Читать книгу Never Forget Love - Барбара Картленд - Страница 2

“You are late!” Nerissa cried out as her brother came in through the front door and threw his riding whip down on a chair.

“I know,” he answered, “but you must forgive me. I was riding an animal that at least has spirit in him and I was making the most of it.”

Nerissa smiled.

She knew that to obtain a horse of any sort to ride was a delight that Harry prized above everything else.

Sometimes, when she was struggling with housework or the stove in the kitchen, which was so old that it was always going wrong and a dozen other problems that cropped up every day, she would imagine that one of her father’s books had suddenly become a success and overnight he was famous and they were rich.

It was such an impossible dream that she laughed at herself for being so childish.

Yet she longed above everything else for Harry to have the horses he wanted and the clothes that would make him as smart and fashionable as his friends at Oxford University.

No one could be more handsome, she thought, although he was wearing a threadbare old riding coat that he had worn for years and which she had mended and darned until she had thought that there was little of the original material left.

It was not surprising because their father, even though he was now grey-haired and his face was lined, was still an extremely good-looking gentleman.

Nerissa sometimes wondered to herself why after her mother had died some woman had not tried to capture her father’s heart.

Then she laughed again at her fantasies because it was doubtful if Marcus Stanley was aware that there was a woman in the world when he was concentrating on his books, which examined and recorded the development of architecture in Great Britain.

Harry had admitted quite openly that he was not clever enough himself to understand his father’s work and, although Nerissa loved him, she at times did find his long descriptions somewhat dull.

They were, however, greatly acclaimed by the Architectural Society, although the sales amounted to such an infinitesimal number of volumes that the income derived from them was almost non-existent.

Nevertheless she was proud, as she dusted the shelf in the library, to see the row of five large volumes all bearing her father’s name.

Harry was pulling off his riding boots, which were covered with mud, and Nerissa said,

“I hope you thanked Farmer Jackson for giving you one of his horses to ride.”

“He thanked me,” Harry replied. “He said that, having bought the horse, he was almost afraid to get on its back and had been looking forward to my coming home. He knew that, if anyone could break the animal in, it would be me!”

Nerissa looked at the dirt not only on his boots but also on his breeches and her brother knew just what she was thinking.

“All right. He threw me twice! The second time I had a bit of a job to catch him, but by the time I took him back to the farm he was beginning to realise that I was his Master.”

There was a relish in Harry’s voice that Nerissa did not miss and she suggested,

“Come into the dining room as soon as you have washed your hands and I will tell Papa that luncheon is ready as, incidentally, it has been for over an hour now.”

“I don’t suppose Papa will have noticed,” Harry remarked and Nerissa knew that this was indeed true.

She went into the kitchen where there was a savoury smell of stewed rabbit and an old woman with rheumaticky hands was taking the hot plates somewhat unsteadily out of the oven.

“Let me do that, Mrs. Cosnet,” Nerissa said quickly, knowing how many things had been broken by her in the past.

She saved the plates at what she thought was at the last moment and carried them into the dining room before running back to lift the stew off the stove and pour it into a china dish.

Having set it down on the dining room table, she ran across the small hall to the study where her father was working.

“Luncheon is ready now, Papa,” she said, “and hurry because Harry is back and he is hungry.”

“Is it luncheontime?” her father asked vaguely.

Nerissa resisted the temptation to retort that luncheon was long overdue and, if Harry was hungry, then so was she.

Reluctantly leaving the manuscript he was writing and the book that he was using for reference on top of his desk, Marcus Stanley rose and followed his daughter into the dining room.

“You have done a good morning’s work, Papa,” Nerissa said as she put some of the rabbit stew on his plate, well aware as she did so it was over-cooked. “You must take a short walk after luncheon before you go back to work. You know it is bad for you not to get some air.”

“I have just reached a most interesting part of my chapter on the Elizabethan period,” her father replied, “and, of course, it is easy for me to quote this house and to describe how the bricks, although they have mellowed with the ages, have defied the weather as well as the years and are in far better shape than bricks made two hundred years later.”

