Lovers in London

by Barbara Cartland

  “You know I did when I first married you, Philip, and I have loved you more every year since.”

  Sir Philip bent down to kiss her.

  “I worship you,” he said, “and we are the luckiest couple in the whole world because, unlike many others, we have found what we were seeking. It is ours now and for ever.”

  Lady Grenville had looked up at him adoringly.

  He was still very handsome.

  She had thought when she first saw him that he was the best-looking man she could ever have dreamt about.

  She herself had been the most admired debutante of her Season.

  Sir Philip was surely right when he said that her beauty had indeed deepened year by year because she was so happy. Even now she was so attractive that men always seemed to surround her wherever she went.

  “I have often felt,” Sir Philip had said once, “that I might have been forced to fight a thousand duels to prevent you from being taken away from me!”

  “Do you think I would ever have left you?” his wife asked softly. “I knew the moment I first saw you that you were the man of my dreams. I was only terrified that you would disappear on one of your expeditions and I would never see you again!”

  Actually it had been a question of love at first sight and there had been no chance of either of them escaping from the other.

  Their son had been a most adorable baby and had grown up to be a very good-looking young man.

  But Lanthia was really exceptional.

  As he looked at her now, Sir Philip wondered what would happen to her in the future.

  Perhaps it was a mistake to let her go to London, even to buy a few clothes. Then he told himself he was being unnecessarily anxious.

  She would only be away for three or four days.

  Mrs. Blossom could be relied on to look after her.

  ‘I expect I am prejudiced,’ Sir Philip thought, ‘but she does look like Aphrodite and what man in his own way is not seeking the Goddess of Love?’

  CHAPTER TWO

  Lanthia and Mrs. Blossom travelled to London by train and when they reached the terminus they engaged a Hackney Carriage to drive to The Langham.

  The front door boasted a most impressive portico and as they walked inside, the hotel manager, who welcomed Lanthia most effusively, greeted them.

  “I received a letter from Sir Philip, Miss Grenville,” he said, “and I cannot tell you how delighted I am that you have returned to The Langham after all these years.”

  “I have certainly grown since I was here last,” she smiled, “and I see the hotel is looking magnificent!”

  “That is what we hoped you would think and that you will be comfortable with us,” the manager replied.

  Lanthia introduced Mrs. Blossom, explaining that her father, the Bishop of Bristol had frequently stayed at The Langham.

  The manager made a few complimentary remarks about the Bishop, Sir Philip and Lanthia’s mother before he escorted them upstairs.

  They went up to the second floor in a hydraulically operated lift, which was widely known as a ‘rising room’. As they did so the manager apologetically explained to them that the hotel was very full.

  He could therefore only give Lanthia one bedroom with a sitting room, the other bedroom being further down the corridor.

  “I can assure you, Miss Grenville, that the moment a guest moves from the other side of the sitting room, I will of course move Mrs. Blossom into that room.”

  “Perhaps Mrs. Blossom would like to stay in the bedroom with the sitting room?” suggested Lanthia.

  “No, of course not,” she responded. “You may be having visitors. Your mother told me she was writing to several friends to see if they are in London, and I shall be perfectly happy as long as I have a comfortable bed.”

  “I can definitely promise you that,” the manager assured her.

  When they came out of the lift they walked down a long, wide corridor.

  Lanthia remembered her father telling her that the hotel corridors were just broad enough for two ladies in crinolines – which were very much the fashion when the hotel was built – to walk side by side. Now the corridors were furnished with sofas and chairs that were as luxurious as every other part of the hotel.

  Lady Grenville had told Lanthia that there had been many recent improvements.

  For one example, the columns, which had originally been brown, were now painted white to go with the rest of the decorations in which white, scarlet and gold prevailed.

  “We are now most up-to-date,” the manager was saying proudly, gesturing around at the new décor, as they walked along the corridor. “You will notice this evening, Miss Grenville, that the entrance and the courtyard are now lit by electricity.”

  Lanthia confirmed that she was impressed and then she asked what she had been longing to know.

  “Is Madame Ouida still living here in the hotel?”

  “Yes, indeed she is,” replied the manager, “but at the moment she has left on a visit to Paris. We expect her back in a month or so.”

  “My father met her when he was staying here.”

  The manager smiled.

  “I think there is no one of any importance who has not been received by Madame at one time or another in her bedroom!”

  He paused as if he was very carefully choosing his words, before he added,

  “In fact one of her visitors was staying here only a week ago and that was Mr. Richard Burton.”

  Lanthia gave a little cry of excitement.

  “Oh, I do wish I had seen him! He has always been one of the most interesting people I have ever read about and I would like more than anything else to meet him!”

  She was thinking as she spoke of what she had read about him in one of her father’s books.

  He had described in detail Richard Burton’s ‘dark Arabic face and his questing panther eyes.’

  What really interested her so much was that he was the world’s greatest living explorer and she had followed his brilliant adventures with the same excitement that she had followed her father’s.

