LEARNING TO LOVE
Copyright © 2006 by Cartland Promotions
First published on the internet in December 2006
by Barbaracartland.com
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronically or mechanically, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval, without the prior permission in writing from the publisher.
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LEARNING TO LOVE
The door of the cottage was ajar so the Earl opened it and looked inside.
There was no one in the kitchen, but there was however the sound of voices on the other side of the passage where he thought Kristina must be.
He was just about to knock on the door when a woman saw him and withdrew. He heard her say,
“His Lordship is here, my Lady.”
The Earl waited.
A few minutes later, Kristina entered the room carrying a baby in her arms wrapped in a white shawl and she walked towards the Earl holding the infant very carefully.
“Here is a new member of your flock,” she smiled. “You must admit he is a very good-looking baby.”
As the child had only just been born, the Earl found it difficult to decide what his looks would be like in later life.
At the same time he was sure he had never seen anything quite so delightful as Kristina with a child in her arms. The scene made him think of the picture books of the Madonna which his mother had read to him when he was a little boy.
THE BARBARA CARTLAND PINK COLLECTION
Barbara Cartland was the most prolific bestselling author in the history of the world. She was frequently in the Guinness Book of Records for writing more books in a year than any other living author. In fact her most amazing literary feat was when her publishers asked for more Barbara Cartland romances, she doubled her output from 10 books a year to over 20 books a year, when she was 77.
She went on writing continuously at this rate for 20 years and wrote her last book at the age of 97, thus completing 400 books between the ages of 77 and 97.
Her publishers finally could not keep up with this phenomenal output, so at her death she left 160 unpublished manuscripts, something again that no other author has ever achieved.
Now the exciting news is that these 160 original unpublished Barbara Cartland books are ready for publication and they will be published by Barbaracartland.com exclusively on the internet, as the web is the best possible way to reach so many Barbara Cartland readers around the world.
The 160 books will be published monthly and will be numbered in sequence.
The series is called the Pink Collection as a tribute to Barbara Cartland whose favourite colour was pink and it became very much her trademark over the years.
The Barbara Cartland Pink Collection is published only on the internet. Log on to www.barbaracartland.com to find out how you can purchase the books monthly as they are published, and take out a subscription that will ensure that all subsequent editions are delivered to you by mail order to your home.
If you do not have access to a computer you can write for information about the Pink Collection to the following address :
Barbara Cartland.com Ltd.
240 High Road,
Harrow Weald,
Harrow
HA3 7BB
United Kingdom.
Telephone & fax: +44 (0)20 8863 2520
Titles in this series
1. The Cross of Love
2. Love in the Highlands
3. Love Finds the Way
4. The Castle of Love
5. Love is Triumphant
6. Stars in the Sky
7. The Ship of Love
8. A Dangerous Disguise
9. Love became Theirs
10. Love drives in
11. Sailing to Love
12. The Star of Love
13. Music is the Soul of Love
14. Love in the East
15. Theirs to Eternity
16. A Paradise on Earth
17. Love Wins in Berlin
18. In Search of Love
19. Love Rescues Rosanna
20. A Heart in Heaven
21. The House of Happiness
22. Royalty Defeated by Love
23. The White Witch
24. They Sought Love
25. Love is The Reason for Living
26. They Found Their Way to Heaven
27. Learning to Love
THE LATE DAME BARBARA CARTLAND
Barbara Cartland, who sadly died in May 2000 at the grand age of ninety eight, remains one of the world’s most famous romantic novelists. With worldwide sales of over one billion, her outstanding 723 books have been translated into thirty six different languages, to be enjoyed by readers of romance globally.
Writing her first book ‘Jigsaw’ at the age of 21, Barbara became an immediate bestseller. Building upon this initial success, she wrote continuously throughout her life, producing bestsellers for an astonishing 76 years. In addition to Barbara Cartland’s legion of fans in the UK and across Europe, her books have always been immensely popular in the USA. In 1976 she achieved the unprecedented feat of having books at numbers 1 & 2 in the prestigious B. Dalton Bookseller bestsellers list.
Although she is often referred to as the ‘Queen of Romance’, Barbara Cartland also wrote several historical biographies, six autobiographies and numerous theatrical plays as well as books on life, love, health and cookery. Becoming one of Britain's most popular media personalities and dressed in her trademark pink, Barbara spoke on radio and television about social and political issues, as well as making many public appearances.
In 1991 she became a Dame of the Order of the British Empire for her contribution to literature and her work for humanitarian and charitable causes.
