Читать книгу Helga in Hiding - Барбара Картленд - Страница 2

Millicent Melrose sat in front of the mirror in her dressing room at The Gaiety Theatre and wondered how it was possible to feel so tired.

She had come to the theatre early, as she always did, because it gave her a chance to be quiet before the show and also, she recognised, to pull herself together.

Ever since she had lost Christofer it had become increasingly difficult for her to keep up the façade of being a star not only before the public but also in front of those who she worked with.

She was certainly well aware that it was fatally easy to slip into being a nonentity and to find herself after all the years of her success out of work.

It was traditional for people to say,

“I could not imagine The Gaiety without you, Milly.”

But she was quite sure that they would be the first to say that she was well ‘past it’ and showing her age.

The mere thought of age made her glance at herself nervously in the mirror, looking for the lines which she was sure were beginning to form round her eyes and at the corners of her mouth.

“Thirty-nine next birthday!”

It seemed as if even the flowers in the room screamed it at her and it was like a dark menacing cloud hanging over her head.

None of it would have mattered if Christofer was still alive, but he was dead and could not help her now.

At night when she cried into her pillow she wished that she had died too.

It was true that he had been twenty years older than she and she might have expected him to die before her, even in those far-off days when they had both been carefree and so certain that neither of them would ever grow old.

Even now she could hear, as if it was yesterday, him saying to her,

“Come away with me, my darling one. I cannot live without you. I know it will cause a scandal, but my wife will then divorce me and, when we are married, it will all be forgotten soon and the Social world will accept you again with open arms.”

It had all sounded so very plausible with Christofer kissing her so that she thrilled with a rapture that she had not believed possible.

When Christofer told her how blissfully happy they would be, it was just impossible to be cautious, sensible or to think of anything or anyone but him.

She remembered how very exciting it had been when, leaving a note for her father and mother, she had crept out of the house one night after she was supposed to have gone to bed and Christofer had been waiting for her at the end of the drive.

He had helped her into a closed carriage and they had driven off to what she believed would be a Heaven on Earth with no regrets.

‘How young I was,’ Milly said to herself now, ‘and how extremely foolish.’

And yet she knew that, if she was able to put back the clock, she would do the same thing all over again, because Christofer had been irresistible and she would have had to be made of stone to be able to refuse him.

She could still remember the little hotel where they had stayed the night and the ecstasies they had evoked in each other so that Christofer had said to here hoarsely,

“How could we fight against a love as great as ours? How could we ever contemplate life without each other?”

He had been so confident and so had she when they had settled in a small Manor House in an obscure village in Gloucestershire and they both believed it was only a question of time before they were legally Lord and Lady Forsythe.

But Christofer’s wife was made of sterner stuff and, when he asked her for a divorce’ she refused categorically and saying,

“I am your wife and your place is with me. When you are ready to return, your home is waiting for you.”

“It is ridiculous!” Christofer had raged. “She will change her mind, of course, she will. It is only a question of waiting.”

The difficulty while they were waiting was how they were to live.

Lord Forsythe had very little money of his own and the Trustees of his wife, who was a comparatively wealthy woman, had made sure that, while he had the handling of her income, it was impossible for him to touch the capital.

Not very intelligent over money, he found he was committed to keeping up the running expenses of the house where his wife lived and which, as she had truly said, was his home.

It left him very little indeed to expend on Milly. They struggled in the country for nearly a year and then moved back to London.

“I think perhaps I had better find something to do,” Milly suggested a little nervously.

And to her surprise Christofer did not immediately refuse to discuss such an idea.

It took time, time during which they worried frantically as to how they could go on, how their bills could be met and how Christofer could somehow extract money from his wife.

Then finally they succumbed to the inevitable and Christofer returned to London to see what he could do about it.

What this entailed was that to all intents and purposes he was once again a married man, appearing at social functions with his wife and, as many men have done before him, keeping a mistress on the side.

It was Milly who suffered most, of course, she did.

