Lost Laughter

Chapter One ~ 1818-1

Chapter One ~ 1818

The Viscount Ockley tore out of the house, took the steps with a giant leap and literally threw himself into his phaeton.

He picked up the reins and brought the whip down on the backs of his horses, which made them spring forward so violently that the stable boy who had been holding their heads only just had time to jump clear.

Then the phaeton was away, swaying as the horses galloped at an unprecedented speed down the drive, the gravel flying out behind as the Viscount took the turn at the lodge gates on one wheel.

The dust from the narrow country road was billowing out behind and the villagers stared in astonishment as he sped past them.

He had driven for nearly three miles before the horses slowed down a little.

He appeared not to notice, but sat staring ahead, his eyes dark with anger and his lips in a tight line.

He was an exceedingly good-looking man with clear-cut features, a determined chin and a breadth of shoulder that made him an outstanding pugilist in Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Academy.

He was also considered a Corinthian when he had the right horses to drive and he was a formidable contestant in any Steeplechase.

It was inevitable that he should be a social success with the fair s*x especially as he moved amongst the bucks and beaux, who had nothing better to do when they were not losing a fortune at cards than to discuss the latest ‘Incomparables’.

There was no doubt that Miss Niobe Barrington had taken the vacillating hearts of these gentlemen by storm, which was not surprising considering that she was not only beautiful but also the heiress to a considerable fortune.

Her father, Sir Aylmer Barrington, was not just ‘warm in the pocket’ as the current slang put it, he was a very rich man indeed and he made sure that everyone was fully aware of it.

He intended that his only daughter should command attention and he made sure of it by giving a ball that for sheer expenditure exceeded any other that was likely to take place during the Season.

He was also prepared to offer his hospitality to every aristocrat who was willing to accept it, the proviso being that they were eligible bachelors and so were participants in the matrimonial stakes for Niobe’s hand in marriage.

The Viscount, who was noted as having a roving eye that never missed an attractive woman, was completely bowled over the first time he saw Niobe.

He had accepted reluctantly the impressive but somewhat pretentious invitation card he found waiting for him at White’s Club simply because he had nothing else to do that evening.

As well he found that most of his contemporaries had likewise decided to put in an appearance at Sir Aylmer’s house in Grosvenor Square, although they had gone prepared to be sceptical having in the past found that heiresses on the whole had nothing to recommend them except for a large bank balance.

That Niobe was different was a considerable understatement.

She was ravishingly beautiful with hair the colour of ripening corn, eyes of periwinkle blue and the type of skin that had sent poets into a frenzy of creation since the beginning of time.

When her blue eyes looked up into the Viscount’s grey eyes, he was lost.

From that moment he pursued Niobe with an ardour that had surprised even his closest friends.

This not only surprised but delighted his creditors, who had almost despaired of ever having their accounts, which grew longer and longer every year, finally settled.

His tailor had actually opened a bottle of wine at home with his wife when he heard that the Viscount was likely to be ‘leg-shackled’ to one of the richest heiresses to appear on the social horizon since the War against Napoleon.

“I would not care if she had not a penny to her name,” the Viscount told his closest friend, the Honourable Frederick Hinlip.

“She would care if she had to live in that ramshackle mansion of yours without having the means to do it up,” Freddy replied, “and you know as well as I do that you need some new horses.”

The Viscount had the grace to look somewhat shamefaced.

“You know I am grateful for that loan of yours, Freddy.”

“You are welcome,” his friend answered with a grin, “except that I would sometimes like to ride them myself!”

“She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen!” the Viscount exclaimed raptly, forgetting for the moment the usually absorbing subject of horseflesh.

“I agree with you, but don’t forget you marry not only her but her father.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Sir Aylmer is as hard as nails and as tough as a rhinoceros. He is looking for the best for his Niobe and who shall blame him?”

“Are you insinuating that I am not good enough for her?” the Viscount demanded.

“I have heard that Porthcawl is being unusually attentive.”

“That old nitwit!” the Viscount scoffed. “He has a flabby handshake and always reminds me of a wet codfish!”

“He is also a Marquis!”

“The idea of Niobe even looking in his direction is laughable,” the Viscount said loftily.

He had, however, felt slightly apprehensive as to what was happening when Niobe had told him a week ago that her father did not favour him as a suitor,

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I say,” Niobe responded. “Papa believes that you are too irresponsible to make me a good husband. In point of fact, dear Valient, I fear that he is going to forbid you the house.”

“Then we must run away and elope!” the Viscount insisted firmly.

Niobe looked at him wide-eyed and he went on,

“I will obtain a Special Licence so that there will be no need to go posting off to Gretna Green or any of that nonsense. We will be married at the first Church we come to. Once you are my wife there will be nothing your father can do about it.”

“He will be very angry indeed. Besides I would like a grand Wedding with bridesmaids and a huge Reception afterwards with all the Society people present.”

