A Castle of Dreams (3 page)

She paused.

“Please tell me about Glentorran.”

On the other side of the ballroom, Lady Margaret gave a little exclamation of surprise.

“Who can that girl be with my brother?  He never dances at balls!”

David spun her round with ease and then laughed.

“Well, though she is wearing a different dress than she set out in earlier this evening, I can tell you that is my twin sister, Viola.”

“Your sister?”

“Yes, and please don't say we are not alike.  She possesses all the good looks – but I do declare I have all the intelligence!”

A smile glimmered in Lady Margaret's eyes.

“She certainly has some talents to amuse.  There – my brother is laughing.  That is good to see.  He has been so very downcast of late.”

Just then the music came to a climax and stopped. Clapping and laughing, the couples moved to the side of the ballroom.

Viola felt she was living in a dream as the Duke led her to a small gilt chair – a dream which she had no wish to awake from.

“Glentorran – ”

It was Mr. Brent, Charlotte's father.

“Viola, my dear, you must excuse my interrupting your dance, but I now have some urgent business to discuss with the Duke.”

“Can it not wait until later?” the Duke enquired.

“I am afraid not.  My colleagues have to leave for the Continent on the night ferry.”

The Duke turned, smiled down at Viola and said,

“Please wait here for me.  I will be back very soon. If you are not otherwise engaged, perhaps we could take supper together.”

“And here is Charlotte to keep you company,” Mr. Brent added jovially as his daughter swept across the floor towards them.

Viola watched him closely as the Duke bowed and walked away with his host.

Her head was spinning with pictures of lochs and heather, mountains and sheep shearing, tartans and rivers bounding with salmon.

The Duke loved his country so much and he was a fascinating man.

She could not remember ever meeting anyone she had been so attracted to from the very beginning.

Could this possibly be the man of her dreams?

And – her heart gave a little jump –

He seemed to like her as well.

“Are you enjoying wearing the blue gown?” asked Charlotte, sinking into a chair next to Viola and fanning herself vigorously.

“The blue – oh, I had quite forgotten!”

Charlotte laughed.

“You've obviously been having a good time.  Did I see you dancing with the Duke of Glentorran?”

Viola bent over the pearl buttons on her glove.  She did not want Charlotte to comment on the blush she knew was staining her cheeks.

“Yes – he asked me for the waltz and we talked about Scotland.”

“Oh, that draughty old Castle of his!  That's all he ever talks about.  He was here for luncheon yesterday with his sister and it was obvious that he cannot wait to get back to the Highlands.”

“Why are they in London?”

Charlotte gazed around the busy ballroom, seeking her next partner.

“What?  Oh, Mama told me that he is looking for a rich wife.”

Viola felt the blood drain from her face.

“A rich wife?” she whispered.

“Why, yes.  Goodness, Viola, you know how much money these huge Scottish estates eat up. He needs a lot of money very quickly and the fastest way of achieving it is to marry an heiress, or a girl with plenty of money that he can use to his own advantage.  I say, my sapphires really suit you.  Mama says I should wear emeralds, but  – ”

But Viola was no longer listening.

Her world lay shattered around her.

She fingered the pale blue gauze of Charlotte's skirt and then touched the warm stones that lay against her skin.

So that was why the Duke had seemed to like her so much!

She gave every impression of being rich!

A man of the world, such as he, would have known immediately that the diamond necklet she was wearing was worth a small fortune.

He would probably even realise that the beautiful dress had cost more than a working man could earn in six months.

He had come to London to look for a rich wife – and thought he had found a likely candidate.

Viola felt a wave of bitterness and disappointment sweep over her.

She had liked him so much.

The man of her dreams!

That was exactly what she had begun to think.

What a fool she was!

Well, she would show him that she cared nothing for him or his Scottish estate.

Robert, the Duke of Glentorran, walked back into the ballroom half an hour later, feeling deeply disappointed by his business meeting.

He had been able to borrow a meagre amount from the City gentlemen he had just been introduced to, but not nearly sufficient to repair the Castle roof and some of the tenants' crofts.

The whole visit to London had turned into a failure – except for one thing – meeting Lady Viola Northcombe.

That wonderful girl was worth every minute he had been forced to stay here in the South.

He glanced over to where he had left her, knowing that she would have waited for him.

But the gilt chair was occupied by someone else.

Scowling he glanced round the room.

There was his sister, Margaret, dancing with a tall blond young man.  She seemed happy, for which he was thankful, realising he had neglected her for the past hour.

But he wanted to find his angel girl.

Surely Viola's blue dress would be easy to spot –  there!

Then, as he watched her, his face grew dark and his emotions tumbled into turmoil.

Lady Viola was sitting in a little alcove, surrounded by attentive young men.

She was drinking champagne, laughing loudly and openly flirting, the lovely sapphire necklet sparkling as she moved.

The Duke observed several older ladies giving her scandalous glances at they passed.

He just could not believe that it was the same quiet beauty who had stolen his heart earlier that evening.

With a thunderous expression on his face, he strode through the crowd.

All he wanted to do now was to collect his sister and leave.

He wished to go home; back to Scotland where rich young women did not play silly games with men they had just met.

He hesitated as he approached Viola, then stopped, bowed his head curtly, ignoring the flush of embarrassment his offhand actions might cause her and strode on to snatch a bewildered protesting Margaret away from her partner.

Viola watched him go, her heart sinking in despair.

‘Good riddance,' she fumed to herself, placing the champagne glass she had pretended to empty onto a table.

She stood up and signalled to David.

All she desired too was to go home and leave this house where the man of her dreams had just turned out to be a fortune-hunting rogue.

