Count The Stars E-Book

Barbara Cartland

• Herausgeber: Barbara Cartland Ebooks Ltd
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Beschreibung

The Duke of Brockenhurst, bored by Society and cynical about the beautiful women who cast themselves before him in a desperate bid to become his Duchess, accepts a wager to ride from London to York alone and incognito. Outraged by the suggestion that he has lost his verve and the command he once had whilst distinguishing himself in the Army, he decides to reflect on his future, whilst setting himself the challenge to move amongst ordinary people undetected. Valora Melford is bereaved of her beloved father and left in the care of her grasping stepmother. Determined to force her lovely stepdaughter to marry the dissolute Sir Mortimer, who is willing to pay ten thousand pounds for the pleasure, she first entreats and then threatens Valora to do as she is told. However, Valora is made of stronger stuff than her fragile exterior would suggest and she tells her stepmother in no uncertain terms that she will not marry the repulsive old Baronet. In fact Valora is adamant that she will never marry at all, as she does not believe that true love exists. Overhearing a distraught Valora arguing with her cruel stepmother in the room next to his, the Duke of Brockenhurst decides to step in and help the maiden that he can hear is clearly in distress. With his disguise unbroken, he decides to help her escape from the inn they are staying in and avoid an unwanted marriage. Immediately trusting the handsome stranger who offers to protect her until she reaches the shelter of her grandfather's house in York, Valora packs her few possessions and they steal away together. But ten thousand pounds is a lot of money to lose and it does not take Valora's stepmother long to realise that her stepdaughter has escaped. Outraged, she quickly dispatches two henchmen hell-bent on dragging Valora back to the altar. With her captors in hot pursuit, it appears that Valora's escape is doomed and the Duke's mask will be uncovered. Drawing ever closer, the Duke must use all of his Military skills and natural quick wits to keep them safe. With danger and trickery at every turn, Valora is forced to depend upon a man whose real name she does not even know.

Leseprobe

AUTHOR’S NOTE

The records of Newgate prison show that two footpads who stopped a journeyman tailor near Harrow and robbed him of two pence and his clothes, were executed. Tom Lympus, a highwayman, was successful for several years in robbing the mails with a reward of two hundred pounds on his head. He was finally caught and hanged.

John Ram, commonly called Sixteen Strong Jack, was a very colourful character. Women adored him and when he was finally brought to trial he was dressed in a new suit of pea-green, a ruffled shirt and his hat was bound with silver string. His execution was ordered, but the night before he had seven girls to dine with him and the company was reported to be remarkably cheerful.

The following morning he faced the gallows with composure and his body remained hung on the usual tree before being delivered to his friends for internment.

Noblemen in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries usually were armed and travelled with outriders. A blunderbuss was carried on stagecoaches. Those who walked unattended on commons, fields or lonely roads often lost not only their money but their lives too.

Chapter One 1825

“Major Stanley, Your Grace,” the butler announced.

The Duke of Brockenhurst put down the newspaper he had been reading and looked up expectantly.

Into the library came a vision.

Freddie Stanley was wearing the traditional shining breastplate and high brightly polished riding boots over the white buckskin breeches of the Life Guards.

He had left his wide-cuffed white gloves and his flamboyant, shining silver helmet with its hanging plumes, which had been designed by the King when he was Prince Regent, in the hall.

“You dazzle me, Freddie,” the Duke exclaimed mockingly.

“Damn it all,” his friend replied, “I was handed your message just as I was going on parade and as it seemed so urgent I came the moment I was free.”

Crossing the room with his spurs tinkling he seated himself rather gingerly in an armchair opposite the Duke.

“What’s all this flap-doodle?” he enquired. “I expected to find the house burnt down or to learn that you had lost your fortune on the Exchange, although I imagine that would be impossible.”

“It’s none of those things,” the Duke said in a more serious tone of voice. “The fact is Freddie, I am bored.”

“Bored!” Freddie exclaimed. “You don’t mean to tell me that you have brought me here at a gallop to tell me something I have known for the last two years.”

“You have?”

“Of course I have. It is not surprising.”

“What do you mean it is not surprising?” the Duke asked.

“I will answer that when you tell me why you have suddenly discovered what has been palpably obvious to everyone.”

The Duke shifted a little restlessly in his chair.

“I realised it last night,” he replied, “when I knew it was impossible for me to ask Imogen to marry me.”

Freddie Stanley looked astonished.

“Are you telling me,” he asked after a distinct pause, “that you intend to cry off?”

The Duke nodded.

