Lovers in London (13 page)

He remembered his father had said he brought his mother's engagement ring there and he also gave her an expensive present from the same shop every Christmas and on her birthday.

The Marquis decided that he should buy something attractive to thank Lanthia for everything she had done for him.

He was welcomed by the manager and shown into his private room.

“What can I do for you, my Lord?” he intoned.

“I want something not too flamboyant but pretty for a very young lady,” answered the Marquis. “In fact she is a
debutante
, so it should not be at all flashy.”

“No, of course not, my Lord,” the manager replied, as if the Marquis had reproached him for even thinking of such an idea.

He snapped his fingers and an attendant hurried to find what he thought was most appropriate.

While he was doing so the manager said,

“That reminds me, my Lord, we have just finished mending the clasp of the magnificent brooch that your aunt – the Countess – wore at the ball the other night. She told me it should be repaired as it would be a tragedy if it was lost.”

The Marquis was listening to him although he was not particularly interested.

The manager took a small jewel case from a drawer and the Marquis saw that it was stamped in gold with his family crest.

He recognised at once that the piece belonged to the famous Rakecliffe jewels that had been handed down for many generations and were considered by the cognoscenti to be the most outstanding collection in private hands.

As one of his relations had remarked only the other day,

“Apart from the Royal jewels there is no other to compare to ours.”

The Marquis had agreed with her that they were in fact unique.

His great-grandfather had brought a great number of gems from India and had arranged for them to be set by the finest jeweller in Paris.

The result was the equal of anything that could be worn by Princess Alexandra and the many necklaces made of every known jewel were outstanding.

The manager was now showing him an enormous brooch in the centre of which was a very large diamond in the shape of a star. The fiery diamonds that framed it were all perfect.

It was so unusual that it was impossible to have it adequately valued for insurance purposes.

The brooch had been cleaned while being mended and in consequence it was shining like a star that had fallen down from the sky.

The Marquis took it out from its velvet case and turned it over.

“I can see you have made a good job of it,” he said, “and it would be a tragedy indeed if it was lost.”

“It certainly would, my Lord, so I was wondering, whether you could take it with you. I find it difficult to decide how I can return it to Park Lane without running the risk of it being lost or stolen on the way.”

The Marquis smiled.

“I cannot believe London is quite as bad as that, but I should be very upset if it went missing.”

He put the case in his pocket.

Then he started to look at the pieces the manager was showing him as a present for Lanthia.

He knew it was incorrect for a young girl to accept anything of value from a gentleman unless she was actually going to marry him.

As Lanthia had said quite clearly that she would not marry him even if he asked her, that question did not arise.

He was still finding it extraordinary that she should have said ‘no' so quickly, without even considering it.

Finally, he chose a very pretty bracelet exquisitely made in blue enamel with a small charm falling from it on which was written
good luck
.

The manager placed it into a velvet jewel box and would have wrapped it up if the Marquis had not stopped him from doing so.

He also put the box in his pocket.

He was planning to present it to Lanthia tomorrow when they had luncheon together.

Then as he went back to his chaise he remembered the flowers.

By now it was late in the afternoon and he knew there would be a number of letters for him to sign at home.

Therefore he decided that the best thing would be for him to leave the flowers until he went out to dinner.

It would not be too much of a detour to stop at
The Langham
even if he was heading for St. James's Street.

It would take too long now to drive there and then back to Park Lane, so the Marquis returned to his house.

He found, as he expected, a huge pile of letters waiting for him on his desk. Some of them needed signing and when he had done so he pushed them on one side for his secretary to deal with tomorrow morning.

The other letters were private and his secretary was far too discreet and too discerning to have opened any of them.

They were mostly written on pale-coloured writing paper and some gave off the faint scent of exotic perfume.

The Marquis turned them all over without opening even one of them.

Leaving them on his writing desk he now walked upstairs, thinking again of Lanthia and the way the Prince had looked at her.

‘The sooner she does go back to the country, the better,' he thought. ‘She is much too pretty and I have no wish to be responsible for her.'

Yet he knew, because she had saved him from the Conté that was exactly what he now was.

Just how could he do anything else when she had behaved so bravely?

She had saved him from having to go at dawn and fight the Conté in Green Park and doubtless he would at this precise moment be nursing a badly shattered arm and wondering how he could avoid being forced into exile.

The Queen would undoubtedly order him out of the country.

‘I can never be grateful enough to Lanthia,' mused the Marquis. ‘She might have turned out to be some stupid woman, who would merely have screamed or fainted at the way the Conté behaved.'

It was most unfortunate that the Spaniard was still in London and still doubtless waiting for his revenge in one way or another.

He had already made as much trouble as possible and the Marquis, however, had the uneasy feeling he would not think it enough.

He would wish to go a great deal further before he was satisfied.

‘I will try to find out just how long he is staying in London.'

He had always known that any piece of gossip or useful news was always available at White's.

As the Contessa was so beautiful, several members would doubtless have some information about her, whether it was complimentary or derogatory.

By the time the Marquis had walked downstairs, his closed carriage, which he always used at night, was waiting for him.

Most people used only one horse in the evening, but the Marquis liked to be the exception to every rule in having two.

Tonight his stallions were both perfectly matched and completely black except for white stars on their noses. He paused for a second to gaze at them with a satisfied air as he climbed into the carriage.

On his instructions the flowers had been placed on the seat opposite him and he hoped as the horses moved off that they would please Lanthia.