Nerissa did not answer because at that moment Harry came into the room.

“Sorry to be so late, Papa,” he said, “but I have had a splendid ride on a horse that was as wild as a coot until I began to make him see sense.”

Marcus Stanley’s eyes rested on his son’s smiling face reflectively as he responded,

“I remember when I was your age finding an unbroken horse an irresistible challenge.”

“I feel sure you would still enjoy it now,” Harry suggested.

As he spoke, he took the plate his sister was handing him and started to eat ravenously.

Watching him Nerissa wondered wistfully if she could manage during the University vacation to have sufficient food in the house to keep Harry satisfied.

It was difficult enough when he was away to stretch the very meagre amount of house-keeping money, which was all her father could allow her, to supply them with their needs.

But with Harry ‘eating them out of house and home’, as she expressed it to herself, it was impossible not to run into debt or, even worse still, to fear that her brother, although he never complained, was left hungry.

Rabbit was really their staple standby at all times of the year, but she was thinking that the farmers would soon be shooting the pigeons that destroyed young crops and Harry often claimed that he enjoyed the way she roasted them.

She could not help thinking plaintively that baby lamb was now in season, but it was a very long time since they had tasted one.

What she could usually afford was an old sheep later on, which would be knocked down in price because it would be tough unless very carefully cooked.

It was a blessing, she thought, as she put a mouthful of rabbit to her lips that her mother had been an exceptionally good cook.

Before she died she had taught her how to make the dishes that her father and Harry always enjoyed.

Potatoes, of course, were invaluable and roasted, fried, boiled or sautéed, they filled up the gap when a helping of meat, because it was so expensive, could not be very large.

“Is there any more, Nerissa?” Harry broke in on her thoughts.

“Yes, of course,” she replied.

She gave him everything that was still in the dish except for a spoonful, which she added to her father’s plate.

He was far away back in Elizabethan times and therefore eating automatically and, she often suspected, without the slightest idea of what he was actually putting into his mouth.

There was a new cottage loaf on the table and Harry cut himself a large slice to finish up the gravy.

“That was good,” he murmured with relish. “No one can cook rabbit like you, Nerissa. The rabbit they serve up at Oxford is quite inedible.”

His sister smiled at the compliment and, collecting the plates and the empty dish, she carried them into the kitchen.

She had been wise enough to make a filling pudding, knowing how much exercise Harry was taking and the sponge had risen light and golden.

All she had to do now was to pour over it the home-made strawberry jam that she had preserved last year and which, with the minute amount of cream she had managed to skim off the top of the milk, would make, as far as Harry was concerned, a well satisfying dish.

To finish the meal there was only a small piece of cheese left and Nerissa intended to go shopping this afternoon, but Harry had eaten much more than she expected at yesterday’s luncheon, which had been very much the same as today’s.

Having finished his portion of pudding, her father rose from the table.

“Will you excuse me, Nerissa, if I go back to my work?”

“No, Papa,” Nerissa said firmly. “You know you ought to take a little exercise first, so I suggest you walk to the end of the orchard and see how those new fruit trees we put in are coming along. We had to do something, if you remember, after we lost some of our most precious trees in the March gales.”

“Yes, of course,” her father agreed.

Then, as if he thought by hurrying, he would get an unwelcome task over quickly he went into the hall, picked up his old felt hat that was almost in tatters and walked out through the garden door into the sunshine.

Harry laughed.

“You bully him, you know, dearest sister.”

“But it is so bad for him to be cooped up in that stuffy study all day and all night.”

“It may be bad for his health, but it makes him happy.”

There was a pause before Nerissa said,

“I am not so certain about that. I often feel that he misses Mama so intensely that the only way he can forget her even for a short while is to concentrate almost fanatically on what he is writing.”

Her voice was soft and gentle as she spoke and Harry, looking at her, said perceptively,

“You miss Mama too.”

