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Authors: Barbara Cartland
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instructions, although he could not catch what she was saying.
Then he noticed Celina stiffen and she put down the cake she was eating.
He could not be certain, but he had the oddest idea that her fingers were trembling.
‘I must be imagining things,’ he told himself.
Then the door opened.
The excited barking of a small dog grew louder as a woman entered the room.
“Oh, there you are, my dear,” called the Earl. “I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you.”
The woman came further forward.
It was then that the Marquis himself stiffened.
She was someone he had never expected to ever see again and yet here she was walking directly towards him.
It was eight years since he had last set eyes on her.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Marquis had been nineteen when he was asked by a friend he had recently met at Oxford if he would come and stay in the country for a cricket match.
He was spoken of as being an outstanding cricketer and had already been awarded his Blue.
Of course, in those far-off days he had yet not come into his father’s title and was known as Viscount Kex.
He accepted the invitation because he loved cricket and enjoyed the attention he received from his admirers.
The friend who had invited him was the son of Sir Gerald Benson who owned a large estate in Hampshire.
The house was enormous and it was big enough to accommodate the whole cricket team as well as quite a few of their friends and relations.
The Marquis found he had a nice bedroom on the first floor with most of the other guests higher up and he guessed that this was due to the fact that he boasted a title.
Sir Gerald Benson was almost seventy years of age. He had been a widower for several years and was married a second time to a woman much younger than himself.
The house party danced the first night after dinner. There was rather a shortage of girls and Sir Gerald promised that he would remedy this the following evening.
“We are having a really large party after the cricket match,” he said, “for the simple reason I am quite sure that you will win it.”
“We will be incredibly annoyed, Sir Gerald, if we don’t,” the Captain of the home team had replied.
He looked at the Marquis as he spoke and added,
“It will be up to you, Oliver.”
“Now you are scaring me,” the Marquis responded. “But I will do my best.”
Owing to the shortage of female partners, he spent some time after dinner politely talking to his host.
“It is a great pleasure for me,” said Sir Gerald, “to host a cricket match here. Although I know my son has not been chosen for your Oxford eleven, I am hoping you will help him, as it is a game I would like to think he can excel in.”
“I will do what I can, sir,” the Marquis had replied. “I think what Peter really needs more than anything else is practice.”
Then they talked about horses and Sir Gerald asked if he would like to ride early in the morning before the match.
“You must not tire yourself,” he counselled, “but I have some horses that I hope will please you. I know that your father owns a magnificent stable.”
The Marquis had accepted the offer with delight.
Next morning he and Peter rose an hour earlier than the rest of the team and they rode in the paddock and over the flat fields beyond it.
The stallion the Marquis had been mounted on was an outstanding one with Arab blood and he thought it was a horse he would always remember.
He enjoyed his ride so much that he was hoping his invitation to stay would be extended.
But when he reflected about it, it seemed rather an odd household.
Sir Gerald’s son, Peter, was a great deal younger than his father, who then had married for the second time a woman who seemed too young for such an elderly man.
She was, he considered, rather good-looking and he imagined her to be getting on for thirty.
Peter Benson did not seem particularly interested in his stepmother, although he resented it when she spoke to him
Then he noticed Celina stiffen and she put down the cake she was eating.
He could not be certain, but he had the oddest idea that her fingers were trembling.
‘I must be imagining things,’ he told himself.
Then the door opened.
The excited barking of a small dog grew louder as a woman entered the room.
“Oh, there you are, my dear,” called the Earl. “I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you.”
The woman came further forward.
It was then that the Marquis himself stiffened.
She was someone he had never expected to ever see again and yet here she was walking directly towards him.
It was eight years since he had last set eyes on her.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Marquis had been nineteen when he was asked by a friend he had recently met at Oxford if he would come and stay in the country for a cricket match.
He was spoken of as being an outstanding cricketer and had already been awarded his Blue.
Of course, in those far-off days he had yet not come into his father’s title and was known as Viscount Kex.
He accepted the invitation because he loved cricket and enjoyed the attention he received from his admirers.
The friend who had invited him was the son of Sir Gerald Benson who owned a large estate in Hampshire.
The house was enormous and it was big enough to accommodate the whole cricket team as well as quite a few of their friends and relations.
The Marquis found he had a nice bedroom on the first floor with most of the other guests higher up and he guessed that this was due to the fact that he boasted a title.
Sir Gerald Benson was almost seventy years of age. He had been a widower for several years and was married a second time to a woman much younger than himself.
The house party danced the first night after dinner. There was rather a shortage of girls and Sir Gerald promised that he would remedy this the following evening.
“We are having a really large party after the cricket match,” he said, “for the simple reason I am quite sure that you will win it.”
“We will be incredibly annoyed, Sir Gerald, if we don’t,” the Captain of the home team had replied.
He looked at the Marquis as he spoke and added,
“It will be up to you, Oliver.”
“Now you are scaring me,” the Marquis responded. “But I will do my best.”
Owing to the shortage of female partners, he spent some time after dinner politely talking to his host.
“It is a great pleasure for me,” said Sir Gerald, “to host a cricket match here. Although I know my son has not been chosen for your Oxford eleven, I am hoping you will help him, as it is a game I would like to think he can excel in.”
“I will do what I can, sir,” the Marquis had replied. “I think what Peter really needs more than anything else is practice.”
Then they talked about horses and Sir Gerald asked if he would like to ride early in the morning before the match.
“You must not tire yourself,” he counselled, “but I have some horses that I hope will please you. I know that your father owns a magnificent stable.”
The Marquis had accepted the offer with delight.
Next morning he and Peter rose an hour earlier than the rest of the team and they rode in the paddock and over the flat fields beyond it.
The stallion the Marquis had been mounted on was an outstanding one with Arab blood and he thought it was a horse he would always remember.
He enjoyed his ride so much that he was hoping his invitation to stay would be extended.
But when he reflected about it, it seemed rather an odd household.
Sir Gerald’s son, Peter, was a great deal younger than his father, who then had married for the second time a woman who seemed too young for such an elderly man.
She was, he considered, rather good-looking and he imagined her to be getting on for thirty.
Peter Benson did not seem particularly interested in his stepmother, although he resented it when she spoke to him
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