The Staffords, who were extremely respectable and had played their part in the history of England, had cut her off with a proverbial shilling and, although she might have crawled back to beg their forgiveness, she was too proud to do so.

In desperation Christofer introduced her to George Edwardes and one look decided the most astute Showman of the age that she was just what he needed at The Gaiety Theatre.

The Gaiety Girls were renowned for being quite different from ordinary show girls.

In the first place a number of them were well-educated and, besides being beautiful, they behaved like ladies and had in consequence a glamour that made them superb on the stage and sought after by every man about town who was proud to be seen in their company.

The applause, the acclamation of her beauty and the many compliments she received did a great deal to assuage Milly’s feeling of guilt towards her family.

She, of course, did not use her real name, but instead called herself ‘Millicent Melrose’ and hoped that her relatives would never find out what she was doing.

But whether they knew it or not she had no idea since she had no communication with them.

From the moment she became a Gaiety Girl life was far easier than it had been before.

Not only was she earning money for herself but, as Christofer played his part at home as skilfully as she played hers on the stage, his wife became more generous and he had more money to spend.

He set Milly up in a very comfortable flat in a quiet square not very far from The Gaiety Theatre and spent every moment he possibly could with her.

This usually meant that he was in London mostly during the week and returned home at weekends to entertain on his estate with shooting and hunting parties in the winter and in the summer there was tennis, archery and boating on the lake.

Milly tried not to think of what he was doing when he was not with her.

She was often lonely, but she told herself that it was the price she had to pay for being so blissfully happy when they were together.

Of course she was approached by other men. She was too beautiful for there not to be a constant flow of flowers and invitations to supper which made Christofer even more jealous.

But it meant nothing to her except that her admirers filled in the hours when he was not with her.

There was one man in particular who was very persistent and had pursued her now for nearly six years.

Sir Emanuel Stiener was exceedingly rich and so most of the Gaiety Girls were only too eager to accept his invitations and his presents, which were always very generous.

They fell over each other to ingratiate themselves with a millionaire who, because of his astuteness in business, was known to be a friend of the Prince of Wales.

It was perhaps Milly’s indifference that made him all the more determined that sooner or later she would be his.

It was Sir Emanuel Stiener who Milly was thinking about now as her eyes fell on a large basket of expensive orchids.

She was well aware that he was waiting impatiently but cleverly for her to get over the shock of Christofer’s death before he approached her, as he had before, with suggestions of what a difference he could make in her life.

“I will cover you with diamonds, wrap you in sables and cosset you against everything that might distress or hurt you,” he had promised.

She laughed at him and then replied,

“You know I have everything I want, not diamonds nor sables, but Christofer!”

Sir Emanuel had made no reply, but looked at her with his shrewd eyes and she thought now that perhaps he had known clairvoyantly that the sands were running out and the days of her happiness were numbered.

When she had read in the newspapers that Lord Forsythe had suffered a stroke while a guest at Marlborough House, she had been frantic with anxiety.

It was impossible for her personally to make enquiries at Forsythe House in Park Lane as to how he was, but she persuaded a half dozen of her admirers to do so on her behalf.

All they were told was that he was very gravely ill, but there was still some hope for his recovery.

Of course there was no question of Milly being allowed to see him and she could only wait and know as the days passed that it was inevitable he would die.

Actually it was her work on the stage that helped her get over the shock better than if she had been a lady of leisure with nothing to do but sit at home and weep.

The show must go on was the old troupers’ cry and Milly played her part brilliantly.

She had by now become an institution in the shows produced by George Edwardes at The Gaiety.

She had been promoted to having small parts in the main cast and, because her voice was soft and cultured and her diction clear, she eventually always had one sketch in which she was the principal.

She was well aware that this would not last for ever and, when she thought of the future, there seemed only one end to it and that was with Sir Emanuel.

At first she had felt that if another man even touched her hand she would scream with the horror of it, but Sir Emanuel was far too clever to put pressure on her or to impose himself physically upon her.

Instead he sent her flowers, notes of sympathy which were very eloquent, and expensive but practical presents like a case of champagne or a pot of pâté de foie gras or even caviar.