“Terribly,” Nerissa answered. “Nothing is the same without her. When you are away and Papa seems at times not even to know I exist, I feel as if I cannot bear it any longer.”

“I am sorry,” Harry said sympathetically. “I had no idea you felt like that and I suppose it is very selfish of me to have all the fun of being at Oxford while you slave away here.”

“I don’t mind ‘slaving’ as you call it,” Nerissa replied. “It is just that sometimes I never see a soul from one day to the next except, of course. when I go down to the village. They are very kind, but it is not the same as being with Mama or having her friends coming to see her.”

“No, of course not,” Harry agreed. “What has happened to them?”

“They were kind in their way after Mama died, but they wanted to talk to her not to a girl of seventeen, as I was then, and even when they were generous enough to ask me to a party of sorts I usually had no way of getting there and, worse still nothing to wear.”

Harry was silent for a moment.

Then he said,

“I have only another year at Oxford University and after that I will be able to earn some money and we shall all be in a better position. I suppose it would not be a sensible idea for me to leave before I achieve my degree?”

Nerissa gave a little cry.

“No, of course not! It is absolutely essential that you should stay your full time. A degree is very important. Of course it is.”

“I realise that and I have worked very hard this term. And my Tutor is very pleased with me.”

Nerissa walked round the table to put her arms round her brother’s neck and kissed him.

“I am very very proud of you,” she declared. “You are not to take any notice of me if I grumble. I am so lucky to have you home and, of course, to have Papa when he remembers that I exist! It is very ungrateful of me to ‘whine like old Mrs. Withers’.”

This was a local joke and Harry duly chuckled.

Then he put his arms round his sister’s waist and told her,

“I am going to try to think up some special treat for you, so you had better make yourself a new gown.”

“A new gown!” Nerissa exclaimed. “How do you think I can pay for one?”

“’Where there is a will there is a way’,” Harry replied lightly. “It is what Nanny always said and perhaps the best thing we can do is to have a day of fasting and the money we save will go on decking you out like the Queen of Sheba!”

“That is certainly an idea,” Nerissa laughed. “I can see exactly the sort of gown I should buy after such a gruesome sacrifice.”

“I tell you what I suggest – ” Harry began.

What he was going to say was forgotten because there came a loud and unexpected rat-tat on the front door.

Brother and sister looked at each other.

“Who can that be?” Harry asked. “Whoever it is they sound very impatient. So are you expecting the duns or the bailiff to confront you with an unpaid bill?”

“No, of course not,” Nerissa replied huffily.

She took off the apron she had worn while she was preparing and clearing the luncheon and walked from the dining room across the hall to the front door.

Harry did not move, but picked up a large crumb that had been left on the table and put it into his mouth.

Then he heard his sister give an exclamation that was almost a cry of astonishment.

As he rose to his feet, he heard Nerissa saying,

“It cannot be! But it is! Delphine!”

“I thought you would be surprised to see me,” a sophisticated voice answered and Harry walked from the dining room into the hall to stare in astonishment at the woman who had just arrived.

She was dressed in the peak of fashion with a high-crowned bonnet trimmed with small ostrich feathers and its colour matched her gown, which was covered with a cape trimmed with fur.

She walked two steps further into the house and looking round commented,

“I had forgotten how small this was!”

“We thought you had forgotten us,” Harry said bluntly. “So how are you, Delphine, or is that an unnecessary question?”

Then the vision stopped still to stare at him, taking in with shrewd eyes his height, his looks and his untidily tied cravat.

“How you have grown, Harry,” she exclaimed.

“It is not surprising when you have not seen me for six years,” Harry replied. “And I must say, you look very ‘up to scratch’!”

“Thank you,” Delphine said with just a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

Then she carried on in a different tone that was almost brusque,

“I want to talk to you both and I suppose that there is somewhere where we can go to sit down?”

“Come into the drawing room,” Nerissa said. “It is unchanged and I am sure you will remember it.”

