Lovers in London
Page 1
LOVERS IN LONDON
Lanthia was thinking again about her dream man who always rode beside her in the woods. Instinctively the thought made her yearn for fresh air so she ran to the window.
She looked out onto Portland Place, at the same time still feeling as if she was riding beneath the trees in the woods at home.
In her thoughts, the sun was percolating through the broad leaves of the green canopy overhead and someone was riding beside her.
Someone who was so in tune with her that he understood that she was listening to the goblins working deep in the ground.
Someone who could see in the same way she could, the nymphs hiding behind the trunks of the trees.
How could she explain to the Marquis, or anyone else, the strange feelings she harboured within her?
She was sure that no one would ever understand that she was talking to an invisible man beside her, who felt the same as she did about everything.
‘How can I marry anyone,’ she asked herself, ‘if I am always thinking about someone else, even though he is invisible?’
THE BARBARA CARTLAND PINK COLLECTION
Barbara Cartland was the most prolific bestselling author in the history of the world. She was frequently in the Guinness Book of Records for writing more books in a year than any other living author. In fact her most amazing literary feat was when her publishers asked for more Barbara Cartland romances, she doubled her output from 10 books a year to over 20 books a year, when she was 77.
She went on writing continuously at this rate for 20 years and wrote her last book at the age of 97, thus completing 400 books between the ages of 77 and 97.
Her publishers finally could not keep up with this phenomenal output, so at her death she left 160 unpublished manuscripts, something again that no other author has ever achieved.
Now the exciting news is that these 160 original unpublished Barbara Cartland books are ready for publication and they will be published by Barbaracartland.com exclusively on the internet, as the web is the best possible way to reach so many Barbara Cartland readers around the world.
The 160 books will be published monthly and will be numbered in sequence.
The series is called the Pink Collection as a tribute to Barbara Cartland whose favourite colour was pink and it became very much her trademark over the years.
The Barbara Cartland Pink Collection is published only on the internet. Log on to www.barbaracartland.com to find out how you can purchase the books monthly as they are published, and take out a subscription that will ensure that all subsequent editions are delivered to you by mail order to your home.
If you do not have access to a computer you can write for information about the Pink Collection to the following address :
Barbara Cartland.com Ltd.
240 High Road,
Harrow Weald,
Harrow
HA3 7BB
United Kingdom.
Telephone & fax: +44 (0)20 8863 2520
Titles in this series
These titles are currently available for download. For more information please see the Where to buy page at the end of this book
The Cross Of Love
Love In The Highlands
Love Finds The Way
The Castle Of Love
Love Is Triumphant
Stars In The Sky
The Ship Of Love
A Dangerous Disguise
Love Became Theirs
Love Drives In
Sailing To Love
The Star Of Love
Music Is The Soul Of Love
Love In The East
Theirs To Eternity
A Paradise On Earth
Love Wins In Berlin
In Search Of Love
Love Rescues Rosanna
A Heart In Heaven
The House Of Happiness
Royalty Defeated By Love
The White Witch
They Sought Love
Love Is The Reason For Living
They Found Their Way To Heaven
Learning To Love
Journey To Happiness
A Kiss In The Desert
The Heart Of Love
The Richness Of Love
For Ever And Ever
An Unexpected Love
Saved By An Angel
Touching The Stars
Seeking Love
Journey To Love
The Importance Of Love
Love By The Lake
A Dream Come True
The King Without A Heart
The Waters Of Love
Danger To The Duke
A Perfect Way To Heaven
Follow Your Heart
In Hiding
Rivals For Love
A Kiss From The Heart
Lovers In London
This Way To Heaven
THE LATE DAME BARBARA CARTLAND
Barbara Cartland, who sadly died in May 2000 at the grand age of ninety eight, remains one of the world’s most famous romantic novelists. With worldwide sales of over one billion, her outstanding 723 books have been translated into thirty six different languages, to be enjoyed by readers of romance globally.
Writing her first book ‘Jigsaw’ at the age of 21, Barbara became an immediate bestseller. Building upon this initial success, she wrote continuously throughout her life, producing bestsellers for an astonishing 76 years. In addition to Barbara Cartland’s legion of fans in the UK and across Europe, her books have always been immensely popular in the USA. In 1976 she achieved the unprecedented feat of having books at numbers 1 & 2 in the prestigious B. Dalton Bookseller bestsellers list.
