Sailing to Love

by Barbara Cartland

“There’s something I want you to have.”

  He reached into a leather bag on the floor, and drew out the engagement ring that she had returned to him so defiantly on the first day of their marriage.

  “Now it is right that you should wear my mother’s ring,” he said. “I hope you will accept it.”

  “I would love to wear it,” she said, and he slipped it onto her finger.

  She felt as though they had reached their true beginning.

  But who knew what the end would be?

  At last they reached Calcutta and the train drew slowly into the station. Again there was a band playing, and when Venetia looked out of the window she saw flags flying.

  It suddenly became very real to her. They were here as the honoured guests of the Viceroy, the Queen’s representative. And for a while they too were to be treated like Royalty.

  “My Lord,” she said suddenly.

  He took her hand.

  “Don’t you think, after last night, you could call me Ivan?”

  “Of course,” she said, blushing slightly as the memory came back to her.

  “Let me hear you say my name.”

  “Ivan,” she whispered.

  “What did you want to say to me?”

  If he had been hoping for some expression of romantic devotion, he was to be disappointed. Venetia said calmly,

  “I wanted to ask if you’d ever been to Kedleston Hall?”

  “I beg your pardon?” he said blankly. “Did I hear you properly?”

  “Yes, I asked if you’d ever been to Kedleston Hall in England. It’s the home of the Curzon family.”

  “Yes. I had dinner there once. But what of it. My dear Venetia, have you been affected by the sun?”

  She laughed.

  “No, I promise you. It’s just that when we reach Raj Bhavan, the Viceroy’s residence, you may find it familiar. I read somewhere that when it was built, sixty years ago, the architect imitated Kedleston Hall.”

  She saw him looking sceptical and laughed again.

  “All right, don’t believe me. Just wait until you see.”

  Someone knocked on their door. It was time for them to leave the train. As she collected her bag Venetia whispered,

  “The architect was Captain Charles Wyatt, a Bengal engineer.”

  Her husband gave her a sideways look. Then the door was pulled open, and there was no chance for further conversation. From now on they were ‘on duty’.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  They stepped down from the train onto a red carpet, where a man wearing a coat covered in gilt braid was waiting for them. He introduced himself as the Honourable Charles Edmonds and in a loud voice, welcomed them on behalf of the Viceroy.

  The Earl made the necessary responses, after which the young man led them to the carriage that was waiting to take them to Raj Bhavan, the Viceregal mansion.

  It was not a long journey. They travelled through streets lined with people who cheered and waved when they saw the Royal crest on the sides of the carriages.

  The Earl acknowledged the cheers and suggested that Venetia did the same. She waved and smiled, feeling very strange. Inside herself she was still ordinary Venetia Baydon, living in a backwater, known to nobody.

  But in fact she was the Countess of Mountwood, the guest of the Queen’s representative. And she must play her part. So she too smiled and waved.

  “I will look forward to telling Her Majesty what a warm welcome we received on her behalf,” the Earl told the Honourable Charles.

  “Queen Victoria is very popular in India,” he replied. “When the Viceroy entertains guests from England, the whole town seems to go mad.”

  At last they approached a pair of high wrought iron gates that immediately swung open to admit the stream of carriages. In another few moments they were at the start of the long drive, their view filled by the great white palatial house, the front dominated by tall slender pillars.

  As the carriage drew up, the Viceroy and Vicereine emerged from the house and descended the stairs.

  Lord Lytton was a tall, elegant man in his late forties, with fine features, dark hair and a long dark curly beard. His wife, about ten years his junior, was equally elegant with a slightly haughty air, but a lovely smile.

  “Mountwood,” the Viceroy said, seizing his guest’s hand. “So glad to meet you at last. Her Majesty has written a great deal to me about you. She praises you to the skies.”

  When he greeted Venetia, he gave her a shrewd look that made her wonder exactly what he had heard. It occurred to her that he might have been given Mary’s name. She caught the Earl’s eye and knew that he was thinking the same thing. Fortunately neither the Viceroy nor his wife made any awkward comments.

