A Duel With Destiny

by Barbara Cartland

  Rowena suspected that she must have bought this in the village when she went to her lessons with the retired Governess who lived in a small cottage at the far end of it.

  She very much doubted if Hermione had the money to pay for her purchase and was certain that the bill would arrive after the Marquis had left.

  ‘We have done our best to entertain him,’ she thought as they sat round the dinner table.

  She wondered if, when he was surrounded with the elegance and gaiety of his own friends, he would laugh at their feeble efforts.

  She did not know why she suspected that the Marquis must always be disparaging them, but it was impossible not to feel the contrast he created perhaps without meaning to.

  She said very little during dinner. All the time she was acutely conscious of him and thought that it would be impossible ever again to find a man who was so handsome and attractive.

  There was no doubt that he was doing everything possible to make his last meal in their house a memorable one.

  There was champagne to drink and, while Rowena kept a sharp eye on Hermione and Mark to see that they did not drink too much, she could not help being aware that the golden wine made everybody a little more relaxed.

  It was easier to laugh and to accept the Marquis as one of themselves rather than as their awe-inspiring benefactor.

  When Johnson, who was waiting at table, filled his Master’s glass again, the Marquis raised it in his hand.

  “I am going to drink a toast,” he said, “first to Dr. Winsford, to whom I shall always be eternally grateful not only for saving my life but also for making me so welcome in his house and secondly to my very capable and very lovely nurse, Rowena!”

  His words took Rowena by surprise. She felt the colour spring into her face and at the same time was annoyed by her own confusion.

  The Marquis turned to the other side of the table and saw Hermione looking at him with adoring eyes.

  “To a future artist,” he said, “whom I suspect will always look more attractive than anything she can draw and to an equestrian whom I hope one day will find mounts worthy of his horsemanship.”

  Mark and Hermione were delighted and, as in response they drank what remained in their own glasses, Rowena rose to her feet.

  “I think, Papa, we should leave his Lordship and you to your port.”

  “I cannot stay long,” Dr. Winsford said with a hasty glance at the grandfather clock. “I have two calls to make this evening.”

  “Oh, Papa!” Rowena said reproachfully.

  “You must forgive me,” the doctor said to the Marquis. “But my patients are expecting me and I would not wish to disappoint them.”

  “Of course not,” the Marquis agreed.

  The doctor glanced at his younger daughter.

  “I should be grateful if you would come with me, Hermione,” he said. “You know that there is nowhere safe to leave Dobbin outside the Blakes’s house. The last time I called there he had wandered a five hundred up the road before I could catch him again.”

  “I will drive you,” Hermione said with just a wistful glance at the Marquis.

  As if he understood what she was feeling, he said,

  “If I have gone to bed before you return, Hermione, come and say goodbye to me before you leave for your lessons tomorrow morning.”

  “I will do that,” Hermione replied, “and I expect I will sit up half the night using my wonderful paint box.”

  The Marquis had risen to his feet.

  Hermione seemed to hesitate for a moment and then she said,

  “Thank you so very much, I am so grateful!” and flung her arms around his neck.

  It was the action of a child as she kissed his cheek, but Rowena felt a strange feeling within herself that she could not explain as she walked towards the door followed by Mark.

  “Do you think I could have a last ride on the Marquis’s horse before he leaves tomorrow morning?” he asked her in a conspiratorial tone. “I would like to try out my new whip.”

  “I cannot think, if the Marquis is collected in his phaeton, that his grooms will wish to take the horses from between the shafts,” Rowena replied. “But if Mr. Ashburn comes over, which I am sure he will, perhaps you could ask him if you can ride the horse that is drawing the landau.”

  She paused a moment and then she said,

  “Unless the Marquis is attended by outriders.”

  “It’s not likely as he is going such a short distance,” Mark replied.

  “No, of course not,” Rowena agreed. “So we will just have to see what can be done.”

  She knew that he was longing to ride carrying his new whip. At the same time she would rather he did not tire out Dobbin, who was the only mode of transport available for her father.

