Call of the Heart

CALL OF THE HEART

It was a message Lalitha would rather have died than deliver.

Her beautiful stepsister had suddenly decided not to go through with her elopement with the wealthy, handsome Lord Rothwyn. Lalitha had been sent to the church to inform the waiting nobleman that his future bride would not be arriving.

As she stood before the enraged and jilted bridegroom, Lalitha steeled herself for a further outburst of Rothwyn's fury. She had been quite prepared for the vehemence of his initial reaction: his Lordship's vile temper was the talk of London society. But what would he do to her now? His next reaction took her totally by surprise.

BARBARA CARTLAND

The traffic in women and children from England to the Continent grew. It was not until the passing of the Criminal Law Amendment Bill that young virgins ceased to be smuggled across to the Continent to be sold like cattle.

William Thomas Stead, editor of the Pall Mall Gazette, started in 1880 to try to free the child slaves of England by arousing public indignation to the point when the Criminal Amendment Bill, which had time and time again been dropped by Parliament, should be made law.

Accordingly Stead bought a girl of thirteen, whose mother agreed to sell her for one pound. He had the girl certified as a virgin by a Doctor, and taking her to France lodged her in a Salvation Army Hostel.

He reported what he had done in his newspaper and aroused instantaneous interest.

What followed is history. Stead was prosecuted and sentenced to three months’ imprisonment. But on April 14, 1885, the Act was passed by 179 votes to 71, to make further provision for the protection of women and children and future suppression of brothels.

The traffic of women still flourishes in many parts of the world, especially the Middle East.

CALL OF THE HEART

A Bantam Book / September 1973

All rights reserved.

Copyright © 1975 by Barbara Cartland,

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“But, Sophie, you cannot do this!”

“I can do what I like!” Sophie replied.

It was hard to imagine that anyone could be more beautiful! With her golden curls, pink and white skin, and perfect features, Sophie Studley had sprung to fame the moment the Bucks and Dandies of St. James’s had set eyes on her.

After one month in London she was proclaimed an “Incomparable” and after two months she was engaged to be married to Julius Verton, who on his uncle’s death would become the Duke of Yelverton.

The engagement had been announced in The Gazette and wedding-presents had already begun to arrive at the house in Mayfair which Lady Studley had taken for the London Season. But now, two weeks before her marriage, Sophie had declared that she intended running away with Lord Rothwyn.

“It will cause a tremendous scandal!” Lalitha protested. “Why must you do such a thing?”

The difference between the two girls, who were nearly the same age, was startling.

While Sophie was every man’s ideal of beauty and looked like an English rose, Lalitha was pathetic.

An illness during the Winter had left her looking, as the servants described it, “all skin and bone.”

Because of long hours spent sewing for her Stepmother with an inadequate supply of candles, her eyes were inflamed and swollen.

Her hair was so lank and lifeless that it appeared almost grey. It was swept back in an unbecoming fashion from her forehead, which seemed to be perpetually lined with an expression of anxiety.

The two girls were almost the same height, but while Sophie was the embodiment of health and the joy of living, Lalitha seemed only an insubstantial shadow and on the point of collapse.

“I should have thought,” Sophie said in a hard voice in answer to Lalitha’s protest, “that even to anyone as half-witted as you the reason is obvious.”

Lalitha did not speak and she went on:

“Julius will, it is true, become a Duke—I would not have

contemplated marrying him otherwise—but the question is, when?”

She made an expressive gesture with both hands.

“The Duke of Yelverton is not more than sixty,” she went on. “He may last for another ten or fifteen years. By that time I shall be too old to enjoy my position as a Duchess.”

“You will still be beautiful,” Lalitha said.

Sophie turned to look at herself in the mirror.

There was a smile on her face as she contemplated her reflection.

There was no doubt that her expensive gown of pale blue crepe with its fashionable boat-shaped neckline and deep bertha of real lace was extremely becoming.

What was more, tight lacing had returned to fashion. The new corsets from Paris made her waist seem tiny and this was accentuated by her full skirts elaborately ornamented with bunches of flowers and ruchings of tulle.

“Yes,” she said slowly, “I shall still be beautiful, but I would wish above all things to be a Duchess at once so that I could go to the Opening of Parliament wearing a coronet and play my part in the Coronation.”

She paused to add:

“That tiresome, mad old King must die soon!” “Perhaps the Duke will not keep you waiting too long,” Lalitha suggested in her soft, musical voice.

“I do not intend to wait for either a long or a short time ” Sophie retorted. “I am running away with Lord Rothwyn tonight! It is all arranged.”

“Do you really think that is wise?” Lalitha asked. “He is very wealthy,” Sophie replied, “one of the richest men in England, and he has a friendship with the Regent, which is something to which poor Julius could never aspire.”

“He is older than Mr. Verton,” Lalitha said, “and of course I have never seen him but I imagine he is somewhat aweinspiring.”

“You are right there,” Sophie agreed. “He is dark, rather sinister, and very cynical. It makes him immensely attractive!” “Does he love you?” Lalitha asked in a low voice. “He adores me!” Sophie declared. “They both do, but quite frankly, Lalitha, I think, weighing the two men side by side, Lord Rothwyn is a better bet.”

There was a moment’s silence and then Lalitha said: “I think what you should really consider, Sophie, is with whom you would be the happier. That is what is really . . . important in marriage.”

“You have been reading again, and Mama will be furious if she catches you at it!” Sophie retorted. “Love is for books and for dairy-maids, not for Ladies of Quality!”

