From Hell to Heaven

by Barbara Cartland

  Never had Kistna thought that any woman could look so lovely or be so superbly gowned.

  Her bonnet trimmed with ostrich feathers and her gown with huge sleeves and a full skirt gave Lady Isobel a glamour and an elegance that had made her the undisputed toast of St. James’s.

  ‘She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen and the exact – counterpart to the – Marquis,’ Kistna thought.

  Then, as if she could not bear to go on looking at the woman below, she ran back along the passage to her own sitting room, wishing her curiosity had not made her leave it.

  It had, however, been impossible for her to resist a desire to see the reason why she must have luncheon alone.

  Now she could understand why the Marquis would want to talk intimately without a complete stranger being present to somebody belonging to his world, as she would never be able to do.

  ‘I am just an – outsider,’ Kistna whispered to herself.

  She felt that she could see nothing but Lady Isobel’s beautiful face and the picture she made with her eyes looking upwards at the ceiling and then descending slowly to rest on the Marquis was, Kistna thought, engraved on her heart.

  She felt a pain that seemed to strike into her like a dagger.

  Then, as she felt as if even the beauty of the Abbey could no longer help her, nor the sunshine outside, nor the pretty gown she was wearing, the ugliness was back in her life and this time lay within herself.

  It was the ugliness of pain and she recognised it for what it was, the pain of jealousy.

  ‘How can I be jealous of a woman I have seen only for a fleeting second?’ she asked herself.

  But she knew the answer.

  She was jealous because she loved the Marquis and he filled her whole life!

  She supposed that she should have known the truth a long time ago and acknowledged it. Now she felt almost as if it struck her like a blow.

  And yet it was so inevitable, so much a part already of her living and breathing, that it was almost absurd to think that she had not been aware of it.

  Of course she loved him! She had loved him from the very first moment when she had seen him standing outside the front door of the orphanage.

  She had loved him even while she had been blaming him for the agony they had suffered from Mrs. Moore.

  She had loved him when he had put things right and when he had fetched her that first morning to take her to the Abbey.

  She had lain awake the first night fearing that the promise he had made was something that he would never substantiate.

  ‘He did not mean it,’ her rational mind had tried to tell her.

  But her heart believed him, because already she loved him.

  He was St. Michael coming to save her attended by his angels and she was ready to go down on her knees and worship him.

  She knew now that her love had grown more and more every day and every minute she had been with the Marquis.

  She had awoken each day with a feeling of wild excitement because as soon as she was dressed and downstairs she would see him.

  She had gone to sleep thinking of him, to dream of him and when she awoke to think of him again.

  “I love him! I love him!” she said now a hundred times as she walked restlessly around the attractive flower-filled boudoir that opened out of her bedroom.

  When she had first seen it, she had thought that it was the loveliest room one could ever imagine. Now it seemed like a cage, a prison that kept her from being with the Marquis when he was somewhere else.

  She had a sudden fear that, if the beautiful lady was going back to London, the Marquis would go with her. Then even as the thought seemed to shoot through her, leaving a streak of pain behind, there was a knock on the door.

  With difficulty Kistna managed to answer it.

  “His Lordship’s compliments, miss,” one of the footmen said, “and he wishes you to join him ready to go driving.”

  Kistna felt her heart leap.

  She ran into the bedroom to put on a pretty bonnet that went with the gown she was wearing and pick up a silk shawl and her gloves, which the maid had left ready on one of the chairs.

  Only as she ran towards the door did a sudden thought take her instead to the dressing table to look at herself in the mirror.

  For a moment she did not see her own reflection but the beautiful face she had seen below in the hall and with difficulty she prevented herself from giving a cry of despair.

  How could she be so silly? How could she expect for one moment that the Marquis would so much as notice her when there were lovely women who looked like angels competing for his favours?

  ‘It is hopeless!’ Kistna told herself despairingly.

  At the same time she was feminine enough to realise that, now they were no longer sunken in her head, her eyes looked very large, almost too large for her face and, as her cheeks had filled out, her mouth seemed smaller and properly curved.

  Her chin was still a sharp line, but her neck was round and her skin was smooth and no longer sallow but white.

  She stared at herself for a few seconds and then she turned away because she had only one thought in her mind – to be with the Marquis!

  She seemed to fly rather than walk down the stairs to where he would be waiting for her.

  *

  “You realise,” Peregrine said later that evening when Kistna had gone to bed, “that Isobel will undoubtedly tell all London that Mirabelle has arrived? That means that Branscombe will be on our tracks very soon.”

  “I have thought of that,” the Marquis replied. “The best thing we can do is to sit tight and let Branscombe make the first move.”

  “You are quite certain he will do so?”

  “I don’t believe that he would change his intention so quickly, unless he has come into a fortune in the meantime.”

  “I cannot understand how he can possibly need money,” Peregrine pointed out, “but, if he does, then Mirabelle Chester is obviously the answer to his dreams.”

