A Touch Of Love. Barbara Cartland

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      But her imagination had been excited by the tales of the cruel unpleasant Duke of Granchester who had ostracised his brother as his father had done before him.

      Tamara had adored her brother-in-law and every time she dipped her pen in the ink to write something scathing and vitriolic about the villain in her novel, she felt that she was somehow paying back the Duke for his unkindness.

      She had deliberately not shown Lord Ronald her manuscript before it went to the publishers.

      He was such a good-humoured gentle person that she felt he might have protested against the picture she had drawn of his brother, even though there was no reason for him to defend any member of his family.

      They had certainly treated him as if he was a pariah, an outcast and yet, although he often laughed about their various eccentricities, he had never been unkind.

      “I cannot understand,” Tamara’s sister, Maïka, had once said to her, “how they could bear to lose Ronald. He is so charming, so kind and so sympathetic you would think that he must have left a great void in his family that no one else could fill.”

      “They are stiff-necked, autocratic and altogether contemptible!” Tamara had answered, but Maïka had merely laughed at her.

      “I don’t mind being outside The Castle gates,” she answered. “It’s just that sometimes I hate to think that Ronald cannot afford the horses he ought to ride or the clothes he ought to wear or to be able to attend the races at Newmarket and Ascot.”

      “I have never seen anybody so happy as Ronald,” Tamara answered. “It does not matter what clothes he wears down here and I believe he is just as amused by racing the children on the sands as he would be watching a jockey come in first carrying his colours at Newmarket.”

      Her sister had kissed her.

      “You are such a comfort to me, Tamara,” she said. “Sometimes I feel it is wrong that I should have deprived Ronald of so much, but as far as I am concerned in him I had the whole world and Heaven in my arms.”

      Tamara had only to see her brother-in-law and sister together to know that Mr. Lawson was right when he said that it would be impossible for two people to be happier than they were.

      There seemed to be a light in their eyes when they looked at each other that held a radiance that was not of this world.

      If Ronald had been away from her for a few hours, Maïka would be waiting for him when he returned, to throw herself into his arms and pull his head down to hers.

      They would kiss each other closely and passionately as if they had only just fallen in love and the wonder of it was irresistible.

      But now they were both gone and Tamara knew, as if it was a sacred trust, that the children were in her care and there was no one else to love them or to look after them except herself.

      ‘Mr. Lawson is right,’ she thought. ‘The Duke must think of me as the children’s Governess and, as he will surely not wish to be bothered with finding anyone else, he will be content to keep me on in such a position.’

      Mr. Lawson came back into the room.

      “Here is the letter to your publishers,” he said. “It is quite brief and to the point and I have asked if they will send the manuscript to this office. It will be safer here. If you left it lying about at Granchester Castle it might be uncomfortable for you.”

      Tamara turned and slowly walked to the desk and, as he saw the expression on her face, Mr. Lawson said,

      “I am sorry. I know this represents a lot of wasted work for you, but it is really the only thing you can do.”

      As Tamara picked up a pen, he went on,

      “You must write another book and perhaps you will find something pleasant to write about at Granchester Castle. Even its owner!”

      “If wishes were horses, beggars might ride!” Tamara answered and laughed.

      She signed the letter and put the big quill pen back in the pen-holder.

      “I shall try to forget it,” she said, “but I suppose every author feels when publishing a book that they have produced a baby. I cannot help mourning my poor little stillborn child.”

      Mr. Lawson laughed, but he said,

      “That, Miss Selincourt, is the sort of remark you should certainly not make at Granchester Castle. It would undoubtedly shock the elderly Grant relations.”

      “I shall guard both my tongue and my pen,” Tamara promised, “and my next manuscript will come here to you. You shall cut out every libellous word in it before it goes to the publishers.”

      “I shall keep you to that promise,” Mr. Lawson smiled. “I have no wish, Miss Selincourt, to have to defend you in Court.”

      “And I have no wish to see the inside of a debtors’ prison,” Tamara replied.

      “I will send this letter and the one to the Duke today,” Mr. Lawson said, “and I will come over to The Manor the day after tomorrow to see if I can help you with your packing. By then I shall have made arrangements for your journey.”

      “You are very kind.”

      She put out both her hands towards him.

      “I know that Ronald and my sister would want me to thank you for the friendship you have shown me and the children.”

      Mr. Lawson held both Tamara’s hands very tightly.

      Then he said,

      “You are being very brave, my dear. I only wish I could have had better news for you, but perhaps, who knows, it will all turn out for the best.”

      “If it is the best for the children, then I shall be content,” Tamara said. “As far as I am concerned, if I am honest, I am apprehensive of what awaits us at Granchester Castle.”

      Riding back on the old horse that had served the family well for many seasons, Tamara felt the wind from the sea blowing on her face and thought that she would always be homesick for the beauty of Cornwall.

      She had come to live with her sister after their father died and found the wild beauty of the furthermost point of England so lovely and so unlike anything she had ever seen before that she had not missed the crowded busy life she had left in Oxford.

      She was just fifteen when her father, Conrad Selincourt, died of a heart attack.

      She had looked after him during the last years when he had been alone without her mother and she was therefore older in her ways and in her outlook than most girls of her age.

      She was also a great deal better educated.

      Living at Oxford, the daughter of a Don, she had been acquainted with and listened to a great number of men as intelligent and cultured as her father.

      Besides which she had studied and had access to fine libraries ever since she was old enough to learn.

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