The Race For Love

by Barbara Cartland

  Even with so few people watching, it seemed as if they would take the roof off the riding school, so enthusiastic was their applause.

  Then, because anything else would have been an anti-climax, she rode Flamingo slowly and majestically out into the yard.

  Outside Clint Wilbur lifted her from the saddle.

  “You were marvellous! Wonderful!” he said. “Now go and change quickly!”

  She felt as if the words were like a dash of cold water in her face.

  Change quickly!

  That meant that he expected her to leave at once, to put on her old habit and go home!

  She had not expected to stay for long, but she had thought that perhaps he might introduce her to Nellie Farren and that she could linger for a little while and hear what they had to say about the show.

  Because she was so disappointed at being brought back to reality from the dream-like world in which she and Flamingo had for a few minutes reigned supreme, she said nothing.

  She only turned and walked away in case Clint Wilbur should see the hurt in her eyes.

  She walked up the stairs, not running lightly as she had done before, but quickly because he had ordered it.

  Now she knew that he wanted to get her away.

  He wanted to send her home so that his guests would not see her, not know that she was nothing but an unimportant stable hand of no consequence in his rich and crowded life.

  She reached the door of the bedroom and the dresser was there waiting for her.

  “Was it a success, miss?” she asked. “But I needn’t ask the question. You couldn’t have been anything else, looking like you do.”

  “Yes – it was a success,” Alita said in a dull voice. “And now I must – change.”

  “And quickly, I understand, miss,” the dresser said.

  She undid the hooks at the back of the riding bodice.

  “I’ve got everything ready, miss,” she said, “and they’ve sent some very pretty underclothes with that lovely gown.”

  Alita felt that she could not have heard her aright, but now she saw that lying not on the bed but laid over a chair was a gown that she had never seen before.

  It shimmered in the lights that had been lit in the bedroom and there was something golden about it that made Alita think of sunlight.

  “That is not my gown,” she said. “I think there must have been some mistake. I have to put on the habit I came in.”

  “Oh, no, miss! These are my instructions,” the dresser said.

  Alita stared at her wide-eyed.

  “Wh-what were your – instructions?” she asked in a voice that did not sound like her own.

  “Mr. Wilbur said you were to change into that dinner gown, miss, and there’d be someone waiting to escort you to the salon.”

  Chapter Six

  One of the guests rose to her feet with obvious reluctance.

  “I suppose we ought to go,” she said, “but I cannot remember when I have enjoyed an evening more.”

  It was a sentiment that, Alita knew, everyone in the room could echo with all sincerity.

  She herself had found that every moment of the dinner party and what had followed was so exciting and so unlike any evening she had ever before known that she longed for it to go on and on and never end.

  After dinner, at which the food had been superlative and the wines chosen with a discriminating taste, they had moved into the large salon and there everyone seemed ready to give a performance.

  Nellie Farren sang and danced, Miss Wadman not only sang herself but got everyone else singing with her and several other members of the party had talents they were only too willing to display.

  Burt Ackberg, who had been told that he was exempt from doing anything more, as he had already performed, insisted on showing them some magic tricks, which kept them all guessing.

  Another member of the party who had once been on the stage sang some of the old songs that Alita when she was a child had heard her mother play so beautifully that tears had come to her eyes.

  Yet it was impossible not to laugh and keep on laughing when Nellie Farren was there.

  Alita had no idea that she was so small and Clint Wilbur had told her at dinner that she liked to think of herself as quite big and therefore her size was never mentioned in her presence.

  He also told Alita that her pet aversion was tight boots and shoes. And her feet were so tiny that Alita could not help feeling that it would be far easier to buy ones that were too big than to find ones that fitted her.

  Altogether, it was an evening that was very different from the long and gloomy ones that she had spent at The Castle for so many years.

  When she was downstairs, she was lectured by her aunt or, if she was upstairs, she sat alone in a fireless room.

  At the suggestion that the party should break up, other guests who had some distance to go also made a move.

  “I can see that having you here in the County,” Alita heard one man say to Clint Wilbur, “is going to make things very enjoyable for all of us!”

  “That is true,” another chimed in. “You will be a real asset, Wilbur, and the MFH asked me to welcome you to the Quexby Hunt. We will all look forward to seeing you at our opening meet.”

  “I am looking forward to it too,” Clint Wilbur replied, “and I hope that you will extend an equally generous welcome to my friend, Burt Ackberg.”

  “We certainly will!” several people exclaimed at once. “And, if he rides to hounds as well as he did this evening in the riding school, we shall all be jealous!”

  There was a warmth about the way they spoke, which Alita knew was their way of giving respect to two men whom they recognised as sportsmen.

  Any crime, she thought, except one, would be forgiven to men who rode as well as Clint Wilbur and Burt Ackberg.

  After saying ‘goodnight’ to Nellie and Miss Wadman, the guests moved down the salon towards the door and Alita said in a low voice to Clint Wilbur,

  “I must leave – too.”

