A Castle of Dreams

by Barbara Cartland

  Then she smiled.

  In the distance she could see David and Meg sitting side by side on a bench.

  She decided to stay inside the Castle as she did not want to venture out in case she met up with them!

  She felt a third party would be one too many in that situation.

  It seemed odd to see her brother so comfortable in a young woman’s presence.

  He was not a man who made friends easily, much preferring his painting and sketching hobbies.

  But Lady Margaret Glentorran had certainly found a way past his usual reserve.

  ‘But what hope is there for such a union?’

  Viola was whispering to herself as she roamed the stone passageways of Glentorran Castle.

  ‘I fear that Meg has as much pride as her brother. She will be worried that people will think she likes David just because he is now extremely rich.’

  She found herself at the end of a straight corridor on the second floor of the tall tower at the North side of the Castle.

  She pushed open a door and cried out in delight.

  A large music room lay before her and although the carpet and curtains were old and shabby, the grand piano in the middle of the room shone from regular polishing and when Viola touched one of the keys, it sounded in tune.

  She sat on the tartan covered piano stool and played a little lullaby she had learnt a long time ago.

  “You have a good touch, Viola.”

  She spun round –

  The Duke of Glentorran had been sitting in a high- backed armchair on the far side of the room hidden from her view.

  Now he stood up, a sheaf of papers in his hand, his dark hair tousled.

  “Oh, you startled me! I am so sorry. Did I disturb you? I thought this room was empty.”

  “No need to apologise. I am only too pleased to be diverted from reading these lists of figures over and over again. They are poor fare for such a lovely day.”

  He smiled at Viola, his serious face suddenly alight with warmth.

  “The piano belongs to Meg by the way, not me. She plays it very well, but she is so busy these days trying to cope with everything in the Castle with so few staff that she has no time to practise.”

  He stood up, crossed to the piano and stood looking down at Viola.

  “I confess I am surprised to find you indoors, Viola. I just imagined that you would be out in our wild gardens or walking on the beach.”

  Viola blushed.

  There was no way she could tell him she had been trying not to disturb her brother and his sister!

  “I intend to go for a walk soon,” she murmured. “I want to explore the Castle this morning. I have only seen a little of it so far and I would hate to leave Scotland without knowing all its beauty and surprises.”

  He laughed, his normally stern face transformed.

  “Och, Viola, I think you could explore Glentorran Castle for months and still not discover all its secrets.

  “Why, only recently I was searching for a book up in the attic and discovered a cupboard full of old paintings. Obviously they had been stored away many years ago and forgotten.”

  “And do you like them?”

  The Duke smiled.

  “It’s very hard to tell. They are so dirty and dusty. I imagine that they must have been collected by one of my ancestors. I must show them to your brother one evening. Perhaps he can tell me how old they are.”

  Viola turned away from him so he could not see her face.

  “So the Castle has its own mysteries. What about you? Do you have any secrets, Robert?”

  “Me?”

  The Duke sounded surprised.

  “No, I don’t believe in secrets. They only cause trouble and grief.”

  “But sometimes people will keep information and opinions from their friends and family because they might upset them or be hurtful in some way.”

  The Duke shook his head.

  “No, Viola. I agree that at times people do things out of a misguided sense of caring. But I have no time for such actions. Tell the truth and shame the devil – that is my motto and always will be.”

  Viola now stood up abruptly, her fingers hitting the keyboard with a loud harsh noise.

  She winced.

  “If you will excuse me, I must get myself ready for lunch and go for my walk,” she blurted out as she hurried towards the door.

  The Duke stared after her frowning.

  Whatever had he said to upset her, as her mood had certainly changed in the last few seconds.

  “Before you leave me, I meant to ask you, Viola. Tonight the fisherfolk are holding a ceilidh in Glentorran village. I am just wondering if you would be interested in attending?”

  Viola turned to look at him.

  “A ceilidh?”

  Robert smiled.

  “An evening of Scottish songs and dancing. It will not be like any dance you have ever attended before! The music will be loud and exciting, but I am certain you will enjoy it.

  “I would, of course, ask your brother as well, but Meg tells me that he is not strong enough yet for a night of such wild entertainment and she has agreed to stay behind and keep him company.”

  “Do you always attend the village affairs?”

  “Well, I consider it is my duty to show an interest in everything that happens on the Glentorran estate, but, to tell you the truth, I would go anyway!”

  He laughed.

  “I used to love going to the ceilidhs when I was a young boy. Staying here with my grandfather for weeks at a time was enjoyable, but there was never much chance of excitement. Our evenings would be often spent with him reading to me or relating lurid tales of wicked ancestors and what my duties would be when I inherited the estate.”

  “Heavy fare for a small boy,” said Viola gently, her blue eyes sympathetic.

  “Indeed! Except that I always enjoyed the tales of the bad ancestors!”

  The Duke’s dark eyes gleamed.

  “My grandfather’s youngest brother was banished abroad because his behaviour was so scandalous!

