The Perfection of Love E-Book

Barbara Cartland

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

Seitenzahl: 231

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

That sardonic curl of the lip, chiselled features to die for, that roguish glint in the eye… Notorious 'ladies' man' Lord Rowley has always had beauties falling at his feet. But none loves him more than auburn-haired Darcia, his lovely seventeen-year-old daughter. So she's thrilled to be home at last… Not so thrilled that he's sending her to France posing as a French Comtesse so that she's untainted by his roguish reputation. But headstrong Darcia has other ideas. Posing as a decorator, she follows her heart into the home and the arms of the magnificent Earl of Kirkhampton, whom she has adored from since childhood, to find her Fate. At last she's found the Perfection of Love – but how can it be perfect if it's based on a lie?

Leseprobe

Author’s Note

Gambling losses and gains in the 1800s ran into astronomic figures among the Bucks in the London Clubs.

Charles James Fox, a compulsive gambler and Politian, would play for twenty-four hours at a sitting, losing five hundred pounds an hour.

To achieve more modern values we should multiply the sum by approximately twenty. In this story Sir Roderick would have won over one hundred thousand pounds.

The Royal Drawing Rooms that Queen Charlotte held every Thursday were altered to Evening Courts by King Edward VII.

I was presented at one in 1925 and one in 1928 after my marriage.

In 1939 after the outbreak of War, both Drawing Rooms and Levées were discontinued.

Chapter One ~ 1802

The gentleman walking along down the rough gravel drive with its innumerable potholes slipped in his polished Hessians.

He swore under his breath and cursed himself again for having taken the wrong turning and landed up with a buckled wheel to his phaeton.

It was his own fault, he thought to himself, and he had no one else to blame.

He had left London very late after spending the night with a fair charmer, who was so entrancingly seductive that she made him forget the long journey that was waiting for him the following morning.

He had, however, driven very fast and his new team of chestnuts had indeed excelled themselves.

Even so it had meant that he had spent his first night much nearer London than he had intended, while on the second he had arrived later than was polite at the mansion of a friend where he had arranged to stay the night.

This meant that out of sheer courtesy it was just impossible for him to leave as soon as he had finished breakfast.

There had been horses to inspect and a number of gallant exchanges with his hostess and her plain daughters before finally he could be back on the road again.

He had been told of a short cut, which involved turning off the main highway, and now he knew that it had not only been a mistake but a disaster.

Driving at what he admitted was a dangerous speed along a narrow lane, at a blind corner he had encountered a farm wagon.

Only by the most skilful driving did he prevent a head-on crash between his horses and an aged farm animal.

Nevertheless the wheel of his phaeton had come into contact with that of the wagon and it was therefore impossible for him to proceed further.

The yokel had suggested that he might find help at The Manor House. So, leaving his groom in charge of his team, the gentleman, had passed through a pair of dilapidated gates to find himself in a drive that he felt could not have been repaired for at least a hundred years.

It was in fact extremely picturesque with the rhododendrons, lilacs and syringa bushes which bordered it all overgrown but a riot of blossom.

The gentleman, however, was concerned not with beauty, but in getting his fine phaeton back on the road.

He strode on as fast as he could along the drive, thinking that when it rained the resulting morass of mud and puddles would make it impassable.

Suddenly there was a turn in the drive and he found himself looking at The Manor House that he was seeking.

At first glance it was rather attractive.

Originally it must have been Tudor, but the creeper that grew all over it made it hard to distinguish its actual period.

There was a gravel sweep in front of the house, which was in the same state of disrepair as the drive and again there were a lot of shrubs, brilliant against what could be seen of the ancient weather-beaten bricks.

Looking quizzically at the house, the gentleman also noted that many of the top windows were apparently boarded up.

Even on the first and ground floors panes of glass were missing and had been replaced either with wood or cardboard.

The front door that was badly in need of a good coat of paint, was closed, but under the creeper growing around it, there was a bell-pull and a knocker that had once been brass but was now black and broken.

The gentleman tried both and waited.

Nothing happened and he thought it was more than likely that the occupants of the house were away from home.

He then decided that he would try the back door.

He walked round the house and saw, through an opening in an ancient red-brick wall, a kitchen garden where two people were working.

That, he thought, was more promising and he walked towards the nearer of them.

It was a woman wearing a faded cotton gown and a sun bonnet on her head.

She was planting seeds, bending over a long line marked in a small patch of ground that had recently been dug.

The gentleman next walked right up to her.

