The Race For Love

by Barbara Cartland

  The brown dress, for instance, which was so unbecoming and which had been chosen mistakenly in a bad light had been trimmed with yards and yards of ecru lace, which had taken away the severity of the colour.

  It had in fact when it first arrived at The Castle been quite an attractive gown.

  Hermione, however, had never liked it, for she preferred dresses in bright pinks and blues, which did not suit Alita. She usually left them hanging in the wardrobe after the village seamstress had done her worst with them.

  She had told herself until she grew to believe it that it was not of the slightest consequence what she wore and the horses would not distinguish any difference in her appearance.

  They loved her for the softness of her voice, for the love that they knew she gave them and for the certain magic that made her able to tame and train even the wildest of yearlings.

  Absent-mindedly, with her thoughts still on the race, Alita stuck several more pins into the bun at the back of her head, leaving it no tidier than it had been before and then went downstairs to the breakfast room.

  When there were people staying at The Castle or guests came to meals, she fetched a tray of food from the kitchen and either ate it in a small room that had once been used by a housekeeper or took it up to her bedroom.

  Often she did not even bother to do that.

  She merely walked about the kitchen, helping herself to some food and assisting old Mrs. Henderson, who had been at The Castle for years and who was finding it exceedingly difficult to carry on with the inadequate village girls that were all the help the Duke could afford to give her.

  Alita would eat scraps while she stirred sauces or tossed a salad and Mrs. Henderson would chatter about the ‘old days’ when her grandfather had been alive.

  Then there had been a whole army of servants to keep The Castle in the way it was meant to be kept.

  “Thirty stayin’ in the ’ouse, if you’d believe it, Miss Alita!” Mrs. Henderson would say. “And all the ladies bringin’ their lady’s maids and the gentlemen with their valets and grooms and ’orses and all!”

  “And parties every night, of course,” Alita would prompt, having heard the story a hundred times before.

  “I seldom ’ad less than fifty to dinner, miss, and a ball on a Saturday night with both dinner and supper to prepare for.”

  “It must have been very hard work!”

  “Not ’alf as ’ard as it be these days!” Mrs. Henderson replied. “I’d three trained assistants and as many scullery maids as I wanted and four in the still room. Think of it, miss, four! If you could only see the teas they provided when the gentlemen came in from shootin’ or huntin’.”

  “It makes me feel hungry just to think of it,” Alita said with a smile.

  “And never less than a dozen courses for dinner,” Mrs. Henderson continued as if Alita had not spoken. “The ladies in their tiaras, His Grace wearin’ the Order of the Garter. Those were the days!”

  At this point Mrs. Henderson would usually break off to scold one of the kitchen maids for ceasing to turn the spit or for burning a piece of toast.

  “I can’t take me eyes off anyone in this kitchen and that’s a fact!” she would say disgustedly.

  Alita would find it equally fascinating to sit in the pantry and hear from Barnes, the old butler, who had been a footman in her grandfather’s time, what the table had looked like with the Langstone silver decorating it and the great Gold Cup displayed in the centre.

  That had now been sold, as had a lot of other treasures. In fact Alita knew that items of value left The Castle every year.

  It was like an Aladdin’s cave, she thought, depleted by thieves until finally there would be nothing left

  She could understand that her uncle was struggling to keep the place in some sort of order for his son, Gerald, but unless the Marquis could return from India as rich as a Nabob, there was only Hermione left to save the situation.

  Certainly the solution would be for Hermione to marry Clint Wilbur and Alita, as she entered the breakfast room, was exceedingly curious to hear what Hermione had thought of their guest of the night before.

  But the only person seated at the table was the Duchess.

  “You are late again, Alita!” she exclaimed without preliminary greeting, as her niece entered.

  “I am sorry, Aunt Emily, but I was with the horses and I knew that you would want me to change before I came in to breakfast.”

  “Naturally,” the Duchess replied. “I will not have you sitting down in riding boots. We must observe some decency.”

  “That is why I am late, Aunt Emily, and I apologise,” Alita said.

  She sat down at the table and helped herself from the first dish that was offered to her.

  Hermione then came into the room.

  She was looking extremely pretty and elegant in a gown of sky-blue trimmed profusely with broderie anglaise.

  “Good morning, my dearest,” the Duchess said in a very different tone from the one she had always used towards her niece.

  “Good morning, Mama. Good morning, Alita!” Hermione said. “Where is Papa?”

  “I am here!” the Duke replied from the door. “And there is something that will interest you and your mother in the post.”

  “What is it, Lionel?” the Duchess asked.

  “An invitation to Windsor Castle!”

  Hermione gave a little shriek.

  “Oh, Papa!”

  “Her Majesty is giving a family party and ball for a bridal couple, and I must say that I am extremely gratified that we should be among the guests.”

  Princess Beatrice, the Queen’s favourite daughter, had been married to Prince Henry of Battenberg at the end of July and this was to be an intimate party to which only relatives and those who enjoyed the Queen s friendship would be invited.

  “It is a great honour, Lionel,” the Duchess said, “and a delightful opportunity for Hermione to make new friends.”

