Love At Last

by Barbara Cartland

  Ivan faced the other man.

  “Now I’ll have at you,” he cried, eyeing the raised weapon and taking in the cruel gleam in his eyes.

  He made a feint as the villain rushed at him, then skilfully changed direction and thrust his sword through his thigh – the second bludgeon dropped to the ground.

  Both villains ran off, one limping badly and then disappeared.

  Ivan made no attempt to follow them.

  He leant back against the tenement wall for a few moments breathing heavily. Too little exercise and too much eating and drinking since he arrived in Paris meant he was no longer in tip-top condition.

  He smiled grimly.

  At least war had developed a sixth sense for danger for him and gave him practice in fighting at close quarters.

  His trusty sword had been a gift from the Baron, who had advised Ivan to carry it always.

  “You will think it unnecessary,” he had said. “I say that you never know when danger might strike. Always be prepared. You should carry a pistol as well.”

  Ivan drew the line at that. There was a handgun in his luggage, but there it stayed. If the swordstick had not been so handsome, he might have left that behind as well.

  This evening it had certainly proved its worth.

  Retracing his steps he found the main road again with profound relief. Another hansom cab appeared as if out of nowhere and this time he stepped up and told the driver to take him to his hotel.

  Back in his suite he regretted having told Yuri not to wait up for him.

  He was going to have to wait until morning to issue the instructions he had decided upon in the cab.

  As he made his way to his room, he caught sight of himself in a long mirror and was shocked to see how his greatcoat had been torn during the fight. It would have to be replaced – and as soon as possible.

  At least his evening suit appeared undamaged.

  It seemed a long time since he had left Hortense and Ivan went to bed with a sense that a watershed in his life had been passed.

  *

  In the morning, despite the late hour when he had retired, Ivan was awake before Yuri brought in his morning cup of tea, a habit he had taken up when living in College at Oxford.

  “Yuri, pack everything – we are going to England,” ordered Ivan, taking the cup from him and drinking the tea with relish.

  Yuri looked shocked.

  “England, Prince?”

  “Paris has yielded me nothing. I have not met one single girl I could consider proposing to.”

  Yuri then picked up the greatcoat from the floor and exclaimed in horror at its condition.

  “Prince, what happened to you last night?”

  Yuri stroked the damaged fabric as though it was a wounded animal he was particularly fond of.

  “A small incident – nothing important.”

  Ivan refused to believe that the attack had played a part in his decision to leave Paris. After all the war with Voskia had shown he was no coward.

  However, he saw little reason to face more danger than necessary. Villains willing to bludgeon him to steal his purse should be avoided.

  No, from every point of view, moving from Paris to London was the right decision.

  Yuri’s back as he started packing Ivan’s belongings was eloquent with his displeasure.

  Ivan knew exactly why. Yuri had met an attractive girl, maid to an aged lady staying in the hotel. No doubt he believed he had several weeks for his dalliance.

  Once he was dressed, Ivan declared,

  “I am going downstairs to arrange for a telegraph to be sent to our Embassy in London advising of my arrival. I shall also check on ferries across the Channel. I want to leave as soon as possible.”

  He left before Yuri could think of any objections.

  The weather was still very cold and Ivan missed his greatcoat – the lighter version he had brought with him was elegant but lacked warmth.

  He resolved to visit a London tailor as soon as he arrived for a replacement.

  *

  The Rusitanian Ambassador to London was clearly delighted to receive his Prince.

  Count Lewinsky was in the hall of the Embassy to greet Ivan.

  “Your Royal Highness, my dear Prince,” the Count intoned, bowing low. “It is a great honour to welcome you to London. Ever since I received your letter, everything has been made ready. However, I was not expecting you so soon. I understood that your stay in Paris would be for longer.”

  “Why stay in Paris when there are the delights of England’s Capital City awaiting me?”

  Ivan peeled off his gloves, hat and coat and gave them to a footman in Rusitanian livery.

  “And, Count, I require you to give me the name of London’s best tailor as I urgently require a new greatcoat.”

  “There will be no problem, Your Royal Highness. London’s tailors are superb and mine is what the English call ‘top of the tree’. I will provide you with his details as soon as my wife and I have enjoyed the pleasure of your company for dinner.”

  The Count turned to the footman.

  “See to his Royal Highness’s valet and bags. Now, Prince Ivan, allow me to show you to your quarters?”

  Ivan followed his Ambassador up the Embassy’s sweeping marble staircase.

  Mention of ‘quarters’ had made Ivan think back to his Army days and barracks that were basic at best.

  However, he was shown to a magnificent suite of rooms where everything was provided for his comfort. Ivan had not been to his London Embassy before and a fleeting visit during his time at University had not revealed its full magnificence.

  “Your grandfather, Prince Maximilian,” murmured the Count as he ushered Ivan into the suite’s ample sitting room, “insisted that it was essential for the Embassy to be a showcase for Rusitania’s standing. It has to demonstrate that we are a Principality of substance.”

  ‘It certainly would do that,’ Ivan mused, as he took in the damask upholstery, antique furniture and attractive pictures, but he could not help wondering just what it cost to maintain this opulent showcase.

