful and, as I have just said, I don’t want to marry Mervyn Hunter – I really cannot.”

  All the way back from Ely, she had been making up her mind to talk to her mother.

  Now, it took all of her strength to speak firmly and calmly, when what she really wanted to do was to run out of the drawing room, escape to the stable yard and bury her face in Erebus’s white mane.

 
The little pony would certainly not condemn her for refusing Mervyn Hunter, the man who had caused him to fall and lamed him.

  “But darling, I am upset. I had such a lovely plan and now it will never come about.” Lady Fairfax dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. “I thought we might have had a double wedding – Tom and myself and you and Mr. Hunter! We would have been the talk of Society.”

  Chiara did not know what to say to this thought.

  It was indeed a charming idea and she would have gladly gone along with it, if only Mervyn Hunter had been someone she loved and not a man who chilled her whole being.

  “Poor Tom! He was delighted by the idea,” her Mama continued. “You really are causing a great deal of trouble, Chiara.”

  “Mama, I don’t mean to be difficult, I really don’t.” Chiara took a deep breath to steady her voice and went on, “but I don’t like Mervyn Hunter. I cannot marry him.”

  Lady Fairfax clasped her hands tightly in a gesture of exasperation.

  “Chiara, you have just seen your best friend being married – how can you not see what a wonderful gift it is that Mr. Hunter is offering you when he asks you to be his wife.”

  “It’s very different for Elizabeth, Mama. She loves Arthur and he loves her. Their love shines out of them when they are together. And – Elizabeth told me that when she is with Arthur, she feels as if she has come home. I don’t feel like that at all when I am with Mervyn Hunter. I feel cold and – uncomfortable – and I cannot wait to get away from him.”

  “This is all unspeakably awkward,” Lady Fairfax said, shaking her head. “How can you speak so unkindly of the best friend of my husband-to-be? Mr. Hunter cares for you so much and, my darling, how am I to face his sister, Mrs. Fulwell, when she comes to stay with us? How can I look her in the eye, knowing that you have said such horrid things about her brother?”

  Chiara’s heart sank.

  “I did not know he had a sister. Why is she coming here?”

  “I have invited her, as I should very much like to make her acquaintance and I do wonder, Chiara, if you are spending too much time on your own. It would be so good for you to have company of your own age. Mrs. Fulwell has two daughters.”

  “But we don’t know them, Mama.”

  “We have never met, certainly. But Mr. Hunter is Tom’s dearest friend and as such he is almost part of the family. Thus I am only too happy to welcome his sister to Rensham Hall.”

  A slow tide of despair rose up in Chiara, as she pictured her future at The Hall. Even if she did not marry Mervyn Hunter, he would always be a part of her life.

  His closeness to Lord Darley, who was soon to take her Papa’s place, meant he would always be a welcome visitor at her home.

  And his sister and her daughters too, whatever they were like, might also become part of this new ‘family’ that Chiara was beginning to dread so much.

  *

  “How lucky you are, to have your own horse,” the younger of the Misses Fulwell said a few days later, as she leant on the gate of Erebus’s paddock, her pale eyes wide with envy as she watched him cropping the fresh spring grass, his coat shining white in the sunshine. “I would love to ride him – ”

  Chiara did not think that Erebus would take kindly to the plump girl on his back, but before she could think of a suitable reply, the elder girl interrupted.

  “Marigold! Don’t be ridiculous! Don’t you recall what Uncle Mervyn said? The beast isn’t safe! Chiara might have been killed if he had not caught the reins and stopped the brute from bolting.”

  “Oh, yes!” Marigold turned to stare at Chiara. “You must have been absolutely terrified, until Uncle Mervyn rescued you.”

  Chiara opened her mouth to tell them what had really happened and then closed it again.

  Perhaps it was better for them to think that Erebus was wild and difficult. Otherwise she might have to share him with them and she really did not want to do that.

  “Did he carry you home in his arms after he saved you?” Marigold asked Chiara. “All our friends in London would be so jealous, if he did. They think Uncle Mervyn is terribly handsome.”

  “Do be quiet,” her sister scolded. “Remember what Mama told us.”

  Marigold gave a little giggle and pressed a finger to her lips.

  “Oh, yes, Eglantine. Sensitive subject!”

  Chiara’s skin prickled as she realised that they must have been talking about her and Mervyn Hunter.

  Their pale grey eyes reminded her of him a little, and they looked at her in the same way as he did, coldly, as if they were assessing how much she was worth.

  Eglantine was eyeing her clothes.

  “That dress,” she enquired, “where is it from?”

  Chiara glanced down at her dark woollen frock that looked very plain and simple next to Marigold’s green-and-white striped poplin and Eglantine’s lavender-and-red striped silk.

  “It’s one of the dresses I had at school,” she replied.