  Richard Burton was one of the few men alive who had reached the inner sanctuary at Mecca and he had seen what few other infidels had ever lived to describe.

  Lanthia had been impressed to learn that he spoke twenty-eight languages and many strange Oriental dialects.

  ‘If only he was staying here at The Langham now,’ she thought, ‘how wonderful it would have been to see him and perhaps even speak with him.’

  As if the manager could sense her disappointment he said,

  “I am sure Mr. Burton will come back here many times and I can only hope, Miss Grenville, you are with us when he arrives.”

  “I really hope so too!”

  To soften Lanthia’s disappointment, he told her that the Prime Minister had been in for dinner only last week.

  ‘He is a poor substitute,’ she thought, ‘for Richard Burton!’

  However, she forced herself to sound just a little bit enthusiastic about the Prime Minister.

  When they reached her sitting room, she found it to be quite small but comfortable and her bedroom opening out of it was pretty with a four-poster bed.

  The manager was still making abject apologies for not being able to provide what they had wanted.

  He showed Mrs. Blossom the other bedroom, only a few yards away.

  “I will certainly be perfectly comfortable here,” she stated firmly.

  By this time the porters had brought their luggage upstairs and deposited it in the bedrooms.

  Lanthia tipped them, giving the sum her father had advised her to do and as they seemed very grateful, they obviously thought it was generous.

  “Now if there is anything you should require, Miss Grenville,” the manager was saying, “or if you have any complaints, please let me know. I know your father would want me to look after you and to make your visit to The Langham a happy and memorable one.”

  “I am sure that is just what it will be
and thank you so much.”

  When the manager had left them she ordered tea, knowing that was what Mrs Blossom would need.

  She then unpacked the dresses she had brought with her and hung them up in the wardrobe.

  “We had better start out early tomorrow morning to find all the gowns I require,” she suggested to Mrs. Blossom. “Otherwise I feel we shall have to stay here for weeks and I am sure it’s a very expensive hotel.”

  “I am afraid it’s true,” agreed Mrs. Blossom, “but I know your father and mother would not like you to stay in any hotel which indeed might be a bit cheaper, but not so respectable!”

  “I doubt if we shall have time to do anything else but shop,” sighed Lanthia, “and we will be so tired when we return to the hotel, we will just want to rest.”

  Mrs. Blossom agreed with her at once, but Lanthia could not help feeling the prospect sounded rather dull.

  She therefore insisted that they went downstairs for dinner, certain it would be more fun than having it brought up to the sitting room.

  Lanthia changed into one of her simplest evening frocks and once downstairs she was very delighted with the elegance of everything she saw.

  There were impressive marble pillars, fine silk hangings, hand-printed wallpapers and Persian tapestry carpets, all of which her mother had told her were outstanding for a London hotel.

  It was all very grand.

  She felt as if it was a stage-set designed particularly for all the important people who stayed there.

  It seemed as if everything had come straight out of a storybook.

  As Mrs. Blossom was tired after the journey, they went back upstairs as soon as they had finished dinner.

  Having said goodnight to Lanthia, she hurried to her own bedroom.

  Lanthia walked to the window in her comfortable bedroom and stood for a long time looking down at Portland Place.

  It was not a very busy street, but there were smart carriages drawn by well-bred horses passing down it.

  She started imagining that they were all taking glamorous ladies out to dinner.

  It was so long since she had last been to London and now she was here she felt she had just stepped into a different world.

  It was all more dreamlike than reality.

  ‘I wish Papa was with me,’ mused Lanthia. ‘I am sure he would have new stories to tell me about everything I see.’

  It was consoling that in a month all three of them would be coming to London and then it would be really exciting with all the balls, parties and the racing at Ascot.

  ‘I am lucky, so very lucky,’ she told herself.

  At the same time she could not help wishing that tonight she was being taken to a ball in one of the carriages passing below her window.

  And that there would be plenty of young men there anxious to dance with her!

  This was what she might have been doing last year, but by being in mourning a whole year had been wasted.

  ‘I suppose I should not think of it like that. I have learned so much this past year from Papa and all his books, and of course the woods have told me things which I would never have learned in the noise and hurry of a big City.’

  She undressed and climbed into her bed, but it was a long time before she fell fast asleep.

  *

  The next morning she and Mrs. Blossom had their breakfast at eight o’clock and before the clock had struck nine they had left the hotel.

  The many shops in Bond Street were as alluring as her mother had said they would be, but she was determined not to rush into buying anything too quickly as she might easily find something more attractive a bit later and regret her first purchase.

  They decided to inspect the gowns in several shops and then make a decision as to which was the prettiest and most becoming.

  Lanthia had no idea that every dress she would try on seemed as if it had been specially designed for her, making her look even more beautiful than ever.

  Up to now she had received very few compliments and she was very unselfconscious.

  She seldom thought about her own appearance, but she did love bright colours and beauty wherever she found them.