She opened the door at the far end of the hall and went into a low-ceilinged room that her mother had always used on special occasions.

In it was all their best furniture and all the most precious things they possessed. And the most attractive of the Stanley ancestors hung on its panelled walls.

Delphine walked into the room, her silk petticoats beneath her gown swishing with an expensive sound as she did so.

Then, taking off her cloak with its costly fur edging, she handed it to Nerissa before she seated herself in an armchair at the side of the fireplace.

She was, however, not looking at her sister but at the room.

“This is just as I remember it,” she said, “and, of course, it looks its best in the evening in candlelight.”

“We don’t often sit in here since Mama died,” Nerissa told her. “Instead we use Papa’s study or the morning room when Harry is at home.”

As she spoke, she did not think her sister was listening and she wondered why Delphine was here and how she could suddenly appear without giving them any prior warning.

Four years older than Harry and five years older than Nerissa, Delphine had, when she was eighteen, married Lord Bramwell. He had seen her by chance at a garden party given by the Lord Lieutenant of the County and had lost his heart.

He was a very much older man and Delphine’s mother had been doubtful if her daughter was wise in accepting his proposal of marriage.

“It is something you should think about very carefully, dearest,” she had said, “because after all you have not met many men and Lord Bramwell is very much older than you are.”

“He is rich and important, Mama, and I do want to marry him,” Delphine had replied obstinately.

She had not listened to her mother’s pleas for her to take her time in considering whether it was a wise move nor would she agree to a long engagement.

Because there was no other valid reason why Mr. and Mrs. Stanley should not agree to their daughter marrying Lord Bramwell, Delphine had her own way in everything and was married with what seemed almost precipitate haste.

And when she had driven away in his smart carriage drawn by four well-bred and well-matched horses, she had passed out of their lives.

Looking back Nerissa could hardly believe that it had happened.

One moment Delphine had been one of the family and happy, Nerissa believed with their father and mother, her sister and Harry in their ancient Elizabethan house known as Queen’s Rest.

The next minute she had vanished completely and, as far as they were concerned, she might never have existed.

She had been in Paris when her mother had died four years later and she had not returned home for the funeral. She had written her father a short rather cold letter of condolence and that was the end.

To Nerissa, who had loved her sister simply because she was one of the family, it had seemed completely incredible.

Even the excuse that Lord Bramwell lived in London and had a country house in a County far distant from theirs did not comfort her in losing one of themselves.

“I wrote to her for her birthday,” Nerissa said once to Harry, “but she never replied.”

“Delphine has no further use for us,” Harry remarked. “She is very smart now and is acclaimed as one of the beauties of St. James’s.”

“How do you know that?” Nerissa asked.

“Friends at Oxford have talked about her and her name is always in the social columns. Last week they said that she was the most beautiful woman at Devonshire House, which is known for having more beauties per square inch than anywhere else in the country!”

Harry had laughed and Nerissa knew that it amused him,

But for her it was not only incredible but she felt deeply hurt that her sister no longer cared for her or even for their father.

Now, looking at Delphine, she could at least understand how she had been acclaimed as the most beautiful woman in London.

Delphine was very lovely. Her hair was the gold of ripening corn, her eyes a vivid blue and her complexion flawless.

She was the same type as Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire and the other lovely women whom Nerissa heard about from Harry and who were lauded by the young men who followed the Prince Regent’s lead.

Delphine was thinner than she remembered her and she had developed, Nerissa thought, a kind of seductive sinuous movement with her hands and her long neck had something very sensitive about it.

Now, as Harry also seated himself, there was a little pause before Delphine began,

“I thought you would be surprised to see me, but I have come back because I want your help.”

“Our help?” Harry expostulated. “I can hardly imagine how we could help you. I have heard about your husband’s horses and I know he won the Two Thousand Guineas two years ago.”

There was a little pause before Delphine stated,

“My husband is dead!”

“Dead?”

Nerissa sat bolt upright in astonishment.