  “Wait!” he said. “I will take you home.”

  She looked up in surprise, ready to say that there was no need for him to escort her, but he moved away, going with his guests to the front door.

  “It’s been a lovely evening!” Nellie Farren was saying as she sat down on a sofa.

  “You were wonderful!” Alita said.

  “And so were you, my dear.”

  “Thank you for saying so. It is a compliment I will always remember.”

  “You’ll get plenty of those, seeing how well you ride,” Nellie Farren replied smiling.

  “Of course you will!” Miss Wadman interposed. “And I envy you. I never was much of a rider. I’m always afraid that the horse will run away with me.”

  Alita looked at her in surprise.

  Somehow, because she was Clint Wilbur’s friend, Alita was sure that Miss Wadman would be a good rider and accompany him in Hyde Park when he was in London or perhaps they had ridden together when they were in America.

  As if she had asked the question, Miss Wadman went on,

  “No, I’ve no wish to have anything to do with horses except sit behind them in a comfortable carriage.”

  “Mr. Wilbur is such a brilliant rider,” Alita said almost as if she was trying to persuade Miss Wadman to take more interest in him.

  “I know that,” Miss Wadman replied, “but everyone to his or her own sport!”

  She laughed as she spoke and Nellie Farren laughed with her.

  The two women looked so attractive as they did so that Alita felt again a stab of envy – or was it jealousy?

  She felt that she could never be so amusing or so glamorous and she could understand why they were the type of women that Clint Wilbur liked.

  He came back into the room, with Burt Ackberg behind him to say to Alita,

  “They have gone and there is a carriage waiting for you.”

  “A carriage?” she queried. “But I thought – ”

  “If you are
thinking of riding home,” he interrupted, “let me tell you that Flamingo has for the last few hours been in his own stall at The Castle, doubtless dreaming about his success!”

  Because she did not like to argue in front of the others, Alita said ‘goodnight’ to Nellie Farren and Miss Wadman.

  Burt Ackberg shook her hand heartily.

  “You were magnificent!” he said. “And if I ever run another circus I will offer you the leading role.”

  “Thank you,” Alita replied with a smile and then she went from the salon, followed by Clint Wilbur.

  As soon as they were outside in the hall, she said,

  “Please stay with your guests. It’s very kind of you to send me home in your carriage, but I shall be quite all right alone.”

  “I am taking you back,” he said firmly in the voice that she knew brooked no opposition.

  A footman came forward with a fur-trimmed velvet wrap that she had not seen before.

  Clint Wilbur took it from him and put it round Alita’s shoulders.

  Feeling very unlike her usual self, Alita walked down the steps to find a closed brougham drawn by two horses with a coachman and a footman on the box.

  Clint Wilbur helped her into it, then sat beside her, and the footman put a rug over their knees.

  It was a very comfortable carriage and had a silver candle-lantern, which lit the elegant interior with a soft golden glow.

  The horses started off and Alita turned to Clint Wilbur to say,

  “How can I begin to thank you and to tell you what this evening has – meant to me?”

  “What has it meant?” he asked in his deep voice.

  “Something I never – dreamt would – happen!” she replied. “And it is something I shall remember always – and think about when – ”

  “When what?” he asked.

  “When it is not – possible to – see you again.”

  “Are you suggesting that we must say ‘goodbye’ to each other?” he enquired.

  “I-I am afraid so. You see – sooner or later the Duke is bound to find out that you come to the Racecourse – and besides, I expect – now that you have the horses, you will – build a course of your own.”

  “Apart from that possibility, it would be helpful, to say the least of it, if you told me why the Duke should object to our meeting.”

  Alita turned her face away from him to stare ahead so that he could only see her profile silhouetted against the darkness.

  “I know it – annoys you,” she murmured, “but I cannot – answer your questions.”

  Because she did not wish him to dwell on the subject of herself, she added quickly,

  “Before we arrive at The Castle – I want to ask you how I can – return this wonderful gown you so kindly lent me for this evening. Perhaps one of your grooms – could fetch it tomorrow?”

  “It’s a present, like your riding habits,” Clint Wilbur answered.

  “A – p-present? But I cannot – you know that I cannot accept such – expensive gifts.”

  “And what do you expect me to do with them?” he asked bluntly.

  It seemed that there was no answer and after a moment Alita said a little incoherently,

  “When you said you were – dressing me for the part I was to play – I never imagined – I never thought that I might – keep the clothes.”

  “You look very lovely in all of them.”

  She was so surprised at the way he spoke that she turned to look at him, her eyes wide and holding in their depths a gleam of light from the lantern.

  “Do I really have to tell you,” he asked, “that everyone tonight was acclaiming your beauty as well as your talent?”

  “You – you are – teasing me!”

  “No, I am telling you the truth. I realised a long time ago that this was how you would look if you were properly dressed.”

  She was so astonished at what he was saying that she could only stammer,

  “How – how did you – know?”

