A Kiss from the Heart

by Barbara Cartland

  The butler disappeared with a bow, leaving the Earl towering over the delicate figure of Serena.

  “Please, sit down beside me,” she urged, patting the sofa. “I am so very glad you decided to pay me a call.”

  “It was a fine day and I found myself desirous of seeing you again, and I confess, I have not been able to stop thinking about you ever since our chance encounter in Hyde Park earlier in the week.”

  She blushed – rather prettily, he thought.

  “I did not expect that you would come,” she cooed, shyly casting her eyelashes downwards and then looking up over them.

  With her elegant head freed of any decoration, the Earl thought her quite enchanting.

  Her hair was so dark, it was almost the colour of a raven’s wing, while her skin was just as white as alabaster.

  Yet there was something about the arrangement of her features that was not quite symmetrical and as she spoke, the spell she had cast upon him began to pall.

  The tea arrived.

  “You simply must sample cook’s delicious coconut cake!” she urged, gesturing to Morton to cut a slice. “And the raspberry tarts are divine – they are fresh raspberries, you know, from Papa’s estate in Hertfordshire.”

  The Earl attacked the delicacies on his plate with relish. It was now some hours since he had eaten breakfast and his stomach was beginning to rumble.

  “I did not realise that your father owned an estate in Hertfordshire,” he responded, making polite conversation. “As you said he was in Bournemouth, I assumed his estate was in Hampshire.”

  “Oh, yes, we have another house at Boscombe,” she rambled on, catching a crumb from her lips with the tip of her tongue. “It belongs to Grandmama. She’s frightfully old, but still very active. Papa has some business to attend to and will be staying with her for the duration of his visit.”

  The clock on the mantelpiece chimed three o’clock and a silence fell between them.

  In spite of himself, the Earl just could not prevent himself from focusing on her slightly off-kilter features.

  ‘Why had I not seen it before?’ he wondered, as she drifted on about her mother’s relations in Cheltenham and how disappointing she had found this Season so far.

  He finished the last raspberry tart and wondered if he could manage to draw his visit to a close before four o’clock.

  “Are you in London for long?”

  He stared at her. He had been so utterly lost in his own thoughts that he had not been listening to a word she had been saying.

  “Oh, I, er, until Papa’s affairs are concluded.”

  He knew what she was thinking and it made him uncomfortable and a little irritated.

  ‘Dash them all!’ he ruminated. ‘Why do they all sit in judgement?’

  Miss de Montfort set down her plate and took his. As she did so, her fingers lightly brushed his and he realised that she was staring coquettishly into his eyes.

  “Will you be attending the Strathclyde’s ball?” she enquired, scarcely able to tear her gaze away from his face.

  She fluttered her long eyelashes and put her head on one side in what she believed to be a flirtatious manner.

  “I have not decided as yet,” he said, as a feeling of being caught in a sticky cake-laden trap swept over him.

  “Oh, but you must go!” she chided. “All the most important people will be there!”

  “It depends upon how Mama feels about attending such an event when we are still in mourning,” he said in a tone that he hoped would prevent further discussion of the topic.

  “Naturally,” she answered, feeling embarrassed that she had pressed the matter so.

  The clock struck half-past three and the Earl began to wish he were elsewhere. A deep sense of gloom was now threatening to envelope him.

  ‘Why is it no one can ever hold my attention?’ he thought, as she turned the topic of conversation to their new carriage. ‘No sooner do I find a woman attractive, than I begin to see faults in her that render her unappealing in my eyes.’

  At last, at precisely four o’clock, he rose, unable to bear another moment in her company.

  “I am afraid I have to leave,” he said in a voice that he hoped was soothing and placatory. “I have an appointment at my Club.”

  “Oh,” she remarked flatly.

  She rose and moved close to him – close enough, should he desire, for him to tilt the pointed chin and kiss the red lips that he knew would not resist his.