“Do you mean to say, Delphine, you are a widow? But why has no one told us?”

“I suppose you cannot afford the newspapers,” Delphine said scathingly. “Actually he died twelve months ago and I am now out of mourning, as you can see.”

“I am very sorry,” Nerissa said softly. “Do you miss him very much?”

“Not in the slightest!” Delphine replied coolly. “That is why I need your help.”

“He cannot have left you penniless? Oh, Delphine, how can we possibly ‒ help you?”

“No, of course not!” she snapped. “I would hardly come here asking you for money. As a matter of fact I am extremely well off. It is something quite different from that.”

“Then what can it be?” Harry asked. “Incidentally, Delphine, you have hurt Nerissa and Papa very much by not communicating with us all this time.”

Delphine made a graceful movement with her hands.

“It was difficult. My husband was not interested in my family and why should he be?”

“So you were glad to be rid of us,” Harry added bluntly.

“It was not exactly like that,” Delphine answered. “I had set out on a new life and I wanted to forget the miseries of the past.”

“Miseries?” Nerissa questioned.

“All that pinching and saving, never having decent clothes and never really enough to eat.”

Nerissa drew in her breath, but she said nothing and her sister went on,

“But we are still of the same blood and I cannot believe that you will not do for me what I want.”

“Tell us first what it is,” Harry suggested.

The way he spoke made Nerissa certain that he was thinking, despite what Delphine had said, that she must be wanting money in some way and the only possible economy they could make would be for him to leave Oxford.

Instinctively and without her being aware of it, Nerissa put out her hand towards Harry as Delphine said,

“It may surprise you, but I am going to marry the Duke of Lynchester!”

It was now Harry’s turn to be astonished and he sat up in his chair and exclaimed,

“Lynchester? I don’t believe it!”

“That is not very complimentary,” Delphine said. “I thought you would be very proud if I was the wife of the Premier Duke of Great Britain, the most important of all in the Peerage.”

“If you want the truth,” Harry observed, “I think it would be a miracle. When are you to be married?”

There was a perceptible pause before Delphine replied,

“To be truthful he has not asked me yet, but I know he intends to do so.”

“Then if you will take my advice,” Harry said, “you will not count your chickens before they are hatched. I have heard a great deal about Lynchester. Who has not? Although his horses gallop past the Winning Post to carry off every trophy, no woman has yet managed to gallop him up the aisle!”

“But that is what I intend to do,” Delphine responded in a hard voice.

As if she felt that Harry was questioning her ability to do so, she looked at him rather aggressively and brother and sister’s eyes met across the room defiantly.

Then Nerissa said,

“If the Duke will make you happy, dearest, then, of course, we will give you all our good wishes and I am sure, when you tell Papa about your engagement, he will be very proud.”

“He will also be very interested,” Harry interposed, “because Lynchester has the finest Elizabethan house in the country and it is the period that Papa is working on at the moment.”

“If that is so,” Delphine said quickly, “then it could be a great help.”

“Help for what?” Nerissa asked.

Her sister was silent for a few moments.

And then she said,

“Now try to understand what I am going to tell you. The Duke of Lynchester has been pursuing me for the last two months and I am almost certain that it is only a question of days before he asks me to be his wife.”

She made a little sound that was almost a cry of triumph and then went on,

“Just think what that will mean. Next to the Royal Family I shall then be one of the most important people in the country. I shall be the chatelaine of at least a dozen houses, the most magnificent being Lyn in Kent. I shall be able to wear jewellery that will make every woman I meet green with envy and I shall go down in history as being the most beautiful of all the Duchesses of Lynchester!”

The way she spoke made Delphine’s voice sound as if it was accompanied by a fanfare of trumpets.

Then Nerissa said very quietly,

“Do you love him ‒ very much?”

“Love him?” Delphine asked.

There was a short pause before she went on,

“But he is a difficult man, one never knows for certain what he is thinking besides being cynical with all those women falling at his feet and pleading with him just to notice their very existence.”

