Count the Stars

by Barbara Cartland

  On closer inspection he appreciated there were quite good stables off the large courtyard, in which there was a prosperous-looking travelling chariot.

  The Duke made up his mind that both he and Samson had gone far enough and he would stay the night there. At the same time remembering the conditions of Freddie’s wager, he knew he must be careful that the chariot did not belong to anyone he knew.

  He found an ostler, inspected the stable in which Samson was to be housed and saw that there were a number of other horses in adjacent stalls.

  “I see you are busy tonight,” he remarked.

  “Aye, sir,” the ostler replied. “A party arrived two hours ago. Tis lucky, as we ain’t had many visitors lately.”

  “Do you know the name of these people,” the Duke enquired.

  The ostler shook his head and the Duke walked into the inn.

  The publican, a large fat man, was giving orders to two young girls in mobcaps and the Duke suspected they were serving in the dining hall.

  The publican turned as the Duke entered and recognised him as being a gentleman and a customer and he immediately began bowing subserviently.

  “‘Evening, sir, what can I do for you, sir. Is it dinner you be wantin’ or a bed for the night?”

  “I want a bed for the night,” the Duke replied, “and I have already put my horse into your stables.”

  The publican scratched his head.

  “Our best rooms be already occupied, sir. But there be one on the first floor which be comfortable, if not over-large.”

  “That will suit me,” the Duke said. “I will also be requiring dinner. I presume you have a private parlour?”

  “There be only one, sir, and that be already bespoke. But we’ll make you comfortable in the dinin’ hall.”

  The Duke had learned what he wanted – that the people who occupied the travelling chariot were dining in their own private parlour and so were not likely to see him.

  “Show me the bedroom,” he asked. “I would like dinner as soon as I have washed.”

  His air of authority was obviously impressive and instead of sending one of the chambermaids, the publican himself showed him to the first floor.

  The bedroom the Duke saw was indeed very small and he realised that it was the dressing room of an adjoining room with a communicating door with two bolts to secure it. He noted that the place was at least clean.

  “Would you like some hot water, sir,” the publican enquired.

  “Thank you,” the Duke answered.

  It took a little time to be brought upstairs and, while he was waiting, the Duke wondered if he should fetch his clothes from the back of Samson’s saddle or wait until after he had eaten.

  He decided to wait and then when the water arrived he washed the dust from his face and hands, dried himself on a coarse towel and, after a glance in the mirror to see that his cravat was tidy, went downstairs.

  There were only two other people in the dining hall, which was a pleasant, oak-beamed room and the Duke sized them up as being superior servants.

  He guessed that even in such a small inn the coachmen and outriders, if there were any, would eat in the kitchen.

  To his surprise he was positively hungry – something he did not remember having been for a long time. So he did full justice to a well-cooked steak, kidney and lark pie and ate three slices of home-cured ham.

  Thinking that the wine was likely to be inferior, he drank what the publican informed him was homebrewed cider.

  As he finished his meal with cheese and bread, which undoubtedly had been baked that morning, he thought with a smile that Freddie would approve of this much more spartan meal then he usually enjoyed.

  At the same time he could hardly say that he had met, today at any rate, any ‘real people’ who he had been told were so essential to his journey.

  He could not believe that he would find the conversation of the servants at the other table at all stimulating and he was certain that the vocabulary of the publican was very limited.

  ‘The sooner this journey is over the better,’ he told himself. ‘I am going to bed early and getting up early. When Freddie loses his Canaletto, it will teach him a sharp lesson.’

  As soon as the Duke had finished dinner, he went to the stables to collect his clothes from the back of the saddle and to see if Samson was comfortable.

  The great stallion pricked up his ears at his approach and nuzzled him when he patted his neck.

  “If we have to go to York, Samson,” the Duke said, “we might even do it in record time and then return to our home comforts. What do you think?”

  The horse appeared to be listening to him and then blew through his nostrils.

  “I agree with you,” the Duke proclaimed. “The whole idea is damned nonsense from start to finish.”

  He picked up the rainproof roll, put it over his arm and walked back to the inn.

  Chapter Two

  The Duke opened wide the casement in his bedroom and stood for a long time looking out onto the night. He was thinking about himself and what Freddie had said to him.

  He did not feel tired and wondered if he should go downstairs and take a walk outside. Then he thought that if he did so he might encounter the party who were occupying the private parlour and it would be wiser to stay where he was.

  Two candles were the only light in his room, but they were enough to enable him to read the local paper, which he had picked up in the hall before he came upstairs.

  It was full of prizes that had been won at a local show and did not concern itself with politics.

  The Duke turned over the pages, saw there was nothing to interest him and decided he would undress.

  He had taken off his riding coat and was just going to remove his boots when he heard a voice speaking so loudly and so clearly that for a moment it made him start.

  Then he realised that someone was in the next room, which communicated with his.

  “I want to make it quite clear to you, Valora,” a woman said, “that when you arrive tomorrow you will make yourself pleasant to Sir Mortimer.”

