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and there had been his many encounters with India’s enemies, at all of which he had triumphed, as in the last encounter at Fort Tibbee, he had always been overwhelmingly successful.
    At least he could say that, if he had done nothing else, he had made British rule a little stronger than when he had first set foot on Indian soil.
    His only failure was Stella.
    He had believed, perhaps foolishly, that she really loved him and he had thought about her every night when he went to bed.
    He had been determined that if he survived his last mission over the frontier and his fight for Fort Tibbee, he would ask her to be his wife.
    Although she had not known about it at the time, he was today in very different circumstances.
    But impulsively, because she looked so lovely and desirable, he had then asked her the all important question without any preliminaries.
    She had refused him – but she would not have done if she had known that he had inherited an ancient title that anyone would be proud of.
    That, David told himself, was something he did not need from the woman to whom he would give his heart.
    He wanted love.
    The real love that his parents had shared.
    The real love that to him was something wonderful and sacred.
    Then he thought that he was a fool.
    He was asking too much.
    All women, and he despised them for it, wanted not a man who laid his soul at their feet, but who could place a diamond tiara on their head.
    And whose rank would make the servants and shopkeepers address them respectfully.
    David looked up at the moon.
    â€˜I was asking for far too much,’ he told the moon cynically.  ‘It is something that will never happen to me.’

 
CHAPTER THREE
    David had plenty of time to think about himself in the seventeen days it took the Steamer to reach England.
    He had not thought much about his family for years simply because he had hated his grandfather, the Marquis, and had more interesting issues to think about in India.
    But now when he looked back, he remembered that his grandfather had been the eighth Marquis of Inglestone.
    The Marquisate went back to the twelfth century.
    His grandfather had married a daughter of the Duke of Dunstead and she had given herself as many airs as her husband did and they behaved, David thought, as if they were Royalty and expected everyone to bow to them.
    His grandfather was little more than forty when his wife died, having borne him two sons and not surprisingly, he soon married again.
    Lady Elizabeth Falcon was very different from his first wife.  She enjoyed her life, was very intelligent and an excellent rider.
    She had been married before but without children and made the Marquis a little more human.  She was one of those people who made friends easily and thus she never found herself lonely.
    They had not been married for a year when a son, Richard, was born and he took after his mother, not only in looks, as he was a handsome lad.
    When he went to Eton, he became Head of School and Captain of Cricket and later at Oxford he took a First.
    The Marquis, although he did not often say so, was proud of his son and was determined that he should make a good marriage.
    After Oxford Richard went abroad for a short time and came back thrilled with his time in France and Spain.
    It was then his father had said to him,
    â€œI have arranged for your marriage – ”
    Richard had stared at him in astonishment.
    â€œMy marriage!” he exclaimed.
    â€œI wish you to marry the daughter of the Duke of Sheldon – and her father is delighted to be united with our family.”
    â€œIf I marry anyone,” Richard had stated firmly, “I will marry someone I love and who loves me.  I would not think of making an arranged marriage.”
    â€œYou will do as you are told,” his father told him sternly.  “I will brook no nonsense from you, Richard, and I have already arranged for the Duke to bring his daughter to meet you and the