Love at the Tower

by Barbara Cartland

  Robina’s thoughts turned to the family that she had left behind in Paris.

  She had not wanted to go to France, but no amount of tears or pleading would change her father’s mind.

  A few days later she had found herself en route to Dover, dreading what might lie ahead.

  And then when she arrived in Paris, she had been so welcomed by the Lamonts, that, in spite of herself and her misgivings, she had soon found herself warming strongly to the family and their City.

  “You will find that French gentlemen are different to the English,” Nanny had warned her on the journey out. “You must be so careful not to take their words of love too seriously. For a Frenchman to flatter a woman is as natural as breathing, so I don’t want you to believe you are in love with some charming rogue who is merely passing the time of day with you.”

  Indeed it had seemed to Robina that every man she met paid her compliments. She had not felt very attractive in her dull mourning clothes, yet she was constantly being told how lovely she was.

  Even Jacques Lamont, the youngest son who was at least two years younger than Robina, had flirted with her and tried to snatch a kiss at a grand ball whilst they were walking in the gardens.

  “Jacques!” Robina had cried, as he lunged at her by the fountain.

  “I am sorry, Robina, but you see, you are just so beautiful that I had to kiss your lips.”

  “I shall have to tell your Papa if you don’t behave yourself,” she answered, trying hard to sound outraged as well as disguising a smile.

  “Oh, Robina, cherie, you do not mean that,” he had implored, inclining his head on one side pleadingly.

  She had arrived in Paris as skinny as a colt and had left a curvaceous young woman.

  She regarded her reflection in the carriage window. It was so dark outside that it was almost as reflective as a mirror.

  Her face had now filled out and she had lost her ‘pinched’ look.

  The Frenchmen had eyed her appreciatively when she had attended the opera dressed in her black silk gown with daring, short, puffed chiffon sleeves.

  Whereas before she could never have worn such a gown as her shoulders were too bony, now she found that she was drawing admiring glances.

  During the course of her stay Robina had become fluent in French and could now easily hold a long conversation on almost any topic.

  And to pass the time she had also applied herself to learning German and a little Greek.

  She immersed herself in Parisian Society and came to know the Louvre well. She could hold her own in any discussion about art and became quite an expert on Rodin, going to great lengths to be invited to his studio.

  Leaning over now to the seat opposite, she noticed a new cashmere blanket on it. She fingered the soft fabric and realised that it must have been rather expensive.

  ‘How very curious,’ she mused, ‘this looks as if a woman chose it. It is far too subtle and delicate to appeal to a man’s taste.’

  “Nanny, who bought this cashmere blanket?”

  Nanny coloured deep red and appeared flustered by the question.

  “I could not – say,” she stammered.

  “Nanny, there is something odd about all this. The new blanket, the new decorations in the carriage. I know that Papa has no interest whatsoever in this kind of thing.”

  She stared hard at the poor woman and she could see that she was visibly distressed.

  Finally in a low voice Nanny blurted out,

  “It is a new friend of your father’s. She has been spending much time at Trentham House and she has made certain changes.”

  “A female friend?” gasped Robina, unable to take in what Nanny had just said.

  “Yes.”

  “Papa has been entertaining a lady friend at home?”

  “Yes.”

  Robina felt shocked – she could not believe that her father would be interested in the company of a woman so soon after her mother’ death. Surely it would be innocent, just friendship? She could not believe that it was anything more.

  But Nanny’s expression said a great deal and with a sinking feeling, it now occurred to her that this woman was possibly more than a companion.

  She was beginning to feel uneasy at the prospect of going home. How would she possibly broach the subject with her father?

  “Nanny,” she began again. “Does Papa have many lady friends visiting Trentham House?”

  “Not really, Robina,”

  “Well, does this lady come for short visits or does she stay for weekends?”

  Nanny grew uneasy and steadfastly gazed out of the window.

  “I have said more than enough. You must ask your father.”

  “But Papa is not here, Nanny, and I wish to know!”

  Nanny did not answer.

  A sudden jolt threw Robina almost off her seat and, for the moment, she forgot all about her irritation.

  “Are you all right, Robina, dear?” asked Nanny, as she helped her back into the seat.

  Robina rubbed her arm.

  “I think I am, but my arm is a little painful.”

  “Tch, you always were such a clumsy girl! We shall get the doctor to look at it first thing in the morning,” clucked Nanny, rubbing Robina’s arm as if she was a small child once more.

  Robina dozed off as the carriage rocked and seated next to Nanny with her familiar smell of soap and lavender, she was soon soothed.

  As she slept, she dreamed all over again of the day that they had buried her Mama.

  It was a cold and wet day and the heavy mourning clothes she had donned were scratchy and uncomfortable.

  She relived walking downstairs and glimpsing the glass-sided carriage with the jet-black horses snorting and shaking their heads so hard that the ostrich plumes danced.

  She could once again see the coffin draped in black velvet as it was carried to the hearse. Her father followed behind, his black silk top hat in his hand and a grim look on his face.

  Then in her dream she was suddenly standing by the open grave and, as she went to throw in the earth, she slipped and fell straight into the hole.