“But my dear Brock,” Freddie expostulated, “everyone has been expecting the announcement for months. Wentover has stalled his creditors on the assumption that you will pay his debts once Imogen is your wife.”

“I suspected that,” the Duke said. “But why the hell I should be expected to pay for Wentover’s extravagances, especially the diamonds he has given that pretty Cyprian he has in tow, is past my comprehension.”

“It wouldn’t have made much of a hole in your pocket,” Freddie replied briefly. “But I don’t see how you can do it at the eleventh hour.”

“I haven’t actually asked her to marry me.”

“No. But you made it pretty obvious, pursuing her as you have.”

The Duke’s lips twisted cynically as he remarked,

“If you ask me, I was the one pursued.”

“All right, but you did not run away. You gave parties for her in London and in the country, and danced with her at least four or five times at the ball at Windsor Castle – I saw you with my own eyes.”

“I am not denying all that,” the Duke answered testily. “What I am telling you, Freddie, is that I suddenly realised last night that, beautiful though she is, Imogen has the brains of a three-year-old child!”

“I could have told you that,” Freddie commented laconically.

“It’s a pity you refrained from doing so!”

“What was the point? You would not have listened! You were too busy using your eyes instead of your ears where she was concerned.”

“That was exactly what I realised last night!”

There was a pause and then Freddie said,

“You had better tell me about it.”

The Duke drew in his breath.

“I danced with Imogen for the third time at the Richmond’s ball and then we went into the garden. With the moon shining, the Chinese lanterns and all the romantic trappings, I was just about to kiss her, when she said something.”

“What did she say?” Freddie asked curiously.

“I cannot really remember,” the Duke replied. “It was something so banal – so obvious – that I was suddenly aware that it was the sort of remark I would hear her make for the next fifty years and knew I just could not stand it.”

“You really might have discovered this before!”

“I know – I know,” the Duke said testily. “But better late than never. I reiterate, Freddie, I have not asked her to marry me.”

“Then what are you going to do about it?”

“That is what I am asking you,” the Duke replied.

Freddie with some difficulty sat back further in the armchair.

“It is all very well, Brock, but if you don’t marry Imogen, what is the alternative? In your position you have to produce an heir.”

“Plenty of time for that.”

“I know, but if it’s not Imogen, it will be someone very like her.”

“Good God, are you telling me all the women in the Beau Monde are as stupid and brainless as she is?”

“I suppose they are at that age,” Freddie said reflectively. “As you well know, they come out of the schoolroom with only one fixed idea in their heads – ”

“To get married,” the Duke finished.

“Of course and to the highest bidder – and who higher than a Duke?”

“I will not do it!” the Duke said angrily.

There was silence before Freddie replied,

“In that case, unless you are prepared to face the music, which means Wentover’s anger and Imogen’s tears, you had better make yourself scarce.”

“I have been wondering most of the night if that is what I should do.”

“Where have you considered going?”

The Duke shrugged his shoulders.

“Does it matter? I own, as you well know, half a dozen houses in different parts of the country and there is my yacht in the harbour at Folkestone.”

“I suppose you are hoping I will come with you.”

“It did enter my mind,” the Duke replied with a faint smile.

Freddie thought for a moment and then he said,

“I think you are making a mistake.”

“By not marrying Imogen?”

“No – in running away in so obvious a fashion.”

“Damn it all! I am not running away,” the Duke answered. “I am making a strategic withdrawal.”

Freddie laughed.

“A pretty phrase for not facing the enemy.”

“Stop jibbing at me and help me,” the Duke begged. “That is why I have sent for you.”

He paused before he went on,

“I am well aware I am behaving in a somewhat reprehensible fashion. If Imogen would not make me a good wife, I would certainly make her a bad husband.”

“That is very true,” Freddie agreed, “and if you ask me, marrying anyone because it is expected of you is asking for trouble.”

The Duke groaned.

“What else can I do with my relatives at me day and night, talking as if I was Methuselah and implying that in a year or so I shall be incapable of breeding?”

Freddie put back his head and laughed,

“That is one of the few penalties of being a Duke. There are not many others.”

“I am not so sure about that,” the Duke replied. “I find myself bound by a great many restrictions which other people, like yourself, do not have to endure.”

Freddie looked at him speculatively and then he said,

“Do you want to hear the truth, Brock? Or will you find it disturbing to come out of your Cloud Cuckoo Land?”

“Is that where you think I live?”

“I don’t think – I know.”

“All right, tell me the truth – it’s bound to be unpleasant.”

