Call of the Heart by Barbara Cartland

satisfaction!”
    “I pride myself,” Lord Rothwyn continued, “on having an instinct where these things are concerned. The Regent says he feels the same when he sees a precious antique or a picture that needs restoring and knows that underneath the dirt of ages there is the work of a Master Artist.”
    “You are never mistaken?”
    “Practically never!” Lord Rothwyn said. “That is why I know I am right about you!”
    “About... me?”
    “I feel you need quite a lot of restoration!” he said, smiling. Lalitha thought for a moment and then she said: “What you have found has been exceptionally fine or beautiful in the first place. Where I am concerned your restoration will only be to ... me.”
    “You are very modest!” he said. “Do you resemble your father?”
    “No, I am like my mother,” Lalitha answered, “but only a poor reflection of her, just a few characteristics. She was very beautiful!”
    She spoke without thinking and once again Lord Rothwyn saw the fear in her eyes and a sudden tremor go through her.
    “Of . . . course,” she said, not looking at him, “she has... altered a great deal as she has grown ... older!” “I thought we agreed,” Lord Rothwyn answered, “that we would not lie to each other.”
    “I gave my... word,” Lalitha answered, “and ...”
    She paused.
    “What were the threats if you broke it?” he asked. “S-She .. . really . . . will ... kill me!” Lalitha murmured almost beneath her breath.
    “That is something that will never happen,” he said, “but because I do not wish you to be worried by anything you might say to me, because I want you to forget all the horrors of the past, I will not press you.” He saw a little light of gratitude in Lalitha’s expression.
    “I want you to think of nothing but getting well,” he said, “and then you can walk in the garden with me, and when you are strong enough I want to drive you to see the Spa near St. Albans and the Elizabethan house before I find a tenant for it.” He rose to his feet.
    “Promise me you will not worry about the future?”
    “I will... try!” Lalitha answered.
    “We will discuss it again when you are strong enough, but think now only that I shall be very disappointed by a restoration of a building called ‘Lalitha’ if it does not come up to my expectations!”
    Lalitha gave him a little smile.
    “Please do not expect too much.”
    “I am afraid I am a perfectionist,” he answered.
    He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips.
    “Sleep well, Lalitha. I will come and see you again tomorrow.”
    He turned towards the door, then stopped as she said:
    “Why are you here in the country? You should be in London. It is still the Season.”
    “Very nearly the end of it,” he replied, “and I really cannot trust anyone but myself where my buildings are concerned.” He smiled at her and then he was gone from the room.
    Lalitha leant back against the pillows.
    Her heart was beating fast and yet she was no longer frightened, as she had been when he’d first entered.
    ‘How kind he has been,’ she thought, and yet she felt that she should have pressed him further to be rid of her.
    He was obviously being gallant, but she was well aware what sort of impression she would make on his friends.
    They had expected his wife to be Sophie, the beautiful, incomparable Sophie, with her golden hair, blue eyes, and perfect skin.
    Lalitha knew without being told that while there must have been many women in Lord Rothwyn’s life he had probably never before offered marriage to any of them.
    Sophie had said that he was one of the richest men in England, in which case every ambitious mother would have wanted him as a son-in-law.
    Any girl would fancy living at Rothwyn House in Park Lane or being the Chatelaine of Roth Park.
    Wearing the family jewels in which Lord Rothwyn’s wife would bedeck herself, she could be Hostess to all the great personalities in the land from the Regent