The Glittering Lights (Bantam Series No. 12) (11 page)

“What do you mean?” Cassandra asked.

“You would not understand,” he answered, “but I can only beg you, Sandra, to let me grasp what little happiness I can. I need more desperately than I can explain the happiness of knowing you.”

“You speak as ... if you were ... going away,” Cassandra managed to say.

“That is in fact what will happen,” the Duke said. “But until I do, I have to see you. I must see you!”

His arm drew her close. Then unexpectedly he released her and sat back in the corner of the cab.

“I sound almost hysterical,” he said, “and I cannot explain.”

“Why not?”

“Because, as you just reminded me, we have only just met, because you do not wish me to kiss you, and because—how do I know that you are feeling as I am feeling tonight?”

“What ... are you ... feeling?”

“Do I have to answer that?” he asked. “I think you know that something entirely unusual has suddenly happened to me, and I am almost conceited enough to hope it has happened to you too.”

He paused and then he said:

“Look at me, Sandra.”

She turned her head and by the lights of the street lamp that were shining on both their faces, it was easy for her to see the expression in his eyes.

“You are so lovely,” he said hoarsely, “so incredibly, unbelievably lovely! Oh God! Why did I have to meet you at this particular moment of my life?”

The Duke called for Cassandra on the following morning at half past twelve.

She had begged him not to come earlier, knowing that it would take some time for her to explain to her Aunt that she was out to luncheon, get to the flat and change her clothes.

The most difficult person to deal with was Hannah who, having sat up until three o’clock the night before, was in a thoroughly disagreeable mood.

It had however not been such a hardship as she had tried to make out.

When Cassandra let herself into the flat, she had found Hannah fast asleep on a bed in the small bed-room, and it had been quite difficult to awaken her.

The Night-Porter had called them a cab, and they had driven back to Park Lane with Hannah not only grumbling every inch of the way but threatening to return to Yorkshire and tell Sir James what was going on.

Cassandra had managed to pacify her, but it had been difficult this morning to get her to return to the flat and help with her change of clothing.

The gown Cassandra was wearing when the Duke arrived was very attractive. At the same time it was a little too gaudy to be anything other than theatrical.

Of bronze silk trimmed with velvet, the skirt was draped at the front and swept behind into a bustle. The little jacket which ended at the waist was trimmed with fur and buttoned down the front with imitation topazes.

Because she had real jewels to match, Cassandra could not resist wearing a topaz brooch, bracelet and ear-rings—a set which her father had given to her the previous year.

He had told her not to wear the ear-rings until she was married, but she thought now they made her look more sophisticated. They were also very fetching, with a bonnet trimmed with topaz-yellow feathers, which was tied under her chin with velvet ribbons.

Cassandra was only just ready and was waiting in the Sitting-Room when the Duke knocked at the door of the flat.

She let him in and she could not disguise the amusement in her eyes as she watched him glance around at the over-decorated, vulgar Sitting-Room.

“Is this yours?” he began with an incredulous note in his voice.

Then he exclaimed:

“But of course not! This is Hetty Henlow’s flat! I have been here once before, many years ago.”

“Then you know my landlady?” Cassandra laughed.

“I know old Lord Fitzmaurice who pays for it,” the Duke replied. “He is a member of White’s and he has been keeping Hetty for years!”

Cassandra stiffened.

She had never heard the expression before, but she could guess what it implied.

She suddenly felt ashamed that the Duke should see her in such a place.

Before, the flat had merely seemed common and gaudy, but now, being deeply in love, she could not bear him to associate her with anything crude or immoral.

“Let us go,” she said quickly.

Without waiting for him to answer, she pulled open the door and started to descend the stairs.

Carrying his top hat and silver-headed cane, the Duke hurried after her.

When Cassandra reached Bury Street, she saw waiting outside a very smart Phaeton drawn by two horses.

“Are these yours?” she asked.

“About all I have left,” he answered.

Once again she saw a cloud pass over his face.

“Surely you are not selling your carriage-horses or your hunters?” Cassandra said as she stepped into the Phaeton.

“Most of them have already gone,” the Duke replied abruptly.

Cassandra had lain awake the best part of the night wondering exactly why the Duke wanted money so urgently.

Why, having written to her father, making it obvious that he was prepared to go on with the marriage as planned, was he now making what appeared to be an unnecessary sacrifice?

‘I cannot understand it,’ she had told herself again and again, and she thought the same now.

The Duke drove down Piccadilly with an expertise that she could not help admiring.

“You are looking very lovely,” he said, as if forcing himself to change the subject. “I know that every man who sees us is filled with envy of me.”

It was the sort of glib remark he would have made if she had in fact been an actress, and Cassandra resented it.

Then she realised that she was being very foolish.

She had set out to amuse and intrigue him, so that she could learn the truth. And that was what she must continue to do.

She turned her face to look at him. With his top hat set at an angle on his dark hair, he looked slightly raffish and extremely handsome.

“Shall I tell you I am very honoured to be in such distinguished company, and with such an exceptionally attractive Duke?” she asked.

“Should I be flattered?” he asked. “Or suspicious that you have a hidden reason for being so kind to me?”

“Must I have a ... reason?”

“No,” he answered, “but I am half-afraid to put into your mind or mine the thoughts I really want you to think.”

