A Flight To Heaven by Barbara Cartland Page B

had so thoughtfully provided for his use and gazed out over the white-topped waves in the direction of Russia, so many miles beyond.
    But what had become of the ethereal tousle-haired angel on the little white horse?
    It was not that he needed the ragged coat back – the gardener’s boy had been given a fine new tweed to replace it, but Arkady had felt sure that the beautiful angel would return it.
    And he wanted to speak to her again, hear her soft voice and marvel once more at how skilfully she could ride her spirited horse.
    But there it was.
    Perhaps, after all, she was just a weird vision, an enchanted but tantalising figment of his imagination.
    There would be a crowd of pretty girls tonight to distract him and he could flirt with them to his heart’s content, knowing that in a few days he would be gone and would never have to see any of them again.
    He rubbed his palms together and then smoothed the scented lotion through his dark hair.
    He was ready, down to the last detail, to make his appearance in the ballroom.
    *
    “So how do I look?” Lady Fairfax anxiously patted her elegant coiffure with her gloved hand, as they stood in the elegant cloakroom at Sandringham. “I am afraid that we have come much too early, there are hardly any other guests – ”
    “You are perfect,” Chiara reassured her, admiring her Mama’s neat figure, swathed in a shimmering gown of turquoise silk.
    “No, Darling – you are perfect!” Lady Fairfax said, with a little sigh. “You are just at that age, so young and yet so grown up and that white gown is utterly divine. Do you have your ball card?”
    Chiara nodded.
    The card, with the list of all the dances and blank spaces beside them for those who wished to partner her to write their names in, was safely tucked at her waist.
    She smoothed down the soft skirt of the dress that Elizabeth had so kindly given her. She could feel already how it would swirl around her when she danced.
    A stately footman approached them as they left the cloakroom. He bowed politely and conducted them to the ballroom.
    Chiara caught her breath in surprise as they walked into the brightly-lit almost empty space.
    The walls were decorated with intricate flowerlike patterns made up of dazzling displays of muskets, spears and swords. It was a most unusual effect.
    Queen Alexandra was at the door, welcoming her guests with Regal charm and the soft light from the many candelabra glinted on her jewelled tiara.
    “Lady Fairfax, how well you are looking. And how delightful that you should be one of the first to arrive,” she said in her deep mellow voice. “But who is this? It cannot be your little daughter!”
    Lady Fairfax blushed.
    “It is, ma’am. I can scarcely believe it myself.”
    Chiara’s Mama was interrupted by the arrival of the King, his plump hand resting upon the shoulder of a tall dashing man with dark hair.
    “Lady Fairfax,” the King began. “May I introduce our Guest of Honour this evening? He is staying with us to sample the many delights of life in the English countryside. Count Arkady Dimitrov.”
    The man bowed, his loose dark hair falling forward over his forehead.
    Then, when he had straightened up, his eyes looked piercingly into Chiara’s.
    “ Enchanté ,” he said and the sound of his voice sent shock waves through her whole body.
    She now gazed at his handsome face, at his sharp cheekbones and long curving eyebrows.
    Everything about this man was immaculate from the thin gold braid that trimmed his evening coat to the faint scent of lime and spice that seemed to waft from his black hair.
    And his manners and deportment were aristocratic in the extreme.
    It could not be him – and yet she was quite sure that this was the ruffian who had accosted her on the beach.
    Chiara’s mother was squeezing her arm to remind her of her manners.
    She pulled herself together and made a low curtsey, murmuring the appropriate words of greeting.
    There was then a flurry of activity as