She gave a little laugh that was not a particularly pretty sound as she added,

“But he has noticed me! He has singled me out and made me the talk of London and now we are both guests at a house party given by the Marquis of Swire.”

Harry raised his eyebrows.

“So you are at Swire Castle,” he exclaimed. “It is only five miles away.”

“Yes,” Delphine answered. “That is why I was able to come here since all the men have gone out riding.”

“I bet they will have some jolly fine horses,” Harry muttered beneath his breath.

“Now what the Duke has asked,” Delphine went on, “is that he would like to see my home and he has therefore suggested that he and I should dine here tomorrow evening!”

As she finished speaking, there was complete silence and she was aware that her listeners were staring at her in such amazement that it seemed as if their eyes might pop out of their heads.

“Dine ‒ here?” Nerissa almost shouted. “But how can you – possibly do so?”

“The Duke has arranged that we arrive for dinner at seven o’clock. I have told him about Queen’s Rest, my ancient home where Queen Elizabeth rested on one of her journeys and, of course, about our Papa’s preoccupation with architecture. Surprisingly the Duke had actually heard that Papa wrote books on the subject.”

“But – how can he possibly dine – here?” Nerissa asked desperately. “What can I – give him to – eat?”

“That is what I am going to tell you now,” Delphine replied, “and why I have come to see you.”

She glanced round the drawing room as if to reassure herself.

Then she commented,

“This room looks all right, if you arrange more fresh flowers and make sure the candles are all new. The same applies to the dining room. I expect it is just as shabby as it always was, but at least the pictures of our ancestors are impressive and the furniture is all in keeping with the house.”

“But – Delphine – !” Nerissa began to protest.

“Now listen carefully,” Delphine interrupted her. “The Duke has no idea that either of you exist and I see no point in suddenly producing a family that he might think would be an encumbrance on him.”

“Where can we go if we are not here?” Harry asked sharply. “And you are not going to have much to eat unless you bring your food with you.”

“I have thought it all out,” Delphine said slowly, “and, although Nerissa will be here, the Duke will not see her.”

“Then where shall I be?” Nerissa asked.

“In the kitchen! Which is where either you or Mama have always been!”

“Are you – saying that I am to – cook your dinner without being – introduced to the man you – intend to marry?”

“That is putting it quite simply and sensibly,” Delphine answered.

“And who – is supposed to – serve the meal if I am – not to come into the dining room?” Nerissa enquired.

There was only a moment’s pause before Delphine’s eyes turned towards Harry.

There was no need for her to speak.

“I am damned if I will do it!” Harry flashed. “You walk out on us, Delphine. You did not answer the letters Nerissa wrote to you and you did not even come back for Mama’s funeral! You have all our good wishes that you get your Duke and I hope he makes you happy, but we are not helping you to put your claws into him in a dirty underhand manner that quite frankly is not cricket.”

Delphine was not perturbed by the way her brother spoke.

She only responded by saying,

“I cannot believe that you would be so foolish as to refuse to help me when you hear how I shall express my gratitude for such services.”

“I personally, and I believe I speak for Nerissa, have no wish to hear any more,” Harry said, “and I am certain that, if Papa knew what you are suggesting, he would be horrified. We may be poor, Delphine, but our blood is as good as, if not better, than anything that runs in the Duke’s veins. And we have something that perhaps has been omitted from his make-up, which is called ‘pride’!”

To her brother’s surprise Delphine laughed.

“That sounds a very characteristic Stanley speech. It should be added to the stories Papa and Mama used to tell us when we were children of how brave the Stanleys were in battle, how they supported King Charles II while he was in exile, how they patted themselves on the back because they were so well-born and it did not worry them if their pockets were empty. That is all very praiseworthy, but personally I prefer money.”

“As you have made very obvious.” Harry retorted sarcastically.

“I should have thought you would find it useful too,” Delphine said. “What I was going to suggest, before you interrupted me so rudely, is that, if Nerissa and you will do what I wish, then I am prepared to pay you the sum of three hundred pounds.”

