Vintage Love (81 page)

“When it suits you,” her aunt said acidly.

Still pacing, she said, “It’s Sir Roger! I saw him at his office this afternoon. I think he likes to enrage me!”

“Does he?”

“It would seem so.”

“What has he done now?”

“You would not believe it,” Della said, halting in her pacing and facing Aunt Isobel. “Whom do you think he wants to send to Rome with us?”

“How should I know?” the older woman demanded.

“Henry Clarkson!”

Aunt Isobel took a moment to react and then she began to laugh. Still chortling with laughter, she said, “Henry Clarkson!”

“I don’t think it all that funny!” Della told her indignantly.

Her aunt’s mirthful face resumed its usual prim look and she said, “There, dear, I didn’t mean to make you angry. But you must admit, it is funny. After the quarrel you two had!”

“There’s nothing funny about it,” Della said. “I had my quarrel with Henry because he behaved in a despicable manner. A manner which I found it impossible to forgive.”

“He came to you asking pardon.”

“Too late!”

Aunt Isobel stared at her worriedly. “I have always felt you were too hasty in condemning him. I think the young man truly cared for you.”

“How could you know that?”

“I have eyes and intelligence even if I am an aged spinster,” Aunt Isobel retorted sharply. “Henry told you he saw that young woman a few times as a favor to his sister, and I think he was telling the truth.”

“And I choose to think the opposite!”

“So you’ve made yourself and Henry miserable,” her aunt said. “Don’t think I’ve not been wise to what you’ve been doing. Dating all those other young men.”

Della felt herself blushing. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’ve been trying to make Henry Clarkson jealous!”

“Never!”

“Deny it if you like,” the old woman said. “But that is how I see it. You may have even convinced yourself it’s not true, but I believe it.”

“Then you’re wrong!”

“Do you care for any of the other young men you’ve been dating? I mean, really care, as you did for Henry?”

Della gave a deep sigh. “What has that to do with it?”

“Everything!”

“You’re talking nonsense,” Della said, turning away to hide her own troubled feelings. Her aunt’s probings were coming dangerously close to the truth. Truth she didn’t wish to accept.

“So Sir Roger wants Henry to accompany us,” her aunt said. “I think he’s made a wise choice.”

She turned to her aunt again. “I’ll never agree.”

“Henry is young and a good lawyer,” Aunt Isobel said. “He can protect you well. And because he cares for you he will be especially cautious.”

Della was shocked. “You talk as if it were all settled? I’ve told you I won’t have any part of Henry on the trip.”

Aunt Isobel smiled. “I know Sir Roger Drexel. And I think he will have the final say.”

“Don’t be too sure!” she replied, though she knew it was all too likely her aunt was right.

Della temporarily forgot these problems because this was the evening she was attending a grand party at the home of Earl and Lady Grey. The Grey mansion in Mayfair was often the scene of fabulous parties and she was sure this one would be no exception. Her escort for the evening was to be the Honorable Davy Miller, a well-known young man-about-town.

She began preparing early, taking a long warm bath, and then carefully selecting what she would wear. All the while her personal maid, Jeffries, bustled about assisting. Della had chosen a rose gown and decided to wear pearls given to her by her late mother. Jeffries fussed over her hair, parting it in the middle and fixing in it ornate coils at the nape of her neck.

At last the elderly maid said, “I declare, miss, you look perfect!”

She smiled at herself in the mirror and was satisfied. “At least I look as well as I can,” she said.

“And that is better than most girls your age,” Jeffries defended her loyally.

Della gave her a teasing glance, saying, “I want to be at my best tonight. The Honorable Davy Miller is my escort!”

“Him!” Jeffries said, impressed. “According to the newspapers, he can have the choice of any girl he likes!”

She laughed. “Well, tonight I’m his choice.”

Jeffries was all agog. “Let me give your hair a final touch, miss,” she worried. “I do want you to be a beauty!”

Davy, handsome in white tie and tails, arrived for her sharply at seven-thirty. He was a large young man with a tanned face and golden hair. He had made his name as a cricket star and was constantly moving about the country playing the game.