She wondered if she should send them back to him and then knew that it was something that she dared not do.

‘I hate him!’ she told herself a million times.

But she knew that her hatred was because he was alive while poor Christofer was dead.

“Dead!”

The word seemed almost to echo round her dressing room and she then put out her hand, aware that it was shaking a little for the bottle of brandy that was concealed behind a large photograph of herself at the end of the dressing table.

She poured out two tablespoonfuls into a glass and stared at it as she put down the bottle, knowing that Christofer would have been angry with her for giving in to what was inevitably the actor’s panacea of Dutch courage.

“I cannot manage without it, darling,” she had said to him pathetically.

Her brain was telling her that she had said just the same thing every night for the last two weeks and the brandy bottle had been replaced more times than she cared to count.

“I cannot go on like this!” she said aloud.

Even as she spoke, she lifted the glass to her lips and felt the fiery liquid slipping down her throat, sweeping away a little of her overwhelming fatigue.

She drank again and as she did so there was a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” she asked, slipping the glass behind another photograph of herself wearing a spectacular gown.

“There be a lady to see you, Miss Melrose.”

It was Joe the doorkeeper who spoke and she was just about to say that she had no wish to receive visitors when the door opened and somebody came into the dressing room.

Milly looked at her without interest.

It was a young woman who she supposed must be a fan and she could not understand how Joe had been so absurd as to let one of the autograph hunters, who were always outside the stage door, come up to her dressing room.

Then the girl in the doorway piped up,

“You are as beautiful as I thought you would be, Aunt Millicent! And I am so excited to meet you in real life.”

As the girl spoke, she came nearer to Milly, who stared at her in sheer astonishment.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I am your niece, Helga Wensley, and you must please forgive me for coming to you so unexpectedly, but Mama told me what I was to do before – she died.”

There was a little tremor in the girl’s voice and Milly saw the tears come into her eyes, very beautiful eyes that seemed to fill her small pointed face.

“Are you telling me,” Milly asked, “that you are my sister Beryl’s daughter and that she is dead?”

The girl nodded as if for a moment it was impossible for her to speak.

Then she said,

“Mama died four days ago. She was buried ‒ yesterday. I have come here to ask you to help me – as she was sure that you would.”

Milly put her hand up to her forehead.

“I can hardly believe what you are telling me,” she said, “or that Beryl could be – dead.”

“She has been ill with consumption ‒ for the last two years,” Helga replied, “and, as she grew weaker – and weaker there was nothing the doctors could do to – help her.”

Now the tears were running down the girl’s face and, as if Milly realised that it was up to her to take control of the situation, she suggested,

“Sit down, child, and tell me about it. But I cannot see how I can possibly help you and I am sure that there are many people to look after you even though your mother is not here.”

“That is – not so,” Helga replied. “Please – may I tell you – everything?”

“That is what I want you to do,” Milly replied.

There was an empty chair beside the dressing table that Helga sat down on and, as she did so, Milly realised at once how lovely she was, looking so very like her mother when she was a young girl.

Milly guessed that Helga must be about the same age as she had been when she had first met Christofer.

“How old are you?” she asked curiously.

“I am eighteen,” Helga replied.

That was what Milly had thought she would be and she remembered that Beryl, who was two years older than herself, had married Lord Wensley just six months after she had run away with Christofer.

She had read every mention of it she could find in the social columns of the newspapers, and she had wondered if Beryl, despite being shocked at the way that she had left home, had missed her amongst her bridesmaids.

Then after the Wedding she had heard no more about her sister and sometimes when she was alone she had longed to be able to gossip with her as they had done when they were girls.

She could see a great resemblance in Helga’s face to her mother’s, but she thought with a little pang that the girl was more beautiful.

Beautiful in a young and springlike manner that she herself had lost years ago, but which when she was behind the footlights, she still tried to recapture even though now it was only an illusion.

“I have come to you, Aunt Millicent,” Helga was saying, “because Mama told me to and I am also desperate!”