“Can you really contemplate marriage without it?” Lalitha asked.

“I can contemplate marriage with whoever gives me the best advantages as a woman,” Sophie retorted, “and I am convinced Lord Rothwyn can do that. He is rich! So very, very rich!”

She turned from the mirror to walk across the room to where the doors of the wardrobe stood open.

It was filled with a delectable array of gowns for which none of the bills, Lalitha knew, had been met.

But they had been essential weapons which Sophie must use to attract the attention of the Beau Monde; an attention which had brought her to date three proposals of marriage.

One was from Julius Verton, the future Duke of Yelverton, the second unexpectedly and in the last week from Lord Rothwyn.

The third, which Sophie had discounted immediately, was from Sir Thomas Whemside, an elderly, dissolute, hard-gambling Knight who, against all expectations of his friends who considered him a confirmed bachelor, had been bowled over at the first sight of Sophie’s beauty.

There had of course been other Beaux, but either they had not come up to scratch or else they were far too impecunious for Sophie to consider them of the least consequence.

When Julius Verton had proposed marriage it had seemed for the moment as if all her dreams had come true.

It had exceeded Sophie’s wildest ambitions that she should become a Duchess, and yet while she had accepted Julius almost rapturously, there were various disadvantages to be considered.

The worst was that Julius Verton had little money.

He was given an allowance by his Uncle as heir-presumptive to the Dukedom.

It was not a vast sum and it would mean that he and Sophie could live no more than quietly and in comparative comfort until he inherited the Yelverton Estates, which were some distance from London.

But it would be impossible to keep up with the fast and wildly extravagant London Society which Sophie enjoyed and envied.

There was however no question of her refusing such an advantageous Social alliance.

Lady Studley had hurried the announcement to The Gazette and the wedding was planned to take place at St. George’s, Hanover Square, before the Regent departed for Brighton.

Sophie’s days were filled with fittings at the dressmakers, with acknowledging the presents which arrived daily at the house on Hill Street, and with receiving with complacency the congratulations and good wishes of their acquaintances.

Sophie and her mother had not been long enough in London to have acquired any friends.

Their home, as they explained to all who wished to listen, was in Norfolk, where the late Sir John Studley’s ancestors had lived since Cromwellian times.

Studley might be a respected name in the country, but it was unknown to the Beau Monde. Sophie’s personal success was therefore all the more gratifying, because she had nothing to recommend her apart from her lovely face.

Everything had appeared to run smoothly until quite unexpectedly Lord Rothwyn had appeared on the scene.

Sophie had encountered him at one of the many Balls to which she and Julius Verton were invited night after night.

He had been away from London and had therefore not been already astonished or bemused by the first impact of Sophie’s beauty.

Standing under a glittering chandelier, the candlelight picking out the golden lights in her hair and revealing the milky whiteness of her skin, Sophie was able to make the strongest of men’s heads swim as she smiled beguilingly at those around her.

“Who the devil is that?” she heard a voice ejaculate, and she had looked across the room to see a man, dark and sardonic, staring in her direction.

She had not been surprised, for she was used to men staggering when they saw her and being at first tongue-tied and then over-voluble with their compliments.

Adroitly she managed to turn and speak to a man on her left, thereby revealing her perfect profile.

“Who is the gentleman who has just come into the room?” she asked in a low voice.

The Buck to whom she spoke replied:

“That is Lord Rothwyn. Have you not met him?”

“I have never seen him before,” Sophie answered. “He is a strange, unpredictable fellow with a devil of a temper but rich

as Croesus, and the Regent consults him on all his crazy building schemes.”

“Well, if he approved the Pavilion at Brighton he must be mad!” Sophie exclaimed. “I heard somebody yesterday describe it as a Hindu nightmare!”

“That is certainly a good description!” the Buck replied. “But I see Rothwyn is determined to make your acquaintance.” It was obvious that Lord Rothwyn had asked to be introduced to Sophie and now a mutual acquaintance brought him across the room.

“Miss Studley,” he said, “may I present Lord Rothwyn? I feel that two such distinguished ornaments of Society should get to know each other.”

Sophie’s eyes were very blue and her smile very beguiling. Lord Rothwyn bowed with an elegance she had somehow not expected of him, and she curtsied gracefully, conscious that her eyes were held by his.

“I have been away from London, Miss Studley,” Lord Rothwyn said in a deep voice, “and returned to find it has been struck by a meteor so imbued with divine power that everything appears to be changed overnight!”

It was the beginning of a whirlwind courtship so ardent, so impetuous, and in a way so violent, that Sophie was intrigued.

Flowers, letters, and presents arrived it seemed almost every hour of the day.

Lord Rothwyn called to take Sophie driving in his phaeton, to invite her and her mother to his box at the Opera, to arrange a party at Rothwyn House.

This, Lalitha was told afterwards, exceeded in grandeur, luxury, and amusement any other party to which Sophie had been invited.

“His Royal Highness was there!” Sophie said in an elated tone, “and while he congratulated me on my engagement to Julius, I could see he realised that Lord Rothwyn was also at my feet!”

“I imagine it would be difficult for anyone not to realise it!” Lalitha answered.

“He adores me!” Sophie said complacently. “If he had asked for my hand before Julius, I would have accepted him!”

And now suddenly, at what seemed to Lalitha the eleventh hour, Sophie had decided to run away with Lord Rothwyn.