Passage To Love E-Book

Barbara Cartland

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

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

Demure young beauty Lady Imilda Harsbourne's stepmother, the Countess of Harsbourne, is determined to have Imilda married off to an eligible – and 'important' – bachelor as soon as possible. But after enduring several Society balls as a debutante, Imilda is thoroughly disillusioned and vows never to marry unless it is for love alone. So she is horrified when her stepmother arranges for her to be wed to the Marquis of Melverley, who, although dashingly handsome, is a notorious 'ladies' man'. Despite her pleas, her father will not help her and she has no choice but to run away. But to where? Then Imilda has a cunning idea. Since his return from the War, the Marquis has never returned to his family seat, Melverley Park, which stands empty apart from a skeleton staff. And so, clutching a forged a letter of introduction from the Marquis, Imilda arrives to take charge of the estate's Herb Garden. While exploring The Park's library, though, she finds to her horror that a gang of cutthroat highwaymen has taken advantage of the Marquis's prolonged absence to use The Park as their lair. When the Marquis arrives out of the blue, running away to hide in plain sight, Imilda keeps out of sight in The Park's secret passages – and, overhearing the villains plotting to kill the Marquis, she creeps into his room at night to warn him and help him escape. In the ensuing adventure, in which they enlist the Army to fight off the criminal gang, Imilda realises that she has fallen head over heels in love with the man to whom she is reluctantly engaged.

Leseprobe

Author’s Note

The terrible conditions that I have described in this country in 1817 after the War against Napoleon had ended are exactly what occurred at the time.

Sir Arthur Bryant, in his brilliant book The Age of Elegance, tells us of the suffering of the farmers when cheap food from the Continent was allowed into the country.

He writes of the unspeakable frustration of men who came back from the War without pensions and without jobs waiting for them.

A great number of people died of starvation and undoubtedly a number took ‘to the road’ merely to steal enough money to keep themselves alive. It is true that the Duke of Buccleuch and Lord Bridgewater did what they could to help on their estates.

But there were indeed plenty of harsh landlords who rack-rented their land to finance their extravagances and many more who, absorbed in their pleasures, refused to be troubled.

But eventually, as always happens in our history, the English were roused to attempt to improve the situation and, as always, eventually came back to normality.

All wars leave misery and destruction behind them – and the Napoleonic Wars had lasted far too long.

As Dryden wrote,

“’Tis well an old age is out

And time to begin anew.”

Chapter One ~ 1818

“Did you enjoy the ball last night?” the Countess of Harsbourne enquired.

Lady Imilda looked up and replied,

‘“Yes, it was quite amusing, Stepmama, but much the same as all the balls I have been to this week.”

“Did you have a proposal of marriage?” the Countess asked.

Lady Imilda looked at her in surprise.

“A proposal of marriage!” she exclaimed. “I only danced with one young man whom I had met before and, quite frankly, I found him dull.”

The Countess frowned.

“I think you are being rather tiresome, Imilda,” she replied sharply. “After all let’s be frank and say that the sooner you are married the better.”

Lady Imilda’s eyes opened wide in astonishment.

“I cannot think why you should say that. I have no intention of getting married unless I am in love. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with a man who I have no interests in common with.”

The Countess made a sound of irritation and then retorted,

“I have been meaning to speak to you for quite some time now, Imilda. I don’t think you really understand that you are very fortunate to be a debutante with a rich father who is also very important in Society.”

She paused for a moment and then went on positively,

“You are having two balls and in consequence everybody in the Social world invites you to their parties. But that is something that will not continue for ever.”

“I cannot think why not,” Lady Imilda objected, “and for me to rush into a marriage is surely a mistake.”

She was thinking, as she spoke, of two girls who had been her friends at school, although they were older than she was.

Both of them had married when they were still debutantes and had been very unhappy in their marriages.

Imilda had made up her mind long before she had come home from her Young Ladies Academy and Finishing School that she would have to be seriously very much in love before she married anyone.

It never occurred to her that her stepmother would have other ideas.

Now she said a little tentatively,

“Surely you and Papa do not want to get rid of me so quickly?”

“It is not a question of getting rid of you,” the Countess said, “but it is my duty as your stepmother to see that you make an important marriage as soon as possible after you have reached the age of eighteen, which you are now.”