Although she is often referred to as the ‘Queen of Romance’, Barbara Cartland also wrote several historical biographies, six autobiographies and numerous theatrical plays as well as books on life, love, health and cookery. Becoming one of Britain's most popular media personalities and dressed in her trademark pink, Barbara spoke on radio and television about social and political issues, as well as making many public appearances.
In 1991 she became a Dame of the Order of the British Empire for her contribution to literature and her work for humanitarian and charitable causes.
Known for her glamour, style, and vitality Barbara Cartland became a legend in her own lifetime. Best remembered for her wonderful romantic novels and loved by millions of readers worldwide, her books remain treasured for their heroic heroes, plucky heroines and traditional values. But above all, it was Barbara Cartland’s overriding belief in the positive power of love to help, heal and improve the quality of life for everyone that made her truly unique.
‘How can I marry anyone,’ she asked herself, ‘if I am always thinking about someone else, even though he is invisible?’
Barbara Cartland
CHAPTER ONE
1880
Lanthia was riding alone through the woods as she did every morning.
She was thinking that nothing in the universe could be lovelier than the sunshine streaming through the spring leaves and turning them to gold.
As usual she was telling herself a story. It seemed that whenever she rode into the woods her imagination was on fire and stories just flowed into her mind.
As she often said to her father, she had travelled the world just by reading the books in his library and listening to the wonderful stories he told her.
“They all seem so true and real, Papa,” she had told him over and over again.
Her father had laughed, delighted.
Sir Philip Grenville had been very much an ardent traveller in his youth, but now he was content to stay at home in the country.
He wrote about his experiences rather than taking part any more.
To Lanthia, ever since
she had been small, the huge library with so many books overflowing into almost every other room in the house created many fairy tales in which she herself always played a vital part.
She envisaged herself climbing the Himalayas as her father had tried to do, or travelling for endless miles over deserted countryside to Tibet and finding a monastery perched on the side of a cliff where no European had ever set foot.
In all of her dreams she was accompanied by someone special, a dream companion, who understood what she was thinking and who enjoyed the adventure of discovering a new world as much as she did.
She dreamed, as she was travelling up the Nile or the Amazon, that she instructed her invisible companion.
At other times he instructed her, but always in her dreams they were together and she was never frightened or alone.
Lanthia had always been a lonely child.
A late baby, her mother, Elizabeth, was already thirty-nine years old when she was born. The age gap between Lanthia and her older bother, David, was too great for him to make a natural playmate, so the little girl came to rely on her own vivid imagination for companionship.
When the Honourable Elizabeth Ford married Philip Grenville – he had not then come into the family Baronetcy – their families had been delighted. Their happiness had seemed complete when the young couple welcomed a son and heir within a year of marriage, and their families eagerly anticipated siblings to follow swiftly.
However, because Philip Grenville wanted to travel the world and his devoted wife always went with him, there were no more children.
Accepting that their family was complete, the well-travelled couple had given up hoping that there might be any more.
So Lanthia had been an unexpected surprise, or ‘afterthought’ as someone had wryly commented.
Her parents were thrilled and delighted with their baby daughter. It seemed as if the fates had given them a special gift when they were least expecting it.
Lanthia herself had always looked as if she had stepped straight out of a fairy story.
Dainty, pretty and intelligent, Sir Philip was prouder of his daughter than of any of the books he wrote or even his vast library that he had spent years compiling. Enchanted, he spent a great deal of time telling her stories, which fascinated her until she began to feel that she was living in them rather than just hearing them.
Now, riding through the woods that were part of her father’s country estate, she was blissfully imagining that she was riding in the hot sun in India towards a magnificent Palace, where she was to stay with the Maharajah.
India was very often in her thoughts because that was where David was presently stationed. He was serving as aide-de-camp to the Viceroy.
He did not write to her very often, but when he did, her bother’s descriptions made Lanthia feel that she was exploring India herself.
In her mind she travelled from the Viceregal Lodge in Calcutta to the North-West Frontier where many hostile tribesmen lurked behind every rock and bush. She could visualise all too well the dangers she would be facing.
David had told her when he was last at home for a short leave how afraid they all felt about infiltration by the Russians.
So adding to the pictures in her mind, she could almost see the Cossacks riding across the desolate plains towards India, which was considered the most magnificent jewel in the British Crown.
But the Czar himself and the Cossacks who served him were determined it should sooner or later be in their hands.
“We have to be always on our guard,” David told his sister, who listened to him wide-eyed.
“The Russians infiltrate,” he went on, “amongst the local tribesmen and incite them to rebel against us. They intrigue with the ordinary Indians everywhere and we are never sure what mischief they are plotting until the trouble actually strikes us.”