Known for her glamour, style, and vitality Barbara Cartland became a legend in her own lifetime. Best remembered for her wonderful romantic novels and loved by millions of readers worldwide, her books remain treasured for their heroic heroes, plucky heroines and traditional values. But above all, it was Barbara Cartland’s overriding belief in the positive power of love to help, heal and improve the quality of life for everyone that made her truly unique.
“We must always believe that love can conquer all.”
Barbara Cartland
CHAPTER ONE
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1880
The Earl of Cariston walked into White’s Club in St. James’s Street. The Club’s porter having welcomed him politely informed him,
“The Club Secretary, my Lord, would like to have a word with you when you have time.”
The Earl did not reply because he knew exactly what the Secretary wanted to have a word with him about. He had not paid his subscription for the simple reason that he had not enough money to make the payment.
He walked into the morning room and seeing a friend of his at the far end, he walked across to join him.
Lord Shield looked up in surprise.
“Hallo, Michael,” he exclaimed. “I thought you were in the country.”
The Earl sat down rather heavily in the chair next to his.
“I came up to London,” he told him, “to see my Solicitor.”
“Trouble?” Lord Shield enquired.
“Very bad trouble,” the Earl replied, “and I would be grateful if you would stand me a drink because I literally cannot
afford one.”
His friend did not argue. He merely signalled to a Steward and ordered a bottle of champagne.
“I am very sorry for you, Michael,” he said when they were alone. “Are things worse than they have ever been?”
“Far, far worse!”
He spoke with a note of despair in his voice which his companion could not fail to miss.
The two young men had been at Oxford together and had then joined the same Regiment. They had fought in the Sudan and spent some very uncomfortable months during the troubles in Abyssinia.
When the Earl had inherited his title he had resigned his commission in the Army and returned home. Lord Shield had done the same six months later.
Whenever they had the chance they met, as both of them owned large estates in the country.
Now as they waited for the champagne to arrive, Lord Shield was recalling that last year had been a particularly bad harvest and every landowner had been affected.
He had heard the story that the Earl was having a particularly difficult time on his estate.
There was silence for a little while and then Lord Shield said,
“Tell me the worst. You know, Michael, that I will help you if I possibly can.”
“Nobody can help me!” the Earl responded gloomily. “I am completely finished. The best thing I could do would be to put a bullet through my head!”
“Don’t be so ridiculous! It cannot be as bad as that!”
“It is worse!”
“Tell me what has happened.”
“It is the usual story which we have heard from so many other and thought could never happen to us.”
He stopped speaking because the champagne had arrived.
Lord Shield raised his glass.
“To the future,” he toasted, “and may it be very much better than the past!”
“I will certainly drink to that,” the Earl said, “but quite frankly for me it is impossible.”
“That is a word I very much dislike,” Lord Shield remarked, “but pray continue with your story.”
“It is, I am afraid, such a familiar and dull story. My father felt incapable of coping with the estate and let it fall into rack and ruin.”
He paused for a moment.
“He was ill for quite a few years before he died, the servants he trusted left him and the rest pilfered everything while the house fell to pieces.”
He took a deep sip of his champagne.
“The debts piled up one on top of another and what I am facing now is an enormous number of bills which cannot be met. I have nothing to sell and have not the slightest idea how I can pay them.”
Lord Shield sighed,
“I wish I could help you, Michael, but as you well know I have been walking a tightrope for very much the same reason as you. All I can offer you would hardly feed a rat for a week, let alone horses and cattle or anything else you possess.”
“They are very likely to starve anyway,” the Earl said dejectedly. “Only this morning before I came to London, the man who supplies the oats for the horses and the other foodstuffs required on the farm has refused to deliver anything more until I pay his bill.”
“Have you nothing you could sell?”
The Earl gave a sharp laugh with no humour in it.
“You do not suppose that I have not thought of that? The house is in a terrible state of disrepair. It is of course entailed, just the same as the pictures, the furniture and everything else.”
He gave another mirthless laugh before adding,
“Entailed for the son I can never afford to have.”
“It is the most dismal story I have ever heard,” Lord Shield exclaimed and poured more champagne into the Earl’s glass.
“There is nothing I can do unless you can produce a good idea.”
Lord Shield sat back in his chair.
He was a good-looking young man, very English and aristocratic in his appearance. At the same time there was a look of intelligence about him which was more appropriate to a scholar or a statesman than a young soldier.
The same might have been said of the Earl except that he was unusually handsome.
When he first appeared at social gatherings he had been welcomed effusively by mothers with debutante daughters. Now, since he had left the Army, he had found no time for such social occasions.