“Why should you be desperate?” Milly asked. “I don’t understand.”

“I-I don’t expect you would know that Papa – died five years ago?”

“I had no idea of it,” Milly answered. “There seemed to be very little about your mother in the newspapers and I had no other way of learning what she was doing.”

“There was nothing in the newspapers because there was nothing to write about,” Helga said. “We were very very poor before Papa died and we lived in a small house in the country where Papa bred horses and, although we were so very happy there he used to worry because they brought him in so little money.”

“I always imagined your mother would be well off,” Milly remarked. “What happened?”

Helga made a helpless little gesture with her hand that Milly noticed was very graceful.

“I think Papa lost a lot of money on the Stock Exchange and, although Mama had a small allowance from Grandpapa, he also was not very rich and so I think that Uncle Richard must have been extravagant.”

Milly smiled.

Although her brother was younger than she, she was quite certain that when he grew up he would be like a great number of their Stafford ancestors.

Although they might be brave in battle, they were also dashing in peacetime, gambling away their money or spending it on expensive horses and attractive women.

“Anyway,” Helga continued, “when Papa died, Mama had no idea how we could make ends meet. We sold off the horses, but we did not get very much for them and when that money had gone Mama was beginning to think that we should have to beg Uncle Richard, who was now the Head of the Family, to keep us when Sir Hector Preston came along.”

“Who is he?” Milly asked her.

“I suppose that you would describe him as a fox-hunting Squire,” Helga said with a little flash of humour.

“You did not like him?”

“He was a red-faced, bullying type of man, but he fell in love with Mama and asked her to marry him. Although she had no wish to accept him, it seemed to be the only solution to our difficulties.”

“So your mother became Lady Preston,” Milly said as if she was making it clear in her own mind.

Helga nodded.

“We moved into his big ugly house in Worcestershire where my stepfather was Master of Foxhounds and was considered to be quite an important personage in his own way.”

“Was your mother happy?” Milly enquired.

“She missed Papa desperately,” Helga replied, “and she never cared for my stepfather’s friends. They thought of nothing but horses, they drank a great deal and, when they came to the house, were very noisy and so different in every way from Papa.”

“I know what you mean,” Milly responded. “Go on. What happened?”

“Mama seemed to grow quieter and at the same time thinner and more fragile,” Helga said. “She did not see a doctor, but I thought sometimes that she was in pain and she always seemed tired. Then suddenly a year ago she said to me,

‘I am going to die, Helga, and I don’t know what will become of you ‒ when I do.”

“‘You must not die, Mama!’ I cried out. ‘How could I possibly manage without you? It would be so horrible here alone’.”

‘“I have been thinking about that,’ Mama said, ‘and I am worried, very worried, Helga.’

“She paused for a moment and I thought that she was making up her mind whether or not to tell me what was frightening her.

“Then she said,

‘I don’t like the type of men who come to this house or the way that they look at you – and they are certainly not gentlemen like your father or the sort of man I would want you to marry.’

“‘No, of course not, Mama!’ I said quickly.

“‘That is why,’ Mama went on, ‘we have to decide what you should do when I die and who you should go to.’

“I thought for a moment and then I said,

‘“I suppose, although he might not really wish to, Uncle Richard will have me.’

“Mama was silent for a moment before she said, ‘Your stepfather will be your Guardian and I have the idea he would stop you from going to your uncle, even if you wanted to do so.’

“‘Why? Why should he do that?’ I asked.

“‘Because, dearest, he is jealous of Uncle Richard and I also think he should pay more attention to us.’

“Mama paused before she said in a low voice as if she was afraid of being overheard,

“‘If you want the truth – and it is only right that you should know – Uncle Richard has said that he does not like your stepfather and has no wish to entertain us or in fact to see us again.’

“I wondered about that,’' Helga said, “and I guessed there must have been a row of some sort, although I had not been told about it.”

“It certainly sounds like it,” Milly said. “What did your mother suggest you should do?”

“She said to me, ‘that leaves me with only one relation, my darling, and it is somebody you have never met.’