  “I have always wanted to stay at Windsor Castle!” Hermione said. “But I shall need some new gowns.”

  “Yes, of course,” the Duchess agreed. “Your father cannot expect you to appear at such an occasion looking like Cinderella!”

  “Well, how much you can spend depends entirely on Alita,” the Duke remarked.

  “On Alita?” the Duchess questioned incredulously.

  “Clint Wilbur is coming over this morning to decide which of our horses he will purchase.”

  “And you intend to have Alita there?”

  “I consider it essential that she be present,” the Duke replied.

  He saw that the Duchess was about to argue and he added,

  “Alita knows more about the horses than anyone else. If you expect to have money to spend on Hermione’s new gowns, Alita will certainly get more than Bates, who is past it, or from Sam, who does not understand money.”

  “Then I suppose I must permit her to meet Mr. Wilbur,” the Duchess said. “But not, of course, as your niece.”

  “No, no, of course not!” the Duke answered and then coughed to remind his wife that the servants were in the room.

  “What did you think of our American neighbour?” the Duke asked Hermione in an over-hearty voice to cover up his wife’s indiscretion.

  “I thought that he was very pleasant,” Hermione said, “but rather difficult to talk to.”

  “Really?” the Duke answered. “I found him very easy”

  “He did not pay me compliments,” Hermione said, as she began to pout.

  “I would have thought it extremely pushing of him if he had done so,” the Duchess interposed. “The Latin peoples may behave in that way, but one does not expect it from English-speaking gentlemen.”

  “No, of course not,” the Duke agreed before Hermione could speak. “At the same time he is eligible, very eligible, and I have often thought that the two estates would merge very comfortably together.”

  Alita thought that what the Duke really meant was that if Clint Wilbu
r was his son-in-law, he could be persuaded to defray most of the expenses incurred on the Langstone property.

  However, Alita said nothing but merely went on eating her breakfast, until at last when the Duke and Duchess had left the room she and Hermione were alone together.

  “I am longing to hear what you thought of Mr. Wilbur,” Alita said in a tone that Hermione invariably responded to.

  “Don’t tell Papa and Mama,” she replied, “but I was rather disappointed in him.”

  “You were?”

  “He is good-looking in a way,” Hermione continued, “but very sure of himself, which I did not expect from an American, and I had a feeling that he was not as bowled over by me as I thought he would be.”

  “I am sure you are mistaken,” Alita said.

  “You did not hear him.”

  Hermione gave a little sigh as she said,

  “Oh, Alita, if only William Swindley had Mr. Wilbur’s money!”

  “Are you in love with Lord Swindley?”

  “I dare not let myself be,” Hermione answered. “You know that he has not a penny in the world and his crumbling old Manor House in Surrey is even more dilapidated than The Castle.”

  “And he loves you?”

  “He says he does and he proposes to me every time I see him. He also writes to me almost every day”

  Alita looked at her cousin wide-eyed.

  “How have you managed to keep Aunt Emily from knowing about it?”

  Hermione smiled.

  “Barnes sorts the letters.”

  Alita laughed.

  She knew that old Barnes had adored Hermione ever since she was born.

  He had always kept the largest peaches for her and the ripest grapes!

  She remembered staying at The Castle when she was a child and being jealous because Barnes would even hide several of the sugared comfits that were put on the table at dinner parties to give to Hermione the next morning.

  “Would Uncle Lionel mind if you married Lord Swindley?” she asked.

  “He has set his heart on my having a rich husband,” Hermione answered, “and I must say I agree with him, Alita. I could not bear to go on fussing over every penny as we have to do now.”

  She gave a little sigh and continued,

  “If I have to hear Mama complaining that we are hard-up for very much longer, I think I shall scream!”

  Alita felt much the same and she sympathised with Hermione. But she wondered if she would be happy with Clint Wilbur when she certainly could not share his obsession for horses.

  Hermione rose from the table and crossed the room to stand looking at herself in a gilt-framed mirror that hung on the wall.

  It had been carved in the reign of King Charles II and there were the inevitable cupids holding up the crown and a number of hearts and love knots decorating the frame.

  “Have you ever really been in love, Hermione?” Alita asked from behind her.

  “I have begun once or twice to think that I was,” Hermione answered, “but I have always discovered that the men in question were poor and that has put me off immediately!”

  “I think if one was really in love one would not mind.”

  “I would mind,” Hermione said firmly.

  She went on staring into the mirror.

  Then she said,

  “What is wrong with me that I don’t attract rich men? There was a man in London this summer. Lord Sudbridge.

  “Papa pushed us together in a way that was almost embarrassing, until finally he told me that he was secretly engaged to a girl he had loved for years. Papa was furious!”

  “I think, Hermione, that you ought to consider your own happiness rather than what Uncle Lionel wants,” Alita said. “He does not have to marry the man he chooses for you.”

  “I shall be happy if I am rich,” Hermione replied. “I could have all the gowns I wanted and lots of jewellery and be able to go to parties night after night in London.”