  She tried to scrabble up the sides of the deep trench, but kept on sliding.

  The trench seemed to grow deeper and deeper –

  She shouted as the gravediggers started to shovel spadefuls of earth into the hole – but they did not hear her.

  “Help! Help!”

  Robina awoke with a start and grabbed hold of Nanny’s arm tightly.

  “What is it? There, you were having a bad dream.”

  Nanny stroked Robina’s hair and patted her hand.

  Robina felt sick. She had been repeatedly having the same dream ever since she had first arrived in Paris and each time, she was convinced that she was about to die – suffocated in her own mother’s grave!

  “I was dreaming about Mama’s funeral. It is always the same awful dream.”

  “You have not seen the monument, have you? It is a beautiful angel gazing up to Heaven flanked by pillars. Your father commissioned a top architect to design it and one of the best masons in London carved out the figure. It bears your mother’s likeness – ”

  “I would like to see it,” murmured Robina, deep inthought.

  She had not been to her mother’s grave since she had left for France. It had still been a heap of earth when she last saw it and the first anniversary of her death was now looming.

  It was nearly ten o’clock when the carriage finally turned into the driveway of Trentham House.

  Robina’s heart began to beat faster.

  How would her father receive her?

  Would he fling his arms round her and embrace her or would he merely nod and cough in that self-conscious way that he often lapsed into on emotional occasions?

  The carriage pulled up at the front entrance and a footman came to open the door.

  Robina did not recognise him, but vaguely remembered Nanny saying that some of the old servants had left because of her father’s ill t
emper.

  “Good evening, Miss Melville,” he said, “welcome home.”

  “And you are?”

  “Harrington, miss.”

  ‘It will feel so strange without Mama,’ she thought, as she began to slowly walk indoors.

  As soon as she was inside the hall, she noticed it.

  Where the large Chinese vase had once stood, there was now an enormous French clock. Robina knew it was from Paris, as the Lamonts had something rather similar in their drawing room.

  ‘This would not be to Papa’s taste,’ she reflected, as she took off her hat and gloves. ‘It is far too ornate. Papa is much fonder of Chinese antiques.’

  “Hello, miss. Did you enjoy a pleasant journey?”

  She spun round to see the familiar face of Newman, the butler, before her.

  She sighed with relief.

  “I am so pleased to see you, Newman!” she cried, “Nanny said that some of the servants had left and I would have hated it if you had been one of them.”

  Newman allowed himself a wry smile.

  “It would take more than a few of your father’s ill tempers to persuade me to leave Trentham House, miss.”

  Robina felt cheered immediately.

  Perhaps things would not be so bad.

  Nanny was still here and so was Newman.

  “And my father – is he at home? I am eager to see him!”

  It was all too obvious by the look upon Newman’s face that there was something amiss. He gazed down at his highly polished shoes before answering.

  “I am not certain as to his whereabouts at just this precise moment, miss.”

  Robina was aghast.

  “Surely he knew of my return home this evening?”

  “Of course, miss. That is why he asked Nanny to fetch you and not one of the footmen.”

  “You must know where he is, Newman. You know everyone’s movements before they even know where they are going themselves. Is he not waiting for me?”

  He sighed and gave Robina an almost pitying look.

  “Sadly I am no longer privy to all of Sir Herbert’s engagements.”

  Robina stared at him as if she could not understand the words.

  ‘What on earth can he mean?’ she said to herself. ‘How can our own butler not know where the Master of the house is?’

  She took off her coat and handed it to Nanny.

  She did not know if she should run to the library or whether to go upstairs to knock on his bedroom door.

  “You must be so tired, Robina,” suggested Nanny. “Why don’t you go up to your bedroom and I will ask for a tray with some supper to be brought to you.”

  Nanny could plainly see the turmoil raging within her, but she was powerless to help. Sir Herbert had made her promise that she would not say anything about the new arrangements until he had spoken to her himself.

  “But I want to see my Papa!” she answered Nanny with her voice getting shriller.

  “You will see him in the morning,” said Nanny in a soothing tone, but Robina was in no mood to be placated.

  She turned and grabbed Nanny by the shoulders, her fingers digging into her arms.

  “Where is he, Nanny? Do you know? Why won’t anyone tell me where he is?”

  A noise at the top of the stairs made her look up.

  With much hope in her heart that it was her father, she glanced up to see the figure of a woman in evening dress come slowly down the stairs towards her.

  “You must be Robina – welcome home,” mouthed the woman with very little warmth in her voice.

  Robina could only stare in disbelief at the apparition walking towards her.

  The woman was dressed in a green velvet dress in the latest style with large puffed sleeves decorated in black lace and dainty ribbon shoulder straps.

  Around her neck glittered a necklace of enormous emeralds and she wore matching earrings. There was also an obsidian brooch set in gold at the front of her dress that was almost as large as a pullet’s egg.

  Robina’s first impression was that she was terribly overdressed and that, although very beautiful, she was no longer a young woman.

  “Who – who are you?” she stammered, unable to take her eyes off the glittering figure who stood only feet away from her.