  Ivan expected dinner with the Count and his stately wife to be rather boring and he was ready to plead travel weariness to bring the evening to a speedy conclusion.

  Instead he found the Ambassador to be a cultured and entertaining gentleman, who was well acquainted with his country’s poor economic situation.

  “I am sure you will be investigating the possibilities for developing the mineral deposits in the South,” he said over the port and cigars. “It is these, of course, that Prince Peter was so eager to capture in the recent war.”

  Ivan looked questioningly at his host.

  “I understand that Prince Peter,” he continued, “has obtained access to reports of various surveys of the region that had been commissioned by your late father.”

  “My dear Count,” replied Ivan, helping himself to a cigar from the gold humidor. “I am afraid I assumed that Cousin Peter’s aim was to gain possession of Rusitania and place himself upon the throne. Voskia, after all, is a third the size of Rusitania and its economic position is quite as bad as ours. Also as a child Peter always wanted to beat me at every game we ever played!”

  The Count smiled.

  “I am sure, Your Royal Highness, that everything you say is true. However, Prince Peter is aware that there are vast copper deposits in the South of Rusitania. Were he able to gain possession of these, he would recoup all the expense of his wars and topple you from your throne.”

  Ivan looked at the Ambassador reflectively.

  “Why has no one told me about this?”

  The Count shrugged.

  “Your Ministers may not know of the reports. I had heard of them from your father, who was over here on a visit just before he died. He commissioned some English surveyors in great secrecy and was very anxious that their findings remained confidential. How Prince Peter gained access to them is a mystery, but my informants in Voskia are most reliable.”


  “It surely makes a great deal more sense of Peter’s attack on Rusitania,” admitted Ivan. “I just wonder why my father did not make use of these reports.”

  “He died before any arrangements could be made.”

  The Count clipped his cigar, lit it carefully and then added a trifle diffidently,

  “I tried to draw the attention of your Council to their existence, but I believe they were too concerned at having to find finance to pay for the war.”

  “I suppose that the development of these deposits would take considerable investment?”

  The Count nodded.

  “Considerable, Your Royal Highness.”

  Ivan leaned forward confidentially.

  “I should tell you, Count, that my real reason for coming to England is to seek a suitable bride and provide an heir to the Rusitanian throne.”

  “Bravo, my Prince, all your people and the Council will be thrilled to see you safely married.”

  A glimmer of a smile lit Ivan’s eyes.

  “I am sure they will be. However, I do consider it very important for my bride to be wealthy. Rusitania needs foreign funds if I am to repair its finances.”

  “I understand, Your Royal Highness, I shall consult my wife, she may well know of suitable candidates.”

  As Ivan retired for the night, he thought about the perfect accord there seemed to be between the Ambassador and his wife.

  It reminded him of the love between his parents.

  That was what he wanted himself. Perhaps a little more excitement to start with, but he did not see himself settling down just yet – his twilight years were a long way off.

  Then just before he slipped into sleep, he recalled one of his Ambassador’s last comments,

  “Remember, Prince, your cousin will still have his eye on those mineral deposits. They could be the saving of Voskia just as they should be for Rusitania. Do not trust the terms of the Treaty you have just signed.”

  It was necessary, Ivan reflected, as sleep claimed him, to find the right bride quickly so he could return to Rusitania and protect his homeland from the greed and desperation of his grasping cousin.

  *

  The next morning Ivan took an early ride in Hyde Park. It was time he reminded his body that there were muscles that needed to be exercised.

  In spite of the early hour, there were others already cantering purposefully along.

  Suddenly he saw a figure he thought he recognised and spurred his horse into a gallop.

  “Algy!” he cried as he came alongside a dashing figure with a slightly hooked nose wearing his top hat at a dangerous angle.

  “Ivan, on my life! What on earth are you doing here. Don’t you know galloping in the Park is forbidden?”

  “Pshaw! Who is there at this hour to object?”

  “Magnificent to see you, mon ami, but where did you obtain that sorry excuse for horseflesh?”

  Ivan laughed and patted the neck of his elderly bay.

  “He is the best the Embassy stables could come up with and I understand he has seen fine service over many years. But you are right, Algy, even if I am only to be here for a short time, I need to find something with a little more energy. I only arrived yesterday.”

  “From Rusitania?”

  “No, Paris.”

  “Ah, Gay Paree. At least I hope it was gay for you and you were not locked into dull diplomatic soirées.”

  Ivan laughed again.

  “I neglected all my duties in that direction, I regret to say. The Ambassador was reminding me last night to present my card at Marlborough House and at Buckingham Palace, though he says the Queen is a virtual recluse these days. Apparently it is the Prince and Princess of Wales who now host Royal Receptions.”

  “Indeed it is and they are most enjoyable. But you need an entrée into the Marlborough set, their inner circle. That is where you’ll find the greatest fun.”

  Cantering along Ivan gently quizzed his old friend about life in London.

  Algernon Montmorency had been at Eton, one of England’s famed Public schools, with Ivan. He had then become a Cavalry Officer while Ivan had gone to Oxford.

  Algy had, though, visited Ivan in Rusitania in the long vacation and they had kept in contact.

