A Dog A Horse and A Heart E-Book

Barbara Cartland

• Herausgeber: Barbara Cartland Ebooks Ltd
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: The Eternal Collection
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 176

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

It is bad enough that the beautiful Manella's heartless uncle is threatening to sell her adorable English Setter, Flash and her beloved horse, Heron. But when he dashes all her hopes and dreams with a forced marriage to an aging, decrepit but rich Duke, she flees astride Heron with Flash at her heels to a rural village where she finds employment as the Marquis of Buckingdon's cook. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, she is embroiled first in a wicked poison plot and then highway robbery And, as her trusty animals save the day and the dashing Marquis saves her life, Manella realises that she has now lost her heart.

Leseprobe

Author’s note

The Setter hunting dog has been known and used in England for at least four hundred years.

The name ‘Setter’ is derived from the verb ‘to set’ which means to stiffen, position and point.

The name is therefore indicative of the role of the Setter as a pointing dog, although it adopts a different posture from the Pointer.

The Setter hunts with its head held high in order not to miss even the faintest scent of bird game.

The most ancient Setter breed is the English Setter and it has evolved over many years from crosses between the Spanish Pointer and Springer Spaniel.

It was first bred as a pet as well as a working dog by Sir Edward Laverack in the early nineteenth century.

The English Setter is an excellent hunting dog, good on any ground, whether it be flat land or marsh, woods or bush.

In appearance it is a attractive, elegant, well balanced dog and powerful without being heavy.

Its coat is long, silky, fine and slightly wavy, short on the head with abundant feathering at the legs.

The name ‘Marquess’ or ‘Marquis’ has the same meaning as Margrave, but this original significance has long been lost.

It was in 1385 that Robert de Vere, ninth Earl of Oxford, was created Marquis of Dublin with precedence established between Dukes and Earls.

This was resented by some other Earls and the Patent of the Marquisate was revoked on October 13th 1386 after its holder had been created Duke of Ireland.

John Beaufort, Earl of Somerset objected to being created a Marquis in 1402 because of the strangeness of the term in England.

On June 24th, 1443, however, his son Edmund Beaufort was raised to be Marquis of Dorset, after which the title retained its place in the Peerage.

Chapter One ~1819

“I have sold that dog,” the Earl pronounced

For a moment Manella looked at him in astonishment.

Then she asked,

“What do you mean. Uncle Herbert? You cannot have sold Flash? It could not be true!”

“Your father took him out shooting with Lord Lambourne one day last year, I am told, and Lambourne was extremely impressed that he was so fast and so obedient.”

“My father was very fond of Flash,” Manella then replied, “but he is my dog. He belongs to me.”

Her uncle gave her a searching look before he asked her abruptly,

“You have that in writing?”

“No, of course not,” Manella answered. “Is it likely that Papa would write down what he had given me? But Flash has always been mine and mine alone since he was a small puppy.”

“You will not want him with you in London,” the Earl said. “So Lambourne is coming to fetch him tomorrow afternoon.”

Manella gave a cry that came from her heart.

“You cannot – you cannot do this to me, Uncle Herbert! I refuse to allow it and I will – not lose Flash.”

The Earl of Avondale walked across the room to stand upright in front of the fireplace.

“Now, let us get this clear, Manella,” he said. “Your father left very little money and you are now my responsibility. And you will appreciate that therefore I am doing what is best for you and will continue to do so to the best of my ability.”

Manella did not reply and so her uncle went on,

“I have gone to a great deal of trouble already to arrange that you shall have a Season in London and then the Duchess of Westmoore will be chaperoning you.”  

Vaguely at the back of her mind, Manella recalled that the Duchess of Westmoore was very beautiful.

She had heard her father remark that his brother, Herbert, was making a fool of himself over her.

She did not say anything aloud and so the Earl went on,

“Most girls would be jumping for joy at the idea of being chaperoned by a Duchess. And I have also, I do believe, found you a husband.”

Manella drew in a deep breath.

“I don’t mean to be rude to you, Uncle Herbert,” she said, “but I don’t want my husband, when I have one, found for me. I wish to marry someone I love.”

The Earl laughed and it was not a very humorous sound.

