A Kiss from the Heart by Barbara Cartland Page A

did not wish for any fuss, my dear. Also your mother and I wanted you to have a wonderful time and not to concern yourself with such sad news.”
    â€œAnd so Robert is now the Earl?”
    â€œWell, in a manner of speaking,” he replied looking up at the ceiling.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    There was a long silence as Sir George tapped his fingers on the tabletop.
    â€œHe seems to have abandoned his responsibilities.”
    â€œHow so?”
    â€œHe is in London pursuing a life of idleness whilst his brother, Alec, is running the estate as best he can.”
    Miranda shook her head in disbelief.
    â€˜Can this be the same boy I saved when we were children?’ she wondered. ‘He was never a coward then, what could have happened to him in India to have turned him?’
    â€œIt has been many years since I last saw him,” she murmured. “But I confess that what you say is shocking. His mother must be beside herself with worry.”
    She stared into the distance, disbelief clouding her lovely features.
    â€œCome now,” he insisted. “You must not concern yourself with these matters. You have enough troubles of your own. Let us proceed to the drawing room as I have some new paintings I wish to show you – ”
    As her father waited for her to rise from the table, Miranda’s thoughts were fully occupied.
    Now it was not Lord Brookfield and his unwanted attentions she was thinking about or her mother, so sorely absent from The Grange –
    But the boy who she swore she would love forever when she was seven years old –

CHAPTER FOUR
    The Earl awoke the next morning with a bad taste in his mouth and a foul humour seeping from every pore.
    He could see by the amount of light penetrating the curtains that it was late morning and he groaned inwardly as memories of the previous evening came flooding back.
    Constance’s rasping angry screams and her vitriolic denouncement of him as a cad rang in his ears and he felt more than a hint of shame at his behaviour.
    Pushing it to the back of his mind, he swung both legs over the side of his bed and walked towards the bell push.
    The effort made his head thump and he staggered back to the warmth of his comfortable sheets and quickly climbed back in between them.
    A few moments later, Monkhouse was in the room, asking what he required.
    â€œCoffee, please and some bacon,” he said, wearily massaging his throbbing temples.
    â€œAnd a powder, my Lord?”
    â€œThank you, Monkhouse,” he replied gratefully.
    His valet was worth his weight in gold and did not, unlike his mother, judge him.
    Was it guilt that was making him feel so off-colour today?
    â€˜I certainly did not drink too much last night,’ he murmured to himself. ‘Just the half bottle of champagne in Constance’s dressing room.’
    He rubbed his tired features and wondered how he might occupy himself today.
    As Monkhouse returned with his breakfast tray, the pretty face of Serena de Montfort, so fetchingly attired for the summer, floated in front of him.
    He smiled to himself.
    Had she not positively encouraged him to call upon her that week? The week when her parents would not be at home?
    A new sense of daring coursed through his veins as he hungrily bit into a forkful of bacon.
    â€˜Why should I not pay her a visit?’ he pondered. ‘A little amusing conversation and tea – it will just be quite innocent fun.’
    As he unbuttoned his silk nightshirt, he grinned to himself in anticipation of a pleasant afternoon’s diversion.
    â€˜There can be really no harm in calling upon an acquaintance,’ he told himself, quite dismissing any notion that his arrival at the elegant Mount Street residence might be viewed as positive encouragement by Miss de Montfort.
    *
    The Countess had gone out by the time he came downstairs.
    â€œWhere is my mother?” he asked Hiscock.
    â€œShe is visiting the Duchess of