“I must have looked puzzled,” Helga said, “as she added, ‘it is your Aunt Millicent, my sister, who as you have been told ran away from home and has now become a famous figure on the stage’.”

Helga smiled and it seemed to illuminate her face.

“Of course I knew about you, Aunt Millicent, and I always thought that it was a thrilling story of how you had left Grandpapa’s house in the middle of the night and, having run away, became one of the beautiful Gaiety Girls.”

“I am surprised that you have heard about me,” Milly said, “because I changed my name and I thought no one would ever know.”

“But everybody knew!” Helga answered. “My Nanny used to talk about you in a whisper and Mama used to talk about you to Papa. She used to point out pictures of you in The Ladies Journal or one of the other magazines and, although she did not show them to me, I used to find them as soon as she went out and then I read everything about you.”

“I had no idea – ” Milly murmured.

“You looked so lovely in every picture,” Helga went on enthusiastically, “and I longed to meet you and to be able to boast about you to my friends. But Mama said that I was not to tell anybody outside the house who you were.”

“And yet your mother, before she finally died, told you to come to me,” Milly said in a surprised voice.

Helga looked away from her as she replied,

“It is – difficult to – tell you what h-happened ‒ ”

“Nevertheless I want to know,” Milly interrupted her quickly.

“My stepfather had never liked me,” Helga said frankly. “I think actually he was angry that Mama did not give him the son he so wanted and ‒ he resented it when she showed any affection for me.”

Helga’s voice broke as she went on,

“He used to – beat me whenever I did anything wrong – and often I think – just because he hated me for being there in the house with them.”

Milly drew in her breath, but she did not interrupt as Helga continued,

“It was when Mama was so ill that he began to look at me in a – way that made me afraid – then one day – I found out what he was planning.”

“What was that?” Milly asked.

“It was about ten days before Mama died,” Helga said. “I was reading in the library and thinking that he was out of the house, when I heard him come along the passage talking to somebody.”

She paused for a moment to catch her breath before she went on,

“Without really thinking, I then hid in a cupboard where lots of old maps and books were kept. I suppose it was a silly thing to do, but I did it instinctively because I always avoided Steppapa whenever it was possible.

“I left the door slightly ajar so that I could breathe and I knew the man who he was with whose voice I recognised was Bernard Howell. He was one of his closest friends who was always coming either to luncheon or dinner and whom I hated because I thought that he was cruel to his horses.”

“What do you mean – cruel?” Milly asked.

“He used his whip at the slightest provocation and spurred them too hard. I even heard the servants saying when they thought that I was not listening that, because he was so cruel to his wife, she committed suicide!”

Milly gave a little gasp, but she merely said impatiently,

“Go on.”

“First of all my stepfather poured out whisky for both of them,” Helga continued, “then, as they sat down in the big leather armchairs, Mr. Howell said,

“‘How is your wife?’

“‘Worse,’ my stepfather told him. ‘It is only a question of days’.”

“There was silence and then Mr. Howell asked,

“‘And when she dies, what do you intend to do about Helga?’

“‘What do you want me to do?’

“‘You know the answer to that, but your wife would never entertain such an idea.’

“‘As far as I am concerned,’ my stepfather said, ‘you can have her and the quicker the better! She irritates me. She always has.’

“‘I know that,’ Mr. Howell said. ‘I will be glad to take her off your hands and, as she will be in mourning, it will be a good excuse for a quiet Wedding in a Registry Office.’

“‘Then arrange it,’ Steppapa said, ‘and I wish you joy of her! She is an obstinate little brat! I have never been able to prevent her from defying me.’

“Bernard Howell laughed and it was a very unpleasant sound.

“‘She will find it a painful thing to do as far as I am concerned,’ he said. ‘I know exactly how to treat unbroken fillies whether they are horses or women.’

“I heard Steppapa put down his glass,” Helga said, “and he rose to his feet saying,

‘“Well, that is arranged. That was all I wanted to see you about.’

