A Castle of Dreams (2 page)

“Hmmph! In my humble opinion, you would have done better having a quiet evening indoors, the pair of you!”

Viola chuckled.

“Oh, Nanny!  How you do fuss over us.  You know that Charlotte has asked us especially to her birthday ball.  There is no way we could have refused to go.  She is my best friend in all the world.”

Nanny's stern features softened a little.

She did approve of Miss Charlotte Brent and had to admit that the lively young heiress to the Brent fortune had never faltered in her loyal friendship to the Northcombe children, even though they were very poor in comparison.

“Well, make certain you are home at a respectable time. You have to be up early to travel to Southampton.”

Viola kissed Nanny's wrinkled cheek, picked up her wrap and hurried down the steep flights of stairs to the ground floor.

In the drawing room her dear twin brother, David, the Viscount Powell, was sprawled out on the sofa, reading the evening newspaper.

Viola hesitated in the doorway watching him.

She loved David very much.  He was slim and tall like her, but his hair was a darker blond than hers and his eyes were dark grey.

David, shy and retiring, was completely different in character from his far more outgoing sister.

He did not care overmuch for parties or balls.  He was a talented artist and his sketches of birds and animals were outstanding.

He was a dreamer and had undoubtedly inherited his father's restlessness, because he longed to travel to the Far East and the more remote islands of the Pacific where he could observe and paint strange birds and butterflies.

Now he looked up and grinned at his sister.

“Thank goodness, Sis!  I thought we would arrive at Charlotte's in time for breakfast, you have been so long getting ready!”

Viola laughed and they hurried out into the street.  

Luckily Brent House was situated on the other side of the Square from their cousin's house, so it was easy to walk through the gardens to where carriages and taxis were arriving with the cream of London Society.

“Does this dress look very bad?”

David peered down at his sister.

He had no clear idea of what was or was not ‘bad'.

Viola was wearing something creamy and lacy.  It smelt a little of mothballs, but he did not think it would be wise to tell her so.

“No, why?”

Viola sighed.

“It belongs to Cousin Edith, that's why! Nanny has packed the only other one I could possibly have worn and, to be fair, that is just as shabby.

“I do wish Papa had sent us some spending money as well as the boat tickets.  There are holes in the soles of these shoes and a big darn on the palm of this glove.  Oh, I do
so
hate being poor!”

David plucked a pink rosebud from a trailing bush as they passed and pushed it into his buttonhole.  He had never known a life when they had had money to spare.

He frowned at Viola.

“Don't you think it odd, Papa asking us to go out to America?  I mean, I am delighted we are going.  I long to travel the world, as you know, but he has never wanted us to visit him before.”

Viola paused as they left the shelter of the garden and stood on the pavement, waiting for a chance to cross the road to the sweeping marble steps of Brent House.

Tall gas torches were flickering brightly on top of ornamental pillars and the big front doors stood wide open to admit the crowds of partygoers.

Viola felt sad when she thought about her father.

She realised that at nineteen years old she still did not know him.  Indeed she could count on the fingers of one hand the times she had spent more than a fortnight in his company.

But now he wanted his children with him and had sent expensive tickets for berths on a fast cruise liner.

It was all very puzzling as David had remarked.

Well, she would worry about it when they were on the ship and heading for America.

Tonight she was going to enjoy herself.

She loved dancing and was quite certain that even if she was wearing a perfectly hideous dress, Charlotte would make certain that she danced with plenty of partners.

The great marble entrance hall to Brent House was crowded. 

Gentlemen in full evening dress escorted ladies resplendent in dazzling gowns, all their jewellery glittering and gleaming in the light from the huge crystal chandelier hanging above them.

David leaned against an imposing marble pillar at one side of the hall, waiting for Viola.

As soon as they arrived she had been whisked away upstairs by Charlotte Brent, who looked magnificent in a very dark amethyst silk dress, diamonds at her neck and the famous Brent diamond ear-drops plainly on show.