  From the moment of their arrival they were enveloped in luxury. Since Venetia had no maid with her, Lady Lytton offered the use of her own. Now she could bask in the pleasure of being really well looked after.

  Having shown her personally to her suite, the Vicereine then took her on a tour of that part of the palace that was used as a residence, the rest being given over to the Royal Court.

  She was in her thirties with a face that was still pretty, although the birth of seven children in fourteen years, with two sons dead in infancy, had left her a little worn.

  But just now her mood was cheerful. She had borne another son earlier that year, and she glowed with happiness as she showed Venetia the nursery.

  ‘Will this happen to me?’ Venetia thought. ‘To bear children to your husband, then see them die and go on to have more. Only the greatest love could make it endurable.’

  Lady Lytton noticed her pensive mood and put it down to the strain of the journey.

  “You are tired,” she said. “Let us return to your apartment, and you must take all the time you need to prepare for tonight.”

  While Clarice, the maid, unpacked and hung up her clothes, Venetia was free to lie back in a bath, feeling the heat and strain of the journey float away from her.

  Now she felt well, relaxed and ready to play her part in this glittering scene.

  It was time to dress for dinner. She chose one of her new gowns from Gibraltar, a wonderful creation of rose silk and gauze, decorated with tiny velvet rosebuds and dainty satin ribbons.

  There was a knock on her door. The maid admitted the Earl, curtsied and departed.

  “You look beautiful,” he told Venetia, his eyes warm and appreciative. “But when we return home it will be my pleasure to take you to Paris, and have the couturiers dress you as your beauty deserves to be dressed.”

  “You don’t think I do you credit now?” she asked demurely.

  “I have already told you that you look beautiful,” he said, smiling.

  “Ah, I see!”

  “What do you see, madam? I mistrust that ironic tone of yours. It means you’re going to say something disconcerting.”

  “I was only thinking that you’re going to be the kind of husband who rations his compliments. Perhaps you think I may become vain?”

  The Earl’s answer to this was to seize her in his arms and cover her mouth in a fierce crushing kiss. For a long moment the world spun giddily while his lips moved over hers, teasing and coaxing.

  “That is what I think of you,” he said at last, gasping slightly. “And let that be a lesson to you not to ask foolish questions.”

  Venetia’s eyes gleamed with amusement – and something else.

  “I don’t think any further questions will be necessary, my Lord.” she observed. She too was gasping a little.

  His eyes gleamed in return, understanding her message perfectly.

  “Little witch,” he said amiably. “Now stop tempting me and attend to serious business.”

  He picked up a box which he had brought into the room and had then set down hurriedly while he kissed her.

  “I brought some of my mother’s jewels with me,” he said. “Tonight I should like you to wear her pearls.”

  He draped a triple string about her neck
and placed a pearl tiara on her head. Every pearl was perfect and she knew the worth of them all must be fabulous.

  “I’m nervous,” she said suddenly. “I know nothing about this kind of life. Suppose I let you down.”

  “You won’t let me down,” he said gently. “Just be your normal beautiful clever self, and everyone will admire you as I do.”

  Admire, she noticed. Not love.

  Together they descended the huge staircase to be greeted by their hosts, who explained that they would dine privately tonight, because nobody had known exactly when they would arrive.

  But now messages had been sent out and tomorrow night there would be a formidable array of guests to greet them.

  The ‘private’ dining room turned out to be a vast room with walls lined with tables groaning with side dishes. In the centre a table was laid for five, Lord and Lady Lytton, Lord and Lady Mountwood, and Lord Anthony.

  The meal was splendid beyond anything Venetia had imagined. The gleaming white china bore the Royal crest, which was also on the heavy crystal glasses and every piece of the gold cutlery.

  Servants glided silently back and forth offering food and the very best wines.