  “I have told you already, Stepmama,” another voice answered, “that I will not marry Sir Mortimer and I shall tell him so.”

  “You will marry him if I have to beat you into submission, as undoubtedly he will do once you are his wife.”

  There was a little scream of protest from the younger voice, that of the girl who had been addressed as Valora.

  “How can you say such a thing?” she cried. “How can you threaten me? If Papa was alive, he would be horrified at the way you are behaving.”

  “Your father is dead,” her stepmother said almost brutally. “Get it into your head that I am now your Guardian and you will marry whomever I want you to marry.”

  There was a pause for a moment.

  Then Valora said,

  “I have tried to think why you should have chosen Sir Mortimer as my husband, but now I am almost sure it is because he has paid you. You spent all Papa’s money and now you want more!”

  “I have a good mind to slap you for your impertinence,” her stepmother replied. “But instead I will tell you that Sir Mortimer values you so highly, though God knows why, that the day you become his wife I shall receive a cheque for ten thousand pounds. In my opinion it is a good deal more than you are worth.”

  “So you are selling me as if I was a piece of merchandise,” Valora answered bitterly. “Well, you will be disappointed! I think Sir Mortimer, rich though he may be, is a horrible, disgusting, debauched old man. I would rather die than become his wife.”

  “Die then!” her stepmother snarled. “But oblige me by waiting until you have his ring on your finger.”

  There was a sound as if Valora stamped her foot before she asserted,

  “I will not do it! Let me try to make you understand that I will not be married in such a horrible and immoral manner.”

  “If you think that’s immoral,” her stepmother remarked, “then all I c
an say is you are fortunate that he offers you marriage. I daresay he would pay the same if you occupied a very different position in his life.”

  There was a little murmur of protest, but Valora did not reply and after a moment her stepmother said,

  “I have threatened you with the whip and I shall not hesitate to use it if you make any sort of scene when we arrive at Heverington Hall. What is more, you need make no effort to try to escape before we arrive there.”

  She waited as if she expected Valora to say something, but when she was still silent she continued,

  “I am not a fool. I am well aware of why you gave instructions to the grooms to put your horse in the paddock tonight rather than the stable. I intend to lock you in this room and unless you are prepared to break your leg by jumping out of the window, you will be here waiting for me in the morning.”

  “Morning or night, tomorrow or the next day, I will still not marry Sir Mortimer!”

  As Valora finished speaking, there was the sound of a hard stinging slap against soft flesh and a shrill cry of pain.

  “You will marry him,” her stepmother repeated and there was a note of grim determination in her voice that was decidedly menacing.

  Then the Duke heard footsteps walking across the room, a heavy door being shut and a key turned in the lock.

  There was silence until he thought he heard the sound of a bed creak as if Valora had thrown herself down onto it, followed by the sound of weeping.

  He realised that he had been standing still, listening to what was going on in the next door room and was undisguisedly curious about the scene he had just overheard.

  When the stepmother had mentioned Heverington Hall he had realised, almost with a sense of shock, that he knew the man they were talking about.

  He had seen Sir Mortimer Heverington at various race meetings and he was in fact a member of White’s Club, although the Duke had not met him there.

  A large man of about fifty years of age, he was someone with whom the Duke had no wish to become acquainted, for he knew that Sir Mortimer had an extremely unsavoury reputation.

  He was a racehorse owner about whom there were a number of stories concerning the way he ran his horses, which were not to his credit.

  He was also a bad loser at cards and the Duke remembered vaguely in the back of his mind that Freddie had made some very derogatory comments about Sir Mortimer’s taste in women.

  The Duke was aware that there were certain establishments in London patronised by gentlemen he would not number among his friends, who had a preference for abnormal erotic practices.

  The more reputable, if that was the right word, Houses of Pleasure would not sink to providing anything so unnatural and the Duke despised those who found that sort of diversion pleasurable.

  Now at the back of his mind he was sure that he had heard that Heverington was the type of man who enjoyed seducing very young girls and treating them sadistically.

  He was sure that that was what Valora’s Stepmother meant when she spoke of her being beaten by her husband and he felt revolted by the idea and at the same time very angry.

  If there was one thing the Duke detested it was cruelty of any sort.

  He was ruthless in dismissing any groom who neglected his horses and he had once personally thrashed one of his keepers for ill-treating a dog and had dismissed him from his employment without notice or reference.

  The idea that Valora, whoever she might be, should be subjected to the brutal treatment that Heverington and his like found entertaining made him decide that he must do something to prevent it.

  He could hear Valora sobbing and, as the sound was slightly muffled, he thought that she must be crying into her pillow.

  Without really thinking, he walked towards the bolted door that communicated with the adjoining bedroom and only as he reached it did he tell himself that he should not interfere.

  Whatever happened to this girl, it was none of his business.

