A Duel With Destiny

by Barbara Cartland

  The valet had come as usual to wash and prepare the Marquis for the night and his Lordship was lying back against the pillows wearing one of his own silk nightshirts.

  It had the most becoming frills around the neck and they seemed to accentuate the squareness of his chin.

  There were frills too at the wrists and, as Rowena moved towards the bed, the last rays of the sun gleamed on the signet ring on his finger.

  Knowing how proud he was of his monogram, she smiled a little and thought that it was symbolic of his pride in his family and, of course, in himself.

  The Marquis watched her cross the room, thinking that he had rarely seen a young woman so graceful or who carried herself as if she wore a crown upon her head.

  He had a sudden vision of one of the tiaras that was locked away in the safe at Swayneling Park on her very fair hair.

  He knew that the sapphire set would become her, but he decided that the turquoises for which his mother had had such a partiality would be even more striking.

  They were surrounded by huge diamonds and on the necklace the great drops of colour would glow vividly against Rowena’s white skin.

  She came to the bed and sat down on the chair that faced him.

  “What is worrying you?” he asked.

  She looked surprised that he had noticed before she said,

  “Mr. Ashburn was talking today as if you would soon be going home.”

  “Your father says that I may get up for the first time tomorrow. That is a step in the right direction.”

  Rowena hesitated a moment and then she said,

  “I am sure that Sir George Seymour who came down from London twice to see you was very – expensive.”

  “I expect so,” the Marquis replied carelessly.

  “And if you had been – attended by your usual doctor at home, what would he have – charged?”

  The Marquis looked at her speculatively and then he said,

  “Mr. Ashburn can give you that information.”

  “I would not think of asking such a personal question of your secretary,” Rowena said proudly.

  “What you are trying to ascertain, is what I intend to pay your father.”

  “Exactly!” Rowena agreed. “And I wish to ask your Lordship whether instead of giving it to Papa you would give the money to me.”

  “Do you really think that is entirely ethical?”

  “If you give it to Papa, he will give it away to someone else,” Rowena said. “Surely you have realised by now that he treats the villagers not only for their ailments but also their empty pockets and their empty stomachs.”

  “And you resent that?”

  “Of course I resent it!” Rowena retorted. “It not only deprives my brother and sisters of good food, which is detrimental to their health, but I need the money very urgently for something of great importance.”

  “A new gown?” the Marquis suggested.

  He meant to provoke her and succeeded.

  “I am quite aware that you don’t have a very high opinion of me,” she said witheringly, “but, if you think I would embellish myself when my family lack real necessities, you are very much mistaken!”

  The Marquis laughed and she realised that he had been teasing her.

  “I am sorry,” he said apologetically, “but I find the temptation to make your eyes flash irresistible! I think you must admit that in that skirmish I was the winner.”

  “I think you are quite detestable!” Rowena snapped.

  “Nevertheless, tell me why you need this money so urgently?”

  “I want to send Mark to school,” Rowena answered simply.

  “Mark. Lotty. Hermione!” the Marquis exclaimed. “Do you never think of yourself, Rowena?”

  “I am thinking of myself now,” she answered. “It breaks my heart to see Mark not only ignorant of so many things he should know but also without companions of his own age. Do you realise that there is not another boy of twelve in the whole of this village who is not a labourer’s son?”

  She gave a deep sigh before she added quickly,

  “That is a stupid question. How should you know? All I am asking is that you will not give Papa the money you owe, but give it to me. Every penny of it will be spent on Mark.”

  “You think that will be enough to keep him at a decent school?” the Marquis asked.

  “No, of course not!” Rowena answered. “I should not expect those sort of fees even from someone like yourself. But I am saving up and I thought that, when you leave and there is not so much to do, I might try to earn a little money of my own.”

  “How do you contemplate doing that?” the Marquis enquired.

  “It is really due to you that I thought of it,” Rowena confessed. “We had so much fruit that I have bottled and made jam of what was left over.”

  “Very sensible. And frugal.”

  “I thought it would keep us through the winter without having to buy any more,” Rowena said. “Then last week the Vicar’s wife asked me if I would give a pot for the Vicarage bazaar. I gave her two, one of peaches and one of greengages. They actually sold at a shilling each!”

  Rowena’s voice was quite elated and her eyes were shining as she went on,

  “A shilling! And she said that she could have sold dozens more pots if she had had them.”

  The Marquis was watching her as he prompted,

  “Go on!”

  “The orchard is overgrown, the fruit is not very big, probably because the trees are so old. But there are plenty of damsons and quinces and later there will be apples. If I could bottle and make jams of those the way Mama showed me from a special recipe, I believe that they would sell.”

  Her voice died away as she looked at the Marquis as if waiting for his verdict.

  His eyes were on her face as he said,

  “I wonder if in a few years time you will feel excited as you are now at the thought of receiving a shilling for a pot of jam.”

  “It might not be so much when it is not for charity,” Rowena said.

  “No of course not,” he agreed.