Suddenly David turned and realised that behind the pink and white flower arrangement on a tall pedestal by his side, two dark brown eyes were staring at him.

He moved a stem of white lilies and smiled.

A slender girl, just as tall as his sister, was standing there, her smooth dark hair braided and coiled around her head like a coronet.

She looked nervous and David could see that she was trembling.

“Hello! I say, are you all right there in the middle of all those flowers?”

“Thank you, aye, I am quite all right.”

David smiled.

She had a soft Scottish voice.

“I am David – Viscount Powell.  How do you do?”

A small lace gloved hand crept out and touched his fingers for a second.

“Margaret – Lady Margaret Glentorran.”

David pushed the flowers to one side.

“Do come out into the hall, Lady Margaret.  Or else you will ruin your pretty dress squashed up against those blooms and leaves.”

“It was just so noisy!  I am not used to so many people.  I-I – ”

“I know exactly how you feel.  But at least it is a cheerful noise.  It is just because everyone is so happy and enjoying themselves. Surely you cannot be on your own?”

“Oh, no!  I came here with my brother, the Duke of Glentorran.  We live up in Scotland – I expect you can tell from my accent.  But my brother has business in London with Mr. Brent and so Charlotte's father kindly asked us to her birthday ball.

“But Robert – that is my brother – has gone into the study to converse with Mr. Brent and his City colleagues.”

“Well, Lady Margaret, there is no reason for you to stand out here in the hall waiting for him. My sister, Viola, has gone upstairs with Charlotte and if I know them, they will be up there for ages gossiping.  What do you say to a dance, while we are waiting for our respective siblings?”

Lady Margaret looked into his kind grey eyes and smiled timidly.

She put her hand on his arm,

“My friends call me ‘Meg'.”

Upstairs Charlotte and Viola were sitting together in the pretty little anteroom that led from her bedroom.

They had exchanged all the latest information about mutual acquaintances and Viola had exclaimed over her friend's many extravagant birthday presents and Charlotte was fascinated by Viola's forthcoming trip to America.

“Oh, I do wish I was going!  It sounds so exciting.  And you could meet the man of your dreams on board ship, Viola!”

Viola laughed, her blue eyes sparkling.

She and Charlotte had spoken very many times of the kind of man they would like to marry.

Viola just knew it would have to be someone very special.  She did not want a marriage of convenience such as some of her friends had made.

She was sensible enough to recognise that powerful families frequently married their offspring to each other for dynastic reasons, but she wanted to experience the wonder of falling in love and having that love returned.

“The man of my dreams?  Goodness, I don't think he exists.  I have never met anyone who comes even close to what I would consider to be a man I could really fall in love with!”

Charlotte picked up her perfume bottle and sprayed a fine mist across her shoulders.

Viola glanced admiringly at her beautiful amethyst dress.

“I just love your gown, Charlotte.  I must look like a church mouse in this dreadful old rag of Cousin Edith's. Oh, I am so tired of being poor.”

Charlotte pulled a face.

She was a most straightforward girl and could not prevaricate and pretend.

Viola's creamy lace gown was certainly awful and did smell of mothballs!

“I say, Viola, I've got an idea.  Why don't you wear something of mine?  Just for this evening.  It would be a great jest.  Look – ”

She jumped up and threw open a large wardrobe to display a row of wonderful gowns of all colours.

Viola shook her head.

“No, don't be so silly, Charlotte.  What would your parents say?”

Charlotte was busy rifling through her dresses.

“Lord, Viola, Mama will not care and Papa won't notice.  Look – this one is just made for you.  I have only worn it the once.  It's not my colour, it's too pale with my complexion, although I love the material.”

Viola gasped.

The dress was fashioned from a delightful pale blue gauze, quite low-cut with a deep band of seed pearls and tiny white rosebuds embroidered around the neckline and along the flaring skirt.