  It was only by sheer chance that he had overheard what had been said and, if he was as usual at his house in Berkeley Square and actually at this moment dancing at the Duchess of Richmond’s ball, she would have had to sort out her own problems.

  Then he heard the heartfelt sobs coming from the next room and he knew that whatever the consequences to himself he could not ‘pass by on the other side’.

  ‘Nor would I be able to sleep,’ he told his conscience defensively and knocked on the door.

  Because he had made a very light knock, there was no immediate reaction, except he thought the sobs ceased and Valora was perhaps listening.

  He knocked again.

  Then a low, frightened little voice asked,

  “Who is – it?”

  “Come to the door in the wall,” the Duke said very softly.

  He thought for a moment that she was too surprised to believe what she was hearing. Then he heard the movement of her raising herself from the bed and her footsteps on the floor.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Someone who is ready to help you escape, if that is what you want,” the Duke replied.

  He thought that he heard her draw in her breath and he went on,

  “Have you a bolt on your side of the door?”

  “There are two.”

  “I have the same. If you think I can assist you, draw them back.”

  There was a little pause and the Duke thought that she was wondering if she could trust him.

  Then quickly, as if she acted impulsively, he heard her pull back the bolt at the top of the door and then the one at the bottom.

  He did the same and now it was easy to open the door into her room. He did so and was now facing Valora.

  He had expected, after what he had overheard, for her to be young and attractive, but not quite so small or so lovely.

  Although she had been crying and the tears were still on her cheeks and her long eyelashes wet, she had a flower-like, innocent face of a very young child.

  It struck the Duke and he hated the thought as it came into his mind, that she was just the sort of helpless creature a man who was brutal would enjoy having in his power.

  Then he realised that Valora was looking at him questioningly and, because he wished to reassure her, he smiled.

  The Duke’s smile on his extremely attractive face was something that women had found beguiling since he had first used it to his advantage while he was still in the cradle.

  “You must have – overheard what my – Stepmother was saying – to me,” Valora said in a hesitating little voice.

  “It was unavoidable,” the Duke replied. “The walls are thin and this door does not fit very well.”

  “Then you – understand, I – have to run – away.”

  “I gathered that was in your mind.”

  As she still stood in the doorway facing him, the Duke went on,

  “If you would like to talk about it to me, I suggest you come in and we close this door in case we are overheard.”

  Valora shuddered, looking over her shoulder almost as if she expected to see her stepmother entering the room from the other door, which she had locked.

  She obeyed the Duke, passing him and he closed the door behind her.

  When he turned to look at her, she was standing helplessly in a small space between the bed and the window, looking at him with eyes that seemed to fill her whole face.

  “I am afraid we are somewhat limited as to choice,” the Duke said in a calm voice. “You sit on the bed and I will sit on the only chair. I hope it will not collapse under my weight!”

  Valora gave a little faint sound, which might have been a laugh and sat down on the side of the bed as he had suggested.

  The Duke brought the hard wicker-seated chair nearer to her and sat down gingerly.

  “Now,” he said, “suppose we try and make some plans as to what you can do. I gather you have no wish to be married.”

  His words made Valora stiffen and he saw her clench her thin finge
rs into the palms of her hands.

  “I cannot – marry him,” she replied in a tense little voice. “He is – horrible – and very old.”

  “I agree that he is a most unsuitable husband for any woman, let alone someone as young as you are,” the Duke said sharply.

  “You know Sir Mortimer Heverington?”

  “I have heard of him,” the Duke answered cautiously.

  “The moment I saw him I knew that he – repelled and – disgusted me, but I never – imagined that he would wish to – marry me.”

  She looked so lovely with the light from the candles illuminating her fair hair and revealing the whiteness of her skin against her simple evening gown that the Duke could understand only too well that Sir Mortimer had found her desirable.

  But, because he did not wish to think about it, he asked,

  “If you escape, where would you go?”

  “I have – thought about that for a – long time,” Valora replied. “After Papa died, Stepmama rented a house in London far too soon for propriety. She said she intended to marry me off as quickly as possible, but really I think she had hoped to find another husband for herself.”

  Valora’s eyes were very large as she added in a horrified tone,

  “When Sir Mortimer first – came to the house I thought he was – courting her not – me.”

  “Surely there are other men who might have offered for you?”

  “I don’t – think that Stepmama knew many – people,” Valora replied hesitantly. “We were not – asked to any of the grand balls and very few people – called on us.”

  “Why was that?” the Duke enquired.

  Valora did not look at him, as she said somewhat uncomfortably,

  “I think the – hostesses in London did not – approve of Stepmama, just as Papa’s friends in the country did not – call on her.”

  “Why not?”

  Valora did not answer.

  Than after a moment he suggested,

  “If I have to help you, it is best if I know the truth about you. As it is, I don’t even know your name except that I overheard you being called Valora.”

  “My father,” Valora replied, “was Lord Melford.”

  She spoke as if she was sure it would mean something to the Duke and for a moment he thought that he must ask for details, then he remembered.