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Authors: Barbara Cartland
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struggle or free herself.
She had been completely submissive and captive in his arms.
That it was a wonder beyond wonders did not prevent her knowing that her mother would have been extremely shocked by her behaviour.
What was more, she herself could give no reasonable excuse for the manner in which she had behaved.
She could not bear to imagine what Abby would have thought had she accompanied her. However, if Abby had been there, Sir Jocelyn would not have forced his way into her room and she would not have needed to be rescued.
Before she arrived at Fernleigh Hall, Torilla decided that she would never tell Abby, Beryl, or anyone else what had occurred.
It was a secret of which she was not ashamed because it had been almost a miracle of joy and she would not defame the memory of it by pretending that she was sorry.
No one would understand the inner consequence of what on the surface was only a reprehensible escapade.
The horses turned in through the small lodges standing on either side of the huge wrought iron gates surmounted by the Fernleigh Crest.
Then Torilla was driving between oak trees, among which she and Beryl had played ‘hide and seek’ when they were children, and she saw ahead of her the tall, red-brick mansion which had been built in the days of Queen Anne.
It was an attractive house and most people exclaimed at the splendour of its architecture, but to Torilla it was simply home.
She could hardly wait for the carriage door to be opened and the step to be let down before she sprang out.
Even as she did, Beryl was there waiting for her at the top of the steps.
She put her arms round Torilla and the two cousins kissed each other affectionately while Beryl cried,
“Dearest, dearest Torilla! I have missed you! How glad I am to see you!”
“And I am so happy to be here,” Torilla answered with tears in her eyes.
“The stagecoach actually arrived on its proper day!” Beryl said. “I can hardly believe it, any more than I can believe that you are back. I have so much to tell you!”
She drew Torilla by the hand into the big salon, which overlooked the rose garden at the back of the house.
Only as Torilla put up her hand to undo the ribbons of her bonnet and pull it off did she exclaim,
“Beryl! How lovely you have grown! You are much, much more beautiful than I remember!”
“I wanted you to think so,” Beryl answered, her eyes twinkling.
What Torilla had said was true.
Her cousin was indeed justly acclaimed as the most beautiful girl in England and her admirers had not been exaggerating when they compared her to an English rose.
She had golden hair, not the colour of Torilla’s, but a vivid gleaming sovereign gold. Her eyes were the colour of a thrush’s egg and her complexion the pink-and-white of every woman’s dreams.
She and Torilla were the same height and had as children been the same size, but now because Torilla had lived in the North on a starvation diet she was thinner than Beryl.
There were little hollows under her cheekbones, while Beryl’s face was a smooth and well-filled oval.
With the crimson of her lips, which in fact owed not a little to artifice, the sparkle in her eyes and the vivacity of the manner in which she talked which set her curls dancing, it was as difficult for Torilla as for everyone else not to watch her in almost breathless admiration.
“You are so beautiful!” Torilla said again in awe-struck tones.
“And think how impressive I shall look when I am bedecked in all the gowns of my new trousseau,” Beryl smiled.
She moved forward to kiss Torilla again on the cheek as she said,
“You will have to help me with it, dearest, or I shall never be ready on time. Oh, and that reminds me, there are two more names I must write down on the wedding-list.”
With a quick movement like a little humming-bird, she sped across the salon to the secretaire to pick up a white quill pen and start writing.
As she did so, she said over her shoulder,
“I
She had been completely submissive and captive in his arms.
That it was a wonder beyond wonders did not prevent her knowing that her mother would have been extremely shocked by her behaviour.
What was more, she herself could give no reasonable excuse for the manner in which she had behaved.
She could not bear to imagine what Abby would have thought had she accompanied her. However, if Abby had been there, Sir Jocelyn would not have forced his way into her room and she would not have needed to be rescued.
Before she arrived at Fernleigh Hall, Torilla decided that she would never tell Abby, Beryl, or anyone else what had occurred.
It was a secret of which she was not ashamed because it had been almost a miracle of joy and she would not defame the memory of it by pretending that she was sorry.
No one would understand the inner consequence of what on the surface was only a reprehensible escapade.
The horses turned in through the small lodges standing on either side of the huge wrought iron gates surmounted by the Fernleigh Crest.
Then Torilla was driving between oak trees, among which she and Beryl had played ‘hide and seek’ when they were children, and she saw ahead of her the tall, red-brick mansion which had been built in the days of Queen Anne.
It was an attractive house and most people exclaimed at the splendour of its architecture, but to Torilla it was simply home.
She could hardly wait for the carriage door to be opened and the step to be let down before she sprang out.
Even as she did, Beryl was there waiting for her at the top of the steps.
She put her arms round Torilla and the two cousins kissed each other affectionately while Beryl cried,
“Dearest, dearest Torilla! I have missed you! How glad I am to see you!”
“And I am so happy to be here,” Torilla answered with tears in her eyes.
“The stagecoach actually arrived on its proper day!” Beryl said. “I can hardly believe it, any more than I can believe that you are back. I have so much to tell you!”
She drew Torilla by the hand into the big salon, which overlooked the rose garden at the back of the house.
Only as Torilla put up her hand to undo the ribbons of her bonnet and pull it off did she exclaim,
“Beryl! How lovely you have grown! You are much, much more beautiful than I remember!”
“I wanted you to think so,” Beryl answered, her eyes twinkling.
What Torilla had said was true.
Her cousin was indeed justly acclaimed as the most beautiful girl in England and her admirers had not been exaggerating when they compared her to an English rose.
She had golden hair, not the colour of Torilla’s, but a vivid gleaming sovereign gold. Her eyes were the colour of a thrush’s egg and her complexion the pink-and-white of every woman’s dreams.
She and Torilla were the same height and had as children been the same size, but now because Torilla had lived in the North on a starvation diet she was thinner than Beryl.
There were little hollows under her cheekbones, while Beryl’s face was a smooth and well-filled oval.
With the crimson of her lips, which in fact owed not a little to artifice, the sparkle in her eyes and the vivacity of the manner in which she talked which set her curls dancing, it was as difficult for Torilla as for everyone else not to watch her in almost breathless admiration.
“You are so beautiful!” Torilla said again in awe-struck tones.
“And think how impressive I shall look when I am bedecked in all the gowns of my new trousseau,” Beryl smiled.
She moved forward to kiss Torilla again on the cheek as she said,
“You will have to help me with it, dearest, or I shall never be ready on time. Oh, and that reminds me, there are two more names I must write down on the wedding-list.”
With a quick movement like a little humming-bird, she sped across the salon to the secretaire to pick up a white quill pen and start writing.
As she did so, she said over her shoulder,
“I
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