  “I do apologise for terminating my visit to you so abruptly,” he continued. “I had not realised the time.”

  He gave a thin smile and hoped she would not take offence. After all he could not forget that his mother was friendly with her aunt.

  She turned her face up to his in expectation. There was a tense pause and then he took her hand and kissed it. He could see that she was now disappointed that he had not taken what was so freely offered, but the consequences of trifling with Miss de Montfort were far greater than any of his other dalliances.

  He bowed and returned her hand to her side. She immediately placed her other hand over it, so as to feel the warmth and moisture left by his lips.

  Turning she walked towards the servants’ bell and rang for Morton.

  “I cannot hide that I am disappointed you cannot stay a while longer,” she said, as they waited for Morton to appear with the Earl’s hat. “But perhaps we will chance upon each other again soon?”

  “Yes, that would be most agreeable,” he replied, placing his hat on his head quite firmly.

  With a short bow he took his leave and bade her farewell. He did not look back as he did not wish to see her in tears. And he felt instinctively that she would weep as soon as he had left.

  Upon returning home Hiscock presented him with a letter that had arrived in his absence.

  As soon as he glimpsed the flowery hand, he knew who it was from.

  “Constance,” he sighed, as he threw himself down onto the sofa in the bright drawing room.

  He held the letter and then pulled it open.

  “Dearest Robert,” it read. “I have to see you! We cannot leave things as they are – ”

  Without reading the rest, he crumpled the letter into a ball and threw it on to the floor.

  “Damn all women!” he spat with a furious curl of his lip.

  *

  The Earl spent the next few days feeling as if he was the quarry for a hunt organised by all the women in his life. Instead of going out carousing he spent much of his time closeted indoors away from the hurly-burly outside.

  He gave Hiscock strict instructions that he was not at home especially to any lady callers, and he ignored the flurry of letters bearing feminine handwriting that dropped constantly through the letterbox.

  Then one morning at breakfast, there came a fateful missive that caused the Countess to drop her cereal spoon with a clatter.

  “No!” she cried with a low moan.

  “Mama, what is it?”

  “It is Alec. He has fallen off a horse and broken his leg! Darling, we must both go at once to Ledbury Hall!”

  Inwardly the Earl groaned.

  ‘Blast Alec!’ he cursed as he tried to comfort his mother.

  He rang for Hiscock and told him they would be returning to Worcestershire and everything should be made ready for the journey.

  His mother looked up at him gratefully and patted his hand affectionately.

  An hour later the carriage stood waiting outside the front of Brook Street.

  “Are you certain you have packed the ledgers?” the Countess asked Hiscock breathlessly as he helped her into the carriage.

  “Yes, my Lady. They are all quite safe in the black box as you requested.”

  “And you will close down the house until you hear from us?”

  “Yes, my Lady.”

  At last the Earl appeared by the carriage door and thanked Hiscock for his prompt attention to duty.

  “I shall not be staying long,” he said i
n a low voice, so that his mother would not hear. “I intend to return as soon as Alec is on the mend.”

  “Very good, my Lord. The house is in safe hands.”

  For the first twenty or so miles the Countess sat in a miserable silence staring out of the window.

  “It’s only a broken leg, Mama. It is not serious. He will not die!”

  “That is not what I was thinking!” she replied a little sharply.

  She was becoming tired of her eldest son’s selfish ways.

  “It is the estate I am concerned about. Alec was no nearer to finding the thieves who are draining us and now he will be unable to attend to his duties. Robert, you know what this means?”

  “Mama, he will be back on that horse in no time!”

  “Robert, you will have to run the estate until he is well. And do not think for a moment that I will allow him on horseback until his leg is quite healed.”

  She gave him a steely look and he shrank into his seat. Her cool blue eyes so like his own bore into him leaving him in no doubt as to what she expected.