“I have been thinking about you for some time,” Freddie began slowly. “The truth is that you are too important, too handsome, too rich, too damn sure of yourself.”

“Thank you,” the Duke answered sarcastically.

“You asked me for the truth and now you are going to hear it. It is that you are not in touch with reality, both people and the circumstances in which most of us live.”

“That is too much!” the Duke expostulated. “What you are saying is that my life as I live it is too soft. It certainly wasn’t soft when you and I were serving in Wellington’s Army.”

“That was ten years ago,” Freddie replied. “You sold out after Waterloo when your father died and since then you have been cosseted, acclaimed and fussed over as if you were a rare species that must be kept at all costs from the contamination of the world outside one of your Ivory Castles.”

The Duke sighed.

“I suppose you are right – ”

“Just look at the way you live,” Freddie said. “Your servants treat you as if you were a bit of Dresden china. You have Comptrollers, secretaries, agents, managers, who see to all your affairs!”

The Duke made a sound of expostulation, but did not prevent Freddie from continuing,

“When they are not fawning on you and kissing your boots, there is every lovely woman in the social world yearning to go to bed with you or to marry you.”

“Do I hear a note of envy in your voice?” the Duke asked.

“It might be there if I did not know you so well,” Freddie admitted, “but I have watched you growing more cynical and more bored every year. I have told myself a dozen times that I would rather be me than you.”

“I suppose if we were in a fairy story or a French farce,” the Duke said, “we could change places. Wearing my clothes, you would become the Duke and I would go clanking off back to the Barracks in your place.”

“As that is not possible, I have a better idea.”

“What is it?” the Duke asked.

“First, it is quite obvious that you have to disappear. Secondly, I think it would be good for your soul, if you have one, to think about yourself and your future.”

“That is something I do quite frequently.”

“Then you will have to think again,” Freddie stated firmly. “Of how to find a different way of life from the one you are living now. You cannot go on pursuing and raising expectations in maidens’ breasts only to leave them desolate at the Church door.”

“Curse you, Freddie! It’s not a thing I do often,” the Duke expostulated.

“What about Charlotte?”

“Charlotte assumed that I meant marriage,” the Duke replied. “But, as you know, my intentions were strictly dishonourable.”

Freddie laughed.

“The one thing about you, Brock, is that you are always straightforward in your infamy.”

“The same answer applies to Louise if you were thinking of mentioning her,” countered the Duke.

“I had no intention of doing so, as it happens,” Freddie replied. “Louise was certainly not an innocent little flower, she knew what she wanted and at one moment I thought she was going to get it.”

“She deceived me for quite a considerable amount of time,” the Duke admitted.

Freddie bent forward and then winced as his breastplate stuck into him.

“What are you looking for, Brock?” he asked with a serious note in his voice.

“I wish I knew,” the Duke answered. “I just know that I am dissatisfied and, as I have already told you, unutterably bored.”

“Do you really think if we go off together to Cornwall, Wales or even Scotland you will feel any different?” Freddie asked. “No, Brock, you would still be pampered and restricted and, when we come back to London, you will be just as bored as you are now.”

“Then for God’s sake tell me what I can do,” the Duke demanded testily.

“I doubt if you will like it.”

“I will listen to any suggestion you make to me.”

“Very well,” Freddie answered. “What I suggest is you go off alone and incognito.”

“I often travel under one of my other names.”

“I did not mean calling yourself Lord Hurst and travelling with your horses, your servants, your coachmen, your valet and a couple of outriders,” Freddie said scornfully. “When I said alone – I meant alone.”

The Duke looked puzzled.

“Let me explain,” Freddie went on, “and if it makes it any easier, I will make it a wager.”

The Duke listened as his friend continued,

“I bet my Canaletto which is the only really valuable thing I possess, against your team of chestnuts, that you will not ride from here to York, alone, unaccompanied, incognito, without giving up because it is too tough and sending for your servants and horses.”

Freddie had spoken slowly as if he was choosing every word with care.

Now the Duke was staring at him as if he did not hear him aright.

“You will really risk your Canaletto on such an absurd bet?” he asked.

“I have always rather fancied your chestnuts.”

“It is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard!” the Duke exclaimed. “Of course I can do it if I want to and with the greatest ease.”

“Are you refusing my challenge?”

“I am just wondering what good it will do.”

“It might give you a new angle on life, a new appreciation of living.”

“I very much doubt it. I imagine the roads will be dusty, the inns I will stay at atrocious and unless I enjoy the company of tramps and yokels, the conversation will be somewhat limited.”

“That is up to you,” Freddie said practically. “I think you might find it an adventure.”