He had with him the family brooch he had picked up from the jeweller and he intended to take it back to his house in the country when he next went there.

All the family jewellery was kept at his country seat, because it was safer and he was in fact nervous of anything of great value being kept in London at the moment.

There had been a series of burglaries in Park Lane and nearly everyone except for himself had lost either their jewels or their silver.

When he had changed his clothes this evening, his valet had taken the brooch out of his coat pocket and had asked the Marquis where he wanted it put.

The Marquis had thought for a moment.

“I would say the safe,” he replied. “But at the same time there have been so many burglaries, I would not want us to be the next victim.”

“Oh, I hopes not, my Lord,” his valet said.

“So do I, Hopkinson, so I will take the brooch with me.”

He tucked it into the pocket of his evening jacket, thinking he would deposit it in the safe at White's Club until tomorrow.

There was always a large amount of money in that particular safe as so many card games were played for very high stakes by the Club members and he knew that every possible precaution was in place to prevent it from being pilfered.

In fact one of the most trusted and strong servants always slept in the same room as the safe.

The Marquis believed he was taking every possible precaution with the brooch that he and his family prized so highly.

One day he would expect the jewels to be worn by his wife, when and if he ever had one.

He wondered what she would be like and then he could not help thinking of how lovely Lanthia had looked last night.

When she had stopped in the courtyard to look up at the water being thrown up by the fountain towards the sky, he thought she was breathtaking.

‘She is stunningly beautiful,' he told himself, ‘more beautiful than anyone I have ever seen.'

Once again he was aware of the glint he had seen in the Prince's eyes that had made him feel angry.

The Marquis's carriage came to a standstill and he realised that quicker than he had expected he was outside the hotel.

He picked up the basket of pink roses, stepped out and walked up the steps and into the entrance hall.

He thought it would be best to leave the basket with the porter to take upstairs to Lanthia.

He was sure that she would not be going out tonight and his roses would therefore be a pleasant surprise for her.

The porter, who had been attending to a hotel guest, turned round as the Marquis put the basket down on the counter.

“Are you alright, my Lord?” he enquired. “We was upset when we heard you'd had an accident!”

“
An accident
?” repeated the Marquis, incredulous. “What are you talking about?”

“Miss Grenville was fetched, my Lord, because the boys said you'd had some accident and wanted her. She came rushin' down here and went to where you was in a carriage which was waitin' outside.”

“I don't understand what you can be saying. I have had no accident. Who brought this message?”

The porter looked round.

“It were young Tommy, my Lord, who took the young boy upstairs to Miss Grenville.”

“Call him,” the Marquis ordered sharply. “I want to speak to him at once.”

Even as he spoke he knew with a sinking heart that something was very wrong.

In fact he was convinced the Conté was striking at him again!

CHAPTER SIX

On her return to the hotel Lanthia went at once to see Mrs. Blossom, who was feeling a little better but still rather hazy.

Lanthia suspected she had been taking more of the laudanum.

It was obvious that she was not thinking of getting up, and from the way she spoke Lanthia considered it most unlikely that she would want anything to eat.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked.

“No, my dear, I am sure I shall feel better by tomorrow,” Mrs. Blossom replied weakly.

It was as if she hoped that by proclaiming her recovery often enough it would come true, but her words did not sound very confident.

‘At least,' Lanthia thought as she left her, ‘I will not have to go home tomorrow, but can remain in London for another day.'

She realised, if she was completely honest, that the reason she wanted to stay was so that she could be with the Marquis again.

Could anything be more exciting than everything that had happened to her so far?

It still seemed just incredible that she had dined last night with the Duke and Duchess of Sutherland and today had been taken to luncheon at Marlborough House.

‘I am lucky, very lucky,' she thought. ‘I only hope I will be able to tell Mama about all my adventures.'

She had already made up her mind about one matter – it would be a mistake to let Mrs. Blossom know anything about what had happened whilst she had been ill.

She would undoubtedly blame herself for not being a better chaperone.

Lanthia felt that she was being a little disloyal in thinking it was a relief not to have had to worry about her.

She went to her own bedroom.

Taking off the pretty blue dress she had worn at the luncheon, she hung it up in the wardrobe, which was filling rapidly with all her new dresses and gowns.

She looked at them and hoped that she would have a chance of wearing them all.

‘I must not be greedy,' she decided. ‘I have had so much already and I shall always remember how kind the Marquis has been to me.'

He had said that he too was grateful to her and she was not surprised.

She knew by the way the Conté had been staring at him last night that he really hated the Marquis in an almost fanatical way.

‘Perhaps when I have gone away he will strike at him again,' she surmised, ‘and then there will be no one to save him.'

Shaking her head and smiling ruefully, she told herself she was being stupid.

Of course, seeing how tall and very strong he was, the Marquis could easily look after himself and she could understand in a way why other men were jealous of him.

‘Anyhow he must be so very careful,' she went on thinking, ‘although there cannot be many men around as spiteful and unpleasant as the Conté.'

As she was only going to dine alone, she put on one of her simple muslin dresses that she had brought with her to wear when she was alone with Mrs. Blossom.

Realising it would be against convention to dine downstairs by herself, she resigned herself to another tedious evening and ordered dinner to be served in her sitting room.

She was not at all hungry, having enjoyed such an excellent luncheon at Marlborough House, so thought she would read one of the books she had brought with her.

She had known, even if she was in London with so many exciting things to do like buying new clothes, there would still be time when she would want to read.