“That is exactly what you shall have, my darling, if your father will give his consent to our marriage,” the Viscount urged her. “But if he refuses, there will be nothing we can do except take matters into our own hands.”

Niobe had risen from the sofa where they were sitting to walk with what she knew was exquisite grace across the room to the French window.

The house in Park Lane had a garden behind it and she was well aware that silhouetted against the green of the trees, with the sunshine on her golden hair, she was a picture of allurement.

The Viscount watched her as if he was bewitched.

“You are so beautiful so exquisitely beautiful!” he cried. “How could I lose you?”

She gave him a little beguiling smile and in a moment he was on his feet and had taken her in his arms.

“I love you! I love you, Niobe!”

Then he was kissing her wildly, passionately and demandingly and knew as he felt her respond there was no need for him to worry about the future.

When they were both breathless, Niobe moved from his arms to say,

“I forgot to tell you that we are going to the country this weekend. Papa has arranged to give another ball for me for our neighbours who live in Surrey. It will be very exciting with fireworks, gondolas on the lake and a gypsy orchestra in the garden besides another in the ballroom.”

“I am bored with balls!” the Viscount stressed petulantly. “I want you to myself. Shall I speak to your father and insist that we get married before the end of the Season?”

Niobe held up her hands in horror.

“No, no! It would only incense him and make him definitely refuse to let me see you again.”

She paused before she added,

“As it is, you will not be invited to the ball.”

“Do you mean to say that your father disapproves of me to that extent?” the Viscount asked her incredulously.

He had never in the whole of his life been barred from any house where he wished to be a guest and he found it quite incredible that Sir Aylmer would dare to ostracise him in this extraordinary fashion.

Niobe cast down her eyes.

“The trouble is, dear Valient, that Papa believes I am growing too fond of you.”

The Viscount’s eyes lit up.

“That is what I wish you to be, but I want you to say you love me.”

“I think I do, I am almost sure of it,” Niobe answered, “but Papa says love is one thing and marriage another.”

“What does he mean by that?” the Viscount asked angrily.

Niobe gave a little sigh.

“Papa wants me to make a very grand marriage.”

The Viscount stared at her as if he was stunned.

“Are you saying,” he asked at length in a voice that sounded strangled in his throat, “that your father does not think I am grand enough socially? I would have you know that the Ockleys consider themselves to be the equals of any family in the whole land. There is not a history book that does not mention us!”

“Yes, yes, I know all that,” Niobe said quickly, “it is just that Papa has other ideas.”

“What ideas?” the Viscount asked ominously.

Niobe made a little gesture with her hands that was very expressive.

“Are you telling me there is someone he favours more than me?“ the Viscount asked.

Niobe did not reply and he pulled her back into his arms.

“You are mine and you love me. You know you love me! You must be brave, my darling, and tell your father so.”

“He would not listen to me.”

“Then we will run away together.”

The Viscount was just about to explain how this could be done when Niobe, lifting her lovely face to his, said,

“Kiss me, Valient! I adore your kisses and I am so afraid of losing you.”

The Viscount kissed her until he forgot everything but her wild attraction.

*

Only when he was driving away from Park Lane did he remember that he had not had time to expound on the plans he had begun to make for their elopement.

He had, however, written her a passionate letter, which had been conveyed by his valet to Niobe’s lady’s maid so that there was no danger of it being intercepted by Sir Aylmer.

In reply he had had two scribbled lines from Niobe telling him to call on her at her father’s house in Surrey the following Monday.

The Viscount knew that the ball that he had not been invited to was to take place on Saturday and he decided that Niobe would want to see him alone after the house party had departed.

It was, however, infuriating to find that the majority of his friends were either staying at Sir Aylmer’s huge mansion or with friends in the neighbourhood.

Having nothing else to do he had driven to Hertfordshire to his own house, knowing that he would find it depressing, except that it could easily be restored to its former beauty when Niobe’s fortune could be expended lavishly on it.

The War had almost bankrupted the Viscount’s father who had not only invested a great deal of money on the Continent but had also no idea that he should economise personally.

When he died six months after his son returned to England after fighting with the Duke of Wellington’s Army and spending yet another year with the Army of Occupation, the new Viscount found that he had inherited a house falling to bits through lack of repair, a mountain of debts and nothing in the Bank to settle them with.

Because after the long years of war he wished to enjoy himself and make up for what he felt was the loss of his youth, the Viscount had shelved the pressing financial problems that faced him and thrown himself wholeheartedly into the gaieties that were to be found in London.

Regardless of the expense he had opened up Ockley House in Berkeley Square, shrugged his shoulders at the fact that it was mortgaged to the hilt and proceeded to live like a Lord despite the fact, as he had said to Freddy, that he had ‘holes in his pockets’.

It struck him after nearly two years of indulgence that sooner or later he would have to do something about his financial position and it was obvious that only marriage to an heiress could save him.