“I doubt it!”

The Duke rose as he spoke to walk towards the table in the corner of the library, on which there was a profusion of drinks, a bottle of champagne in a silver wine cooler and cut glass decanters of Madeira, sherry, brandy and claret.

“What will you have Freddie?” he enquired without turning round.

“You should have asked me before,” Freddie said. “However since I wish to drink a toast to your future I think it should be champagne.”

“I have not said I am going to accept your ridiculous challenge.”

“Then, of course, I shall look forward to being best man at your wedding.”

The Duke laughed as he walked across the room with a glass of champagne in his hand.

“You are trying to push me into a tight corner. I know your tactics only too well.”

When he had given the champagne to his friend, he walked to the window to look out at the trees in Berkeley Square.

It was a sunny day and it struck him that it was a mistake to waste time in London when he might be in the country.

The gardens at Hurst Castle in Hampshire would be looking very beautiful and he thought it was a long time since he had bathed in the sea from his house in Cornwall.

“Come with me, Freddie,” he said most beguilingly. “It would be fun if we were together. At least we would be able to laugh, as we laughed in the war.”

For a moment Freddie Stanley was tempted.

It was true that when the two of them had joined Wellington’s Army when they were eighteen, the privations, the hunger and danger and even the appalling casualties had been mitigated because they were together and because nothing seemed quite so bad when it was shared.

The Duke turned round to wait for Freddie’s reply.

“No,” Freddie said firmly and his voice seemed to ring out.

“No?”

“No,” Freddie reiterated. “You know as well as I do, Brock, I shall be running round obeying your orders and making life better and more comfortable for you than they would be otherwise.”

He grinned as he added,

“You have become considerably more authoritative in the last ten years, but I haven’t forgotten that at Waterloo you purloined my water-bottle because you had forgotten your own. I parted with it as if you had a right to it.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Freddie!” the Duke exclaimed. “What has that got to do with it?”

“A great deal,” Freddie replied. “It has been the same ever since. You know as well as I do it is ‘Freddie do this,’ and ‘Freddie do that’. I obey you willingly because I am fond of you, but for once you are going to have no one to order about except your horse.”

“I wonder you don’t expect me to walk to York.”

“That’s an idea, but it would take too long. And quite frankly, I will miss you.”

“You are absolutely confident I shall agree to your nonsensical idea!”

“If you think it out, it is an excellent one considering all the circumstances. You will tell your household you have gone abroad, so there will be nothing Imogen can do about that, and your other subservient creatures can cancel your engagements and answer your love letters.”

The Duke suddenly laughed.

“Freddie, you are a fool! But because you are a fool who always amuses me, I insist you come with me.”

“Chickenhearted!” Freddie retorted mockingly. “Or merely afraid that you will lose your way, as you did one misty night when your Company nearly walked into the French lines?”

“Curse you, it was not a mist but a fog,” the Duke replied. “Anyway, I know the way to York. I have twice been to the races in Doncaster.”

“There is one more condition which I forgot to mention,” Freddie said. .

“What is that?”

“You have to reach York without being recognised. If you reveal your true identity or you are pointed out as being the Duke, then the chestnuts are mine.”

“I assure you I have no intention of losing my horses. And I know exactly the right place to hang the Canaletto at The Castle.”

“It will remain empty,” Freddie said confidently. “And I shall warn my groom to get the stables ready.”

“Damn you!” the Duke answered. “I will prove you wrong. I will be the winner of this contest if it is the last thing I ever do!”

As he spoke, he walked across the room to the wine-cooler to pick up the bottle of champagne in order to replenish his own glass and that of his friend, so he did not notice the look of satisfaction in Freddie’s eyes.

No one knew better than he that the Duke had been wasting his life for the last few years among the so-called delights of the Beau Monde.

There were racing, mills, cock-fighting and gambling to supplement the endless round of balls and assemblies, receptions and, of course, the dance halls of the ‘fashionable impures with whom the Noblemen spent much of their time.

Freddie had watched a young man, who had been idealistic, enthusiastic and incredibly brave, become progressively more cynical, bored and indolent and knew that the Duke was losing something very precious.

They were both of them in their thirtieth year. While Freddie had stayed in the Regiment, the Duke on his father’s death had, at first, been busily occupied putting his estates in order and then he had found little to do which required his intelligence.

There were too many skilled employees to lift every possible burden from his shoulders and as the King grew older even his hereditary duties at Court were little but a sinecure.

Freddie had thought for some time that he should do something for his closest friend, but the opportunity to speak freely had never presented itself until now.