  “Now, there is another matter I wish to discuss with you,” she continued in a softer tone. “I was just about to mention it this morning when we had our dreadful shock. An old friend of mine, Lady Florence Waterton, is coming to visit us at Ledbury. You may recall me speaking of her in my letters to you when you were in India. Her husband was killed during the battle of Majuba Hill?”

  The Earl paused. His mother had written of many things when he was in India, most of which he had not paid the slightest attention to. The name was vaguely familiar to him, but he could not recall the details.

  “Hmm,” he answered noncommitally.

  “You will so enjoy meeting her. She is young and lively and is quite the most fascinating conversationalist. I met her in Biarritz.”

  The Earl sighed.

  Was this yet another attempt by his mother to introduce him to a ‘suitable woman?’ Was it not enough that he would have to cope with taking on Alec’s duties without being bothered by another troublesome petticoat tyrant?

  His mother continued to speak to him intermittently and she appeared satisfied with his mere grunts as replies.

  As the moon came up they arrived at Ledbury Hall.

  In its silvery light the house looked even more imposing and eerie than in the daytime.

  As the carriage rattled up the drive, the Earl’s heart was in his boots.

  *

  The next morning dawned unnaturally early for the Earl. Monkhouse wakened him with a large cup of tea and a ready-drawn bath.

  The Earl could not manage a word while he was shaved and dressed. His thoughts were occupied by what the day ahead would bring.

  No sooner had he set one foot back in the Hall than papers were thrust at him and he was asked for a thousand decisions before the dust of the journey had settled.

  ‘I expect Mama will have my day clearly mapped out for me,’ he mused, as he walked slowly down the huge oak staircase to the dining room.

  His mother was already at the table. She looked up at him.

  “Have you looked in on Alec yet? He is keen to speak with you.”

  “No, Mama, I came directly down to breakfast,” he replied a little irritably.

  “Then, you must be sure to visit him the moment you have finished eating,” she suggested in a voice that begged no argument.

  The Earl glumly sipped his tea and munched his bacon and eggs. Although he wished to see Alec, he knew what their conversation would be about.

  *

  Much later and after he had eaten a delicious lunch that had cheered him up no end, he decided to go for a ride.

  The memory of his talk with Alec still lingered in his mind and he wished to be out into the fresh air to think.

  “You must promise me that you will not allow this situation to escalate,” Alec had told him from his sickbed. “You must check the perimeters on a daily basis to catch the scoundrels red-handed! I am quite certain that they are rendezvousing in the old barn near the Whitby’s house!”

  ‘Ah, the Whitby’s!’ he thought. ‘And is that not the same barn where I once met with an unfortunate accident?’

  A vision of seven-year-old Miranda Whitby flashed into his mind.

  ‘Where is she now?’ he wondered. ‘And is she still as pretty as she was then?’

  He recalled her long blonde hair with its flowing waves and her serious grey eyes fringed with dark-brown lashes.

  Her tilted nose was just like a china doll and her mouth, a perfect rosebud, added to the overall effect.

  He smiled to himself as he strode over the cobbled courtyard to the stables. One of the stable boys was now coming towards him leading a large black stallion that appeared to be in a somewhat skittish mood.

  “He’s not ’imself today, my Lord. Don’t take any trouble off ’im!” said the boy, as he held Monty’s bridle while the Earl mounted.

  “Don’t worry, I shall make certain he knows I am the Master!” called the Earl, kicking the horse’s side with his tall leather boots.

  Within moments Monty was cantering along the lane, shaking his head and snorting a great deal. The Earl reined him in tight and spurred him on as they reached the open fields.

  The Grange was only a short ride away so the Earl soon found himself dismounting by the main entrance.

  He smiled to himself fondly as he noticed that the old cattle trough was still there.

  “Fancy some water, old boy?” he murmured, as he tethered Monty to a post.

  He stood looking up at the house before he moved towards it. Its windows and brickwork were so familiar and comforting.

  Yet the house seemed somehow smaller since the last time he had seen it – and that was, when? Five years ago? Six?