“They walked to the door and, when I heard them leave, I knew with a terror that made me want to scream that I had to run away.”

There was a note of fear in Helga’s voice that Milly did not miss.

Then she said slowly as if she was trying to collect her thoughts,

“I can understand what you are feeling, Helga, but are you quite sure it would be as bad as that? After all, if this Mr. Howell wants to marry you, it means that you will at least have a roof over your head and someone to look after you.”

“I would rather die than marry him!” Helga said passionately. “He is horrible, cruel, evil! I can feel it vibrating from him whenever he comes near me.”

She gave a little sob and clasped her hands together as she stammered,

“Please – Aunt Millicent – help me. I will scrub the floors, do anything – anything rather than have to – marry a man like that.”

There was only a small silence before Milly said understandingly,

“Of course I will help you, but it is very difficult to know how to do so.”

As she spoke, she was thinking of how desperately poor she was herself and how many bills had accumulated since Christofer’s death.

Her rent was overdue, she owed money to a number of shops and, although the solution was staring her in the face in the shape of Sir Emanuel, she had hoped against hope that by a miracle something would turn up.

“I would not wish to be an – encumbrance,” Helga was saying humbly, “but I feel sure that there must be some way I can earn my living. After all, however poor we were, Mama saw that I was well-educated.”

“I am sure she did,” Milly said absentmindedly. “But what can you do?”

“I can play the piano – but not well enough to be professional,” Helga said. “I can sew, although it is not something I particularly enjoy. I can ride and I can tell fortunes!”

“Tell fortunes?” Milly echoed in astonishment. “How can you do that?”

Helga laughed and it was a very attractive sound.

“It all started when my Nanny used to try to tell fortunes by tea leaves,” she explained, “but what she said was usually wrong and I used to correct her and whatever I said came true! That meant that the other servants used to consult me and so did the people from the village, although Mama claimed that it was a lot of nonsense and I was not to encourage them.”

“It seems extraordinary,” Milly commented.

“I think a lot of it was really coincidence,” Helga said frankly. “Then one year when they were arranging the Church Fête the Vicar asked Mama if, to raise money for the Church, I would dress up as a gypsy and tell people’s fortunes for a shilling a time.”

“And your mother let you?”

“She said that she could hardly refuse as it was all in a good cause. If people were ready to believe such a lot of Fairytales, there was no reason why the Church should not benefit from it.”

“So what happened?”

“Everyone in the village said that everything I had told them came true. In fact one girl whom I had warned not to ride, however much she was tempted to do so, disobeyed me.”

Milly was listening intently as Helga carried on,

“She had an accident one day out riding and her leg was broken so badly that it had to be amputated. After that people said that I was a witch!”

“I am not surprised,” Milly said. “It certainly sounds very creepy.”

“It rather frightens me too,” Helga admitted, “but I just cannot help seeing things that are going to happen. Not always but when I concentrate on somebody, then, good or bad, I see the truth.”

“Well, you most certainly cannot become a fortune-teller in London,” Milly said quickly. “What we have to decide together is – ”

There was then a knock on the door that interrupted her.

“What is it?” she asked sharply.

“A gentleman to see you, miss, and he says it be ever so important!”

“I cannot see anybody, Joe!” Milly replied.

“It’s the Duke of Rocklington for you, miss, and he won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

Milly gave a gasp and looked around wildly, as if for a moment she could not believe what the dressing room looked like.

Then aloud she called out,

“Wait one minute, Joe, until I am decent.”

As she spoke, she rose to her feet and beckoned Helga towards where across a corner of the dressing room was hung a long curtain behind which she changed when there were people in the other part of the room.

Now, as she pulled the curtain aside and pushed Helga behind it, she whispered,

“Don’t make a sound.”

As Helga disappeared behind the curtain, she pulled it back and put a hard chair in front of it.

Then she sat down in the chair she had just vacated and, taking her glass from behind the photograph, she finished off what remained in it before she shouted through the door,

“Ask His Grace to come in, Joe.”