“I am sure that my mother, if she was alive, would not think like that,” Lady Imilda said quietly.

“I am quite certain that she would,” the Countess contradicted her flatly. “I have talked it over with your father, who agrees with me that girls should all marry when they are young if they are to make a good marriage with the approval of both their families.”

“But suppose that I want to marry someone you don’t approve of?” Lady Imilda asked provocatively.

“That question will not arise,” the Countess snapped, “and, if it does, your father will then deal with it.”

Lady Imilda sighed.

She had never cared much for her stepmother and had been desperately unhappy when her mother died.

They were two very different people and she now recognised even more the difference between them.

Her mother had been someone who always found the best in everyone so that for her the world was an enchanting place, almost like the Fairytales that she had read to Imilda.

She had followed these with the stories of the Knights of the Round Table and the poetry of the Troubadours.

After that came the plays of Shakespeare, all of which Imilda found entrancing.

She could hardly believe it when only a year after her mother had died her father married again.

Her stepmother was a very beautiful woman, but, as Imilda’s old Nanny had muttered at the time, ‘beauty is only skin deep’.

The new Countess was practical, energetic and enjoyed organising other people’s lives.

She had managed to make her husband undertake a great number of activities that he had never contemplated before.

This had undoubtedly increased his standing in the Political and Social world.

Imilda now thought with horror that her stepmother intended to manage her too.

She was quite certain that if she was not careful, she would find herself being led down the aisle by some young Peer she hardly knew.

That he had a title, a large estate and was rich would be all that mattered.

She had learned, however, from experience that it was a very great mistake to fight with her stepmother if it could be avoided.

Now she said in a much more conciliatory tone,

“I am sure, Stepmama, you are doing what you think is best for me. But I do beg you to understand that I want to find the man of my dreams, the Prince Charming I have read about in books, before I marry.”

The Countess pressed her lips together.

She made her face, beautiful as it was, somewhat hard and unpleasant.

“I was talking to some of the Dowagers last night,” she said, “and they all agreed that you looked the most attractive and the prettiest girl in the ballroom. Surely one or two of the men who you were dancing with told you so.”

“They did indeed pay me compliments,” Imilda admitted.

“What about Lord Cecil, whose father is a Duke? What did he say to you?”

“He talked only about his horses and obviously has no interest in anything else.”

The Countess frowned.

“And what about Lord Renishan? He is certainly a very good-looking young man.”

“I think from what I can remember of his conversation,” Imilda replied, “he was mostly concerned as to which pack of hounds he would hunt with next winter. In fact, now I recall it, he asked me a great number of questions about the Hunt that Papa belongs to.”

“Well, all I can say,” the Countess admonished, “is that you cannot be trying to attract a young man the way that you should. I had three proposals in my first Season and all of them from gentlemen of distinguished families and I was not as fortunate as you to have an Earl for my father.”

Imilda knew quite well the pleasure it had given her stepmother now to have an Earl for a husband.

She had been married before to a rather dull Baronet who was very much older than she was and when he died of a heart attack, she was still young and beautiful enough to attract men.

There was no doubt that she had picked out the Earl of Harsbourne as the most important man available.

She had made herself seemingly indispensable to him.

Imilda could understand that her father had felt very lonely and rather helpless without his wife.

He had been very glad to find a woman who apparently not only loved him but admired everything that he did. She had also flattered him into making him believe that he could play a more significant part in his world.

It would be unfair to deny that she had been successful in proving this.

It was only, Imilda felt, that she had no wish to have her stepmother interfering in her life as well.

She was not in the least concerned as to whether a young man she was dancing with was blue-blooded and was to inherit a prestigious title.

As her mother had, she liked people for themselves.

If she was honest, she had so far been disappointed in the men she had met at dances.

Granted they were all very young.

The older unmarried men would avoid debutantes and their ambitious mothers like the plague.

They spent their time either with attractive married women or with the alluring Cyprians who were the toast of St. James’s.

Imilda thought secretly that it would be exceedingly difficult to compete with them and she could understand that men found them much more interesting than shy and rather gauche debutantes. They had hardly been allowed to meet any men until they left the schoolroom.

As it happened, Lady Imilda was extremely intelligent.