“Dashed lovely!” was his comment as she came down the stairs and linked a white-gloved hand through his arm.

As Davy’s carriage arrived at the Grey’s, the street was filled with smart conveyances with elegantly dressed couples descending from them and entering the brightly lit entrance of the big house. On the opposite side of the street, and held in check by two sturdy bobbies, were a motley lot of common folk come to admire and be awed by this display of grandeur and wealth.

“Bloody disgrace!” someone shouted from the crowd as Davy and Della stepped from their carriage to join the party. “Waste of money!”

“Feed the poor!” a woman shrilled and started a clamor.

Then an indignant male voice cried, “Shut your ugly face! That’s Davy Miller, the cricket star, and he’s entitled to a night out with a lady toff!” This brought laughter and good humor back to the crowd.

Inside, the orchestra was playing and once through the reception line Della and Davy mingled with the other of their set. Davy fetched them some champagne from the bar and then they danced a polka.

The great ballroom was brilliantly lighted with several hanging glass chandeliers. The shining oak floor was nearly always crowded with dancers. Della knew almost everyone at the grand affair. The orchestra played waltzes, lancers and the quadrille. She danced with Davy most of the time.

During the waltz he said, “Your mind seems far away tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized with a smile. “I had a busy day. I’m soon leaving for Rome.”

He showed surprise. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“The plan came about suddenly,” she said as they moved gracefully about the floor.

“If it weren’t the middle of the cricket season I’d follow you,” the big man said.

“You mustn’t neglect your game!”

“Can’t,” he said. “Just the same, don’t let any of those Italian counts talk you into anything.”

“That’s not likely!”

He swung her around. “Everyone is watching us. We’re the best-looking couple on the floor.”

“You only think that!” she protested.

“It’s true,” he said. “I wish you’d change your mind about Italy.”

“Can’t,” she said. “Family business.” But she made no attempt to explain it to him. Sir Roger had advised her not to make mention of her long-lost sister until she was sure all was well.

A break came in the dancing and Davy left her to get some wine from the bar. She stood alone by one of the open windows that looked out on the gardens. The ballroom had become almost unbearably warm and she was thirsty. She had an idea Davy would be some time getting her a drink as there was a long line at the bar before he started for it.

“Della!” Her name was spoken urgently.

She turned to see Henry Clarkson standing beside her. She said, “What do you want?”

“To tell you I had nothing to do with Sir Roger’s plan this afternoon.”

“You made that perfectly clear.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry you were embarrassed. I really did feel badly for you.”

“That’s very kind,” she said with a hint of coldness.

He stood there ill at ease and finally said, “He still thinks I’m the one to go with you.”

“I’m going to have to change his mind,” Della said.

“I hope you can if that’s what you want,” Henry responded with a sincere look on his handsome face. “For myself, I’d be ready to go with you if that was your wish.”

“You’d willingly make the sacrifice?” she asked with mild sarcasm.

“It would be no sacrifice on my part,” he said. “Despite what you think, I still care for you, Della. I still love you.”

She raised a hand to silence him. “This is neither the time nor place. And anyway, it’s all a little late.”

“Not too late unless you make it so,” he told her.

“Please,” she said. “Do leave me alone. Davy will be back in a moment.”

“I saw you with him on the floor,” Henry said. “You made a perfect team.”

“Thank you,” she said impatiently.

“It’s my absence you wish, not my compliments,” he said with a bitter smile. “I’m sorry, Della. I can’t change the way I feel about you.” And he turned and vanished into the crowd.

She watched him go with a sense of loss and dismay. Why did she always react as she had? Why not at least be pleasant to him? Perhaps it was because she’d cared so much and had been so deeply hurt. And why would he not be discouraged and turn away from her for good? Was it possible that he still loved her as deeply as he pretended?

These questions tortured her until Davy returned with their glasses of wine and even afterward. In fact, on the drive home from the party the big blond man complained that she had not been her usual vivacious self that evening.