“Beggars cannot be choosers,” my dear niece,” he quoted for her benefit. “I happened to be in White’s Club last week when the Duke of Dunster came into the morning room.”

“The Duke of Dunster was a good friend of Papa’s,” Manella interposed.

“I do know that,” he replied, “and I also know that he would give anything in the world to have a son to succeed him and inherit the Dukedom.”

“I can hardly believe it that you should be – considering the Duke as my – husband,” Manella said hesitatingly. “He is old – very old.”

“What has that got to do with it?” the Earl enquired. “He is a Duke, he is rich and, if you are lucky enough to marry him, your whole future is completely made for you.”

“I think you must be mad,” Manella retorted, “if you think I would consider – marrying a man who is – old enough to be my – grandfather.”

“I know the Duke has admitted that he can no longer shoot. But his son can do that, when he has one,” the Earl replied, “Before you give me any more of your cheek, let me point out, Manella that, as I am your Guardian, you have to obey me and, if I tell you that you are to marry the Duke, you will marry him!”

“In which case you will have to drag me to the Altar – and I assure you that once I am there I will refuse to take part in the Marriage Service!” Manella countered furiously.

There was now an ominous look in her uncle’s eyes as he went on,

“The trouble with you, Manella, is that you have been spoilt. You are a pretty girl, I will not argue about that. But unless you want to starve and be left without a penny to your name, you will do exactly what I tell you to do – and immediately!”

He walked slowly across the room to the door.

“I am going to inform Glover that Lord Lambourne will be here tomorrow afternoon. He will collect Flash and I hope I will be able to sell him at least two horses. The rest are only fit for the butcher.”

He stalked out of the room as he finished speaking, slamming the door noisily behind him.

For a few moments Manella could only stare after him.

She could not believe what she had just heard and could not credit that it was the truth and she was not dreaming in a horrible nightmare.

How was it possible that her father’s brother could behave in such a heartless and cruel way to her?

How could he take away Flash, whom she loved so much and who had been with her ever since he was born?

He had grown into a very fine and spirited Setter.

He was powerful but elegant. His white coat flecked with black was fine and silky and slightly wavy and he was greatly admired by everyone who saw him.

He followed her about the house, slept in her bedroom, and in fact went everywhere that she went.

It had never occurred to her when her uncle had said that they were going to London that she would not be able to take Flash with her.

Now she was not only going to lose the house where she had been born and where she had lived happily and contently ever since.

She was to lose Flash and Heron, the horse that she had always ridden and had believed was also hers.

She knew only too well that there were just the two horses in all of the stables that Lord Lambourne was likely to be interested in.

One of them was Heron.

On top of all this her uncle was now talking to her about her being married, but not to a man whom she might love and cherish.

He wanted her to marry a decrepit old man who wanted a wife only in order to have a son.

The horror of it all swept over her like a tidal wave and she wanted to scream and go on screaming.

Then she told herself that she must be calm and keep her self-control.

She must try to find some escape from this dreadful ghastly mist in which she felt that she was being suffocated by a cruel and harsh Fate.

She then looked up at the portrait over the mantelpiece, which was of her father.

It had been painted when he was a young man by one of the great artists of the time who had painted the Prince of Wales before he became the Prince Regent.

The sixth Earl of Avondale, her father, looked extremely distinguished and, as she told herself, very much the perfect gentleman.

It was something that her uncle certainly was not and never had been. It had often struck her in the past what an extraordinary difference there was between her father and his younger brother, her uncle.

She remembered once, when a large bill was sent to him because his brother had failed to settle it, her father saying,

“I suppose that there must be a ‘Black Sheep’ in every family, but Herbert is certainly proving himself blacker than most!”

Somehow the Earl had managed to pay his brother’s debts and it was not for the first or the last time.

It was in point of fact largely due to Herbert’s extravagance that they were so hard up.

The War against the French and Napoleon Bonaparte had certainly made everything very difficult for English families in all walks of life.

A number of those who had rented out their houses had left them because they were too large and expensive to run.

Or else they could not pay even the reasonable rent that the Earl was asking for

At the same time the farms did well because there were no foreign imports coming onto the market to compete with their produce

England therefore had to be self-supporting.