Her mother had said so often,

“You ought, darling, to have been a boy. It would certainly have pleased Papa to have a second son.”

Imilda’s brother, the Viscount Bourne, was at the moment abroad.

When they were growing up as children together, she had shared his Tutor with him.

When he went to Eton and on to Oxford University, she had deliberately kept up with his studies at both places.

She had insisted on discussing the subjects that he was interested in in the holidays.

Her brother, William, had often said to her,

“You are far cleverer than I am, Imilda. We ought to change places, you the boy and me the girl.”

They had laughed at the idea.

Imilda had, however, enjoyed being proficient in Latin and Greek as well as French in her schooling and she had a greater knowledge of the Classics than William.

She had been disappointed when she was presented at Court and became a debutante that William was not there.

He had been very apologetic because he loved his sister, but, as he had said to her,

“I shall never get a chance like this again, so how can I possibly refuse?”

The chance was a visit to India with the son of a new Governor and the possibility of a great deal of wild-game shooting.

Of course Imilda could well understand why he wanted to go.

Now she wished desperately that William were here with her.

He would be able to think of the right arguments for her to persuade her stepmother that she was not to marry precipitately.

The Countess seemed to be able to read her thought and then said,

“I know you are thinking of William and looking forward to his return to England. But you must be aware that sooner or later William will marry and so his wife will certainly not want you hanging around him as you always do and sharing with him everything he does.”

“I love being with William, Stepmama,” Imilda said. “I find it such fun to discuss things with him and argue over subjects that hardly any young men and no girls will know anything about.”

“Well, I think it is a lot of nonsense,” the Countess asserted. “Let me make it very clear that no sensible man wants a wife who is cleverer than he is and keeps on telling him so.”

She hesitated for a moment before she went on,

“Tonight we will be at another ball at which I hope you will be more successful than you have been at the others.”

She paused a short while before she continued,

“On Friday we are going to the country for the Steeplechase that your father organises every year. I have not yet had a list of the men taking part but I will go and look it over and see if I can persuade your father to include at least one young man who might offer you his heart.”

Then she went from the room leaving Imilda alone.

Imilda jumped up and walked over to the window.

She gazed out at the small garden that lay behind the house that her father owned in Park Street.

She wished that she was in the country.

At least then she could do what she always did when she had a problem, go riding.

There were horses in the Mews on which she and her stepmother rode in Rotten Row in Hyde Park.

But it was not the sort of riding that she enjoyed when she was at Harsbourne House in Hertfordshire.

There she could gallop over her father’s large estate.

She could jump the hedges and the fences that he had erected.

“What am I to do?” she asked herself. “It is an absurd idea of Stepmama’s that I must get married immediately.”

It had never struck her that for a debutante that was considered the crowning glory of her Season in London.

Now she looked back over the plans that had been made for her and she could see how determinedly her stepmother was using her organising powers to get her to the Altar.

‘I shall have to fight this every inch of the way,’ Imilda told herself firmly.

She wished again that William was with her now.

That evening her father joined them before they went upstairs to dress for dinner.

The Earl then said to his wife,

“We shall have eight men staying in the house for the Steeplechase, the rest will be with our neighbours.”

“I have been meaning to ask you whom you have invited,” the Countess replied.

The Earl reeled off seven names and then he added,

“And lastly this morning I have persuaded the Marquis of Melverley to join us.”

“Melverley?” the Countess exclaimed. “I had no idea you knew him.”

“I did know his father very well,” he replied. “And Melverley Park is not much more than twenty miles away from us in the country. But then since the young Marquis inherited the title, he has, I understand, never gone back to Melverley Park, which has naturally upset the people on his estate.”

“Why has he not gone home?” Imilda enquired.

“I don’t rightly know,” her father replied, “except that he is certainly making a reputation for himself in the Beau Monde.”

“In what way?” Imilda asked.

The Earl looked towards his wife as if he thought that it would be a mistake to answer his daughter directly.

“If you want the truth,” the Countess said, “the Marquis is behaving abominably.”

“He won a medal for gallantry when he was with the Duke of Wellington at the Battle of Waterloo,” the Earl interposed.

“He may have done that,” the Countess said, “but ever since his return from the Army of Occupation he has spent his time upsetting a large number of distinguished men who have no wish to have their wives compromised and talked about.”