But even as she and David walked silently back across the Square, she found herself wishing she had not behaved in such a frivolous way and that she had explained herself to the Duke in a frank and sensible fashion.

Viola sighed.

Tomorrow they would set sail for America and she knew she was highly unlikely ever to meet the Duke of Glentorran again.

Robert, Duke of Glentorran, was clambering down the steep rocky steps that had been cut into the cliff face by his ancestors many centuries ago.

It was a wild day for early June.

The sea was crashing onto the sharp black rocks of the West coast of Scotland in great walls of white foam and dark grey-green water.

The early summer storm was blowing fierce clouds in from the far horizon, shutting out the sun.

It was a day that matched the Duke's mood – black and miserable.

The sharp pebbles of the little cove crunched under his boots as he strode down to the water's edge, his dark green kilt swinging around his knees.

He stared out across the ocean, allowing the cold salty wind to blow his dark hair into wild tangles.

High above him, on the cliffs of Glentorran, stood his home, the Castle he loved so much.

He knew every inch of its endless corridors, turrets and rooms.  He had explored all the cellars and attics since his childhood and could recognise every stone and tile that made up the amazing building that looked so much like its bigger Royal relation, Glamis Castle.

He had inherited the Castle and estate on the death of his ne'er-do-well father, Kenneth.

The Glentorran estate consisted of miles of heather-covered hills where big herds of deer roamed, sheep farms,   fishing villages and little crofts that eked a living out of the hard ground.

The Duke had always believed that the Castle and the estate were only temporarily his on trust, handed down to him by generations of the Glentorran family.

His to hold until he could pass them on to a son.

He picked up a handful of stones from the beach and threw them, one by one, out across the waves that were now hissing around his feet.

He felt a great weight on his shoulders.

He believed he had failed in his duty.

The Castle and the estate were now in great danger of being lost to the Glentorrans.

The majority of the money his father had left had been eaten up by paying the late Duke's massive gambling debts.

He knew that if he could not raise sufficient money quickly, he would be forced to sell the Castle and the estate and abandon the people who looked to him for leadership and support.

He had even tried asking the hard-hearted London City men for a large loan just a few months ago, but that had failed miserably.

Now he did not know which way to turn.

His thoughts were as stormy as the clouds above, but he tried to smile as he heard the pebbles of the beach crunch behind him.

His dear sister, Margaret, or Meg as he had always called her, was now walking towards him, her thick knitted shawl wrapped tightly around her thin shoulders to protect her from the wind and rain.

She linked her arm through his and briefly touched her dark head to his shoulder.

“Cheer up, Robert.  I know you are worried, but I'm sure you will find a way to save the estate.”

Her brother gave her a brief hug.

“If I only knew you were settled, it would help a great deal, Meg.  I can fend for myself, but I don't want to see you reduced to poverty.”

She laughed.

“Och, Robert, you
do
exaggerate.  We will always have enough to live on.  We can close the Castle and move to the Dower House.  I will sell my jewellery and we can farm and fish and I will grow vegetables for the pot!”

The Duke's brow furrowed.

His little sister had such a romantic view of life.

They lived economically as it was, but every luxury would vanish if they lost the Castle.

Admittedly Meg's lovely jewellery would bring in some money, but how could he possibly ask her to sell her inheritance?

“If only you were married – ”

The Duke's voice died away.

‘
If only
' were two very sad words.

He knew he could never force his sister to marry without love, because that was something he would never do himself.

Ever since he had become an adult, he had longed to find that one very special girl to whom he could give his heart, completely and utterly.

He knew that people expected him to find a wealthy wife whose money he could use to his own advantage, but he could never countenance such a gesture.

No, he knew he could only marry for love and even if he found her, he could never marry when the future was so uncertain.

He closed his mind to thoughts of the slim blonde girl he had danced with in London.

Because he knew that, whatever he might be telling himself, he would have asked her to marry him, regardless of what fate held in store.

However, he had fallen foul of his own imagination where she was concerned and he knew that if they ever did meet again, she would certainly have no inclination to take their friendship any further.

Lady Margaret sighed deeply as she tied her shawl tightly around her shoulders as a gust of wind tried to send it spiralling into the rain.

She recognised that she did not have the outgoing, sparkling personality that most young men looked for in a wife.

And all the local eligible bachelors were extremely wary of taking on the impoverished sister of Glentorran in case they were asked to pour their own family's funds into the estate.

Mind you, she had never met anyone she wanted to marry – then she hesitated, her mind whirling back to an evening several months ago, when she had been dancing with David, the Viscount Powell.

She had never met a man like him before in her life – someone whose mind was so similar to her own.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts.

That particular evening had ended badly and there was no reason to imagine she would ever meet the young Viscount again.

The Duke was peering through the mist and spray, out to sea.

“Look – there's a big boat out there, Meg, beyond the rocks! Not one of our fishing fleet, thank God, who are all tucked up at anchor safely in harbour.  I don't envy those passengers on a day such as this.”

“I wonder where they are headed?  We are a long way from the shipping lanes here.”

“Well, if we don't get indoors, we will be as wet as those poor sailors.   Come, Meg, I have some crofters coming to speak to me about repairs to their homes.  It's not going to be a pleasant meeting.”

And they turned away from the stormy ocean and distant boat and began the steep ascent up the slippery rock steps back to the grounds of Glentorran Castle.

*

On board the luxury motor yacht
Stars and Stripes
, Lady Viola Northcombe fought her way against the raging wind along the companionway to the luxurious lounge.

The violent movement of the vessel had sent most of the other passengers into their cabins, but Viola had not felt a moment's sickness since they had left New York.