  She paused and then said,

  “On second thoughts I think Mr. Wilbur will do me very well. He may be American, but then the Americans have far more money than anyone in this country.”

  “He comes from Texas,” Alita remarked.

  “How do you know that?” Hermione asked.

  Alita realised that she had made a slip and she answered,

  “I suppose Uncle Lionel told me. Anyway, I know he does, and Texas is wild and not what you would call very civilised.”

  “If he is rich enough, I can stay in his house in New York when he goes to Texas or anywhere else he has one,” Hermione said in a practical tone. “It would not be difficult. All you have to do, Alita, is to get as much money out of him as you can.”

  “You cannot have it all,” Alita said. “I want some of it.”

  “You?” Hermione said in surprise.

  “I mean for the new bloodstock,” Alita replied.

  “Oh, that,” Hermione replied. “Mama will be furious if you twist too much out of Papa.”

  “Uncle Lionel realises that what he invests in the horses pays a good dividend and that is exactly what he is expecting now.”

  She felt that Hermione did not understand, so Alita added,

  “Translated into practical language, that means gowns for you and more money to spend on entertaining.”

  “Then you must certainly have your share of the spoils, Alita,” Hermione said laughing. “But for goodness’ sake, tidy yourself up before you see Mr. Wilbur or your appearance will certainly lower the price.”

  Alita looked at her in surprise.

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Of course I do!” Hermione replied. “When people look rich and prosperous, one is always prepared to pay more.”

  “I never thought of that,” Alita responded.

  “On the same principle,” Hermione said, “one gives a better Christmas present to one’s rich friends than to one’s poor friends.”

  “What a funny idea,” Alita said. “I should have given the best present to the person I liked most.”

  “That is a very naïve way of looking at things,” Hermione said. “If you had been in London with me this Season you would have seen that people went out of their way to do things for me, not because they liked me but because I am the daughter of a Duke.”

  “It sounds cynical for you to think like that.”

  “It is not a question of thinking, it is knowing. I even heard one girl say, ‘we must ask Lady Hermione to the best party. After all, her father is a Duke’.”

  Alita laughed.

  “You are destroying my faith in human nature, not that I have much!”

  As she spoke, she thought to herself that she had every reason to have no faith. She knew only too well that the friendships she had known in the past had not survived adversity or rather a scandal.

  Aloud she said,

  “I must change and go back to the horses. Whatever I look like, they must look their best to impress Mr. Wilbur.”

  “Try and smarten yourself up,” Hermione advised. “Then whatever he offers you can look down your nose as if it was much too small a sum even to be considered.”

  “You, not I – ought to be selling the horses!” Alita laughed.

  “I would very likely do it better,” Hermione said, “except, as you appreciate, I know nothing about the beasts and have no wish to learn.”

  Alita thought again, as she left the room, that Clint Wilbur would not want a wife who did not share his interest in horses.

  Then she told herself that she had always heard that opposites got on well together and besides, no man really liked competition.

  She wondered whether he would have minded if she had beaten him on the Racecourse that morning.

  Perhaps his masculine dignity would have been affronted. In consequence he might not have been as keen on buying the horses as she was quite certain he would be.

  ‘It was wrong of me to try to beat Clint Wilbur,’ she thought to herself.

&
nbsp; Yet the challenge had been irresistible.

  She could feel again the excitement of striving with every nerve in her body to defeat him, but he had won and she had known by the expression on his face that he was delighted to have done so.

  She went upstairs to her bedroom to change into her habit and, because of what Hermione had said to her, she realised perhaps for the first time how very worn and threadbare it was.

  There was nothing that she could do about it, but she did try to find a shirt that had not lost a button at the neck and she did look through her drawers to find if she had stockings such as she wore out hunting.

  She found to her dismay that the only two she possessed were frayed at the edges and were rather dirty.

  She had meant to wash and press them, but there never seemed to be time and there was certainly no one in The Castle who would wait on her.

  ‘He will just have to take me as I am,’ she told herself sharply.

  Then she took down her hunting top hat from the shelf in the wardrobe.

  She put it on her head, then realised how untidy her hair was and, searching through her drawer, she found a chignon, which she also wore out hunting.

  She put it over her bun, placed the hat on top of her head and thought that she looked a little tidier although she was certain, whatever Hermione might say, that Clint Wilbur would notice no difference in her.

  At least, she thought, she had made the effort, whether or not it would make the slightest difference to the price Mr. Wilbur was prepared to pay for the horses.

  She hoped not, as she put on her riding boots and realised that they had not been cleaned for weeks.

  It was hard enough to get her uncle’s boots polished in the manner he expected, but although Alita occasionally cleaned her boots herself when she was going hunting, she again realised that there was no one who would notice what she wore.

  There were two packs of hounds in the County, of which the Quexby was extremely fashionable and the membership very expensive.

  The Hunting Lodges that belonged to the important and rich sportsmen would be filled during the winter with members of the aristocracy.

  Hermione, of course, hunted with the Quexby and Alita often longed to do so herself, but she knew that it was a thrill that she was never likely to experience.