“You mean,” Imilda said, wishing to make it clear in her own mind, “that he has had a number of love affairs?”

“Far too many,” the Countess snapped. “One day, you mark my words, he will get into real trouble!”

“It does seem such a pity,” the Earl said, “because he is a nice young man and, I am told, very intelligent.”

“Who is the latest in the long list of ladies whom he has favoured with his attentions?” the Countess asked in a sarcastic voice.

“I believe it is that Italian beauty,” the Earl replied, “the Contessa Di Torrio. I have seen her once or twice, very beautiful and I should suspect as fiery as a cannonball.”

The Earl laughed at his own joke, but the Countess glanced at Imilda and the Earl said quickly,

“Well, whatever else he may be, he is an outstanding horseman and I shall be surprised if he does not win the Steeplechase.”

“So that completes our house party,” the Countess said. “Counting Imilda we will have eight women staying to balance your riders, besides, of course, the Referee and his wife and your friends, the Duke and Duchess of Crowcombe.”

There was undoubtedly a little lilt in the Countess’s voice when she mentioned the Duke.

It always gave her a thrill to entertain people with distinguished titles and this was the first time since she had married the Earl that the Duke and Duchess of Crowcombe, who were old friends of his, had stayed at Harsbourne House.

The Countess was therefore in a good temper for the rest of the evening.

When they drove back home later from the ball, she did not, to Imilda’s relief, ask her questions about her dance partners.

Instead she talked of leaving the next day for the country.

She was finding all the arrangements which had to be made for the Steeplechase rather complicated, especially with many of the competitors staying in the house.

“I would expect,” the Countess said, “that after travelling and with the Steeplechase the next morning, everyone will be ready for an early bed. As you will know, this party is really for older men and you will be the only young unmarried girl.”

The Earl’s Steeplechase took place every year and the Countess was quite right in saying that the men were rather older but not too old to ride with.

The ladies who came to applaud them were either widowed or married to complacent husbands who had other interests of their own.

They were not interested in riding in a rather difficult Steeplechase.

The Steeplechase had not taken place last year owing to the death of the Earl’s wife.

The year before Imilda had been too young to go downstairs to dinner.

Instead she had peeped at the party from the Minstrels Gallery in the dining room.

She had been impressed with the beauty of the ladies as they sat round the dinner table.

They certainly looked magnificent. They had tiaras on their heads, which, of course, only married women could wear and diamonds round their necks and in their ears.

The laughter that filled the whole dining room was relaxed but equally an exciting sound.

Imilda had felt it was a scene in a Fairytale in which one day she would take part. Yet now that she was actually in it, she had to admit to herself that she found it disappointing.

The beautiful women were there at all the balls and the handsome well-dressed men who accompanied them.

But no one gave a ball that was exclusively for debutantes. They were just tucked in, so to speak, at those given for their elders and betters.

If they received little attention, they were granted no right to grumble about anything.

They were expected to be very grateful that they could at least look at those who really enjoyed the excitement.

If William had been riding in the Steeplechase, Imilda knew that she would have enjoyed it enormously.

As it was, she would be watching a number of men she did not know and was not in the least concerned who lost or won.

She was aware that her stepmother was in a tizzy of excitement about the whole thing and she was determined that the party should be a great success.

To her it was all-important that the members of the house party should enjoy themselves arid say so when they returned to London.

“‘Are you not going to ride, Papa?” Imilda asked her father.

She remembered that he had won the race when she was twelve.

“I am going to be one of the Judges,” the Earl replied. “I am getting too old to risk my neck and exhaust myself on such a ride.”

“Oh, Papa, how disappointing!” Imilda cried. “I would so like you to be the winner.”

“I think that will be young Melverley,” the Earl answered, “he is only twenty-seven and already has proved himself in a number of different ways that are entirely to his credit.”

“And a great number entirely to his discredit,” the Countess rejoined.

“I think you are being rather harsh on him,” the Earl said. “Wellington would not have rewarded him for gallantry if he had not earned it. And, of course, it was sad that his father died when he was in the Army of Occupation.”

He paused for a moment before he carried on,

“Now that I think of it, I suppose Melverley is one of the richest men in Britain besides having inherited one of the oldest titles. The Melverleys as Earls go right back to William the Conqueror.”