  As he spoke, Peregrine noticed that there was almost a cruel smile on the Marquis’s lips and he knew without being told that his friend was thinking of the satisfaction he would feel if their plot succeeded and they made the Earl look a fool.

  “We have little more than a week before Ascot,” he remarked, “and, if Branscombe has not come up to scratch by then, what do you intend to do about Kistna?”

  “I am quite certain that he will not let the grass grow under his feet,” the Marquis replied. “In fact with Isobel abusing me from the rooftops, you may be quite certain that we shall have some response from him within the next twenty-four hours.”

  “You are very optimistic.”

  “I don’t make many mistakes when dealing with men of Branscombe’s calibre,” the Marquis said. “And I consider myself to be a good judge of character.”

  He spoke with a tone of satisfaction and then, as he met Peregrine’s eyes, he laughed a little ruefully.

  “That only applies to one sex,” he said. “I admit where Isobel is concerned I made a grave error of judgement.”

  “No one, unless he is a magician, can ever be sure what a woman will be like,” Peregrine said consolingly, “and if they all ran according to form, they would certainly be boring! It is their unpredictability that makes the chase a gamble from start to finish!”

  “I agree with you,” the Marquis smiled. “Equally I can promise you that I shall be very much more careful in the future!”

  “I doubt it,” Peregrine commented, “and thank goodness you are at least human when it comes to women!”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean,” Peregrine replied, “that you are too damned successful in every other way and it is a sheer relief to ordinary mortals like myself to find that one of his Gods has feet of clay!”

  “Hardly a very apt metaphor,” the Marquis remarked. “At the same time it expresses the truth and I must accept it. I only hope that I am not so easily taken in ano
ther time.”

  There was silence and then Peregrine said,

  “What really concerns me at the moment is what you are going to do about Kistna.”

  “Kistna?” the Marquis queried. “You know exactly what I am going to do about her. Marry her off to Branscombe and watch him discover what it is like to be tricked and cheated!”

  There was a poignant silence.

  Then Peregrine said,

  “I presume you realise that if he is angry he will take it out on her?”

  “I have thought of that already,” the Marquis replied, “and I shall make sure he provides for her.”

  “In what way?”

  “I am going to make him settle money on her before I give my permission for the marriage.”

  “Will he not think that rather strange when the alleged Mirabelle is a thousand times richer than he is?”

  “I will make my request sound convincing,” the Marquis replied and his voice was hard.

  Again there was a pause before Peregrine said,

  “I suppose if Kistna gets some money and an undoubtedly distinguished title, she will think the bargain worthwhile.”

  “Good God, Peregrine, why should she be anything but delighted?” the Marquis asked. “You saw the condition she was in when we found her and how much she enjoys having pretty gowns? Well, I will see that she can afford them for the rest of her life and there is certainly no reason for her to go hungry in the future.”

  Peregrine felt that he could say no more.

  The question in his mind was whether Kistna would find that enough.

  He was quite certain that she was already in love with the Marquis. The signs were all too obviously there, but once again he told himself that, as she was very young, she would forget the Marquis.

  Besides the Earl was a very presentable good-looking man.

  Glancing at the Marquis sitting opposite him on the other side of the hearthrug, he wondered if he was really as obtuse as he appeared and if it had never struck him that the girl was in love with him.

  Then he told himself that the Marquis was too busy concentrating on having his revenge on the Earl to be concerned with anything else.

  But Peregrine did not like to think of Kistna as being unhappy.

  He had learnt these last days how sensitive she was to everything the Marquis said or even thought and he knew after what she had been through in the orphanage that she would find it hard, if not impossible, to live in a house, however grand, where she was hated and despised.

  ‘What will she feel when she knows that she has been part of a plot and that Linden’s generosity was merely a means to an end?’ Peregrine asked himself.

  Yet somehow it was impossible to say so to the Marquis or to let him think that he was beginning to disapprove of his whole plan of revenge.

  “We had better go to bed,” the Marquis said unexpectedly. “We have to be ready for tomorrow when anything might happen. I intend first thing to warn the household that they are not to mention Kistna as they did today when Isobel arrived and that, if anyone asks for Miss Mirabelle Chester, they are referring to her.”

  “When are you going to tell Kistna of the part she has to play?” Peregrine enquired.

  “I was going to tell her tonight,” the Marquis answered, “but it seemed to me that she was a little under the weather. She appeared rather quieter than usual and not as happy as she had been all day.”

  Peregrine had also noticed it, but he was surprised that the Marquis had too.

  “What do you think has upset her?” he asked.

  “Why should she be upset?” the Marquis parried.

  “I thought perhaps that she might have resented having been sent upstairs when Isobel arrived.”

  “I explained that it was because she was here unchaperoned and she seemed to think that it was quite a reasonable excuse.”

  “It’s a good thing that Isobel did not see her,” Peregrine said. “She would have been quite convinced that you had taken on a new love before being free of the old.”

  The Marquis laughed.