  He was one of the friends Ivan had intended to look up in London.

  “Some of us are going to the Music Hall tonight,” stated Algy. “Then on to a club for more entertainment.”

  He laid his finger by the side of his nose.

  “You must join us, Ivan, and I refuse to take ‘no’ for an answer.”

  By the morning Ivan had met up with a number of his old friends and was torn between wanting to continue enjoying himself with them and knowing that this was no way to find a suitable bride.

  *

  Then he received an invitation to a Reception at Buckingham Palace hosted by the Prince of Wales.

  “It’s a diplomatic affair,” confided his Ambassador. “You are not likely to find any eligible young ladies there, but you may well make the acquaintance of some of their parents. My wife and I will be accompanying you and I will try and ensure that you are introduced to any members of English Society who seem promising.”

  The State Rooms at Buckingham Palace looked so brilliant with chandeliers, their light reflected in the many mirrors around the walls.

  When Ivan was announced, he stepped forward and shook hands with the future King of England.

  The Prince of Wales was a bluff convivial figure standing next to the superbly elegant figure of his Princess. Edward, known as Bertie, greeted diplomat after diplomat and by the time Ivan arrived he looked a bit bored, but he brightened when Ivan bowed and said how honoured he was to make his acquaintance.

  “Damn it, Prince Ivan, you must come to something a little more entertaining than this Reception.”

  The Prince of Wales then beckoned to an equerry standing behind him.

  “Herbert, remind me to send the Prince of Rusitania an invitation to a party at Marlborough House.”

  Ivan thanked him, moved on to kiss the hand of the Princess and then passed into the general mêlée of guests.

  Some forty minutes later, Ivan was bemused by the number of distinguished diplomats and aristocrats he had been introduced to.

  His Ambassador was careful to give position and background of each person he met.

  Occasionally he whispered in Ivan’s ear as, after a short conversation, they passed on to another couple.

  Regrettably so far, whilst there had been parents of daughters the Ambassador considered attractive, none was an heiress to the sums needed to qualify as a potential Princess of Rusitania.

  Just as Ivan’s head was beginning to swim with details of the dignitaries he had met, the Ambassador and his wife fell into a lively conversation with a couple they obviously knew well.

  Although they attempted to draw Ivan into their conversation, he felt superfluous.

  Instead he studied some of the superb works of art that were displayed on the walls.

  “It’s as good as an Art Gallery,” came a charming female voice at his elbow as he studied a Vermeer with deep appreciation.

  With a frisson of expectation he turned to find the speaker rather older and less attractive than he had hoped.

  “Does the Palace own any more paintings of this quality?” he asked politely.

  “Apart from National Galleries, the Collection as a whole is unrivalled,” she said, “I always enjoy coming with my father to these Receptions at Buckingham Palace and if the company turns out to be uninteresting, the works of art are mesmerising.”

  “You are a connoisseur?” Ivan asked her. “But I regret that we have not yet been introduced.”

  He looked around for his Ambassador.

  “I believe I have the honour of addressing Prince Ivan of Rusitania,” said the girl with the charming voice. “My father is the Earl of Yarlington. He is a Minister in the Foreign Office and since my mother’s death two years ago, I
accompany him to Receptions such as this.

  “My name is Cecilia.”

  Well schooled in the intricacies of European titles, Ivan knew that the daughter of an English Earl held the title of ‘Lady’.

  “Lady Cecilia, it is indeed an honour to make your acquaintance,” he said, clicking his heels and giving her a slight bow. “But how did you know who I was?”

  “My father knew that you were to accompany your Ambassador tonight and then pointed you out to me. My parents and I visited Rusitania some eight years ago and I am afraid that I was so anxious to meet the Prince of one of the most beautiful countries I have ever been to that I could not wait to be properly introduced.”

  “Have we met before? Surely not, I would have remembered such a beautiful English lady.”

  Cecilia laughed. It was a lovely melodious sound.

  “Prince, you are just as charming as your reputation and your compliments are as outrageous as I was told to expect. I think you were at Oxford at the time we visited Rusitania. Your parents welcomed us most generously.”

  Ivan took a closer look at her.

  She was a year or two younger than himself.

  She was definitely not pretty in the normal sense of the word, but she was certainly not plain either. Her eyes were her best feature, huge and a most attractive grey and her blonde hair was long and lustrous.

  Her nose was tip-tilted and her mouth wide. The French would perhaps unfairly describe the Lady Cecilia as jolie laide.

  Ivan preferred younger girls with even features and a less challenging expression.

  “Tell me,” she asked, “is the Royal Art Collection sufficient interest for the age and gravity of your fellow guests?”

  Her eyes twinkled at him in a most engaging way.

  “It has all been completely put in the shade by your charms,” Ivan countered gallantly.

  She gave another of her delightful laughs.

  “I am quite overcome, Your Royal Highness. But, please, now that you have done your duty by compliments, can we have a real conversation? It is not often I have the opportunity at one of these affairs.”

  Ivan was not used to young women who asked him to abandon complimenting them for intelligent discussion and his interest in Lady Cecilia sharpened.