  She saw from the twinkle in his eyes that he was laughing.

  “You are amused,” she said hotly. “I know it sounds foolish to you, but it is Mark’s whole future.”

  “I am not laughing at your ambitions, Rowena,” the Marquis replied. “I think they are admirable. What I am really doing, I think, is envying your enthusiasm. It is a long time since I have been excited or enthusiastic about anything.”

  “Except your old Family Tree!” Rowena flashed.

  “I stand corrected,” he agreed. “My ‘old Family Tree’, as you call it, certainly does excite me, but not to the extent that you are thrilled by the thought of a pot of damson jam!”

  “It’s no use talking to you,” she said angrily. “All I am asking you is to help me by giving me the fees you intend to pay Papa, that is, if you do intend to pay him.”

  “I have many faults,” the Marquis replied, “but I assure you that I pay my debts and promptly!”

  “Then I am very glad to hear it,” Rowena said, “and I only hope that you will give Papa what he deserves.”

  “I had thought that perhaps a fee of one hundred guineas would be acceptable,” the Marquis replied.

  Rowena’s eyes widened and she stared at him in astonishment.

  “W-what did you – say?”

  “I said one hundred guineas. I consider that is what your father’s services are worth.”

  “You are not – joking?”

  “No, I promise you I am entirely serious.”

  She stared at him for a moment.

  Then, as his eyes met hers, she turned away.

  “We could not possibly accept so much!”

  “I was going to add a quarter of that amount for the quite exceptional nursing I have received.”

  Rowena drew in her breath and her chin went up.

  “I was not asking for charity, my Lord.”

  “I don’t consider it c
harity,” the Marquis replied. “Sir George informed me that if I had been taken the ten miles to my house after the accident the result might have been disastrous.”

  “That is not the point,” Rowena said. “Country physicians, as you well know, do not command large fees.”

  “You asked me to give your father what I considered he was worth.”

  “But I think that is too much.”

  “Do you think that you are qualified to judge the value I put on my life?”

  “It is not – that,” Rowena said hesitatingly, “it is just that when I asked you to give me the – fee you would have paid to Papa, I was thinking – that if you were very – generous it might be as much as – thirty guineas.”

  “I have a rather higher estimate of my value than that.”

  “That is not what I am – trying to say.”

  “I am well aware of what you are trying to say, Rowena,” the Marquis answered, “and I assure you I intend to pay your father exactly what I wish without any interference on your part. If you will not accept the money, then, of course, I can quite easily give it to him direct. I am sure that he will find an immediate use for it.”

  “You are blackmailing me,” Rowena protested.

  “And why not?” the Marquis enquired. “When I am strong enough to stand up for myself, invariably I get my own way.”

  “I can well believe that is true,” Rowena snapped, “and it’s very bad for you.”

  The Marquis laughed.

  “Like all women you wish me to kowtow to your sex and do as I am told, in which case you will be very disappointed.”

  Rowena rose.

  “Please be sensible for a moment,” she begged. “It is very kind of you – very – very kind of yoy to offer to pay Papa the enormous sum you have just suggested. But I feel you would not have made it so large had I not told you before that it was for Mark. We would be very content and very grateful indeed for half that sum.”

  “Are you still opposing me, Rowena?” the Marquis asked. “I have just told you that I always get my own way and I especially wish to do so where you are concerned.”

  “But – why?”

  “That is something I intend to tell you in detail on another occasion,” the Marquis replied.

  There was a meaning behind his words that she did not understand.

  When she looked at him in perplexity and met his eyes, she felt that he was telling her something. There was also something forceful both in his expression and in the line of his lips.

  Quite suddenly she felt very young, very inexperienced and vulnerable.

  She said the first words that came into her mind.

  “I don’t – know what to – say, my Lord.”

  “Then why say anything, Rowena?” the Marquis asked. “Just leave everything to me.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Looking at the Marquis sitting at the end of the dining room table Rowena thought that he appeared more impressive and more overpowering than she had ever imagined he could be.

  There was something very different in seeing him dressed in his elegant evening clothes instead of the nightshirt that she had grown accustomed to.

  Now in the small oak-beamed dining room he appeared almost like a being from another world.

  For the last few days he had been allowed first to sit up in his bedroom and then rather unsteadily to come downstairs for an hour or so.

  She had known that the effort tired him and she had been concerned with him more as a patient than as a man.

  But now there seemed to be no more need for concern and she had the feeling that, when he left the house and returned home tomorrow, she would never see him again.

  ‘I shall always remember him like this,’ she told herself, ‘sitting in a high-back chair talking to the family with an amused twist to his lips.’

  She was never quite certain whether he was teasing or mocking them, but where she herself was concerned she was certain that it was the latter.

  And yet no one could be more charming, no one indeed more gracious.

  This evening before dinner he had given the family presents, which he said was an expression of his gratitude for having been their guest for so long.

  For Dr. Winsford there had been a new microscope, which had delighted him, for Hermione, an expensive box of paints, brushes and drawing blocks that had left her speechless.