  He moved with a sigh towards the front door and then before his hand could ring the bell a soft melodious voice came from behind him.

  “Can I help you?”

  He spun round to gaze into a pair of pale-grey eyes the colour of a pigeon’s wing. The rosebud mouth was relaxed and he noticed that the young woman wore her hair in the latest style. Unusual, he thought, for this part of the country.

  Her skin was fresh yet not sullied by the sun’s rays and she was quite the most utterly beautiful young thing he had seen for a long time. There was something about her poise that was elegant yet countrified at the same time.

  Slowly a look of recognition crossed her face.

  “Robert? Is it you? Can it really be – ?”

  “Miranda!”

  Within seconds he had scooped her up in a friendly embrace whirling her around on the spot.

  “I hardly recognise you. You are all grown up!” he cried.

  “And you, so tall and handsome!” she responded. “The Army has been good for you, I can see.”

  She let her hand rest for just a moment on the firm bicep that swelled underneath his close-fitting riding habit and then took it away.

  “Papa will be so thrilled that you have come to see us!” she said, knocking sharply on the door. “And Mama is back from Bath only yesterday! She will be delighted you have paid us a visit.”

  The Whitby butler opened the door and was taken aback by the gale of laughter that greeted him.

  “Mervin, look who has come to pay a call!” cried Miranda.

  Inside the long hall, Lady Whitby came hurrying towards them.

  “Is it? Can it be? Well, bless my soul! Young Lord Robert! Come inside.”

  “Oh, Mama, he is no longer young Lord Robert! He is Lord Templeton now!” chided Miranda.

  Lady Whitby went off to find her husband and left Miranda and the Earl together in the drawing room. He looked around the room and was delighted that everything was how it had been on his last visit.

  “I am so sorry that I did not attend your father’s funeral,” said Miranda, settling him down in a comfortable chair. “Papa did not tell me as he did not wish to spoil my stay in London. I was very cross with him as I would have
so liked to have paid my respects to him by attending.”

  “It does not matter, but I am glad that you are here and not in London. I have come home for a while as my brother has had an accident and cannot oversee the estate.”

  “Yes, we had heard there had been a riding mishap. But Robert, I thought it was you who was the eldest – or am I mistaken?”

  She looked at him cautiously, alerted by some sixth sense that she was walking into dangerous waters.

  “Yes, I am the eldest,” he snapped. “But Alec has always shown more of an aptitude and inclination for these matters than I and besides there were my father’s affairs to attend to in London.”

  “Of course,” murmured Miranda as she folded her hands in her lap and cast her eyes downwards. She did not understand at all why it could not have been Alec who performed the lesser of the tasks.

  “Robert!”

  The unmistakeable boom of Sir George assailed them as he walked in to the room.

  “You are back! Welcome, welcome!”

  He shook the Earl’s hand warmly and clapped him on the back.

  “And now you have come to set matters to rights, I assume?”

  He sat down heavily in his favourite armchair and looked at the Earl expectantly.

  “I don’t mind telling you, I have had my suspicions for quite a while as to who might be at the bottom of this skulduggery. Just say the word to me and I shall help you in whatever manner I can.”

  The Earl looked down at his riding boots and did not know how to respond.

  “Alec is doing a fine job – ” he began, pressing his fingers against each other to form a pyramid.

  “Ah, but you are the head of the clan, eh?” said Sir George. “And you are sorely needed at the Hall!”

  The Earl grunted and looked down.

  In front of Miranda, he started to feel embarrassed and inadequate. What must she think of him?

  “You are fortunate that Miranda has just arrived home from London,” added Sir George ignoring the strained atmosphere. “You two cannot have seen each other for years!”

  “A very long while,” confirmed Miranda.

  Just then she got to her feet and went to leave the room.

  “I must help Mama in the kitchen,” she explained. “Cook is off today and our maid is unwell. I will leave you two to your men’s talk!”