  It was delightful to be treated like this, but Venetia was conscious of being under scrutiny by people who wanted to know if she could live up to her position.

  Then she realised that the Earl was also under scrutiny. Lord Lytton was engaging him in deep conversation about the situation on the North-West frontier and, in particular, about the Treaty of Gandamark, which the Viceroy had concluded earlier that year with the Emir of Afghanistan.

  Listening closely, Venetia discovered that, in return for an annual payment of six hundred thousand rupees, the Emir guaranteed the safety of British subjects going about their lawful business, especially trade.

  “Will the Emir keep his side of the Treaty?” the Earl wanted to know.

  “Oh, he’s a good fellow, he will do his best,” the Viceroy replied. “But that doesn’t mean the Russians on his frontier will give him any peace. They’ll try to force him to break the treaty or make it look as if he’s broken it, and try to provoke us into reaction.”

  “In that case,” said the Earl, “it seems to me that what we must do –”

  The conversation became military and detailed. To Venetia’s great pleasure her husband showed himself knowledgeable. He seemed to have the whole area fixed in his brain, plus which troops were stationed where, and what they were doing.

  She had thought that Lord Anthony, exquisite in full evening dress, would be out of his depth in this discussion. But he surprised her by being knowledgeable, particularly on the subject of the tribesmen who regularly crossed the India Afghan border, and who often turned out to be British soldiers in disguise.

  “Dashed exciting thing to do,” he said. “Always thought I’d like to try it myself.”

  There was a stunned silence during which the others tried to imagine this willowy, delicate young man in tribesman’s clothes. And failed.

  “Just a thought,” he said defensively, as they all burst into laughter.

  “Keep it as a thought, old fellow,” the Earl advised him in an unsteady voice. “Never try to spoil the fantasy with reality.”

  “Oh, I say!” said Anthony, his feelings hurt.

  The talk passed onto other matters, nearer home.

  “I wonder if you’ve had time to form an opinion of Raj Bhavan,” Lady Lytton said to the Earl.

  “Magnificent,” he replied at once. “In fact it’s as splendid as I would expect in a Royal residence.”

  There was a slight pause in which Venetia could sense him trying to make up his mind. She saw his tension and then he relaxed as he decided to take a risk.

  “At the same time,” he said, “it has an air of comfort that reminds me of the best sort of English country house.”

  “I wonder why you should say that,” Lady Lytton teased.

  “I understand, ma’am, that it was modelled after Kedleston Hall, home of the Curzon family, and where I have had the pleasure of dining.”

  “I’m glad to find you so well informed,” Lord Lytton said, sounding pleased. “Does your knowledge extend to the name of the architect?”

  The Earl took a deep breath, like a man about to dive off a high ledge into a deep ocean.

  “I believe it was Captain Charles Wyatt, a Bengal engineer,” he said.

  There was a murmur of approval from the Viceroy and his lady.

  “It isn’t often that our visitors are so well rounded in their knowledge of India,” Lord Lytton said. “I had expected you to know about the frontier, but for you to know the history of this building as well is a bonus. I congratulate you.”

  Across the table the Earl’s eyes briefly met Venetia’s and he raised his glass to her in a gesture of salute.

  But she had yet another surprise for him, as he was about to discover.

  “And you ma’am,” the Viceroy said, turning to her. “Are you as well versed in this country as Lord Mountwood.”

  “I am afraid not,” she said meekly. “I do not aspire to my husband’s level of learning.”

  The Earl had the grace to blush.

  “I spend much of my time reading poetry,” Venetia continued. “I am particularly fond of the works of Owen Meredith. In fact, Lucile has long been my favourite poem.”

  There was a sudden silence. Venetia’s eyes met Lord Lytton’s and found a question in them. She answered it by quoting the first few lines of the long, narrative poem that had taken the literary world by storm a few years earlier. “You knew!” the Viceroy said.

  “I must admit that I did know,” she confessed. “But truly, I have always been an admirer of Mr Meredith.”