“I wish to speak,” he said in an authoritative voice, “to the owner of the house, but I find it impossible to receive any answer at the front door.”

At the sound of his voice the woman started and then straightened her back and he found himself looking at the face of a girl.

She was undoubtedly young and she was also exceedingly beautiful.

The eyes that looked enquiringly into his seemed to be unnaturally large in the shade of her sun-bonnet and were the deep blue of the periwinkles growing in profusion amongst the uncut grass beside the drive.

For a moment the girl seemed too surprised to speak, but when she did her voice was soft and cultured,

“I am sorry,” she said. “The bell is broken so, if Annie was in the kitchen, she would not have heard the knocker.”

Instinctively, as he realised that she was not what he had at first thought, the gentleman raised his hat.

“Am I speaking to the owner of the house?” he asked.

“You are,” she replied simply.

“Then I have come to you for help.” the gentleman said. “I have had an accident with my phaeton in a narrow lane about a quarter of a mile from your gates and I need a wheelwright.”

“No one is hurt, I hope?” the girl asked quickly.

“No, it was not a bad accident,” he replied, “but it prevents me from going any further and I am, as it so happens, in a hurry.”

The girl who he was speaking to was, he now realised, looking at him with an undoubted expression of admiration on her face.

Belatedly he realised that he had been rather peremptory in voicing his request.

“My name,” he then told her, “is Chester, Major Adrian Chester, and I am on my way to Kirkby Castle.”

“My name is Petula Buckden,” the girl replied, “and I expect you know already that this is Buckden Manor.”

“I gathered that was the name of the village from the half-witted yokel who directed me here.”

She glanced at him swiftly as if she was surprised at the tone of his voice.

“That, I imagine, will be Ned, if he was driving the wagon.”

“He was,” Major Chester admitted, “and, in case you are worrying, I can assure you that both Ned and the wagon are unscathed.”

He spoke in a sarcastic tone that brought a flush of colour to Petula’s cheeks.

She put down on the ground the seeds she was holding in a basin and walked towards an elderly man who was working further down the garden.

“Adam!” she called out. “This gentleman needs Ben to repair a wheel for him. Do you know where he will he?”

The man she was speaking to dug his spade into the ground and came towards her.

“You be askin’ for Ben, Miss Petula?”

“Yes, Adam.”

“’E’ll be up with Farmer Jarvis if ’e ain’t gone nowhere else.’

“Will you go and find him?” Petula asked. “Tell him that there has been an accident.”

“It’ll take me some time to walk to the farm, Miss Petula.”

“Then you had better take the gig. Bessie has been out this morning, so take her slowly. She is getting too old for two journeys a day.”

“I’ll do that, miss.”

Adam went back to collect his spade, moving at a rate that made the Major tap his foot impatiently and repress an inclination to assert once again that he was in a great hurry.

“It is doubtful if Ben could be here in under an hour,” Petula said. “Perhaps you would like to bring your horses into the stables? If the wheel is badly bent, Ben will need to take it to his workshop.”

“Where is that,” Major Chester asked in the tone of one who expects to hear the worst.

“It is at the other end of the village.”

“I might have guessed it!”

Petula laughed.

“I am afraid you will find in Buckden, as in most small places in Yorkshire, that what we do we do well, but it takes time.”

The Major drew his watch from his waistcoat pocket.

“It is after three o’clock,” he informed her. “How long do you think it will take me to get from here to Kirkby Castle?”

“I am afraid I have no idea,” Petula answered, “Several hours at least.”

She well knew that Kirkby Castle was the home of the Earl of Kirkby, who was the Lord Lieutenant of Yorkshire.

“It looks to me,” the Major said, “as if I am going to be extremely late, if I arrive at all. Is there an inn nearby?”

“Not one where you can stay and certainly not one where you could stable your horses.”

For a moment the Major looked at Petula almost angrily as if it was all her fault that the accommodation was so inadequate.

Then he smiled.

It transformed his face and, while before she had thought him a cold and autocratic type, she realised now that he also had charm.

She had in point of fact been overwhelmed by his appearance.

Never had she imagined that any gentleman could be quite so elegantly dressed and at the same time look so extremely masculine.

She realised that his white cravat was an intricate masterpiece and that the points of his collar, which reached slightly above his square chin, were the very latest fashion for a Beau.

She noted too how well his grey whip-cord fitted over his shoulders and, as he was still standing with his hat in his hand, she was sure that his hair was cut in the fashion that had been set by the Prince of Wales.

Because, however, she felt rather humbled by his magnificence and was well aware that in contrast she looked shabby and what she described in her own mind as ‘a mess’, she said shyly.

