The Temptation of Torilla by Barbara Cartland Page A

early in the morning grooms arrived with invitations, letters of congratulation, bouquets of flowers and presents.
    Beryl was as excited about them as she had been with her Christmas gifts as a child.
    “Read the flattering things old Lord Godolphin says!” she exclaimed thrusting a letter into Torilla’s hand. “He is a ghastly old hypocrite. He has hated me ever since I was fifteen when he tried to kiss me and I punched him in the stomach.”
    “It is certainly a very pleasant letter,” Torilla commented quietly.
    “Toadying old fool!” Beryl exclaimed.
    The presents were disappointing.
    “That makes three silver entree dishes already! You would think people would realise that Gallen has the best family silver in England, most of which dates back to the reign of Charles II.”
    She pushed the entree dishes aside disdainfully.
    “I suppose we can always use them for the dogs,” she laughed.
    There were a large number of people to add to the wedding list that Beryl had forgotten.
    When the Earl of Fernleigh walked into the salon, it was to find not only lists scattered all over the floor, but also pieces of paper, boxes, presents and several bouquets of flowers.
    “Hello, Papa!” Beryl called out casually.
    Torilla scrambled to her feet and kissed her uncle affectionately.
    “It is very nice to see you again, Torilla,” the Earl said with a note of genuine affection in his voice.
    “It is lovely to be back, Uncle Hector.”
    “Surely by now your father is tired of burying himself in the wilds of nowhere?” the Earl suggested.
    “He is working too hard, Uncle Hector.”
    “Then tell him to come back here. The Vicar of Wheathampstead is retiring soon. It is a good incumbency and I am quite prepared to add a few hundreds to the stipend if your father will take it on.”
    “That is very kind of you, Uncle Hector.”
    “Tell him it is his for the asking. I have missed you, Torilla, and you are a good influence on Beryl which is more than some people are.”
    He walked from the room as he spoke and Beryl made a little grimace.
    “What does he mean by that?” Torilla asked.
    “He hates most of my friends. He thinks they are fast and improper, which indeed they are, but they are certainly more amusing than the old fuddy-duddies Papa likes to entertain.”
    “Do you really – like all the people you – meet at Carlton House?” Torilla asked a little hesitantly.
    Beryl smiled at her.
    “Some of them are fantastic! You wonder where the Prince could find such extraordinary people. But the worst are the members of the aristocracy like the Marquis of Queensbury who is absolutely famous for his amorous indiscretions!”
    She laughed at the expression on Torilla’s face and added,
    “The wicked Barrymore brothers are horrors of the worst description, you would be appalled at the things they do.”
    “I think I would be – frightened of people like that.”
    “It will be amusing to see what effect they have on you,” Beryl laughed. “You will meet them all when we go to London next week.”
    Torilla looked at her questioningly and Beryl went on,
    “I have just decided, Torilla, that I shall present you to the Beau Monde. It will not only be fun to see what you think of it, but also to watch what they think of you! I don’t believe any of them have ever met anybody who is really good !”
    “You make me embarrassed,” Torilla exclaimed.
    “It is true,” Beryl said. “You are good – you always were – while I am the opposite. I want to be bad. Not wicked, like the Barrymores, just bad enough to enjoy all the things I ought not to.”
    “You are not bad!” Torilla contradicted loyally. “And anyway, dearest, once you are married it will be very different.”
    Beryl did not answer and Torilla suddenly had the uncomfortable feeling that on the contrary perhaps it would be worse.
    If the Marquis was as wicked as she thought him to be, would he not drive Beryl, who had always been impulsive, into