Desire of the Heart. Barbara CartlandЧитать онлайн книгу.
be exactly what you need in London,” Lily said. “You had better order my carriage, George. As soon as Cornelia is rested, we will go to the shops and see what we can find for her.”
Cornelia gave a little sigh.
She hated clothes. There were so many other things she would rather do at this moment than go shopping.
“I expect you would like to wash, Cornelia,” Lady Bedlington said, “and change into something lighter than your travelling clothes.”
She hesitated a moment and then said what was obviously uppermost in her mind,
“Those spectacles, do you have to wear them?”
“Yes,” Cornelia answered firmly, “I injured my eye when out hunting last winter and the oculist said I must keep them on for at least nine months.”
“It is a pity,” Lady Bedlington said, but somehow she did not sound as if she was sorry. “My maid will show you to your room. She is waiting for you in the hall.”
“Thank you – er – Aunt Lily.”
Cornelia walked from the library into the hall where a rather austere-looking woman in a small white apron was waiting.
“Come this way, please, miss,” she began briskly.
In the library Lily sank down on one of the chairs.
“My dear George, what have you produced? Did you ever see such clothes! That coat must have come out of the Ark and, as for the hat, it is a museum piece!”
“Now, Lily, don’t start being difficult,” Lord Bedlington pleaded. “As you know, the poor girl is an orphan and Rosaril is in the depths of the country. What opportunity would she ever have of buying clothes?”
“It is not only her clothes, George. Those spectacles! You heard what she said that she intends to wear them for another three months.”
“Well, you must make what you can of her. There is plenty of money for you to spend at any rate.”
“That is the only possible consolation, but then don’t expect me to perform miracles, I am not a magician.”
“Her mother was a pretty woman,” Lord Bedlington said, “and Bertie was always the Adonis of the family and for all that he was a rip. No reason why their child should not turn out good-looking if you take a bit of trouble over her.”
“I have already said I am no magician,” Lily replied coldly, “but don’t worry, George. I have everything arranged.”
Lord Bedlington turned to the door, then stopped, hesitated and looked uncomfortable.
“You have spoken to Roehampton, I hope?”
“Yes, I have spoken to him and I have told him what you said, George, but don’t forget if we are bringing out a debutante, he is by far the most eligible bachelor in London today. He must be asked to any parties we give for Cornelia as a matter of course.”
“As long as he will confine his attentions to Cornelia that is all that concerns me,” Lord Bedlington insisted, “but don’t believe that I am such a damned fool as to believe that young Roehampton’s thirsting after any debutante at the moment.”
He slammed the library door behind him as he went out. Lily sat for a moment after he had gone, then rose and walked across to look at her reflection in a gilt-framed mirror.
For a moment she stared at herself and then she began to smile.
Finally her lips parted in a gurgle of laughter.
“Spectacles!” she cried aloud. “Oh, poor, poor Drogo!
CHAPTER THREE
The King and Queen entered the ballroom and the ladies curtseying on either side of them seemed to rise and fall like the wave of some gloriously-shaded sea.
‘He is exactly like his pictures,’ Cornelia thought as she watched, ‘but the Queen is far, far lovelier.’
Queen Alexandra, in a dress of grey satin, managed to make every other woman seem clumsy and dowdy. The perfect oval of her face, the fine brow, clear-cut nose and dazzling complexion were enhanced by the colour of her eyes. Her little head, set upon a firm white throat, had a grace and that was inimitable and the radiance of her smile made everyone she looked at her captive.
The ballroom at Londonderry House, with its lovely glittering chandeliers, its white and gold decoration, its fabulous portraits and banks of hothouse flowers, was a sight to make anyone as unsophisticated as Cornelia gasp in astonishment
And the guests were even more awe-inspiring. The glitter of tiaras on the heads of the ladies, their sparkling necklaces and matching corsages of diamonds, emeralds and sapphires were almost blinding. Their dresses made Cornelia realise how little she knew about fashion and how ridiculous she must have looked on her arrival in London.
She was by no means that satisfied with her appearance now, even though her gown had come from Bond Street and her hair had been arranged by Aunt Lily’s hairdresser. There had not been time for her to have anything made especially for her and the only dress that could be altered to fit her at short notice was of white satin and trimmed with Venetian lace.
The price of this gown had left Cornelia speechless and yet, when she had put it on, she knew that it was not really becoming to her.
She had regarded herself in the mirror before she left her bedroom and exclaimed,
“Goodness, but I look a fright!”
“Oh, no! miss, you look charmin’. Just as a young girl should look,” the maid who was helping her dress reassured her, but Cornelia made a grimace at her own reflection.
“Flattery does not hide holes in one’s stockings,” she said and laughed at the expression on the maid’s face.”
“That is an Irish saying,” she explained. “It was one of Jimmy’s favourites. He was my father’s groom and nobody could flatter him into believing anything but the truth. Let’s be frank and admit that I look terrible.”
“It’s just because you’re not used to bein’ dressed up, miss. You will feel all right when you are among the other ladies.”
Cornelia said nothing. She was inspecting her hair, looking with something like dismay at the monumental edifice that Monsieur Henri had erected at the top of her head. Frizzed, waved and arranged over a false frame, the effect was to make her face seem very small and lost beneath a gigantic bird’s nest.
It was most uncomfortable and in spite of Monsieur Henri’s ministrations Cornelia was sure that long before she reached the ball wisps would descend at the back of her neck or a curl or two become detached from the top.
There was, however, nothing she could do about it now except to yearn with a sudden passionate nostalgia for Rosaril.
All day long she had thought about the low grey house surrounded by its green fields, the mountains purple against the sky and the sea shimmering in the distance. She thought, too of the horses waiting for her in the paddocks, wondering why she had forgotten them, of Jimmy whistling in the stables, perhaps longing for her as she was longing for him and not once but a dozen times she had to bite her lip to prevent her tears from overflowing.
Sometimes in seeing so many new things and of watching a new world that was at times unexpectedly beautiful, she would forget Rosaril for a little while, but always when she least expected it, the ache for Ireland would come flooding over her with an insistence that would not be denied.
Then in a blind misery she would hate everything that was unfamiliar and would pine only for the place and the people she loved. She clung to her spectacles as a drowning man might cling to a lifebuoy. They were her only protection against the curiosity of the strangers surrounding her.
Her uncle and aunt’s house seemed to be filled with people from dawn to eve.