“If-you would like to fetch your horses, I will see that the stables are emptied of anything that has been stored there. We only have Bessie now and she is out in the fields at this time of the year.”

“I would not want to put you to any trouble,” the Major declared. “And I am hoping that, when the wheelwright can be found, my journey will not be long delayed.”

Petula did not answer.

He thought that his hopes were unlikely to be realised and he must make the best of the situation infuriating though it was.

He therefore followed her as she walked to a building at the back of the house, which he realised was the stables.

They were in what the Major privately thought was a most disgraceful state of repair. Tiles were off the roof leaving great holes that undoubtedly let in the rain.

When Petula pulled open one of the doors, he saw that there had once been stabling for a dozen horses and the stalls were intact. However, they were dusty and dirty while the spiders had spun their webs from bar to bar.

“You are driving a pair, I suppose?” Petula asked him.

“No, four,” Major Chester replied briefly.

Her eyes lit up.

“I have never travelled behind a four-in-hand,” she said. “It must be exciting to move so fast.”

“It is when one is travelling,” the Major replied.

As he spoke, he realised that he was being ungracious, but he was still feeling angry not only at the delay but at being involved in an accident through his own fault.

He should not have left the main road and he should not have travelled so fast down a country lane. But what was the use of going over it all again.

He had better make the best of the situation and be thankful at any rate that there was a wheelwright within reach.

In the stables there were luckily four stalls that were not cluttered with old implements, packing cases and logs of wood.

“Adam will bring in some straw when he comes back,” Petula said. “I am afraid your horses will not be very comfortable, but at least they can rest.”

“You are extremely kind, Miss Buckden, and I am very grateful,” the Major said.

“Perhaps before you fetch the horses I am sure that you would like some refreshment?” Petula suggested. “There is some cider in the house or tea if you prefer.”

“I would find a glass of cider most acceptable,” the Major responded politely.

Petula led the way round from the stables towards the front of the house.

Despite her shabby and faded cotton gown the man walking beside her realised that she moved with a lithe grace that he had not expected in a countrywoman.

His host’s daughters of the previous evening had been thick-set and ungainly

In his mind he described them as being ‘clumpy’ and then found himself remembering the movements of the charmer who had made him late in starting on his journey.

‘God deliver me from a woman whose feet are heavy as she crosses the floor,’ he had thought.

Petula seemed to float rather than walk and, when she opened the front door and entered the cool low-ceilinged hall, she undid the ribbons of her sun bonnet.

She took it off as naturally as a man might remove his hat upon entering a house.

It was then that Major Chester told himself that she was indeed as unexpectedly lovely as finding an orchid growing on a rubbish heap.

Never before could he remember seeing hair that appeared like a great shaft of sunshine against the dark panelling of the hall and her complexion was pink and white like the almond blossom on the trees outside.

She carried her head proudly on a long neck that was as graceful as her movements and there was just a faint touch of amusement in her voice as she said,

“Perhaps you would not mind waiting in the drawing room while I go and fetch the cider for you? I am afraid that there is no one else in the house except my old Nanny, Annie.”

“I don’t wish to put you to any trouble, Miss Buckden,” the Major replied.

“It is no trouble,” Petula answered automatically.

She opened the door of the drawing room and he entered, looking abnormally tall and broad-shouldered, and then she ran down the long passage that led to the kitchens.

The house, which really needed at least a dozen servants to look after it, was hopelessly large for just herself and Annie.

They found that the only way they could manage was to shut up every room that was not needed and try to keep clean only the ones that were essential.

Petula found Annie, as she had expected, in the kitchen baking bread, which she did once a week.

“Your tea’s not ready yet, Miss Petula,” she said without looking up, “so it’s no use you a-botherin’ me for a crust from a hot loaf. I knows that’s what you be after!”

“You are mistaken, Annie,” Petula replied. “It is a flagon of cider I need.”

“Cider?” Annie cried. “If Adam a-thinks he’s havin’ cider at this time in the afternoon, he’s mistaken!”

“It is not for Adam,” Petula said as she took a glass jug and a tumbler out of a cupboard. “We have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” Annie exclaimed. “That be a change! Is it the Vicar?”

“No, Annie. It is the most magnificent gentleman you have ever seen. There has been an accident to the wheel of his phaeton and he ran into Ned’s wagon.”

“Then I’ll bet that lazy Ned was asleep as usual!” Annie said sharply. “They’ve no right to let him drive when he’s no idea which direction he’s a-goin’ in.”