  “You had better go to your room now,” she said. “I am sure that you have some homework to do. The Vicar complained last week that you had been rather careless about it.”

  “I was too busy riding,” Mark said with a grin and then his face fell. “It is going to be pretty dull here when the Marquis has gone, isn’t it?”

  “I was afraid you would feel like that,” Rowena answered, “but there is nothing we can do about it, as you well know.”

  “No, of course not,” Mark said with an effort at appearing grown up. “We have been jolly lucky to have him so long.”

  He clattered up the stairs towards his own room and Rowena walked into the drawing room where her mother had always sat.

  It was very simply furnished, but it was in good taste and the long French windows opening out onto the garden gave the room an elegance that was not obvious in other parts of the house.

  Rowena walked to an open window now and stood looking out on the unkempt garden.

  It might be untidy because neither she nor her father ever had time to work in it, but the roses grew in wild profusion and there was honeysuckle and purple wisteria climbing along the terrace.

  The sun was going down and the sky was crimson.

  ‘Red sky at night, shepherds’ delight’, Rowena quoted to herself.

  It would be a pleasant day for the Marquis to go home tomorrow and she thought that he would welcome the opportunity of driving his phaeton, which he had been unable to do since his accident.

  She imagined how distinguished he would look with his tall hat on the side of his dark head.

  He would drive away, she thought, and that would be the end of the chapter where they were concerned.

  She was certain that they would never again have such a distinguished patient or the spare room such an unusual occupant.

  She felt that he had not only brought new ideas into the house but had given her new feelings and emotions that had never been awakened within her before.

  She could not explain even to herself what they were, she only knew that they were there and that in some ways she was a different person from the one she had been before the Marquis arrived.

  ‘I am imagining things,’ she told herself, then turned her head as the door opened and Hermione came in.

  She had put on a bonnet because she was to accompany her father and carried a white shawl over her arm.

  “I cannot think why I have to go with Papa,” she grumbled. “I would much rather stay here with the Marquis.”

  “You could not refuse,” Rowena remarked.

  “No, of course not,” Hermione agreed. “But I cannot think why Papa has to work so hard. It’s ridiculous to have to go out tonight of all nights!”

  “You know Papa would never shirk his duty, even if he would rather stay and talk to the Marquis,” Rowena said gently.

  “He is so wonderful, is he not?” Hermione said in a low voice, but she was not speaking of her father.

  “He has been very kind,” Rowena said somewhat stiffly.

  “You will have to help me think of what I can draw and paint for him,” Hermione said. “If only I could do something like those wonderful paintings he has on his Family Tree.”


  “You must think of something original,” Rowena answered, “and not try to copy someone else.”

  “I will think of something,” Hermione said.

  She gave a little sigh.

  “It will be more difficult when he is not here to talk to me and give me ideas. I have had lots and lots of new ideas since he has been in the house.”

  Rowena prevented herself from saying that she felt the same.

  Then there was the sound of voices in the hall and Hermione ran across the room.

  “I am going now,” Rowena heard her father say.

  “I am ready, Papa.”

  “Goodnight, my Lord,” Dr. Winsford was saying to the Marquis. “Don’t stay up too late, I would not wish you to become overtired.”

  “I will try not to be,” the Marquis replied.

  There was the sound of footsteps and then the front door banged.

  Rowena stood at the window, but she had the feeling that she was holding her breath.

  The Marquis came into the drawing room and closed the door behind him.

  Rowena did not turn her head as he walked slowly across the room towards her.

  He stopped as he reached her and his eyes were on her profile silhouetted against the evening sky.

  “This leaves just you and me, Rowena,” he said quietly.

  She turned her eyes slowly towards his, conscious that her heart was fluttering in a most unaccountable manner as the Marquis drew something from the pocket of his coat.

  “I have your present for you,” he said, “but I wanted to give it to you alone.”

  He put a small box into her hand as he spoke.

  She took it from him, conscious as she did so that, standing close beside her, he was very tall and large and it was impossible to look at him again.

  “Open it!” the Marquis urged her.