  “But those talks didn’t take up too many hours. As you can so easily imagine, when I could, I escaped to the fishing village to spend time with my friend Fergus.

  “The many nights when the villagers held a ceilidh are still clear in my memory. We used to sit on the floor and wonder at the flying feet, drinking in all the noise, the colour and the excitement.

  “Of course, as I grew up, I was taught the Scottish dances. They are very different from the sedate affairs you have attended in London!”

  He smiled at Viola and her heart turned over at the warmth in his eyes.

  “I would like you to experience a ceilidh before you leave Scotland. The dances are extremely easy. Strip the Willow, the Gay Gordon’s and the Eightsome Reel. And, if we are very lucky, the men might perform a sword dance for us.”

  Viola hesitated.

  She knew that she should refuse.

  Every time she was in the Duke’s company and did not confess to the fortune she and David now possessed, she was making the whole situation worse.

  And she still had not decided what to do about the thorny problem of the brooch she was sure his friend had stolen from the wreckage of the ship.

  Captain Howard had been so certain that there were wreckers at work on this Scottish coastline.

  And Fergus could well be the ringleader.

  How could she possibly get involved in uncovering such an appalling plot when it was one of Robert’s friends involved?

  Although how could she stand back and perhaps let it happen again?

  But oh, it would be wonderful to spend the evening with the Duke, to see another little glimpse of the world he loved so much, a world she was now beginning to realise was one she, too, could happily live in.

  But, after tonight, she knew that she would tell him the truth and their friendship would abruptly end.

  But she wanted this one last memory to treasure for the rest of her life
– she and the Duke dancing together as they had done that faraway night in London.

  “If you think my presence would be welcome – ”

  She began.

  The Duke broke in swiftly.

  “I know my people will be only too delighted if you are there.”

  He held out his hand.

  “As would I!”

  A shiver of sheer delight ran through Viola’s body and she reached out to briefly place her hand in his.

  The warm strong fingers closed around hers for a few seconds, but in that brief time, Viola knew that she had lost her heart for ever.

  She was falling in love with Robert, the Duke of Glentorran!

  A gentleman of honour who seemed to like her.

  But even as their hands dropped apart, Viola knew that this love was doomed.

  As soon as the Duke was told the whole truth, he would despise her and long for the day when she and her brother would leave his home for ever.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  By eight o’clock that evening, the clouds had rolled in from the mountains, covering the moon and stars.

  Viola could smell rain in the air as she made her way slowly down the stone steps from the Great Hall of the Castle to where the Duke was waiting for her.

  He looked incredibly distinguished in his heavy kilt and dark green jacket, the buckles on his shoes gleaming, the ruffles on his white shirt ironed to perfection.

  He held out his hand to Viola and smiled, his dark eyes softening as she approached.

  “You look wonderful! I was wondering what you would wear. I had forgotten that dress of Meg’s.”

  Viola laughed a little nervously.

  The lovely white dress with a plaid draped across one shoulder was a little tight on her and she realised that every inch of her figure was now outlined by the soft white material.

  “It is so very beautiful. The most beautiful dress I have ever worn!”

  The Duke shook his head.

  “No, that would undoubtedly be the blue gown you were wearing that evening so long ago now at Charlotte Brent’s ball. You looked just like an ice Princess.”

  “That sounds very chilly!”

  “Just – untouchable!” came the swift reply.

  Viola was aware of the hot colour flooding up into her cheeks and turned her attention to the little pony cart.

  Stuart McAndrew was standing holding the bridle of a fat grey pony who peered round curiously as if to see what the delay was all about.

  “Is this our transport for the ceilidh?” Viola asked with a smile.

  “Aye. It is a little far to walk – going down to the village is fine, but coming back here late at night could be wearying. You will be tired from dancing, I expect.”

  The Duke patted the grey pony.

  “Bolster will trundle us down slowly to Glentorran with perfect ease, as long as he is allowed to walk at his own pace!”

  The Duke helped Viola into the cart, sprang up to sit next to her, took the reins from the groom and slapped them against the broad grey back in front of him.

  Bolster hesitated for a second and then reluctantly ambled forward.

  Viola jolted sharply sideways as the wheels rocked over the cobbled pathway and the Duke’s arm shot out to encircle her shoulders, holding her fast against his side as the little cart made its way down the steep slope towards the fishing village.

  She gave a little sigh of sheer contentment and, for a brief moment, allowed her head to just touch the Duke’s shoulder.

  She could not remember when she had last been so happy and at the same time so fearful of losing all she held so dear.

  Bolster walked very slowly, but it was still far too fast for Viola.

  Eventually the little cart reached the village just as it began to pour with rain and the Duke guided them to the doorway of a barn close to the last few cottages.

  A small boy appeared and ran out to take the reins.

  The Duke’s hands were warm on Viola’s waist as he helped her down from the cart.

  For a short moment he held her in his arms, then, reluctantly, he let her go.

  Viola felt the ground beneath the thin satin dancing shoes she had borrowed from Meg but wondered if her legs would support her.

