Read Online The Island of Love (Camfield Series No. 15) by Barbara Cartland - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Barbara Cartland
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walked out of the cabin as he spoke and Heloise asked Lydia:
“Why did you not tell me that they were dancing?”
“How would I know that?” Lydia countered. “I have been here with you, as you well know!”
“I shall come down to dinner tonight,” Heloise decided.
“I am quite certain you will no longer feel sick,” Lydia said, “and you could have got up yesterday or even the day before if you had wished to. The Doctor says that even people who are very sea-sick usually recover after two or three days.”
“It is your fault for not persuading me,” Heloise said crossly.
She went down to dinner the last two nights but Lydia stayed in her cabin.
She wanted desperately to see the Earl again.
Yet because he now meant so much more to her than he had before she had met him, she knew it would hurt her to watch him paying court to Heloise.
He was doubtless looking at her with the admiration that always filled every man’s eyes when they looked at her sister’s beautiful face.
“I cannot bear it!” Lydia told herself, then was ashamed that she could be so foolish.
When the liner docked in New York, not only were they met by the Couriers arranged by the Earl, but also Mr. Vanderbilt had sent his secretary with two carriages to convey them to his house where they were to stay.
Lydia had not realised until now that they were to be his guests and she was surprised that her father had not mentioned it to her.
However she had had few private conversations with him except when he came to see Heloise.
Now she tried to remember all she had heard about the Vanderbilts and their millions.
She found it fascinating to think that for the first time in her life she was meeting people she had only read about in the newspapers and never thought she would actually see in the flesh.
Vaguely at the back of her mind she remembered reading of the famous Commodore, the Railroad King of America who had built up a huge fortune.
He had the vision of linking the Atlantic and the Pacific by his Railroads.
Now he was dead, but his son who had inherited his great wealth was to be their host.
“Vanderbilt certainly does things in style!” Sir Robert said to the Earl as they drove in an extremely comfortable carriage drawn by four horses, away from the dock.
“Wait until you see his house!” the Earl replied.
“Is it very unusual?” Sir Robert asked.
“After his father the Commodore died in 1877,” the Earl replied, “William Henry, the President of the New York Central, realised he was the richest man in the world and decided to build himself a Royal Palace.”
Sir Robert laughed and the Earl went on:
“His designers suggested building it of marble, as the highest expression of power, but Vanderbilt was afraid of marble and believed evil eyes dwelt in its cool shine.”
Sir Robert looked surprised, but Lydia was listening intently.
“He was superstitious,” the Earl went on, “and with reason since two millionaires, one of them an Astor, died soon after their mansions of marble had been built.”
“How extraordinary!” Sir Robert exclaimed. “So what did Vanderbilt choose?”
“He ordered instead three massive brownstone .houses,” the Earl explained, “one for himself, and one for each of his two daughters.”
By the time they reached the brownstone house Lydia was filled with curiosity as to what it would be like.
She had expected something on the same lines as the grand houses in Park Lane, one of which belonged to the Earl.
Instead she found a conglomeration of priceless treasures put together like a patchwork of opulence which gave them a nightmare quality.
The house itself was overwhelming with doorways as majestic as triumphal arches and gilded ceilings curved like sections of Egyptian Mummy cases.
On the floors were rugs smothering rugs, on the walls pictures almost overlapping pictures, and every bit of space in the house covered with lamps, vases, figurines, objets d’art of every sort
“Why did you not tell me that they were dancing?”
“How would I know that?” Lydia countered. “I have been here with you, as you well know!”
“I shall come down to dinner tonight,” Heloise decided.
“I am quite certain you will no longer feel sick,” Lydia said, “and you could have got up yesterday or even the day before if you had wished to. The Doctor says that even people who are very sea-sick usually recover after two or three days.”
“It is your fault for not persuading me,” Heloise said crossly.
She went down to dinner the last two nights but Lydia stayed in her cabin.
She wanted desperately to see the Earl again.
Yet because he now meant so much more to her than he had before she had met him, she knew it would hurt her to watch him paying court to Heloise.
He was doubtless looking at her with the admiration that always filled every man’s eyes when they looked at her sister’s beautiful face.
“I cannot bear it!” Lydia told herself, then was ashamed that she could be so foolish.
When the liner docked in New York, not only were they met by the Couriers arranged by the Earl, but also Mr. Vanderbilt had sent his secretary with two carriages to convey them to his house where they were to stay.
Lydia had not realised until now that they were to be his guests and she was surprised that her father had not mentioned it to her.
However she had had few private conversations with him except when he came to see Heloise.
Now she tried to remember all she had heard about the Vanderbilts and their millions.
She found it fascinating to think that for the first time in her life she was meeting people she had only read about in the newspapers and never thought she would actually see in the flesh.
Vaguely at the back of her mind she remembered reading of the famous Commodore, the Railroad King of America who had built up a huge fortune.
He had the vision of linking the Atlantic and the Pacific by his Railroads.
Now he was dead, but his son who had inherited his great wealth was to be their host.
“Vanderbilt certainly does things in style!” Sir Robert said to the Earl as they drove in an extremely comfortable carriage drawn by four horses, away from the dock.
“Wait until you see his house!” the Earl replied.
“Is it very unusual?” Sir Robert asked.
“After his father the Commodore died in 1877,” the Earl replied, “William Henry, the President of the New York Central, realised he was the richest man in the world and decided to build himself a Royal Palace.”
Sir Robert laughed and the Earl went on:
“His designers suggested building it of marble, as the highest expression of power, but Vanderbilt was afraid of marble and believed evil eyes dwelt in its cool shine.”
Sir Robert looked surprised, but Lydia was listening intently.
“He was superstitious,” the Earl went on, “and with reason since two millionaires, one of them an Astor, died soon after their mansions of marble had been built.”
“How extraordinary!” Sir Robert exclaimed. “So what did Vanderbilt choose?”
“He ordered instead three massive brownstone .houses,” the Earl explained, “one for himself, and one for each of his two daughters.”
By the time they reached the brownstone house Lydia was filled with curiosity as to what it would be like.
She had expected something on the same lines as the grand houses in Park Lane, one of which belonged to the Earl.
Instead she found a conglomeration of priceless treasures put together like a patchwork of opulence which gave them a nightmare quality.
The house itself was overwhelming with doorways as majestic as triumphal arches and gilded ceilings curved like sections of Egyptian Mummy cases.
On the floors were rugs smothering rugs, on the walls pictures almost overlapping pictures, and every bit of space in the house covered with lamps, vases, figurines, objets d’art of every sort
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