“The horse knows its own way home,” Petula laughed, “and I have a shrewd suspicion, although I would dare not voice it to him, that the gentleman was travelling too fast.”

“There’s never been a gentleman as doesn’t do that,” Annie replied, “as I’ve said to your father often enough when he was alive.”

“Papa seldom had good horseflesh to drive,” Petula answered.

There was a little sob in her voice as she spoke and her eyes misted over.

It was hard now after nearly five months to think of her father without crying and it was still an agony to be without him.

She went into the cool larder that led off the kitchen. There was little enough nowadays to put on the wide marble slabs. She could remember that in her grandfather’s day there were huge open bowls of cream, big pats of yellow butter and wicker baskets full of brown eggs.

Now there were only a few eggs from the hens that Annie treasured and were only eaten on special occasions and a jug of milk that Adam collected every morning from the adjacent farm.

There were under one of the slabs three large stone flagons of homemade cider, which were kept for occasional visitors and for Adam.

It was part of his wages, her father had always said and, although Annie sniffed and said that they could not afford it, Petula insisted that Adam was entitled to his daily glass of cider.

The flagons were refilled when they were empty and she tipped one cautiously, since it was very heavy, until she had filled the glass jug, which she had set down on the stone floor.

Carrying it back to the kitchen she put it on the silver salver that Annie had fetched from another cupboard and placed the tumbler beside it.

“It’s a good thing I cleaned the silver two days ago,” Annie remarked. “I kept puttin’ it off until I was ashamed to look at it.”

‘I am sure our guest will be impressed at how well it shines,” Petula commented.

Actually she felt that nothing in The Manor was likely to impress the Major favourably. At the same time it was rather exciting to have a visitor. Often weeks passed by and she saw no one except Annie and Adam.

Then she would make an excuse to go to the village simply because it was pleasant to chat with Mr. Yarrow, the butcher or Mrs. Blackburn at The Crown and Feathers.

It was only as she was walking back towards the drawing room that Petula thought of her own appearance and wondered if she should have gone upstairs and put on a better gown than the one she was wearing.

But she told herself it was unlikely that Major Chester would notice her at all and, if he did so, it would be in the condescending manner that he had spoken to her at first.

‘He is obviously very puffed up with his own importance,’ Petula thought. ‘I expect he is wealthy. Rich men always seem to think that the world is theirs to walk on.’

She carried the cider into the drawing room and found that the Major was standing at the open window looking out over the uncut lawn.

The fields that bordered the garden sloped away towards a small wood beyond which there was undulating countryside rising in the far distance to bare topped hills.

“You have a most beautiful view from here, Miss Buckden,” the Major said turning to Petula as she walked towards him.

“I love it,” Petula answered, “but then I have not seen many other places.”

“You have lived here all your life?”

“Yes indeed. There have been Buckdens in this house since the time of Queen Elizabeth, but they have never been great travellers.”

The Major smiled as he poured himself out a glass of cider.

“I suppose by that remark you mean that you wish you could travel?”

“I would love to do so,” Petula said, “and I am sure, now that the War is over, the people who have been confined to England during it are hurrying to go abroad.”

“That is true,” the Major agreed, “but those like myself who have had enough of fighting are content to stay at home.”

“You fought against Napoleon Bonaparte?”

“For a short while,” he replied, “but I was in India and took part in the wars there.”

“How thrilling!”

There was no doubt that Petula was interested.

“I would love to hear about India. All the East sounds so fascinating. But perhaps that is only because I know so little about it.”

“Parts of India are, as you say, fascinating,” the Major said, “but it is also very hot and war can be extremely uncomfortable.”

He spoke in a dry voice, which made Petula feel as if he had no wish to discuss it with her.

They therefore lapsed into silence until the Major put down his tumbler and said.

“Thank you. The cider was very pleasant. Now, as you suggested, I had better fetch my horses and put them into your stable until the wheelwright tells me how long he will take to repair the phaeton.”

“I am afraid that it will take Adam quite some time to reach the farm where we think he is working,” Petula said apologetically.

She looked at the clock and then she added,

“As I think it – unlikely that your wheel will be repaired before – dinnertime, would you like something to eat before you proceed on your way?”

She spoke a little hesitantly because she was wondering almost wildly what they could offer him.

The Major also hesitated.

“I feel that I have already put you to a great deal of inconvenience, Miss Buckden,” he said. “Perhaps your local inn will provide some sort of a meal for myself and my groom.”