  How could she bear to leave here?

  Life was so unfair.

  If only she was still a poor girl with an absent father and no prospects!

  Then perhaps she could have hoped that the Duke might one day return her feelings.

  He offered Viola his arm and together they entered the barn.

  The warmth and the noise that suddenly surrounded them was a pleasant change from the damp rainy evening outside.

  Glowing lanterns swung from the rafters with the movement sending the dancers’ shadows spiralling around the walls.

  At the side of the barn, on a platform made of straw bales, an elderly man was standing and playing a fiddle, his foot beating time to the music.

  And in a distant corner a younger man was tuning a set of bagpipes.

  The music was bright and cheerful and in the centre of the barn several couples were dancing vigorously with the men’s kilts swinging, the women in their best dresses, skipping and laughing while the music told them to change direction, swing their partners and parade around the room.

  All was noise and excitement.

  Viola found herself grasping the Duke’s arm.

  “Oh, how lovely!” she exclaimed.

  The Duke nodded his head, his dark eyes gleaming with pleasure at her spontaneous delight.

  “I so hoped that you would enjoy the sight. Now, I suggest that you leave your wrap over there on yon chair and dance with me!”

  “But I don’t know the steps.”

  The Duke laughed, his usually stern face relaxing.

  For a second or two, Viola could see what he must have looked like when he was just a young boy, visiting his grandfather, running wild and free across the heather with his friends from the fishing village.

  He would have had no cares and no worries.

  It was a far cry from then to the Duke of Glentorran who was in danger of losing his beloved Castle and estate.

  “You will soon learn them. Here – take my hand! Will you be trusting me, Viola?”

  “Oh, always!” she gasped and within seconds found herself dancing in the middle of the barn.

  Breathlessly she skipped along and ran, giggling as the other women made sure that she was in the right place at the right time.

  Then, when she had mastered the simple steps, she gave herself up to the sheer joy of dancing with the Duke, of feeling his hand strong and warm on hers, admiring the breadth of his shoulders under the old green jacket he was wearing.

  The Duke was whooping with much excitement as the men spun their ladies into the middle of the ring, then, driven onwards by the insistent rhythm of the fiddle, leapt after them to wrap their arms round slender waists and lead them once more to the end of the dance.

  He gazed down into Viola’s flushed face.

  She was looking breathtakingly beautiful, her blue eyes were sparkling with her golden hair flowing free from its ribbons and cascading down over her shoulders.

  The Duke recognised that he no longer cared that all he could offer her was a poverty-stricken estate and a Castle that was close to ruin.

  He wanted to marry Lady Viola Northcombe and he was almost certain that she returned at least some of his feelings.

  *

  Back at Glentorran Castle, David was roaming the top floors of the vast building, exploring the dusty deserted rooms that had once housed many servants.

  Now closed up and neglected the top floors of the Castle were a rabbit warren of dark attics, hidden stairways and forgotten windows.

  “David! What are you doing here? Mrs. Livesey told me where you were and I was concerned. You are still not fully recovered from your fever, you know. You could have felt faint climbing all these stairs.”

  Meg stood
in the doorway of one of the great attics, looking at him with affection in her dark eyes.

  David now pushed back his hair from his forehead, leaving a black streak of dust across his face.

  “Meg! I am sorry. I had no intention of worrying anyone. I began exploring and I am only just beginning to realise that Glentorran Castle is such a vast and wonderful place.”

  Meg laughed.

  “Aye, that is very true. And these old attics hold so much of our illustrious history. Generations of Glentorrans have stored their unwanted possessions up here.”

  David picked up a hideous looking vase from an old rickety table.

  “To be frank, Meg, I cannot imagine anyone ever wanting to possess something as ugly as this!”

  The Scottish girl laughed again.

  “This attic was where my grandfather stored all the items that members of the family brought back from their travels abroad. I think that vase came from Egypt.”

  David examined it carefully.

  “Why, it might be some ancient object and worth a fortune that would help your brother save the estate.”

  She sighed and reached out her hand to run a slim finger through the grime covering the porcelain.

  “No, I’m afraid things like that only happen in story books, David. Look, over here in this cupboard are several tatty oil paintings from Italy. In a novel you would look at them and then tell me that they are worth thousands and thousands of guineas. But this is not a novel – this is real life and we are going to lose Glentorran!”

  David then put down the vase and without thinking, reached to take her in his arms.

  He could not bear to see this wonderful girl with all those tears on her cheeks and such sadness and despair in her eyes.

  “Meg, my darling Meg. Please don’t cry! Oh, Meg, I know you have not known me for very long, but I must tell you that I love you. I don’t expect you to love me back, but at least let me take care of you.”

  He bent his head to her and gently kissed her lips.

  To his total amazement she did not pull away, but wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kisses.

  “Oh, David. I love you, too. I think I have loved you from the very moment you rescued me from my hiding place behind that plant at the Brent’s ball!”

  “Will you marry me, sweet Meg?”