He had just struggled on despairingly to repair the damage that had accumulated on his estate. When he had looked at the acres of unsown land and at the farm buildings which needed urgent repair, he had felt increasingly helpless.
He had found it a Herculean task which no sensible man would have attempted in the first place.
So he had travelled to London today to call on his Solicitors. They had made it very clear to him that he was completely and absolutely bankrupt.
As if he had followed his friend’s thoughts, Lord Shield said unexpectedly,
“There must be something you can do!”
“Tell me what, John, to be truthful I might easily be sent to prison.”
Again there was silence.
“I have a vague idea coming to me,” Lord Shield said, “and there is just an off-chance that it might be of some help.”
His voice did not sound very encouraging, but the Earl answered,
“I will try anything! I have lain awake night after night hoping for a miracle, but miracles never happen in real life.”
“What I am thinking about is just that.”
“Tell me about your idea.”
“I read in the newspaper yesterday that a friend of my father’s, who I know was also a friend of your father, has just arrived in England from America. I do not know whether you remember him, but his name is Randon.
The Earl wrinkled his brow.
“Randon?” he repeated. “No, I cannot say I remember him.”
“Well, he was a close friend of our fathers a long time ago. I was just leaving Eton at the time and I remember he tipped me a fiver.”
“That is certainly something to remember,” the Earl agreed. “I only wish he had done the same for me!”
“Well, he knew your father and as he is presently in London, why should you not renew his acquaintance?”
“Why do you think he would help me?”
“It said in the newspaper that he is enormously rich and made his money in property in the United States.”
“Do you really think I could ask his help? I should think if he has any sense at all, he would show me the door. If he is as rich as you say he is, there will be a great number of old friends holding out empty hands.”
“I have indeed thought of that, and quite frankly, Michael, I was considering whether I should approach him myself, but your need appears to be greater than mine.”
“Perhaps we should go hand in hand with a begging bowl,” the Earl suggested, with a note of sarcasm in his voice.
“No, be serious,” if he has returned to London after a long time away, he may not have many friends here and might be quite pleased to see us.”
“I think it would be wise to arrive separately,” the Earl cautioned, “and as you heard of him before I did, you should be the first.”
“Your need, I understand, is very urgent,” Lord Shield answered, “therefore you have a go first. Honestly Michael, I am not as desperate as you are.”
“You can be thankful for that small mercy at any rate. I am seriously thinking of putting a bullet through my head, or just disappearing abroad where no one can find me and leaving the house to fall down and the estate to become a complete wilderness which it nearly is already.”
“Of course you cannot do that.”
“If your rich friend cannot help me then what am I to do? As it is, I cannot face the pensioners knowing how little money I give them and that is all borrowed from the bank.”
The Earl gave a very deep sigh before continuing,
“The Church needs repair, the schools are closed because my father did not pay the teachers and I am in
arrears with the wages of the few people who are still working for me.”
As he spoke his voice was dull with despair.
Lord Shield threw out his arms in an almost theatrical gesture.
“Then you will have to make Randon cough up,” he urged. “Remind him of the past and of your father’s fondness for him. Beg him, if necessary on your knees, to give you a helping hand and if he is as rich as they seem to think he is, he will not miss a few thousands.”
There was silence before the Earl admitted,
“I would rather face a whole tribe of hostile natives than have to beg for charity.”
“I feel exactly the same,” his friend agreed, “but if you are drowning, it is no use being particular as to who throws you a lifeline.”
The Earl gave a deep sigh.
“Where is this man Randon staying?”
“At Claridge’s Hotel.”
“All right I will go to see him and when I come back with my tail between my legs, you can show me the way to the Debtors prison!”
“I shall be hoping and praying that you will succeed, old boy, but I admit rich men are proverbially mean.”
“A crust of bread is better than no bread at all,” the Earl reasoned. “I will accept anything, even a fiver like the one he gave you when you were going back to Eton.”
He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece.
“I will go to Claridge’s now. I may catch him before he goes out to luncheon. If he refuses to help me, I shall look to you, John, to give me the last meal I will be able to take in a civilised place.”
“If you are going, Michael – get on with it! As I said at the beginning of our conversation, it is just an off-chance. But sometimes an outsider passes the winning post first!”
“And more often he falls at the first fence.”
The Earl rose from his chair and put his hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“Thank you for the champagne, my dear John. It has given me Dutch courage and I am most grateful.”
He walked away before Lord Shield could reply.
Outside the Club his chaise, in which he had driven up from the country, was waiting.
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