They were back again where they had been last night, Cassandra thought, fencing with words, hinting at what might or might not be below the surface.

She had the feeling that while they had been apart the Duke had thought about her as she had thought of him, but that he had decided that their relationship should be gay and amusing but by no means serious.

Accordingly she tried to play up to the mood he desired, but underneath everything they said, she felt there was a streak of seriousness which neither of them could ignore.

The Duke took her to The Cafe Royal in Regent Street which was a popular place for luncheon and dinner.

It had not been open for many years but it had been a huge success from its very beginning. It was the first restaurant in London where an excellent and really French meal could be eaten.

Cassandra found it fascinating. It had atmosphere, and the big room with long, red, plush-covered seats contained a mixture of celebrities from all walks of life.

“Tell me who everybody is,” she begged.

Amused by her interest and curiosity, the Duke pointed out the actors, crooks, jockeys, confidence-men, trainers, owners and professional backers who were all eating the superlative food and drinking wine from a cellar which was acknowledged to be one of the best in London.

When Oscar Wilde came in looking pale, elegant and extremely pleased with himself, Cassandra exclaimed excitedly:

“I have always wanted to see him. I have enjoyed his poems so much. But my father has always said he is a terrible
poseur
.”

“He is,” the Duke answered. “Nevertheless he undoubtedly has great talent.”

There were of course a number of women in the Restaurant who were either actresses or quite obviously of a class with which Cassandra had never come in contact.

However, after her initial interest in the other guests, she found it difficult to notice anyone but the Duke.

Once again, she found it easy to talk to him, to discuss so many different subjects. It seemed they could hardly pause for breath before they were arguing, discussing, exclaiming over something else!

When finally they drove away in the direction of Knightsbridge Green, Cassandra’s eyes were shining and she was feeling as happy as she had felt the night before. Never had she enjoyed a meal more.

She had been to Tattersall’s with her father on a Sunday some years previously, and she remembered the great grass-covered yard where the horses were shown off to prospective buyers.

She knew there were seventy-five open boxes and twenty-five stables for brood mares, above which there was a Gallery served by lifts for storing carriages and harness.

When she had been there before, the yard had been filled with top-hatted gentlemen and elegantly-dressed ladies, while grooms had trotted the horses up to the Auctioneers box and back.

Today there were only the grooms in their shirt sleeves, moving amongst the stalls, carrying buckets of water, whistling through their teeth as they rubbed down their charges.

For the first time Cassandra saw the Duke in a very different guise. It was almost as if he had forgotten her very existence.

His head-groom reported to him on the way in which the horses had travelled, telling him that one was nervous after the journey, another seemed a little off-colour, but the majority were settling into their new quarters.

“Keep them as quiet as you can,” the Duke said.

“I’m seeing to that, Your Grace! A nervous horse never gets the best price.”

“That is very true.”

The Duke then went with Cassandra to look at the horses, one after another. There was no doubt they were magnificent animals.

“I have put a reserve of one thousand guineas on this one,” the Duke said. “He has already won three races and seems sure to win the Gold Cup at Ascot.”

“Would you not be wise to keep him then?” Cassandra asked, knowing the Gold Cup brought in a large amount of prize money.

“I cannot afford to wait,” the Duke answered and went on to the next stall.

Cassandra asked for a catalogue of the sale on Monday.

A member of the Tattersall’s staff brought it to her, and she looked through it wondering as she did so if her father had seen a copy. Almost as if he read her thoughts the Duke said:

“I only decided to put my horses in the sale a week ago. You will therefore find they have been added at the last moment and listed all together at the end of the catalogue.”

“But surely that means that the addition has not gone to many of the people in the country who receive it regularly before every sale,” Cassandra said.

The Duke shrugged his shoulders.

“Perhaps. But I am sure there will be no lack of bidders. My father’s Stud is well known in racing circles.”

“Yes, of course,” Cassandra answered.

She was however thinking that Sir James being in Yorkshire could not have heard that the Duke’s horses were in this sale.

If he had, she was quite certain he would have mentioned it to her. This meant that there was no time for her to communicate with him, unless she sent him a telegram.

If she did that, she argued to herself, he would undoubtedly come to London, in which case she could no longer go on acting her part of a young, unknown actress.

Besides, if Sir James was in London, there was every likelihood that he would introduce her to the Duke. It would be so easy for it to happen, even if she did not go with him to the sale.

An idea came to her. When they left Tattersall’s she took the sale catalogue carefully with her and sat with it on her lap in the Phaeton so that she would not forget it.

“You are dining with me tonight,” the Duke said.

It was a statement rather than a question.

“If you still want me to do so,” Cassandra answered. “Are you quite certain you have not had enough of my company?”

“You are fishing for compliments,” the Duke replied with a smile.

He looked at her and added:

“You know I want to be with you—to see you. Do not play with me, Sandra. I cannot bear it.”

There was something almost desperate in his voice, and again Cassandra did not know what was happening.

She only felt that she was being carried along on a tide which was moving too quickly for her to have any clear or coherent thoughts about herself or her relationship with the Duke.

She knew only that he overwhelmed her, that it was a joy beyond words to be with him, to know that he was beside her, to listen to his voice speaking to her and to see his eyes looking into hers.