It was the most beautiful gown Viola had ever seen and she knew, even before she tried it on, that it would fit her perfectly.

“Oh, Viola.  That will look wonderful on you.  And see, here is my sapphire necklet.  You can wear this too.  It finishes the whole outfit splendidly!”

*

Robert, Duke of Glentorran, came out of the library into the hall and paused.

He needed to find his sister.

He knew she did not care for crowds and noise.  He had not intended to leave her on her own for such a long time, but his business discussions with Mr. Brent had been urgent and protracted.

Tall and dark, his face looked stern.

The Duke was deeply worried.

His ancestral Glentorran estate on the West coast of Scotland was in desperate need of money.

The Castle was always referred to locally as a ‘little Glamis'. It was very similar in style and design – although much smaller – to the world famous castle near Dundee, where the Earls of Strathmore had lived for centuries.

The Duke loved every inch, every stone, turret and window of his ancient home.  He knew all his tenants from the oldest shepherd who tended the flocks on the high hills down to the youngest baby born to one of the fishermen in the village of Glentorran.

But he also recognised that without a considerable investment, he would be forced to close up the Castle and move into the Dower House on the estate.

Hundreds of clansmen completely relied on him for their livelihood and he could see no way of increasing his revenue.

The Duke stood, staring around, trying to find his sister.

The ceaseless chatter and laughter, the careless gaiety of these Socialites were more and more annoying him.

Grimly he reckoned that all the jewellery on display this evening would keep his Castle and the estate running for a good twenty years!

Did any of these people know what it was like to be poor?

To have one schoolroom for over fifty children?

For the closest hospital to be miles away across a range of mountains?

What would they know about having responsibility for so many people less fortunate than themselves who had not been born to title and privilege?

He doubted that the people in this house would ever understand.

The Duke strode across the hall and then stopped as a sudden flash of pale blue caught his eye.

The most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life was gliding down the great stairway towards him.

He did not see the costly dress or even the sparkling sapphires at her neck.

All he could see was the sheer beauty of her face, the proud way she held her head, the tumbled golden curls, carelessly pinned back with a length of cream lace.

He had not the faintest idea who she was or who could introduce him.

Normally the Duke was a quiet reserved man, but some power held him in place at the foot of the stairs and as the angel in blue reached him, he held out his hand and asked her gently,

“Madam, please will you do the honour of dancing with me?”

Viola felt as if she had been swept away into an unknown world.

One second she had been innocently walking down stairs, anxious to show David her marvellous gown and then there was a tall handsome man, holding out his hand, the expression in his dark brown eyes both commanding and imploring at the same time.

With a small gasp she had nodded her acceptance and now she was held in his arms and they were waltzing, surrounded by light and colour and many people she would undoubtedly know.

But she could see none of them – just the dark eyes that gazed down into hers so intently.

“You will think me amiss, madam, asking you to dance when we have not been introduced. Please allow me to introduce myself.  I am Robert, the Duke of Glentorran, at your service.”

Viola smiled up at him as he swirled her round, her feet hardly seeming to touch the polished parquet floor.

“Your Grace – I am most delighted to make your acquaintance. I am Lady Viola Northcombe.”

“Viola – that is a – ”

He hesitated, as he had been about to say, ‘that is a beautiful name', but realised he was being far too forward with a young lady he had only just met.

“ – interesting name,” he finished lamely.

“I can tell from your accent you are from Scotland, Your Grace.”

“Aye.  The West coast – rugged and heather clad hills, fine beaches and distant mountains.  There can be no better place on earth.”

Viola sighed.

He spoke of his home with such great warmth and affection.  So many men she had met did not care where they lived, as long as it was in comfort and splendour.

“Oh, it sounds so wonderful.  I've always longed to live in an old country house.  I have dreams of buying an old ruined place and bringing it back to life.  I would love to create a wonderful garden that everyone around could enjoy.