“You lost your zest as the evening went on,” he said as they sat in the dark seat of the carriage, his arm around her.

She smiled up at him. “I’m sorry. I told you I was tired and worried.”

“You showed it,” he said. “I think you should forget all about that trip to Italy.”

“I wish I could.”

He brought her close to him and kissed her for a long, ardent moment. Then he said, “Follow me around the cricket circuit. See England first and we’ll have a party every night!”

“And ruin your form?” she laughed.

He joined in her laughter. “Better mine than yours,” he said. And they sat close and content as the carriage rolled over the rough cobblestoned street.

Davy saw her inside and kissed her goodnight again. She left him in a pleasant, relaxed state and made her way up the stairway. The wine and the enjoyable evening had left her in a mood of easy languor.

Everyone in the mansion seemed to be asleep except herself. She had told Jeffries not to wait up for her because she felt the old woman was not up to it. But her bed had been turned down and everything laid out for her. Cold water had been run in her bath and there were jugs of hot water waiting for her to pour into the partly filled tub.

She undressed slowly and hung her gown up with care. When she had removed the last of her clothing she stood before the great oval mirror on one of the closet doors and admired her lithe body. She constantly checked to see that she was not putting on weight. As she studied herself she quickly took the pins from her auburn hair and let it tumble about her shoulders.

She was small-breasted with a naturally narrow waist, according to the fashion of the day. Her legs were long and slender with plenty of shape. She knew that some of her girl friends considered her figure too slim and boyish, but she preferred this to being on the stout side and having to battle with tight-fitting stays.

Moving on to the bathroom, she poured enough hot water into the tub to make a satisfactory mixture. Then she let herself sink into the water, temporarily fixing her hair up in a twist on the top of her head. The warm water caressed her shapely body and she continued to feel relaxed.

After a time she emerged from the tub and began drying herself with the large towel Jeffries had left for her. When she was thoroughly dried she put the towel down and, her nude body tingling from the brisk rubbing, she crossed the room to get her nightgown from the bed.

She never reached it. Halfway there she suddenly had the terrified feeling that she was not alone in the room. Then she saw a movement behind one of the long velvet window drapes at the floor-to-ceiling windows. In the next instant the drape was pushed aside to reveal the swarthy man in black cape and wide-brimmed black hat. He came quickly to her with a look of mad desire on his thin face.

Della cried out and turned to rush to the door and scream for help. But she was caught from behind and a rag doused in sickly-sweet-smelling ether was held tightly against her nose and mouth. At the same time the dark man held her naked body in check with his other arm. He seemed incredibly strong and she could not struggle free of his unwelcome grasp.

Then the ether began its insidious work and she slumped as she sank into unconsciousness. From that moment until she opened her eyes to darkness and the feeling of cold, she knew nothing. As she gradually revived she knew that her ankles had been tied and her hands bound behind her back.

She was still naked except that a blanket had been thrown around her. It had partly fallen away so that the chill of the night penetrated her. Now she began to take note of where she was. She could hear the panting and clanking of machinery and a steady kind of vibration. All this, along with the damp cold, convinced her she was stretched out in the bottom of a steam-driven craft making its way along the Thames.

Panic returned to her along with her wakening senses. Why? Why had she been captured in this fashion? And who was the sinister man in the hat and cape? Surely the same one who had followed her during the day. How had he managed to get into the house and hide in her room?

The tremor and noise subsided and she heard the wash of waves as the boat apparently made ready to dock somewhere. A moment later the man in black loomed over her.

“So,
signorina,
you have come to?” he said.

“Why have you done this?” she gasped.

“You do not know?” he asked with light sarcasm.

“No! You must be mad! Let me go! I’m willing to pay a reward!” she said frantically.

“Do not hurry things,
signorina
,” the man said in his menacingly accented fashion.

“What are you going to do?”

“Just now take you ashore,” he said. “We have reached our destination.”

And with that he leaned down and, gathering the blanket about her, lifted her up in his arms. Then he carried her up a few steps onto the deck and a moment later nimbly stepped over onto the docks.