She paused and it seemed as if neither Harry nor Nerissa could breathe.

Then Nerissa murmured beneath her breath,

“D-did you say ‒ three hundred pounds?”

“It is a sum of money that would supply Harry with the sort of horses that he was always bellyaching to have,” Delphine replied. “I was sick to death of his complaints. It would also make certain, my dear sister, that for once you had a decent gown rather than what you are wearing at the moment, which would shame a gypsy.”

Delphine spoke scathingly, but Harry was repeating it as if he could not believe it to be true,

“Three hundred pounds!”

“You can have it now,” Delphine said, “but, of course, Papa must know nothing about it. He still believes money is unimportant in comparison with some old bricks and tumbledown buildings that interest nobody but himself. But surely you two, because you are young, have a little more sense?”

“How can you afford to give us so much money?” Nerissa asked her sister.

“I can afford it,” Delphine replied, “because I am gambling on making my background as a Stanley look good enough for the Duke to realise that he will not be lowering himself in asking me to be his wife.”

“But – if he really does love you – ” Nerissa began, “surely your ancestry is not all that important?”

“I am only very grateful that none of my friends can hear you talking such nonsense,” Delphine said rudely. “You cannot imagine that the Duke of Lynchester, who can have any woman he likes in the whole Kingdom, is going to make a mésalliance when it comes to marriage. I could easily be his mistress, I am well aware of that, but I am determined – yes – determined to be his wife.”

She spoke with a resolution in her voice that made Nerissa remember how as a child she had often defied her mother in one way or another and always eventually had her own way.

“If you ask me,” Harry said, “I think it an insult that the Duke, or any other man, should look you over as if you are a horse and decide whether you have enough good points for him to wish to own you.”

“That is a most vulgar way of putting it, Harry, but it is the basic truth. You cannot be so stupid and unsophisticated, as Nerissa is, not to know that in the Social world, which I move in, one’s antecedents and blood are of paramount importance when it comes to marriage. A doxy is one thing, a Duchess is another!”

Harry laughed.

“I will say one thing about you, Delphine, you are very plain-spoken!”

“I am fighting for something that matters to me a very great deal. Now let me ask you to answer ‘yes’ or’ no’, are you or are you not going to help me?”

Feeling as if it was too big a question for her to answer, Nerissa looked at her brother.

Three hundred pounds seemed to be dancing in front of her eyes, telling her what a huge difference it could make to them all and especially to Harry.

She knew, as she looked at him, that a battle was raging within him.

While he instinctively disliked any form of deception and untruth, he was as tempted as she was by the idea of so much money, especially when it meant that he could buy several horses.

It could also provide him with some clothes and he remembered that before he went back to Oxford he was going to beg Nerissa for enough money to provide him with a new evening suit.

The one he was wearing at the moment was in rags and one of his fellow students had told him that next term they might be asked to a formal dinner at Blenheim Palace.

Slowly he enquired as if he was thinking out the words as they came to his lips,

“If we refuse to help you, Delphine, what will you do?”

“If you refuse and I lose the Duke, I will hate you and curse you until the end of my life!” Delphine replied. “He has asked to see my Elizabethan home, which I described to him in glowing terms and to meet my very distinguished father. Surely there is nothing wrong in that?”

“What is wrong, as you well know,” Harry replied quickly, “is turning your sister into a cook and me into a butler! But I suppose we can pretend we are playing charades and hope to God the Duke never suspects that he is being deceived.”

Delphine gave a cry of horror.

“If he does, it will be because you are two incompetent fools!” she snapped. “But, if we succeed, I shall be the Duchess of Lynchester!”

There was a look in Delphine’s eyes that told Nerissa that she had won a victor thaty she had never intended to lose.

But, as she gazed at her sister, she had a strange and unaccountable feeling that Delphine would never wear the Duchess of Lynchester’s strawberry-leaf coronet.