“It will only be bread and cheese. I am sure Annie could do better than that, although naturally it will not be the sort of fare that you are accustomed to.”

“As a soldier, I can assure you that I have not always been well-fed,” the Major said with a smile, “and I shall be very grateful indeed, Miss Buckden, if I could avail myself of your hospitality before I set off on what will undoubtedly be a long and tiring drive.”

“Then we will do our best,” Petula promised simply, “but please don’t be too critical.”

“I promise you I shall only be extremely grateful for your kindness,” he answered.

Petula waited until he had left the house and was starting to walk back down the drive before she ran to the kitchen.

“Quick, Annie, quick,” she cried, “he is staying here for dinner and his groom will also want something to eat.”

“Staying for dinner? Whatever are you talkin’ about, Miss Petula?”

“Major Chester. He has gone to fetch his horses to put them in the stables and Adam has driven to Jarvis’s to find Ben. He will be hours about it, as you know, Ben will never hurry himself.”

“You’re expectin’ me to provide dinner. Miss Petula? With what, I ask you?”

Petula made a little gesture of helplessness.

“There must be something in the house, Annie.”

“There’s a wee bit of lamb I was savin’ for your luncheon tomorrow, Miss Petula, and there’s a few eggs, but nothin’ else that I can recall.”

Petula had gone to the larder door to look almost despairingly at the empty slabs.

Then she gave a cry.

“There is a rabbit on the floor, Annie. Adam told me he had caught it in a snare and was taking it home for his dog.”

“Well, that be better than nothin’!” Annie exclaimed and added. “His dog indeed! He’ll eat it himself, the greedy pig, and us half-starvin’!”

“Adam works hard and he has to eat too.”

“Not our rabbits,” Annie said harshly.

“If there is any over, you will have to give him some,” Petula said soothingly. “After all, it was his snare and if the rabbits belong to anyone they belong to him. We cannot claim what we cannot catch or shoot.”

“I’m not arguin’ about it. Miss Petula,” Annie said. “If Adam did as he was told, there’d be a lot more to eat in this house than there is.”

“At this time of the year – ” Petula began to say.

Then she knew it was no use arguing with Annie. Although she was country born and bred, she still persisted in believing that birds were plentiful all the year round and there was no breeding season to interfere with her larder of pigeons, partridges and hares,

Petula gave her the rabbit and Annie then set it down on the table, It was a young one but large enough to provide a meal unless the diner in question was very hungry.

“Here are the eggs so that you can make an omelette, Annie,” Petula proposed,

“Usin’ all my eggs!” Annie exclaimed in a note of horror. “Those were supposed to last you and me, Miss Petula, for several days.”

“I will look for nests you have not found,” Petula promised, “and now I am going into the garden to find what vegetables we have.”

As she reached the door, she turned to say,

“Thank goodness there are a few ripe strawberries on the South wall, which will do for dessert. I know you have some cream hidden away.”

“All I can say is that you and me, Miss Petula, will both be goin’ hungry for the rest of the week,” Annie complained.

“We will manage somehow,” Petula smiled and ran off to the garden.

There was so much else to do that she felt she had hardly time to breathe before she saw Major Chester returning down the drive.

He was leading two horses and his groom behind him was leading another two and the sight of them made Petula forget everything else.

Never in her life had she seen such magnificent animals or a team so perfectly matched.

With their long manes and tails and with their chestnut coats seeming to shine in the sun, they looked, Petula thought, as if they had just stepped from a painting by George Stubbs.

The Major led the way towards the stables and she followed them noting that his groom wore an exceedingly smart Livery with a crest on his silver buttons.

“I believe there is straw for them somewhere, Jason,” the Major said, “but the man who was to provide it for us has gone in search of the wheelwright.”

Before the groom could reply in what Petula was sure would be a supercilious manner, she interrupted.

“It is stacked in the last stall and I will help you spread it.”

“Certainly not,” the Major called out sharply. “Jason will do that if you will show him where it is.”

She knew that he was not only replying to her, but was also giving an order to his groom.

She therefore walked on to the far end of the stables where the straw that was to make a comfortable bed for Bessie during the winter had been thrown down by the boy from the farm who had brought it to them.

“It is here,” Petula told him.

The groom looked at it and to her surprise replied in a very pleasant tone,

“Thank you, miss. Leave it to me. The horses won’t want much as we won’t be stayin’ long, but they could do with a drink.”

“The pump is outside in the yard.”

“Thank you, miss.”

She thought that the groom seemed more amenable than his Master. Then, because she felt a little in awe of the Major, she asked tentatively.