A few seconds later the door opened and the Duke of Rocklington came into the dressing room, seeming to fill it with his presence.

He was a tall broad-shouldered man and exceedingly good-looking.

There was no one in London who did not know the Duke and most certainly no one in the theatre world.

It was no secret that he had invested a large amount of money in George Edwardes’s productions and a word from His Grace could either make or break an aspiring young actress or actor.

Milly had, of course, known the Duke for years and had often attended the supper parties he gave at Romano’s after a show and occasionally in his own house.

But he had never been in her dressing room, except when there was a party in progress, and now she wondered frantically whether he was perhaps the conveyor of bad news that her services were no longer required.

She was well aware that, although she had tried not to let her personal feelings intrude, the performances she had given since Christofer had died were inferior to those she had given before.

She felt as if she carried a heavy stone in her chest and had been numbed by a shock that seemed to have paralysed not only her body but also her brain.

She had struggled on, but she knew only too well that the Duke expected perfection and he would undoubtedly be the first to realise that she was not up to her usual form.

She was, however, actress enough to smile at him beguilingly.

It was just the same smile that had sold thousands of postcards of her in every stationer’s shop all over London and that had ensured that there was still a large contingent of autograph hunters to besiege her every time she went in or out of the stage door.

“This is a great surprise, Your Grace,” she said, holding out her hand with a gesture that was almost Royal.

“Good evening, Milly.”

The Duke kissed her hand, foreign fashion, with his lips not actually touching her skin.

Then he pulled up a chair from the other side of the room and, sitting down beside her, began,

“I want your help.”

“My help?” Milly exclaimed, thinking that this was the second time her help had been asked for that evening and both times it had been exceedingly surprising.

“So how could I possibly help Your Grace?” she asked before the Duke could speak. “I should have thought that the boot was very much on the other foot and it is something I might well be asking you.”

“The help I require is something that I think it is possible only for you to give me,” the Duke said, “and that is why I have come to the theatre early when I knew that you would be alone to ask for your assistance.”

“You are certainly making me very curious!” Milly said lightly.

To her surprise the Duke looked very serious and, putting his tall hat and cane down on the dressing table, he seemed for just a moment to have difficulty in finding words to express himself with.

A dozen ideas meanwhile flashed through Milly’s mind as to what he could possibly want of her, none of which had any likelihood of being the truth and she could only wait, thinking that, when one strange and unexpected thing happened, there was usually another to follow it.

But never in her wildest dreams had she expected the Duke of Rocklington to approach her in such a way.

She knew a great deal about him. He was enormously rich and was the most sought-after bachelor in the whole of the Social world.

He had made it very clear that he had no intention of marrying and so preferred when he was not in attendance upon the Prince of Wales to be in the company of the latest and most beautiful actress that the theatre world could provide.

At least a half dozen Gaiety Girls had passed through his hands in the last two years and, although they extolled all his attractions even after being discarded and were apparently still enamoured of him when he had no further use for them.

He was certainly a phenomenon in that way and, looking at his broad forehead, his dark flashing eyes and the squareness of his chin, Milly could understand any young woman being bowled over by his good looks without counting the importance of his being a Duke and the fact that he was extremely generous.

But she knew as well that he was a force to be reckoned with.

There were endless stories of how he and George Edwardes had fallen out on numerous occasions.

The Duke had always won and it was said that George Edwardes had always conceded that in this, if in nothing else, the Duke was the ‘Guv’nor’ and not himself.

There was a curve on his lips that Milly knew could be extremely sarcastic and at times cynical and she was aware that he was capable of making a woman very unhappy if she really loved him in the same way that she had loved Christofer.

There were, of course, many stories of ladies with broken hearts, who lived not among the brilliant lights of the theatre but in the Duke’s Social world.

It was very easy to understand that, if a woman aspired to marry him but found that it was something he had no intention of offering her, she could in consequence find it agonising to lose him.

This all flashed through Milly’s mind until the Duke had settled himself back in his chair and said,

“Now, Milly, listen to my problem and please find me a solution to it.”