  The Viceroy gave a sudden roar of laughter.

  “Well done, ma’am!” he said. “You have taken me completely by surprise.”

  The Earl was looking from one to the other as the truth dawned on him.

  “My Lord,” Venetia said to him, “allow me to introduce Mr Owen Meredith.”

  The Viceroy gave an ironic bow. Lady Lytton was laughing with delight.

  “Now you have really pleased him,” she confided to Venetia. “There’s nothing Edward likes more than to be admired for his poetry.”

  “Mountwood, I congratulate you,” the Viceroy said. “Your wife belongs in the diplomatic corps. You have made an excellent choice.”

  “I agree,” the Earl said, his smiling eyes on Venetia.

  By common consent they all retired early, to be prepared for the long day ahead.

  When the maid had departed Venetia lay in the darkness, waiting for the sound she longed to hear, the click of the door latch. At last it came. She felt Ivan slip into the bed beside her and the next moment she was enfolded in his arms.

  Later, as they lay contentedly together he said, in an amused voice,

  “If you wanted to take me by surprise tonight, you succeeded. Who would have dreamed he was a poet?”

  “Yes, he doesn’t look like one with that beard, does he?” she said.

  “How lucky that you should have admired his work so much.”

  “Well – ” she said cautiously.

  “What does that mean? You said Lucile was your favourite poem.”

  “It was, when I first read it. But I was only sixteen. It’s all about a pair of lovers who are separated in youth and meet up again when they’re old, and she’s become a nun.”

  She lowered her voice to a whisper and said in his ear,

  “You never read such sentimental nonsense in your life. But naturally I couldn’t say that to him.”

  There was a stunned silence. Then he roared with laughter. When he was calm again, he took her hand and laid it against his lips, saying,

  “He said you belonged in the diplomatic corps and he didn’t know how right he was.”

  Then he was drawing her close again, murmuring,

  “My love – my love –”

  And they forgot
all about the Viceroy and his poetry. They forgot about everything in the world but each other.

  *

  For Venetia the following day was taken up with visits to a hospital and a school in the company of Lady Lytton. Then it was time to return to Raj Bhavan to prepare for the great banquet that was to be given in their honour that evening.

  If she had dressed with care the night before, Venetia knew that she must be a thousand times more careful now. Tonight they would be ‘on display’.

  She wore a white satin brocade gown swept back into an elaborate bustle. She had half planned to wear the pearls again, but the Earl insisted that this time it must be diamonds.

  “Ready?” he asked her.

  She took a deep breath.

  “I’m ready for anything.”

  He offered her his arm and they walked out together. A Major Domo was waiting for them, to escort them to their seats as the guests of honour.

  Venetia nearly gasped aloud at the sight of the company. There must have been at least five hundred guests, all summoned at a day’s notice.

  But of course, she realised, this was a ‘Royal’ household and everyone would be flattered to be invited, even at the last minute.

  At last the trumpets blared and the Viceroy and Vicereine made their entrance, to the sound of the National Anthem. They took their places in the centre of the top table and the banquet began.

  Venetia found that there was too much space between her and the person sitting next to her to allow of much conversation. But she soon realised that the real point of being here was to allow herself to be studied.

  After a while she managed to relax, and enjoyed studying the others. As the top table was on a raised dais, she had a good view of all the other guests.

  There were many army officers, splendid in dress uniform. The top level of court officials was also well represented.

  There were also many guests who were obviously members of India’s aristocracy. The women were beautiful, adorned with rubies and emeralds that glowed against their brilliantly coloured clothes. The men were magnificent and also adorned with jewels.

  After a very long banquet, of many courses, and a confusing multitude of different wines, it was time for the speeches.

  The Viceroy welcomed his honoured guests who had come all the way from England as a sign of Her Majesty’s affection. Then the Earl made a speech in which he praised the Queen and the Viceroy as Her Majesty’s representative in India.