But, as soon as the War was over, the farmers began to feel the pinch and a number of County Banks had even closed their doors.

‘If only Papa had not died just at this moment,’ Manella thought to herself despairingly over and over again.

He had suffered an unexpected heart attack last autumn for no particular reason and had been able to hang on to life for only a few weeks.

Herbert, the ‘Black Sheep’, the ne’er-do-well, had then come into the title.

Because he had expected to have to wait many years before this happened, he had great difficulty in looking solemn and sad at his brother’s funeral.

There had always been the possibility too that his brother might marry again and then go on to produce an heir.

But he himself was now the Earl!

As soon as the funeral Service was over, Herbert had started looking around the house for something to sell.

But most of the pictures and furniture were entailed onto each succeeding Earl, whoever he might be.

Herbert had said to Manella without the slightest hint of any embarrassment,

“I now have the opportunity of finding myself a rich bride.”

Manella said nothing and he looked at her with a sneer on his lips as he added,

“You need not be so hoity-toity! You know as well as I do that your father was ‘down to bedrock’, which is something I myself have been now for years and years!”

He was silent for a moment or two before he went on,

“But then an Earl, poor or not, is a different story from a younger son with no prospects at all!”

“Then I would hope, Uncle Herbert,” Manella said stiffly, “that you will find someone you can be really happy with.”

“I will be happy with anyone providing she is rich enough,” her uncle replied.

He had gone back to London, taking with him a number of items from the house that he intended to sell.

There was some Sèvres china that her mother had always been very fond of.

Manella tried her best to prevent him from removing it from the house.

“Now don’t be so stupid,” her uncle objected. “You know that I need money and it is for your benefit rather than mine that I intend to open up Avondale House in Berkeley Square.”

Manella looked at him in astonishment.

“How can you afford to do that?” she asked. “Papa always said it was terribly expensive to keep up and needed a great number of servants.”

“I am well aware of that,” her uncle admitted, “but I shall be closing this house, leaving only a skeleton staff just in case I would wish to give a party here.”

He saw the consternation in Manella’s face and then added,

“So, of course, I shall have to impress my rich bride with the ancestral home of the Earls of Avondale.”

He had stayed in London now for so long that Manella began to hope that what he had just been saying was a lot of nonsense.

Alternatively perhaps he was finding that it was not as easy to capture a rich bride as he had expected it to be.

Then yesterday he had returned unexpectedly and Manella felt herself shrink from him the moment he walked into the house.

He did not look in the least like her father and she had always thought that there was something insignificant as well as unpleasant about her uncle.

The moment he appeared she was aware that he was extremely smartly dressed.

He had arrived in a phaeton that looked new and expensive and the horses pulling it were well-bred.

She hoped, as he stepped in through the front door, that he had now found his intended rich bride-to-be.

Once that happened she thought that she would see as little of him as possible.

Now he had dropped a bombshell.

She found it difficult to think clearly after the shock of what he had just said.

Flash was lying on the hearthrug and she dropped down on her knees and put her arms around him,

“I cannot lose you – I cannot!” she said in a broken voice. “And I have always heard that Lord Lambourne is hard on his horses and his dogs. Oh, Flash, Flash, how could I – sleep at night if I thought you were in some – cold kennel and could not – understand why I was – not with you?”

It was then that the tears rolled down her cheeks and she brushed them away impatiently.

“I have to think of what we can do. Oh, Flash, tell me ‒ what we can do.”

Because the dog clearly understood that she was distressed, he licked her face.

Then he nuzzled her arm so that she put it round him.

She held him close and sighed through her tears,

“I cannot lose you – I cannot! If I have to – go to London and – marry some horrible old man – I will die!”

She thought even to herself that it all sounded too melodramatic and yet she knew that it was the real truth.

How could she live, knowing that Flash and Heron no longer belonged to her?

It was bad enough losing first her mother, then her father both of whom she had loved so much.

She had thought when he died that life stood still.

The future was dark.

But even in her worst fears of what her Uncle Herbert might do, it had never struck her for a moment that she would be separated from the two animals she loved more than anything else in the whole world.