  “Your father will explain everything to you. Now do hurry, he is waiting in the library – he has some news for you I am certain you will want to hear.”

  Robina’s heart hammered in her chest.

  Her mouth felt dry and the prospect of seeing her father suddenly did not seem half as appealing.

  “Come along,” said the woman, beckoning for her to follow as she walked towards the library, “we are about to have dinner, rather late, I am afraid, and I know that he wishes to speak with you before it is served.”

  Mutely she allowed herself to be led to the library.

  ‘Who is this woman who makes me feel a stranger in my own home?’ she pondered, as she entered the library.

  Her father was standing by the desk, looking rather healthier than he had the last time she had seen him. His cheeks had filled out and he had lost the haunted look that had blighted his face.

  “Robina, I am so glad you have come home again,” he began, only meeting her eyes for a fleeting moment.

  ‘There is something not right here,’ she mused and did not know whether to approach him or if she should stay where she was.

  She waited for him to speak, but the silence seemed interminable.

  The strange woman in the evening dress crossed the room and went to her father’s side.

  There was something in the way that she looked up at him – in mute adoration as if he was the centre of her world – that made Robina feel sick to her very stomach.

  Her head spun and she grasped hold of a chair to steady herself. Not only was she feeling tired, but she was disorientated.

  After speaking only French for so long, she was not certain that she really understood just what was happening, as her father continued,

  “Robina, my dear, there is something I need to tell you and I do want you to be very happy for me,” he said at last, taking the woman’s hand.

  CHAPTER TWO

  As Robina stood facing her father and the strange woman, it was if she was hearing what he was saying from a very long way away.

  “Robina,” he resumed, “I know how much you love me and know that you would want me to be happy. I have to confess that since your dear mother died, I have been very lonely.”

  Robina opened her mouth to protest that had he not sent her away, then he might not have found himself in that unenviable state, but the words would not come.

  “Laura has been a great comfort to me and I don’t know what I would have done without her counsel and her company. So when I tell you that we were married just two weeks ago, I am certain that you will be pleased for me and will embrace your new stepmother and welcome her to Trentham House.”

  “No! It cannot be!” she cried, throwing her hands up to her face. “Mama has barely been dead a year – it is too soon. Too soon!”

  “Now, my dear, is that any way to greet your new Stepmama?” chided Laura, looking at Robina as if she was just a petulant small child.

  “Papa, how could you!” she shouted, throwing him a hurt look before turning and running out of the room.

  Tears blinded her as she ran upstairs.

  Unable to see where she was going, she plummeted into Nanny who was carrying a large bundle of laundry.

  “Robina. What on earth is the matter?”

  “Oh, Nanny. Did you know that Papa had married that woman?”

  “Yes, I did, dear, but I could not tell you. It was not my place. I don’t agree with this hasty marriage any more than you do, but it has happened and so we must get on with life.”

  “But how could he? It is far too soon after Mama’s passing.”

  Nanny ushered her into her room and put down her pile of laundry. She took a handkerchief from the dresser and hand
ed it to her.

  “Your father has been very much happier since her Ladyship came into his life and you want your Papa to be happy, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course, but why did he have to send me away? If he had not done that, then perhaps he would not have felt it necessary to seek comfort elsewhere.”

  “My dear, men are not the same as us – they are not very good at being on their own. Whereas when a woman’s husband dies, as my dear own Jack did, we are able to carry on without a man around, but men need a woman to care for them – and I am not talking about a daughter!”

  “Oh, Nanny! When Papa invited me home again, I did not think for one moment that I was going to feel as if I was an intruder in my very own home. This new woman – where has she come from? I did not see her at the house when Mama was alive.”

  “I believe she was married to one of your father’s friends, who had died tragically a year before your Mama. Lady Wolverton, as she was then, went to Europe after the funeral and came back a year later to find your Papa was in the same boat.

  “They were two lonely souls and then they found each other. Your Papa was so unbearable before she came into the picture – you should be grateful to her!”

  “Nanny, don’t say that – it makes me feel sick! I should have been enough for Papa and if he was lonely, he should have brought me back from Paris.”

  “My dear Robina, he found it too painful to look at you. Do you not know how like your Mama you are?”

  “But Mama had grey eyes and I have brown,” she replied, wiping hers with a soggy handkerchief.

  “It doesn’t matter to your Papa, you are the very image of her.”

  “I don’t understand – ” sniffed Robina.

  “You will when you fall in love,” answered Nanny, mysteriously.

  “Oh, I shall not fall in love with anyone.”

  Nanny laughed fondly.

  “You have been saying that ever since you were a little girl. But you will one day, you wait and see.”

  “I cannot imagine that there is a man out there that would make me want to ignore my own child!”

  “It happens, dear, it happens. Now dry your eyes. Your father will probably be upset that you were not more welcoming to her Ladyship. She can do no wrong in his eyes. Although I have to confess that no one can replace your Mama in my heart, this Lady Wolverton, as she was, has made him a happy man. Now it is late and I must take these downstairs for the morning. Good night, Robina.”