The Island of Love (Camfield Series No. 15) (2 page)

“I would scratch your eyes out if he did!” Daisy answered. “I am crazily, wildly infatuated by him, and it is only with the greatest difficulty that I do not throw myself at his feet and beg him to run away with me.”

“Daisy!”

The exclamation was horrified.

“How can you say such a thing! Think of the scandal it would cause! The Duke would undoubtedly call him out!”

“I doubt it!” Daisy replied. “Arthur must be well aware that Hunter has fought a dozen duels already, and has always been the winner.”

She gave a little laugh that had a note of regret in it.

“Anyway, there is no fear of that! I am not so foolish as not to be aware that Hunter’s
affaires de coeur
never last very long, and I doubt if any woman could hold him, once he is bored.”

“I cannot imagine anybody being bored with you, Daisy!”

Daisy gave a deep sigh.

“Thank you, dearest. But while I am ecstatically happy to lie in the sun, I am well aware how quickly the weather can change.”

“Then all I can say is,” her friend replied, “that I envy you more than I can express in words, and I hope that the sunshine continues for a very, very long time.”

“So do I,” Daisy replied, “for I know that never again will I feel as I do now.”

It was at that moment that the door of the room opened and the gentlemen joined the ladies.

Lydia hastily moved away from behind the sofa.

At the same time, she could not resist a little later looking for Daisy to find out who she was.

She then recognised her as her father’s principal guest, the Duchess of Dorchester.

She was beautiful, there was no mistaking that.

Now looking back she remembered that she and her half-sister Heloise were not unalike, both having fair hair, blue eyes, and an exquisite complexion.

She was sure then that that was the type of woman the Earl most admired.

And yet she found it extraordinary, although she was too tactful to say so, that he should actually wish to marry Heloise.

“I suppose he must be in love with her,” she told t herself.

She thought however, although it might be unflattering to Heloise, that it was strange, when he had such a wide choice of other more sophisticated women.

“I will receive the Earl in the Drawing-Room,” Heloise was saying, “and you had better arrange my hair a good deal better than you did last night.”

“But you looked lovely last night!”

“Yes, when I started,” Heloise agreed, “but halfway through the Ball it got loose and untidy. It was your fault for not making it more secure.”

“If you danced the Lancers,” Lydia said, “no hairpins are strong enough to compete.”

“Oh, do not argue!” Heloise said crossly. “I shall make certain that you do my hair properly for this afternoon, and I shall be wearing my new blue gown.”

She paused before she said:

“He said to me last night when we were dancing that my eyes were exactly the colour of the sky, and he had thought of me when he was out riding.”

“What did you answer?” Lydia asked curiously. “I replied softly in the voice that always excites a man:

“‘I am surprised that you should think of me, My Lord, but of course I am very, very flattered.’”

She mimicked her own voice as she spoke, and Lydia thought as she had often done before that Heloise was an excellent actress.

“What happened then?” she asked.

“His arms tightened around my waist and he said: ‘You know how I feel about you?’

“And I replied: ‘I have no idea, My Lord! You have never told me!’

“ ‘Then I will tell you,’ he answered, ‘but not here. May I call on you tomorrow?’

“‘I think that would be possible,’ I replied a little doubtfully.

“ ‘Make it possible!’ he said. ‘I have something important to say to you!’”

Heloise gave a little smile.

“I knew what that was, but I was far too clever to let him guess that I knew. I looked puzzled, and stared up at him with my eyes very wide and my lips parted. Suddenly he said:

“ ‘If you look at me like that I shall kiss you here and now in the middle of the Ball-Room!’

“ ‘Oh no!’ I exclaimed, ‘that would cause a scandal and Papa would be very angry!’

“ ‘Then I shall wait until I see you tomorrow.’”

Lydia listened entranced. Then she said:

“I think that was very clever of you, Heloise. I am sure any other woman would have consented far too quickly, and it would be a mistake to forget that the Earl is called ‘Hunter.’ ”

“I think that is a stupid name,” Heloise remarked, “but I suppose it means that he likes to hunt.”

