Love Became Theirs

CHAPTER ONE 1867-1

CHAPTER ONE

1867A masked ball! And in fancy dress.

What could be more wonderful?

Rona Trafford was humming to herself as she turned this way and that before the mirror, revelling in the beauty of her dress.

It was made of gleaming white satin brocade, in the eighteenth century style, with wide panniers at the sides, and a tight bodice. She knew it enhanced her beauty, showing her dainty figure and tiny waist to advantage. She would make a sensation and, at nineteen, she was young enough to enjoy that.

Her mother bustled in. She was dressed as Queen Elizabeth and looked very imperious, but her face lit up with a most unroyal glee when she saw her daughter.

"There'll be nobody to touch you, my darling!" she exclaimed. "What jewels are you going to wear?"

"I thought the pearls, Mama," said Rona, holding up a pearl necklace.

"Hmm! Very nice," said Mrs. Trafford doubtfully. "But I think diamonds would be better."

She opened the black box that she was carrying, revealing a heavy diamond necklace. It had three strands of completely perfect jewels, and had obviously cost a king's ransom. There were matching ear rings and bracelet. Rona gasped.

"Mama! How can I possibly wear those? They're yours."

"But I want to see them on you, my dear. You'll look so lovely in them."

"But Lady Harris says an unmarried girl should avoid diamonds or, if she must wear them, no more than a discreet pendant."

Lady Harris' word was usually considered law in the Trafford household. She was the wife of a Knight, and made much of her knowledge of society, which impressed Rona's parents, who had no title at all to boast of. But tonight Rona's mother rebelled.

"I don't think we should take Lady Harris' opinions too seriously, my love. I know for a fact that she has not been invited to the Duchess of Westminster's ball tonight. We, on the other hand, have been invited. Royalty will be present. It is an occasion for showing ourselves at our best."

"At our wealthiest, you mean," replied Rona impishly.

"My dear, I beg of you not to say things like that. It is thoroughly vulgar."

"But that's what Lady Harris says, that an heiress who puffs off her wealth is vulgar."

"I don't want to hear another word about Lady Harris," said Mrs. Trafford firmly. "She will not be at Westminster House tonight."

"But would we be going to Westminster House if it wasn't known that Papa was terribly rich?" asked Rona.

Her mother gave a little scream.

"A young girl shouldn't concern herself with such matters," she said. "Now, not another word. You will wear the diamonds, and you will outshine any other woman there."

"Yes, Mama," Rona said, with apparent meekness.

"Well, you always do outshine the others," said Mrs. Trafford cheerfully. "You've been the belle of the season. Just think. Westminster House!"

"I'm really looking forward to seeing it. They say it has the most magnificent pictures."

"You'll be too busy dancing to notice the pictures. And who knows what may happen tonight?"

"Why should anything special happen tonight?"

Mrs. Trafford put her finger over her lips.

"Let's just say that a certain young man is very interested in you."

That made Rona frown a little. Casting her mind back over the young men she had met in her glittering season, she could not recall a single one who had greatly interested her. She thought that the pictures she had read about would certainly be more interesting than the average young man.

Older men seemed more intelligent, and certainly had a wider range of knowledge.

"Aren't you going to ask me who is it?" her Mama quizzed her archly. "Well, I'm sure you can guess. He's been so particular in his attentions, and I've noticed how much you enjoyed them."

Since Rona could not think of any man who had been particular in his attentions, still less one who had inspired her to enjoyment, she was left wondering.

When the diamonds were draped about her neck it was time for the wig to be fitted on. It was shining silver white, dressed high on her head, with two ringlets falling down onto her left shoulder, and it revealed her beautiful, long, slender neck, which one admirer had likened to that of a swan.

Finally, the mask. It was white satin, fringed with lace, decorated with silver spangles.

"You look mysterious and enchanting," Mama assured her.

Rona picked up an elegant fan which matched the mask, and gave her mother a deep curtsy, smiling with pleasurable anticipation of the evening ahead. Laughing, Mama returned the curtsy, and they left the room together to go down the great stairway to find Papa.

But there was no sign of him in the hall and the butler explained that Mr. Trafford had been delayed and would be down in a moment.

"Yes, and I know what has delayed him," Mama murmured to her daughter. "Primping in front of the mirror. I vow, men are worse than we are. Wait in the library, darling. I must speak to cook to make sure she knows what refreshments your Papa wants left out tonight. The last time, she left sandwiches instead of cake and he was so cross."

She bustled away. Rona went into the library and sat down on a wide leather sofa, careful not to crease her lovely dress. This morning's copy of The Times lay on a low table, and to pass the time she began to browse through it.

There was a report of a debate in the House of Lords which she tried to find interesting, and failed. They all seemed to say the same thing, at great length.

Idly turning the pages, she came to an advertisement from an agency, and perused it, almost without realising she was doing so.

After an advertisement for a secretary, a cook and several demands for coachmen who were well-trained, she read,

'Wanted for a girl of sixteen, English governess who is prepared to travel abroad. Must be able to teach French, German and most European languages.'