The Countess did not say anything, but Imilda sensed that she was very impressed and she was unlikely now to be so critical about the Marquis’s behaviour.

They set off for Harsbourne House early the next morning.

The Earl drove his travelling phaeton, which was built for speed, and took with him the Countess and Imilda.

There was no room for anyone else except the groom, who was perched up behind.

The luggage, the lady’s maids, the Earl’s valet and a number of other servants followed in a large brake.

There was always a large staff at Harsbourne House.

However, on special occasions like the Steeplechase, several footmen and extra hands in the kitchen came down from London to help.

It always caused somewhat of a commotion, but to Imilda it was interesting to see how once they arrived back home, everything sorted itself out.

They drove down the drive with its long avenue of lime trees.

She saw her home in the distance looking extremely impressive in the early afternoon sunshine.

It had been in the family for more than three hundred years and the Earl’s father had added to it a Picture Gallery, which meant having a whole new wing built onto the existing house.

The gardens were glowing with spring flowers and to Imilda it was all very beautiful.

‘If only William was here with me,’ she murmured to herself as she ran to the stables immediately after they arrived.

The horses, which she hated to leave during term time, were all there.

There were also some visiting horses, a number of which had already been sent on by their owners to take part in the Steeplechase.

There were some new additions to the stables that her father had told her about when he wrote to her at her school.

She shook hands with the Chief Groom and the stable lads were all pleased to see her.

“We’ve got a good few spirited ’orses for you to ride, my Lady,” they told her, “and you’ll find ’em real difficult to handle.”

They all knew what a good horsewoman she was.

When she said that she must return to the house, the Head Groom said,

“’Tis such a pity, my Lady, that with the Viscount not ’ere you can’t take ’is place in the race.”

“I wish I could,” Imilda smiled, “but you know that they would be very shocked if I did, and absolutely furious if I won.”

He laughed at this.

“That be true enough, no man ever likes bein’ beaten by a woman.”

“Who are you putting your money on?” Imilda asked him.

She realised that the stable-men always had a bet on the Steeplechase and any other race her father had arranged.

“I fancy the Marquis of Melverley,” the Head Groom answered. “’E be a fine rider for all ’e’s been neglectin’ ’is home and never puttin’ a single foot inside it. ’Tis just not right, as the whole neighbourhood has been sayin’ for a long time.”

Imilda felt that he must be a most irresponsible man to neglect his own people so much.

She well knew that her father took a personal interest in everyone on his estate.

If anyone was ill, her mother always insisted on being informed about it and did what she could to help.

‘If he behaves like that, I hope he does not win the Steeplechase,’ she told herself.

They had arrived at Harsbourne House in time for a late luncheon.

The afternoon was spent with the Countess fussing over the arrangements of the rooms, which Imilda thought was quite unnecessary.

The Steeplechase had been held for many years and most of the servants had been with them since she was born.

They knew exactly which bedrooms to use.

Although Imilda was not aware of it, the housekeeper knew who should be next door to whom or just across the passage.

The Countess was, however, making changes and that, Imilda thought, was a mistake.

However, it did not concern her and she went to her own bedroom, where she had slept since she had left the nursery.

The room was exactly the same as it had always been.

The same maid who had always looked after her was unpacking her box.

“Here I am, Betsy” Imilda said. “It is lovely to see you again.”

“You be a real sight for sore eyes, my Lady,” Betsy said. “’Tis time you came ‘ome ’ere instead of tirin’ yourself out with all those Festivities in London.”

“You are quite right, Betsy. It is lovely to be home and to find such good horses in the stables.”

“There be plenty of ’em,” Betsy said, “and we’ll be talkin’ about ’orses all tomorrow and until the party leaves.”

Imilda laughed because she knew that this was true.

She then started to change her clothes.

Her stepmother told her that she was to be downstairs in plenty of time before dinner to greet the new arrivals.

“As most of them are coming a long distance,” she said, “they had better go up to their rooms as soon as they arrive and then there will be champagne in the drawing room before dinner.”

Imilda made no reply and the Countess went on,

“Tonight there will just be the guests who are staying in the house but tomorrow, when our neighbours come to dinner after the Steeplechase, your father will arrange for there to be gambling and bridge afterwards.”