Or that she would be taken to London to be disposed of to a husband he had chosen for her!

She was not even to be consulted.

‘I will – not do it – I will not!” she declared again and again to herself.

She sat back on her heels and gazed forlornly up at her father’s portrait.

Because of the way she had spoken and because she had released him, Flash thought it meant that they were going for a walk.

Jumping up he ran towards the door.

As he did so, Manella enthused,

“So you are telling me what to do! Oh, Flash, how clever of you! Why did I not think of that myself?”

She jumped to her feet and opened the door of the study.

Flash went out first, running ahead of her.

It was then that Manella began to plan her escape.

She was trying to keep calm and not be so apprehensive that she could not think clearly through the implications of her ideas and plans.

She fully realised that it would be a problem for her to earn enough money to live on her own.

She would also have to hide so cleverly that her uncle would never be able to find her however diligently he might search for her.

Manella went straight off to her bedroom and, then sitting down at the dressing table, she looked at herself in the mirror.

It was almost as if she was asking her reflection to guide her through all that beset her.

Manella had lived in the country all her life and during the War they had few neighbours and practically no parties.

She was therefore quite unaware of just how outstandingly pretty, in fact really lovely, she was.

She was completely unselfconscious about herself.

Soon after her father’s death she had seen her uncle looking at her critically.

“You are making me feel uncomfortable, Uncle Herbert,” she said, “Have I a smut on the end of my nose?”

“I was just thinking,” the new seventh Earl of Avondale had replied slowly, “that you are a pretty young woman. In fact you compare favourably with the portraits of the Countesses of Avondale, who were always considered beauties in whichever period they lived.”

Manella had been surprised by this, but she had responded a little shyly,

“Thank you, Uncle Herbert. I think that is the first compliment you have ever paid me.”

He did not answer.

There was now a hostile look in his eyes that somehow made her feel apprehensive and uncomfortable.

She had the strange feeling that he was thinking that her looks were an asset in some way that she could not understand.

Now she realised that if she did have a rich and important husband, it would be an asset to him. An asset which was obviously of importance in Society, besides, of course, money.

How often, Manella remembered, had her father said,

“Why my brother wants to live in London, I just cannot imagine! But he has always been the same. Never cared for the country, never had any country interests and was always a bad shot.”

That, Manella well knew, condemned him in her father’s eyes.

He expected every English gentleman to enjoy the country and all the country sports and pursuits.

He should want to ride the best horses and shoot the highest birds.

Sometimes, when some of their relations came to stay, Manella would hear them talking to her father about his brother in low voices.

She had not been particularly interested at the time.

But, as they sat in one of the smaller rooms, if there was not a large party, she could not help overhearing their comments about Herbert’s endless extravagance.

They also had a great deal to say about his many love affairs.

What concerned her father more than anything else was his brother’s substantial debts.

The debts that were always brought to him for settlement when it was just impossible for Herbert to pay what he owed.

It was a question for the Earl of either finding the necessary money or letting Herbert rot in a Debtors’ Prison.

Manella was aware of how much her father had suffered from this continual drain on the comparatively small amount of money he possessed.

It meant that he could not have the horses he wanted or that another gamekeeper had to be dismissed.

Or that urgent repairs to the house could not be undertaken even though the rain came through the roof regularly.

“Why do you keep doing this for Uncle Herbert?” Manella had asked her father once.

He had smiled somewhat drily as he replied,

“Blood is thicker than water, my dear, and, however tiresome Herbert may be, he is my brother and I have a deep regard for the family name.”

This meant that he could not allow Herbert to go to prison as a debtor.

Manella knew that this was what her Uncle Herbert had always counted on.

‘I hate him! I hate him!’ she thought as she looked again at her reflection in the mirror.

She was thinking that she had somehow to earn enough money to live on and wondered what she could do.

Her hair was the pale gold of the sun in the early morning.

Her eyes, instead of being blue, as might have been expected because she was English, were the green of a woodland stream.

There was just a touch of gold in them which looked like the sun reflected on the running water.

One of the maids had once told her that she had a heart-shaped face.

When she looked at it, she knew that it was surely the truth.