Who Can Deny Love by Barbara Cartland

Author:Barbara Cartland
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781782132431
Publisher: Barbara Cartland EBooks ltd
Published: 2013-02-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Five

The Marquis drove towards Islington with a smile on his lips.

He had the same triumphant feeling as when he had won a race or beaten his opponent at boxing.

He had, in fact, achieved what his secretary had told him was impossible and he was quite justifiably pleased with himself.

When yesterday afternoon he had gone back to Fane House to send for Mr. Ashworth, his secretary, whose duties were similar to those of a Royal Comptroller, he had felt that planning a home for Cyrilla was the most exciting thing he had ever done in his whole life.

It would be impossible, he realised, to provide her immediately with everything he wanted for her.

But already, as he drove away from Islington, he had been thinking of the paintings with which he would embellish her house, the carpets that would cover the floors and the furniture that would give her the type of background that was worthy of her beauty.

He had already decided that she should be surrounded by paintings that would make her loveliness even more pronounced than Lochner had managed to do and he decided that a Boucher and a Botticelli which hung at Fane Park should be moved to her house when he found it for her.

When he said to his secretary,

“I want you to buy, today, a house near here which is architecturally outstanding and also has a garden”, Mr. Ashworth had stared at him in astonishment.

“Today, my Lord?”

“Today!” the Marquis said firmly.

“But it’s not possible.”

“Nothing is impossible!” the Marquis replied. “Not where I am concerned.”

He smiled as he spoke and Mr. Ashworth thought that something had obviously pleased his Master, for he had never seen him look so happy or indeed so sure of himself.

He wondered what could have happened.

There had been no race meeting in which the Marquis’s horses would have come in first as usual and that was the only sporting event he was actively engaged in.

And yet he undoubtedly had the appearance of a winner.

Mr. Ashworth was, however, far too tactful to make personal remarks. Instead he said,

“I will do my best, my Lord, to find the house you require, but I cannot be over-optimistic, for the Season has just started and houses that were unoccupied have now been let for at least the next two months.”

“Look, Ashworth! Look!” the Marquis ordered.

“I have two letters here for you to sign, my Lord,” Mr. Ashworth said, as if he was relieved to change the subject, “and also I think you should know that your cousin, the Dowager Lady Bletchley, died last night.”

“Send a wreath,” the Marquis said automatically as he was signing the letters which his secretary had handed to him.

“Of course, my Lord. The funeral is to take place in the country, as her Ladyship died at her son’s house.”

The Marquis raised his head.

“Am I mistaken in thinking that her Ladyship had a house in London near here?”

“Indeed she had, my Lord. In South Street, to be precise. Number 19, you will recall, looks different from the other houses.

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