He also told her how beautiful the Palaces were and how India itself was so enchanting.
When he returned to his duties Lanthia felt as if she was still with him.
She was, in her mind, living in India amongst its smiling people, its exquisite monuments and its burning sun.
In reality the sunshine was only slightly warm on her soft cheeks, glittering on her fair hair, as she was not wearing a hat.
Tossing her head defiantly, she thought how much easier it was when she rode alone just to jump onto a horse. Why bother about jackets, hats and of course gloves, which every lady who rode was expected to wear, when it took up valuable time that she could be outdoors in her beloved woods?
Her fine black stallion was called Jupiter, after the Roman King of the Gods, and she loved him best after her parents.
He seemed to understand everything she was saying when she talked to him. The grooms had told her and she knew it was true, that when it was her regular time to come to the stables, Jupiter was always waiting at the door of his stall listening for her footsteps.
Now as they moved slowly over the moss-covered paths in the woods, Lanthia was talking to him,
“Today, Jupiter, we have been riding over the hot plains of India and were very grateful for any shelter we could find from the sun.”
She thought Jupiter was listening and continued,
“Somewhere in a large and grand Palace we shall learn a secret which will send us off tomorrow on another journey of discovery. It will send us into a very dangerous situation from which we will extract ourselves at the very last moment only by what would seem a miracle!”
As she was talking to Jupiter, she could see it all happening and she knew that only the Gods could save her from destruction.
At that moment in her story, the wood came to an end and she saw her home ahead of her.
It was a very attractive house, which had been in the Grenville family for more than two hundred years. A Grenville, one of the first Baronets ever created by King James I, had built it.
Over the centuries the house had been considerably extended and Sir Philip’s great-grandfather had spent a great deal of money on it.
He had added, besides his large collection of books, many modern comforts that had not been available to his ancestors.
There were a large number of trees surrounding the house and the garden was the particular pride and delight of Lanthia’s mother.
When she had first married her husband, they had not troubled about a home of their own, as they were too busy travelling round the world.
When they were in England they often stayed with Philip’s father and mother, who were only too delighted to have them. It was they who had looked after David when he was born.
As soon as Elizabeth was strong enough to leave the infant boy, her husband was eager to set off again on another journey of discovery.
This time it was to Africa, as he wanted to find a tribe which English people knew very little about. The people of the tribe professed an ancient history that had never been written down on paper.
It was only now, as Sir Philip and his wife grew older, although she did not like to admit it, that they were content to stay at home.
“I want so much to go exploring with you, Papa,” Lanthia had said almost as soon as she could talk.
To keep her happy her parents had taken her with them on some short journeys to the Continent.
By the time she was old enough to fully understand what it meant to explore unknown parts of the world, she found that her father and mother wished to remain in Huntingdonshire.
There was not much to amuse Lanthia at home as she grew up and this made her all the more interested in the books she could read and the stories her father told her.
She now rode slowly up the drive with its ancient oak trees lining each side like sentinels.
Guileless and without vanity, she had no idea that she really looked as if she had stepped straight out of a storybook herself.
Lanthia was a very lovely young girl, but it was not just her looks. There was something unusual about her, an etherealness that was intangible, which made
everyone who met her feel drawn towards her as if by a magnet.
It was not exactly what she said, but it was as if she was speaking to everyone around her through an aura that radiated from her soul.
Sir Philip had once said to his wife,
“When I am with Lanthia, I always feel as if she is a veritable Goddess who has graciously come down to us from Mount Olympus and might vanish at any moment!”
Lady Grenville had laughed.
“I know exactly what you mean, my dearest,” she replied, “and it is your fault. The world you have created for her is more real than the actual world she lives in!”
Now as Lanthia looked at her home she thought how beautiful the ancient brickwork was, with a life of its own because of the many years it had existed.
She was daydreaming about the many people who had passed through its heavy doors, feeling that they had all left an impression she could sense in the atmosphere of the house.
Over the years soldiers and statesmen, rakes and roués, and politicians of every persuasion, who had been of great service to the country, had lived there.
They had all come, and they had all gone.
Sometimes Lanthia felt as if they were still there, watching over their namesake and preparing the way for those who would follow in the future.
‘That will be David,’ ruminated Lanthia, ‘and it is time he married and produced an heir, who will be the tenth Baronet when he dies.’
She rode into the stables and one of the boys came out to take charge of Jupiter.