  “I will draw you a beautiful picture,” she told the Marquis, “but I am afraid that it will never rival the manuscripts of your Family Tree.”

  “I shall look forward to receiving it,” he answered.

  Hermione had stared at her paint box as if it could hardly be real.

  Lotty too was in ecstasies over a doll that had a complete wardrobe including a gown trimmed with real lace.

  For Mark the Marquis had chosen or rather Rowena suspected that Mr. Ashburn had done the shopping, a riding whip with a silver band on which his initials were engraved.

  There was a noisy excitement in the sitting room as the family opened their gifts and only when everything had been admired and examined over a dozen times did Hermione say inquisitively,

  “Have you not a present for Rowena, my Lord? After all, she has done more for you than any of us.”

  “I am aware of that,” the Marquis replied in his deep voice. “But Rowena’s present is not yet ready.”

  Hermione was satisfied with the explanation, but Rowena wondered with some curiosity what it could be.

  She had noticed that she had been left out and had felt a little piqued, thinking that the Marquis perhaps was punishing her for the times when she had duelled with him on so many subjects.

  But now quite unexpectedly she felt a warm wave of happiness sweep over her because she had not been forgotten.

  The dinner, which was the first that the Marquis had attended and also was to be his last, was very special.

  Not only had Mrs. Hanson excelled herself in cooking what she declared were ‘his Lordship’s favourite dishes’, but Mr. Ashburn had brought with him this morning pâtés from Swayneling Park besides a variety of delectable sweetmeats for dessert.

  Lotty had not been allowed to stay up for dinner, but a dish of the creams, jellies and chocolate fingers had been taken up to her in the nursery after she had gone to bed.

  “I do wish the Marquis was not leaving,” she said with a deep sigh as she licked her sticky fingers.

  “We will have to go back to plain simple fare,” Rowena said as if she was speaking to herself, “but it will be better for us.”

  “I like the things he gives us,” Lotty said stoutly, “and I like him! He is very very nice and I shall marry him when I grow up!”

  Rowena laughed, but it was a sound that had not much humour in it.

  “Hermione wants to marry him now,” Lotty went on. “She was at her desk yesterday, and I looked over her shoulder. She had written, ‘I love him!’ ‘I love him!’ all down the page!”

  “You should not read things that were not meant for your eyes,” Rowena admonished her automatically, but she was thinking that she had been right. It was a very good thing that the Marquis was leaving!

  He would go back to his own world where he was so important and if they ever heard from him again she would be very surprised.

  She could not help knowing all the same that she would search for his name in the Social column of The Morning Post which her father took every day. She supposed also that locally they would enjoy a reflected glory because the Marquis stayed with them for so long.

  Perhaps, she thought, some of the County families who had been far too grand to patronise Dr. Winsford in the past would now make use of his services.

  Whatever the reason she would welcome them, because they could pay the fees that would go towards Mark’s schooling.

  The Marquis had given her the one hundred guineas this morning and she had taken the cheque from him, although something within herself resented the fact that they could not afford to refuse it.


  She wished that they could tell the Marquis that his money was not important. But what was the point of wishing?

  They needed the money desperately and Rowena was obliged to force the words of thanks to her lips.

  The Marquis had listened to her, an expression on his face that she did not understand.

  Then he had said,

  “Forget it! Forget your resentment! Forget that you feel yourself forced to accept my munificence! Enjoy feeling that you are rich, at least for a little while.”

  She raised her eyes to his and then said impulsively,

  “I am not really ungrateful, my Lord. You have been very kind and very generous and, if I can get Mark into a decent school, it will all be due to you.”

  “I intend to talk about that to your father.”

  “Why?” Rowena asked.

  He had not answered and she thought later that perhaps he considered her curiosity impertinent.

  But she told herself that someone as important as the Marquis was doubtless a patron of quite a number of schools and his knowledge and experience would be worth listening to.

  Although she told herself it was a good thing that the Marquis was leaving and it was absurd to make a fuss because he was dining downstairs for the first time, Rowena took more trouble than usual over her appearance.

  She had only two gowns, which she wore in the evenings. One had belonged to her mother and was of velvet, which she wore in the winter, and another for the summer, which was of muslin.

  She had made it herself and it was in fact of the cheapest material that could be purchased in the adjacent town.

  The colour matched the blue of her eyes and, although she chided herself for being extravagant, she had bought a few yards of ribbon in the village shop to replace the original trimming and give the gown a new look.

  Rowena owned no jewellery, but before she went up to change for dinner she walked into the garden and picked two white rosebuds.

  When she pinned them between her breasts, she not only felt that they made her look a little smarter but they also gave her a fragrance that somehow enhanced the festivities of the evening.

  She was sure the Marquis thought that the style in which she arranged her hair was old-fashioned, but she brushed its pale fairness until it shone and she noted with amusement that Hermione wore a new pink ribbon tied coquettishly in a bow.