Desire of the Heart. Barbara CartlandЧитать онлайн книгу.
thought, she had not been so tongue-tied the night before, she could have talked to him, she could have asked him about himself and she could have told him about Rosaril and her life there.
And yet perhaps it had been quite enough that they had been beside each other, that their hands had touched and that his arm had been around her waist, the thought of it made her pulses quicken.
It seemed to her that, at that very first moment when she saw him driving down Upper Grosvenor Street, she knew that he was to mean everything in her life.
Her memory of him had been so vivid and, as he had come across the ballroom towards her last night, she had felt her heart turn over at the sight of him. So tall, so handsome and so unlike any other man she had seen in her life before.
And he had taken her down to supper and he had said that he would call on her this afternoon. Why – why – had he said that?
Cornelia had reached her uncle’s house in Park Lane without being conscious that her feet were carrying her there. A footman opened the door and looked astonished to see her on the doorstep. It was only eight o’clock and Cornelia was surprised to find that so little time had passed since she had left the house.
She ran up the stairs to her bedroom to find it exactly as she had left it. She remembered then that she was not to be called until nine o’clock.
“I expect you will be tired and want to spend the morning in bed,” Aunt Lily had said and Cornelia had agreed to the suggestion because it had been the easiest thing to do.
Now she thought what a waste of time it would be. Of course, she reasoned, her aunt was old and these late nights must seem trying to her. At eighteen a few hours’ sleep was enough. If she was tired, she could always rest before dinner when, she had discovered already, her aunt always lay down so as to be fresh and beautiful in the evening.
‘I am young. It is only the old people who want to rest so much,’ Cornelia thought to herself with the scornful intolerance of youth.
She pulled her spectacles from her eyes and stared at herself in the mirror. One day she would stop wearing them, but not yet. She had not forgotten what Jimmy had said about her eyes but now it was not hatred she was hiding, but love.
She shivered at the thought and remembered the throb in Violet’s voice when she spoke of love and wondered if her own voice would throb in the same way and her eyes soften and glow because of the feelings within her heart.
Hastily she put on her glasses again.
It was too soon, much too soon to think of removing them. The day would come when she no longer had anything to hide –
Employing Violet was not nearly as difficult as she feared that it might be. Her aunt had already agreed that she must have her own lady’s maid and had been in touch with various Register Offices and, when Cornelia informed her that a maid from Ireland wished to apply for the post, she asked very few questions.
“You are sure that she knows her job?” Lily enquired. “She must be able to do your hair when you are in the country and she must be a good packer, that is essential.”
“I have been told that she is excellent at all these things,” Cornelia replied.
“Very well, dear, you engage her, Lily said, lying back against her pillows and looking amazingly lovely despite her protestations that she was exhausted and her head ached.
“She is free now,” Cornelia said. “May she come today?”
“Any time you want,” Lily answered as one who does not wish to be bothered.
Cornelia hurried away and took Violet up to her bedroom so that they could talk.
“Can you do hair?”
“I will learn, miss, I am quick at pickin’ things up.”
Violet’s face was still pale and there were dark lines under her eyes, but she looked neat and composed and Cornelia noticed that she had not seemed at all overawed or bewildered by the house or indeed by the other servants.
She showed Violet her clothes and then told her how she herself had only just arrived in London from Ireland and that all this was strange to her.
“You’ll be havin’ a real wonderful time, miss,” Violet said. “Her Ladyship knows all the best people. I have seen her photograph lots of times and heard people say as how she is one of the most beautiful ladies in all England.”
“Yes, she is – very lovely,” Cornelia agreed.
She saw Violet looking at her and realised that they were both thinking the same thing, that no one who went about with Lady Bedlington had much chance of being noticed.
And then she remembered who was coming that afternoon.
“I want to put on my prettiest gown, Violet. Which do you think is the prettiest?”
There were only two to choose from, for although Lily had ordered Cornelia dozens of dresses, they were not yet ready. One was white, trimmed with frills of pink chiffon and the other was pale blue, a colour that was vastly becoming to Lily, but which Cornelia had the feeling was somehow not right when she wore it
She chose the white and then, when she had put it on, regretted it. The pink chiffon frills were not flattering to her figure or to her skin, but it was too late to change. Violet arranged her hair and with a strange fluttering feeling within her throat Cornelia went downstairs to the drawing room.
Lily was still in bed, her headache was now worse she had said at luncheontime and she intended to rest in the afternoon as they were going to the Opera that evening and afterwards to a Reception at the French Embassy.
“Have you forgotten that the Duke is calling this afternoon?” Cornelia asked.
“Yes, I know,” Lily replied, “but he is coming to see you not me.”
There was something metallic in her voice and Cornelia found herself flushing.
“I cannot think why he wants to see me,” she muttered.
You must be extremely stupid then,” Lily said tartly and then before Cornelia could say any more, she added in a voice of exasperation, “do go away. Tell Dobson to bring me some eau-de-Cologne and lower the blinds. I want to be left alone.”
Cornelia felt that her aunt’s headache must be very bad for her voice sounded desperate and obediently she hurried from the room and found Dobson. Then she went downstairs to sit alone in the big, white and gold drawing room.
She thought that she ought to read, but somehow, when she had picked up a book, it was impossible to concentrate on it.
For the first time since she had come into all her money she realised that she could have redecorated Rosaril, but she had refused to spend the money because it came to her too late to bring happiness to her father and mother. They had hated poverty and it was so bitter that they should have been dead a year before she learned that she was rich.
Yet now Cornelia imagined the long low drawing room at Rosaril with new curtains and new furniture with great bowls of flowers on the tables and new pictures on the walls. Yet, even as she thought of it, the idea of altering the home she loved so well made it somehow a sacrilege. She loved Rosaril as it was, why should she want to change it?
But she knew the answer, because it came from her heart.
She wanted to change everything, including herself, at this moment so that she could be better, more beautiful and finer for the person she loved. Only the best was good enough for him, Cornelia thought and then she heard the door open.
“His Grace, the Duke of Roehampton, miss,” the butler’s stentorian tones seemed to shatter the atmosphere as if he had blown a trumpet
Cornelia saw the Duke coming towards her, tall and dark, but inexpressibly elegant in his frock coat, tall collar and white spats. He wore a carnation in his buttonhole and Cornelia wondered, as she saw it, if