“Yes, of course,” Lydia agreed, “and if you had ever hunted you would know that it is disappointing to catch the fox too quickly.”

Heloise thought about this for a moment. Then she said:

“When he asks me to marry him, I think I shall prevaricate a little, and say that I want time to make up my mind.”

“That would be a clever idea,” Lydia agreed. “But suppose he then goes away?”

“I am quite sure,” Lydia answered, “that this is the first time the Earl has ever asked anybody to marry him. He must love you, Heloise! Really love you! So you are very, very lucky!”

“Of course I am lucky,” Heloise agreed. “I always have been. But I shall accept the Earl, just in case he changes his mind, and no decent man would back out of an engagement.”

“If there is one thing of which you can be absolutely certain, it is that once the Earl of Royston has made up his mind, he will not change it,” Lydia said.

“Anyway I shall take no chances,” Heloise answered. “And that reminds me: I do not want anybody hovering about and interrupting us. I will tell Papa to stay in the Study and not to come barging in to talk about horses.”

“I will arrange everything,” Lydia said, “but you must expect Papa to come in for tea.”

“I suppose he must,” Heloise agreed, “but I do not want you!”

“No, of course not,” Lydia said. “I will keep out of sight.”

She felt a little pang of disappointment. She had so much wanted to meet the Earl.

Then she told herself that even if she was not allowed to talk to him, which was nothing unusual where a guest was concerned, at least it would not stop her from seeing him.

Having made all the arrangements she therefore waited at the top of the stairs and could see through the long high windows on either side of the front door the Earl’s Chaise coming down the drive long before it reached the house.

It was drawn, as she expected, by two superbly matched horses, and as they swung round the courtyard to stop outside the front door she had her first glimpse of him.

He wore his top-hat at an angle on his dark head, and his coat fitted tightly over his broad shoulders.

She could see his face as he came through the front door and as she crouched down behind the banisters and peeped through them she looked at this strange, fascinating man as if she was seeing him for the first time.

There was undoubtedly a buccaneering look in his eyes and a faint twist to his lips, almost as if he mocked at himself as well as the world around him.

Then as the Butler took his hat and driving-gloves and went ahead of him across the Hall towards the Drawing-Room Lydia thought it would be impossible for any man to look more distinguished, more masculine, more irresistibly attractive.

Only when she could no longer see him did she rise from her knees and know with a strange feeling within her breast that if she was honest the Earl attracted her in a manner that she could not explain.

Then she had the uncomfortable suspicion that what she was feeling for the first time was—love.

But as she walked upstairs to her bedroom she told herself she was being ridiculous.

How could she possibly feel love for a man to whom she had never spoken and been interested in only because he was a near neighbour?

But she knew it was more than that, and that although she had never admitted it, every day this winter when she had gone hunting she had hoped to see him.

And every time she had heard his name mentioned her heart had seemed to turn somersaults in her breast.

She ran to her room and walked across it to look at her reflection in the mirror.

What she saw were two large eyes with a worried expression in them which seemed to dominate her small pointed face that was actually a little too thin.

Her hair which was a strange indeterminate colour waved back naturally from her oval forehead, but because it had never seemed important Lydia did not arrange it in a fashionable manner, but because it was very long and thick merely twisted it into a chignon at the back of her head.

She supposed because she was like her mother that she had a certain prettiness, although it was not the flamboyant beauty of Heloise.

‘Compared to her I am just a pencil-sketch to the brilliant colours of a Rembrandt or a Van Dyck,’ she thought.

Then she laughed at her own fantasy.

It was true because in a way she knew from her position in her father’s house there was something a little ghost-like about her.

She often thought she was like a shadow flitting along behind people who did not even notice her.

Then, as if she must console herself, she looked at the pile of books which stood beside her bed and on the shelves which she had ordered the estate carpenter to erect on either side of the fireplace.

While one side was packed with books, the other still had a few empty spaces left.

She either bought books, which meant sacrificing a gown she really needed, or else she purloined them from the Library downstairs, being certain that her father would not realise they were missing, and that Heloise never read a book anyway.