  “A ridiculous idea, but one which would undoubtedly occur to Isobel. She would never believe I was interested in any woman unless I found her desirable.”

  Peregrine was silent for a moment.

  Then he said,

  “I am rather sorry in a way that we are not taking our protégée to London and letting her have a run for her money before she gets tied up with Branscombe.”

  “Why should you want to do that?” the Marquis asked.

  “Because it would be interesting to see if she is as successful as I am sure she would be.”

  He saw that the Marquis did not understand and he exclaimed,

  “Good God. Linden, you must realise by now how attractive she is! Her eyes are fantastic and, now that her face has filled out, the rest of her features have fallen into place. Personally I find her straight little nose entrancing! It certainly looks as blue-blooded as anything the Chesters can produce.”

  He spoke lightly, but there was no doubt that the Marquis was now scowling at him.

  “Now listen, Peregrine,” he said. “If I find you messing about with Kistna, I will murder you! We have taken all this trouble over her for one reason and one reason only!”

  “I was only intimating that there are quite a number of men who would not only find her attractive but would be willing to marry her. So if Branscombe fails to come up to scratch, we can always let her find a man she can love.”

  The Marquis rose to his feet.

  “I don’t know what has got into you, Peregrine,” he said. “You have been helpful and understanding up to now. I cannot think why you are putting obstacles in my way at the last minute.”

  “I am doing nothing of the sort!” Peregrine protested. “I am only saying that, knowing what we do about Branscombe, we also know that someone as sweet-natured and sensitive as Kistna is too good for him and I wish it was possible to marry her to somebody we both like and admire.”

  “Get it into your head,” the Marquis said sharply, “that Branscombe may cheat on Racecourses and behave like an outsider in many ways, but he is still of great distinction and a favourite of the King. Can you imagine any woman not being delighted and extremely grateful at finding herself married to such a man?”

  “I hope you are right,” Peregrine replied. “I just feel that Kistna is different.”

  “It’s useless to discuss this any further,” the Marquis retorted, “and I forbid you, I absolutely forbid you to upset Kistna in any way. Do you understand?”

  The Marquis did not wait for Peregrine’s answer, but walked out of the library.

  Peregrine gave a sigh.

  He had never known the Marquis so unpredictable or indeed so bad-tempered when they were talking intimately.

  He rose from his chair and stretched himself.

  ‘I expect Linden is right,’ he thought, ‘and he is providing for the girl in an extremely generous manner.’

  Nevertheless, as he went up to bed and there was no sign of the Marquis to say ‘goodnight’ to him, he had the feeling that a volcano might erupt at any moment.

  *

  In her own room Kistna was awake, lying in the darkness, finding it impossible to sleep.

  Normally she was so happy with her thoughts of the Marquis and what they had done during the day that she would fall asleep immediately.

  But tonight she could only think of her love for him and of the beautiful lady who had visited him for luncheon and whom she had not been allowed to meet.

  She told herself that she had been stupid to think even for a moment that the wonder and delight of being alone with the Marquis could continue.

  She did not question at first how strange it was that he should stay in the country with only Peregrine and herself rather than be with his friends and the King at this particular time of the year when London was gayer than at any other.

  Because she had been curious she had talked to Pereg
rine about what they did when they were in London and he had told her about the Marquis’s house filled with treasures, of his standing in the Social world and his skill and success at every sport.

  She had, of course, been intensely interested in his successes on the turf, but, although Peregrine told her that the Marquis’s horse had dead-heated for first place in the Derby Stakes, he had not added that it was due to crooked riding of the Earl’s jockey.

  He had been aware as he talked that Kistna listened to him with wide excited eyes because he was talking about the Marquis.

  “Why has his Lordship never – married?” she had asked.

  Peregrine shrugged his shoulders.

  “It is not for want of trying on the part of almost every unattached woman he meets, but he does not fall in love with them, not to the extent of being tied.”

  There was a silence and then Kistna said,

  “Would he be very – bored?”

  Peregrine laughed.

  “He would! And the truth is that the Marquis, like myself, enjoys being a bachelor. We have a great deal of fun together and quite frankly it is more amusing to entertain a pretty woman one night and change her for an even prettier one the next than to be tied to somebody who, pretty or ugly, is a wife for life.”

  Peregrine was talking in the amusing manner that always made those who listened to him laugh.

  Then he realised that Kistna was taking him very seriously.

  “I suppose I understand that,” she said, “but if one was in love – really in love – one would want to be with the same person all the time – and not keep changing.”

  She was thinking of her father and mother as she spoke and Peregrine, without thinking, answered,

  “The Marquis likes a change and who shall blame him? If you could fill a huge stable with the finest horses, why should you ride the same one every day and neglect the others?”

  Again he was speaking lightly and frivolously.

  Then, as he saw the expression on Kistna’s face and remembered that she was a Parson’s daughter, he added,

  “Perhaps one day the Marquis will find the right woman and so shall I. Then we shall settle down and be extremely dull and doubtless very pompous.”

  “There is no reason why you should be.”