“When do I leave on this wild-goose chase,” the Duke asked.

“As soon as possible,” Freddie replied. “Otherwise you may be quite certain that Wentover will be knocking on your door demanding an explanation.”

The Duke looked startled.

“He could hardly take me to task for not proposing to his daughter last night.”

“Why not?” Freddie asked. “The betting in White’s is that the engagement will be announced before the end of the week.”

“Why should they assume that?”

“Because Wentover has been boasting that he will be riding your hunters this winter and has already decided that he would be able to hunt with at least two more packs than he can now afford.”

“I have never heard such cheek!” the Duke said. “As he weighs at least sixteen stone, I am not letting him give my horses a sore back.”

“If you stay here, you will have to explain that to him in words of one syllable.”

“Very well – I will leave immediately after luncheon.”

Freddie lifted his glass.

“To your journey and may you find what you seek.”

“I am not seeking anything,” the Duke replied crossly.

Freddie opened his lips to refute this idea and shut them again.

He rose to his feet hampered by his riding boots.

“I am going back to the Barracks to change,” he said. “If you are still here when I return, I will say ‘goodbye’ to you then. If not, I will sound suitably surprised by your departure. I shall also complain bitterly in the Club that you did not tell me where you were going.”

The Duke, who had only taken one sip of his champagne, put his glass down on the table.

“I suppose you know that this is a crazy idea!”

“Take enough money with you to bring you home,” Freddie said. “And remember there are always highwaymen to take it off you.”

The Duke looked startled.

“Do you remember,” he continued, “how the General used to tell you to be ready for anything and remember that it’s always likely to be the worst.”

“I remember that,” the Duke smiled. “You are making me positively apprehensive!”

“You used to rather enjoy dangerous situations,” Freddie said reflectively. “But I suppose now you have grown old and fat – ”

It was not possible to say any more, for the Duke had picked up a silk cushion and flung it at him.

“You are taking an unfair advantage,” he moaned. “I would knock you down, but in that fancy rig you would only lie on your back like an old sheep.”

“When you return fitter than you are now,” Freddie answered, “I will take you on and see if you can last ten rounds. At the moment I imagine you are only capable of three.”

“Get out, damn you!” the Duke exclaimed. “I know you are only saying all this to goad me into doing what you want. Very well, Freddie, I will go to York and, if I get my throat cut on the way or die of exhaustion, I will come back and haunt you!”

“I will drive your chestnuts down to The Castle and put some flowers on your grave,” Freddie replied. “Presumably you will be interred in the family vault!”

He did not wait to hear the Duke’s reply, but went out of the library, closing the door behind him.

The Duke was laughing as he walked across the room to his desk. He seated himself in the high-backed chair on which was carved the Brockenhurst Coat of Arms.

Then he rang the gold bell, which stood beside the gold inkpot and opened the blotter on which his Coat of Arms appeared, again in gold.

A servant answered the bell and the Duke asked for his Comptroller, Mr. Dunham.

A middle-aged man, he had been with the previous Duke for the last years of his life and now served his present employer with tact, loyalty and an expertise that made everything run like a well-oiled machine.

“Morning, Dunham,” the Duke said, as he came into the room.

“Good morning, Your Grace. I have here the plans you asked for, for the construction of a private Racecourse at The Castle.”

“I have no time for that at the moment,” the Duke replied. “I am leaving London immediately after luncheon, which I wish to be at twelve-thirty.”

“I will see to it, Your Grace. Will you be driving your phaeton?”

“I am going on horseback and alone,” the Duke answered.

His Comptroller looked at him incredulously, as he went on,

“As far as the household is concerned and anyone who makes enquiries – I have gone abroad.”

“Your yacht, as you know, Your Grace, is always ready to leave harbour at an hour’s notice.”

“I have not forgotten, Dunham,” the Duke said, “but there is no need to send anyone to notify the Captain of my arrival. If I do join the yacht, it will be a surprise.”

Mr. Dunham looked faintly apprehensive, but did not speak.

The Duke went on,

“I want Hercules, no I think Samson, brought to the front door at one o’clock. After that you will not be able to be in communication with me, until I notify you of where I am.”

“I don’t wish to sound impertinent, Your Grace,” Mr. Dunham said respectfully, “but I feel worried that you should be leaving without a groom.”

“I wish to go alone,” the Duke replied firmly, “and I am likely to be away for two weeks, perhaps more. As I have said, everybody is to be informed I have gone abroad.”

He knew as he spoke that his Comptroller was longing to ask him a dozen questions, but was too well trained to do so.