  She was entranced with the amusing little hats that were now the fashion. Trimmed with flowers or a single feather they made her look very smart and up-to-date.

  “Which shall I buy?” she asked Mrs. Blossom.

  “You look very charming in each of them, dearest. Personally I myself should purchase the one which is the most comfortable.”

  Lanthia considered this to be good advice, so she was extravagant enough to buy three of the prettiest hats on offer and was still considering another one.

  Even more exciting than the lovely hats were the evening gowns, which they had left until the afternoon.

  Her mother had given her the name of a particular shop, explaining that this was where she always went herself. The manageress remembered her and was exceedingly anxious to please Lanthia.

  “I remember her Ladyship telling me that you were to make your debut last year, miss,” she minced. “We had some very lovely gowns which I know would have suited you, but I understand you are in mourning.”

  “For my dear grandfather,” Lanthia answered her. “So now you must find me even prettier gowns than those I missed last year!”

  The manageress laughed.

  Every gown she deemed suitable was then shown to Lanthia and again she found it difficult to decide which she liked the best.

  Finally she chose one gown, which she thought was outstanding and the helpful manageress promised faithfully that it would be ready for fitting the following day.

  “It will take us quite a bit of time to alter it,” said the manageress, “but I assure you there will be no one else in any ballroom wearing a more gorgeous gown!”

  There were many more dresses that Lanthia wanted to see, but she soon realised that Mrs. Blossom was becoming very tired.

  After all they had been working, if that was the right word, since first thing in the morning and now it was getting on for teatime.

  “I think we should leave the rest of our shopping until tomorrow,” said Lanthia reluctantly and saw the relief on Mrs. Blossom’s face.

  When they hailed a Hackney Carriage and started back towards The Langham, Mrs. Blossom confessed to a headache.

  “I am not used to London,” she grumbled, “and I suppose that is why I did not sleep very well last night.”

  “You must lie down at once,” suggested Lanthia, “and if you still feel tired, have dinner in bed.”

  “You cannot go into the dining room alone,” Mrs. Blossom answered quickly.

  “No, of course not. I will either have dinner with you or in the sitting room. Don’t worry at all. We have done a good day’s work and there are not so many things we shall require tomorrow.”

  She thought Mrs. Blossom looked relieved again.

  When they arrived at the hotel, Lanthia hurried her into the lift up to the second floor, but even so it was quite a long walk to their rooms.

  Lanthia promised she would order some tea.

  “You must get into bed and rest while you have the chance and thank you for being so kind and helpful to me.”

  “I have enjoyed every moment of it,” Mrs. Blossom replied. “It is just this stupid head of mine which will ache when I do not want it to.”

  “I expect that means you are using your brain too much,” smiled Lanthia.

  At the same time she thought that Mrs. Blossom did indeed look very tired.

  She took her into her bedroom first, made sure she was comfortable and then going back to her own room, she put the key into the lock of the sitting room door.

  As she turned it she was suddenly aware that there was a man close behind her.

  *

  The Marquis of Rakecliffe drove down Piccadilly in his smart chaise, which he had recently purchased, drawn by two perfectly matched stallions of which he was particularly proud.

  He would have
been blind or very stupid if he had not noticed that every pedestrian walking along the pavement stared at him as he passed.

  Where the men were concerned there was a look of admiration and envy in their eyes. It was not only his horses but the Marquis himself who looked outstanding.

  Broad-shouldered and extremely handsome he wore his hat at an angle that enhanced his appearance and also made his nickname seem appropriate.

  He had been christened Victor James, but from the time he had been at Eton everyone had called him simply ‘Rake’.

  And that was undoubtedly what he had become.

  Women he met pursued him relentlessly and he would have been inhuman if he had not accepted some of their many favours.

  However, there was a serious side to his nature.

  Most people were unaware that behind his debonair façade he had an astute brain that matched his brilliant organisational skills. It was the Prime Minister, Benjamin Disraeli, who was the first to appreciate it.

  The Marquis had always been a keen traveller and an explorer of different countries and the Prime Minister had been clever enough to realise how useful he could be.

  Whenever he learned that the Marquis was going abroad, he would send for him and ask him to undertake a mission that he considered of great national importance.

  “Not another mission?” the Marquis had groaned when he had found himself alone with the Prime Minister at number 10 Downing Street yet again.

  “There is just a small task you can undertake for me this time, Rake,” said the Prime Minister. “And you know as well as I do that it is not something I can request from anyone else and expect the same result!”

  The Marquis recognised that this was indeed true.

  Because of his rank, great wealth and influence in the Social world, he could enter places that were barred to other people. He could have conversations with those who would speak to no one else.

  He had therefore been of immense service to the Prime Minister and his country on various occasions.

  Although he had always protested at what he was asked to do, if he was honest with himself he could admit he actually enjoyed the excitement and often the danger of the mission.

  At that moment, however, he was not thinking of anything particularly serious.