  She had become used to wearing it at home since her Papa died.

  “We thought you would have all your clothes made in Paris,” Eglantine said. “You are Lady Chiara after all!”

  “And your house is absolutely huge too!” Marigold added, swivelling her head to count the windows along the front of Rensham Hall.

  “I am sorry that my clothes have not come up to your expectations,” Chiara parried.

  Eglantine looked down her long nose at her.

  “Well, you are quite pretty,” she remarked. “But then we expected nothing less, from what Uncle Mervyn told us.”

  “He really does adore you,” Marigold said, giggling behind her hand.

  “Shhh!” Eglantine slapped her sister’s arm.

  Chiara’s head felt suddenly tight.

  However was she going to get through the coming days? The Fulwells had come to stay at Rensham Hall for a week and the two girls were getting on her nerves after only a couple of hours.

  “Would you like me to show you the garden?” she asked. “There are some very fine tulips just coming out.”

  “If you must,” Marigold said, looking bored and then added, “yes, how lovely,” as Eglantine aimed another slap at her arm.

  They walked along the gravel path with their gaudy dresses billowing in the breeze and Chiara followed them, longing to run to the paddock and leap on Erebus’s back and gallop away together down to the sea.

  *

  “So, when is the wedding?”

  Mrs. Fulwell sipped her tea and directed her gaze at Lady Fairfax.

  It was hard to keep her eyes from darting around the drawing room. There was so much exquisite china on the mantelpiece, so many valuable gold and silver trinkets displayed on the shelves!

  Her Ladyship had no right to be looking quite so unhappy. She was living in the height of luxury. Any one of these old oil paintings on the walls would have kept the Fulwells very nicely for at least a year.

  “Oh, we have not fixed a date. We were hoping for a joint wedding, you know,” Lady Fairfax replied.

  Mrs. Fulwell shook her head in sympathy.

  “What a shame, your Ladyship! Still – young girls can be very headstrong.”

  “Not my Chiara, until now! She has always been the sweetest of girls – she can be a little fiery sometimes, but I think she must inherit that from me, Mrs. Fulwell – as I am Italian, you know.”

  “Yes, your Ladyship.” Mrs. Fulwell smiled.

  Both Lady Fairfax and her daughter had heads of thick dark shining hair. But Elaine Fulwell could not help but prefer her own girls’ pretty straight fair hair.

  As did most gentlemen, she was quite sure. A fair girl would always catch a gentleman’s eye.

  Now Lady Fairfax was asking her about Marigold and Eglantine. Did they have any suitors?

  “Well, I am glad you brought that up, Lady Fairfax. A certain gentleman of very high birth indeed has invited us to St. Petersburg!”

  That should surely impress her Ladyship!

/>   “How marvellous! You must certainly take up the invitation. Do you think he is interested?”

  Lady Fairfax was sitting up, her attention caught by Mrs. Fulwell’s words.

  “Without a doubt, your Ladyship. He was indeed most attentive to Eglantine.”

  “And does she like him?”

  “Eglantine is a good girl, your Ladyship. Even if she did not like him, she would do as I advise. But the gentleman in question is very good-looking for a Russian. I think he has been much in her thoughts.”

  “We met a Russian gentleman, a Count Dimitrov at Sandringham the other night at the King’s ball. He was certainly handsome,” Lady Fairfax remarked .

  Mrs. Fulwell felt the blood rush to her cheeks.

  “That is the very same gentleman,” she exclaimed. “What a coincidence!”

  What had he been doing at the ball? Had her Ladyship noticed him forming an attachment to some other girl?

  But Lady Fairfax quickly put Mrs. Fulwell’s mind at rest.

  “He danced the first waltz with Chiara and they looked very well together,” she was saying, “but he did not partner her again. And he did not speak to us all evening. He seemed very aloof. I might almost call him moody!”

  Ah! So there was nothing to worry about.

  Mrs. Fulwell relaxed.

  “I expect he was thinking of Eglantine,” she said with a little smile.

  “I daresay!” Lady Fairfax reached for the silver teapot to pour her guest a second cup. “He certainly looked as if he was in another world for most of the time!”

  *

  Arkady was home. Now, at last, he would be able to breathe.

  Here at the vast country residence that his family liked to call The Dacha, although it had now become more of a mansion than the simple country retreat that Peter the Great had donated to his Dimitrov ancestors.

  From where he stood, in the shelter of the glass-covered veranda that ran along the front of the house, he could look out over his acres of empty grassland and vast woods with tall ancient trees.

  But – how could this be? – the Count found his thoughts returning to the gentle rolling fields and the pretty spring flowers of the English countryside.

  Spring had certainly arrived here in Russia, but the melting snow had left patches of brown grass exposed and the branches of the trees, where noisy rooks had arrived to build their nests, were still bare.