'I expect they'll have difficulty finding an English governess who is good at languages,' she thought. 'Mama always thought my governesses were hopeless at teaching me French.'

She remembered how finally her father and mother had taken her to Paris where they stayed with friends. She had managed, by the time they left, to speak French almost fluently. And she had enjoyed Paris.

'So lovely,' she mused happily now. 'And all those gorgeous clothes.'

The following year when her father had taken her to stay with one of his friends who lived in Germany, she was able, by the time they left, to speak and understand ordinary German. Her father's friends had said they had never known an English girl who had mastered their language so quickly.

In fact they had praised her intelligence so much that Mama had hushed them, somewhat embarrassed. Girls weren't supposed to be brainy, and a reputation for cleverness might harm Rona's marriage prospects.

At last she heard Papa's voice in the hall and hurried out. He exclaimed with pleasure at the sight of her, and paid a compliment to Mama, who had also hurried back, so as not to keep them waiting.

He was in a genial mood tonight, Rona was glad to see. Papa had an uncertain temper, which became unpleasant when he was thwarted. He spoiled and indulged his wife and daughter, showering costly gifts on them. But he expected to be obeyed.

In fact, he reminded Rona of Henry VIII, the bullying Tudor king who had also smiled when he got his own way, and turned nasty when he did not. When he had been choosing his costume, Rona had suggested Henry VIII to him, half fearful, lest he should suspect her of satire. But he had embraced the suggestion eagerly, and seemed unaware that it might have a personal application.

"What splendid ladies," he said now. "I shall be the envy of every man there."

They, in turn, complimented him on his magnificent appearance, and the atmosphere was very jolly.

As the maid was settling the cloak about her shoulders, Rona became aware that her parents were whispering.

"Have you told her?" she just heard her father ask.

"Just a hint," replied her mother. "I'm sure she understands everything."

'But I don't understand anything,' thought Rona. 'What's going to happen that I'm supposed to know all about? Who is it that has been 'particular in his attentions', and if I've enjoyed them so much that Mama has noticed, why haven't I noticed?'

It was strange to be moving towards such a mystery, but she soon forgot that in the pleasure of the ball. It was high summer and they travelled to Westminster House in an open carriage. Normally Mr. Trafford enjoyed the stares of onlookers, interpreting this as admiration of the family's wealth. But tonight he was less at ease.

"They're daring to laugh at us," he muttered.

"Well, you can't blame them, Papa," chuckled Rona. "It's not every day that they see Henry VIII and Queen Elizabeth riding together."

He scowled, and now he thought of something else that displeased him.

"Did you have to wear that wig?" he asked. It completely covers your hair."

"It's eighteenth century, Papa. In those days they wore wigs, men too."

"But your own hair's so pretty." His grudging voice robbed the words of generosity.

Luckily they were soon at Westminster House, where a stream of other carriages, also bearing colourful characters, were also arriving.

As soon as they entered the great house, they heard the sound of music coming from the ballroom at the back of the house. Crowds of strangely dressed guests were streaming along the broad hall to where the Duke and Duchess stood in the doorway waiting to greet their guests. They exclaimed in delight at the Trafford family, and Rona saw the Duchess cast a knowing eye over her diamonds.

Then they were inside the ballroom. At first Rona felt almost giddy from the bright lights and the whirling couples. There was Cleopatra, dancing with a Sultan in gold robes, and Anne Boleyn dancing with a bear, while King Charles I shared a glass of champagne with a parrot. It all looked like enormous fun.

"Ah, look who I see," said her father, suddenly genial again.

Rona followed his gaze to Lord Robert Horton. He was a handsome man whose looks, Rona had always thought, were spoiled by a permanently superior expression. He was dressed as a Regency dandy, with a high neck cloth, knee breeches and swallow tailed coat. There was no doubt that it suited his elegant figure.

Lord Robert's estate ran beside the Trafford estate, and he had several times stayed with them at The Court, their country house. He rode to hounds with her father and flirted with any married women who happened to be in their party, but it was rare for him to speak to Rona, whom he had seemed to consider unworthy of his lofty attention.

Lord Robert had seen them and was making his way towards them. Over his face he wore a black silk mask, which he removed as he approached.

"Sir, ladies." He made a neat bow. "A pleasure to see you. Miss Trafford, may I beg the first dance?"

Rona was about to make an excuse, for Lord Robert had never been a favourite of hers, but her father hurried to speak first.

"Certainly you may. You make a delightful couple and I think you will both be an example of good dancing to the rest of the party."

Lord Robert laughed.

"That's a compliment I don't usually receive from you," he replied, "especially when we're in the hunting field."

"You are now in a field of beautiful women," Mr. Trafford said. "If you ask me, although I am prejudiced, I think my daughter wins the race."

"Of course she does," Lord Robert agreed. "That's why I am determined to open the ball with her and she is undoubtedly too pretty to be anything but the belle of the evening."

He spoke so fervently that Rona was astonished. Since when had he thought her so pretty? During his last visit to The Court, her parents had given a ball and he had not even danced with her, although, as the daughter of his hosts, she was entitled to that courtesy.