There they were, her companions, her inspiration, and most of all her consolation.

They consoled her for the fact that her mother was dead, her father did not like her, and Heloise was only concerned with her when she wanted something.

Because she had so much to do in running the house, she had no intimate friends outside and it was therefore the books that filled her life and saved her from being unhappy.

They carried her away to far distant lands, introduced her to people who were as real to her as anybody she had ever met, and gave her the feeling that she was searching for something which would some day fulfil the yearnings of her mind.

“Yes, I have my books,” she murmured aloud.

She winced away from the thought that they were hardly to be compared with having the Earl.

The idea that he could ever be hers, even for the few minutes it took to waltz together, was so unthinkable that she laughed.

Downstairs he was proposing to Heloise, and it was understandable that he should want as his wife the most beautiful girl the London Season had ever seen.

Lydia thought that he must have come to the conclusion that it was time for him to marry, since in his t position it was imperative that he should have an heir.

She thought too that because of the way he lived it was unlikely that he had ever had close contact with unmarried girls.

She was well aware that the Earl belonged to the smart ‘Marlborough House Set’ centring round the Prince of Wales who had already scandalised a great number of people by his interest in other women.

His beautiful Danish Wife, Princess Alexandra, was an object of general pity, but at the same time it was expected that a dashing man, especially a Royal Prince, should enjoy himself as he wished.

‘I suppose Heloise will not mind if the Earl’s interests are often elsewhere,’ Lydia thought.

Then she knew that if she loved the Earl it would be an agony beyond words to know that he was no longer interested in her and that other women had taken her place even if only temporarily.

She knew that Heloise would not admit it, but her half-sister was not in love with anybody except herself.

If her pride was hurt by anything her husband did in the future, her heart would remain unaffected, if indeed she had a heart.

It was strange, Lydia thought looking back, how little affection Heloise had ever shown for anybody.

She certainly had not been fond of her mother and had found it increasingly boring to have to go to see her when she was ill.

Towards the end she had to be persuaded to do so by Lydia or Sir Robert.

“You have not been to see your mother for two days,” Lydia had heard her father say on one occasion.

“I know, Papa, but I thought I had a slight cold,” Heloise had replied, “and I knew it would be wrong to risk affecting Mama with it.”

It was an excuse that was repeated too often for Sir Robert not to become suspicious.

“I do not want a lot of excuses,” he had said finally. “You will go to see your mother every day, and that is an order!”

“Very well, Papa,” Heloise agreed demurely. When he had gone from the room she had stamped her foot and said petulantly to Lydia:

“What a bore Papa is! I cannot think why he does not leave me alone! He must realise if I were ill I would not want to see him.”

“But he would want to see you, Heloise, because he loves you,” Lydia said. “And I am sure your mother feels neglected, and that is unkind of you.”

“I cannot help it,” Heloise replied crossly. “You go and see her!”

“You are her daughter, and she loves you,” Lydia protested.

“Well, I do not love her!” Heloise snapped. “People who are ill make me feel sick! I hate illness! I want to enjoy myself, and if Mama dies, that will stop me from doing so.”

She ran out of the room with a defiant gesture, slamming the door behind her.

Lydia knew that her Stepmother was very hurt by her daughter’s neglect, but although she tried to make Heloise more sympathetic she had no success.

Now as her thoughts went back to the Earl she wondered if he was like Heloise and had never really cared for anybody.

Was he without a heart? Was that the reason why he had broken so many and apparently been unaffected by the suffering of his victims?

‘If that is true, then they are well suited to each other!’ she thought.

At the same time, as she waited at the top of the stairs in order to watch the Earl leave, she hoped the servants were not aware of what she was doing.

Her father saw him to the front door, but Heloise remained behind in the Drawing-Room.

As they walked across the Hall and the Earl took his hat and gloves from the Butler, Sir Robert said: “We will see you tomorrow, Royston, when we can go into further details of the trip. It certainly sounds extremely interesting.”