Part 14 (1/2)

When she was once mounted on her horse it was easy for Astara to think without drawing attention to herself.

She thought she had never known a day to pa.s.s so slowly, and by tea-time she was longing almost uncontrollably to slip away through the wood to Little Milden and see if Vulcan had returned from London.

It was six o'clock when one of the footmen came to her side when she was seated in the Salon to say that Mr Barnes would like a word with her.

She rose quickly to her feet and went out into the Hall to find him waiting.

”I thought you would like to know, Miss Beverley, ” Mr Barnes said, ”that Mr Vulcan has agreed to dine with Sir Roderick to-night and will be here just before seven-thirty”

”Thank you, Mr Barnes, it was very kind of you to speak to him and also to let me know.

”He seemed surprised to hear that Sir Roderick was in residence. I often think Little Milden, although it is in fact so near, is cut off from us by the wood, as if we were in another county. ”

”I thought that must be the explanation why Mr Vulcan had not called on his uncle, ” Astara said, ” and I know Sir Roderick will be very pleased to see him.”

”I am sure he will, Miss Beverley,” Mr Barnes agreed. Astara thanked him again, and ran up the staircase to her bed-room.

She knew that her heart was beating excitedly and she; felt an irrepressible excitement not only at the thought of seeing Vulcan again but of meeting him as herself.

At the same time she knew as she bathed and chose her most attractive gown that she was nervous and a little afraid.

Supposing he was angry when he found she had deceived him? Supposing the deception killed the feeling that existed between them, the magic that was more compelling than anything she had ever imagined was possible?

”I love him!” she said again in her heart as she looked at her mother's portrait.

She knew now why her mother had refused the brilliant and wealthy Roderick Worfield for the obscure and poor Charles Beverley.

Astara found it strange to remember that if her mother had accepted her more important suitor, this house and Estate would have been hers by right of inheritance.

There would be no need for his three nephews to be considered as he was considering them now.

Then, Astara told herself, her choice could have been a very much wider one, but she was sure that Sir Roderick would keep his promise and not force her to marry any man whom she did not love.

At the same time he would undoubtedly be disappointed that it should not be William.

He had made his preference for the Viscount very obvious and he never missed an opportunity of pointing out to her how outstanding he was and how well he would fill the position as owner of Worfield House.

But Astara knew that neither William nor Lionel, much as she liked them, would ever evoke in her the rapture that she had-known when Vulcan kissed her.

Even before he had done so, she had been vividly aware of his personality and of the strange aura which seemed to emanate from him.

It drew her in a way in which she had never been drawn to a man before.

”Have you ever been in love, Emma?” she asked the maid who was fastening her gown.

Emma was an apple-cheeked country-girl who had lived on the Worfield Estate all her life and had been taught her duties by the Head Housemaid who had been at Worfield House for nearly thirty years.

”Yes, Miss,” Emma answered, and blushed as she spoke. ”Are you in love at the moment ?” Astara enquired. ”Yes, Miss.”

”And it makes you happy?”

”Oh, yes, Miss. Its ever so nice!” Emma answered. Astara smiled.

Emma might find love 'ever so nice', but she felt it was not only an ecstasy but a pain.

As she went downstairs she knew that there was a conflict within her that made her feel as if her whole body was a battlefield.

She entered the Salon to find Sir Roderick and William already there.

They were standing talking intently at the far end of the room and she had a feeling that what they were saying concerned her.

As she moved towards them there was that expression on their faces which people always a.s.sume when they are trying to look at their ease, while feeling a little uncomfortable because the subject of their conversation has interrupted them.

Sir Roderick was looking as usual extremely smart in his evening clothes. He always looked particularly distinguished when dressed for dinner as Astara had told him many times when they were in Europe.

However elegant, however important the other man in the party might be, Sir Roderick always appeared to out-s.h.i.+ne them.

There was no doubt too that William was looking his best.

He wore one large black pearl stud in the front of his evening s.h.i.+rt, the points of his collar above his cravat reached to his chin and his black pantaloons strapped under the sole of his foot in the manner invented by the Prince Regent were. a triumph of the tailor s art.

Astara knew by the expression in William's eyes that she too was looking attractive.

Her gown of white with small diamante embroidered on it made her look more ethereal than usual.

She had taken a great deal of trouble with her hair and its burnished sheen seemed almost as brilliant as the exquisite little diamond brooches that her maid had set amongst the curls.

There were diamonds round her neck and round her wrists.

She had known as she chose them that she was deliberately showing Vulcan that she was not the village maiden he had first supposed her to be but definitely a G.o.ddess in her own sphere.

The door opened and Astara looked round quickly, but it was Lionel who came into the room.

”You are looking very smart this evening, Astara !” he said as he joined the gentlemen standing by the mantelpiece. ”Are we expecting guests?”

Astara was just wondering what she would reply when the door opened again and the Butler announced: ”Mr Vulcan Worfield, Sir!”

Sir Roderick looked round in surprise.

As Vulcan came into the room Astara found it hard to look at him.

She felt as if her eyes had become unfocused and her whole being was so tense that he walked towards them in a mist.

Then she saw that he looked different from the way he had before and realised it was because it was the first time she was seeing him without his painter's smock.

At the back of her mind she had been half-afraid that he would come wearing the unconventional clothes that he doubtless a.s.sumed on his travels.

She knew if he did it would be easy for William to make fun of him after he had gone, or perhaps to sneer at him in a lofty fas.h.i.+on.