  He smiled as he replied,

  “If you saw a thoroughbred that had been put out to grass and neglected, whose coat was thick and matted, his mane unbrushed and who had gone wild, as one might say, would you recognise his breeding?”

  Alita thought for a moment and then she said,

  “I – hope I – would.”

  “And I recognised when I first saw you that you could look as you do now, very lovely and very fascinating, even though you persist in being mysterious.”

  It seemed to Alita that he came a little closer to her as he spoke.

  Yet, because she was almost hypnotised by what he was saying and by a note in his voice that she had never heard before, she could not move away.

  She could only sit there staring at him, feeling as if he had lit a light within her that was sweeping away the darkness of insecurity and unhappiness, which was all she had known for so long.

  “What can I – say?” she said. “How can I – tell you what – your kindness means to me?”

  “Why try?” he replied. “There are so many better ways of saying what one feels besides words.”

  His arm went round her as he spoke, he lifted her chin and his lips came down on hers!

  For a moment she was too astonished to move, too astonished even to be sure of what was happening.

  Then, as she felt his other arm go round her and he drew her closer still, she felt his lips evoke that strange streak of quicksilver that had run through her before when his hand had touched hers.

  Now it was more intense, more wonderful, more compelling and she knew that this was what she had longed for and was what subconsciously she had wanted ever since she had known him.

  It was love that had made her count the hours until she could meet him on the Racecourse each morning.

  It was love that had made her jealous of the women whom he had planned to entertain so lavishly.

  It was love that made her vibrate to him as if she was an instrument played by a Master hand.

  Everything that had been starved and neglected in her seemed to break down before a force so strong and so indomitable that she could only surrender herself completely to the magic and wonder of it.

  She felt as if his lips drew her soul and her mind from her body and made them his.

  She knew that her every nerve vibrated to a strange ecstatic rapture that carried her into a light so brilliant and so overwhelming that she was blinded and yet at the same time a part of it.

  His lips were demanding, possessive and dominated her to the point where it was impossible to breathe.

  In fact it was impossible to do anything but quiver in his arms and she knew that if she died at this moment it would be the most perfect thing that could happen to her.

  How could she go on living, she thought wildly, without the closeness of him and with the desolation of being alone again?

  Suddenly the horses came to a standstill and she realised that they were back at The Castle. She must leave him and nothing could ever be the same again.

  He drew his arms from her as if he too was reluctant and she gazed at him bewildered, at the same time feeling as if her whole body was glowing with a strange unaccountable warmth.

  A footman opened the door and Alita managed to alight.

  Only when she was standing on the steps did she realise with a feeling of consternation that the servants must have aroused the nightwatchman for the front door was open.

  Slowly she walked towards it, aware that Clint Wilbur moved beside her.

  They stepped into the hall and old Johnson, who had been the nightwatchman for years and who was half-blind, quavered,

  “I was a-wonderin’ who it could be, Miss Alita. I didn’t know as you were out!”

  Alita did not reply.

  She only moved a little further into the hall, which was lit by just one lantern standing by the padded chair in which old Johnson sat when he was not making his rounds.

  She looked up into Clint Wilbur’s eyes and
tried to speak, but, although her lips moved, no words would come.

  He looked down at her for a long moment and then, as if he understood, he took her hand in his.

  “I will see you tomorrow,” he said softly, “but not before noon. I want you to rest and, as there are fewer horses now in the stables, there will be no reason for you to rise early.”

  It was an order, not a request.

  Then he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

  “Goodnight,” he said quietly and turned to walk back to the carriage.

  Only when the horses had moved away and old Johnson had shut The Castle door and bolted it, did Alita see standing on the floor a leather case and two hat boxes.

  She thought that Johnson was going to speak to her, perhaps to repeat his surprise that she was out so late.

  Because she could not find words that could be spoken through lips that had been kissed, she turned and ran up the stairs.

  *

  Alita awoke to realise even before she looked at the clock that it was far later in the morning than she usually rose.

  She might have been late getting back, but it was even later before finally she climbed into bed.

  Last night she had stood staring at herself in the mirror in the bedroom, wondering if the radiant person she saw reflected there could possibly be the despised, neglected, untidy Alita Lang.

  How could she have been transformed, as if by a magician’s wand, into someone who looked not only beautiful but also as elegant and graceful as any of the women she had met that evening?

  Only Clint Wilbur, she thought, could have realised that the very pale yellow of her gown was the perfect complement to her strange hair.

  It also seemed to make her skin very white and to reflect a golden light into her grey eyes, which made them look different from the way they had always looked before.

  Alita knew that it was not only the gown that had made so much difference but love.

  Love had throbbed within her, but instead of diminishing now that she had left Clint Wilbur, it seemed to increase until she felt as if her whole body had come alive in a way that she had never known.

  ‘I love him! I love him!’ she told her reflection.

  Then with a little cry she turned away from the mirror, knowing that her love was hopeless and that the sooner she faced up to the truth the better.