  Rowena was aware that she was staring at the box in her hand.

  She obeyed him.

  Inside was a heart-shaped pendant made of turquoises surrounded by diamonds.

  “Is this – for me?” she asked hardly above a whisper.

  “A very small expression of my thanks for all you have done for me, Rowena.”

  “It is – lovely – quite lovely!” she exclaimed, “but you should not – ”

  She stopped, aware although she was not looking at his lips, that the Marquis was smiling.

  “Are you once again going to tell me what I should or should not do?” he asked. “You have been very dictatorial, Rowena, and I shall find it difficult to know how to behave without so many strictures to guide me.”

  “It was for your own – good, my Lord,” Rowena said faintly.

  “I am aware of that,” he replied, “and yet I cannot help feeling that you were perhaps rather pleased to have me at your mercy.”

  She did not answer and after a moment he said,

  “I have never forgotten how gentle your voice was when I was really ill or how soft your arm felt when you lifted my head.”

  It was almost as if he spoke to music and Rowena felt her whole body respond to the note in his voice.

  She was still staring at the pendant as if she could not believe that it was real. She had never possessed anything so lovely or so valuable and yet there was something more than that.

  “I chose that particular shape,” the Marquis said quietly, “because it is symbolic.”

  She looked up at him and was startled by the expression in his eyes.

  He was very near to her and yet she could not move and, having once looked at him, she could not look away.

  “You hold my heart in your hands, Rowena,” the Marquis said. “Does that mean anything to you?”

  “I don’t – think I – understand,” she managed to murmur, finding it almost impossible to force the words from between her lips.

  “Then shall I make it a little clearer?” the Marquis asked, “and also thank you as I wish to do?”

  His arms went round her and, almost before she could be aware of what was happening, his lips came down on hers.

  For a moment she was too surprised to feel anything but sheer astonishment.

  Then she realised that his mouth held hers captive and she could neither move nor think.

  His lips were hard against the softness of hers and something warm and wonderful seemed to rise within her and move up through her body towards him.

  It was a feeling so sublime and so perfect that she knew it was everything she had longed for in life and had never known.

  It was part of the sunset and the fragrance of the roses, it was the Marquis and everything she felt about him, and so much more.

  He drew her a little closer and now she felt that she was no longer herself but a part of him, of his elegance and distinction and even his overpowering superiority against which she had fought so ineffectively.

  The pressure of his lips increased and almost like a streak of lightning a wonder such as she had never dreamed possible seemed to shoot through her body from her lips to her soul.

  It was so perfect, so exquisite and at the same time a rapture so indescribable that instinctively Rowena reached out to hold onto the Marquis lest she should lose a treasure that seemed to come from the Divine.

  He raised his head.

  “You are so lovely!” he breathed. “So unbelievably beautiful! When I first saw you, I felt I must be delirious.”

  It was impossible for Rowena to answer him.

  She could only look up at him, her eyes shining, her lips parted and trembling a little from his kiss and the emotion that he had evoked in her.

  “I love you!” the Marquis sighed, “and I know now that you love me.”

  He pulled her almost roughly closer to him.

  “But not as much as I will make you love me,” he said. “Oh, my darling, you are so sweet and so innocent. I had no idea that anyone like you could exist in the world.”

  His lips were on hers again and now he was kissing her fiercely, demandingly, almost as if he would conquer her to make sure that she was his.

  Only after what seemed to Rowena to be a very long time was she free again.

  Now slowly, because it was difficult to speak, because she felt dazed and bewildered by what had happened, she murmured,

  “I – love you. I know now – that what I – have felt for you – was love!”

  “But you fought against it,” the Marquis said perceptively.

  “I did not – know I loved you,” Rowena said. “I only knew that you – seemed overpowering – I was afraid of losing my own – identity.”

  “You have lost it,” he said positively.

  She turned her face to hide it against his shoulder, overwhelmed by her own feelings, fascinated, dazzled, and at the same time feeling as if her whole being had come alive so that it vibrated to his.

  His fingers went under her chin to turn her face up towards his.

  “Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asked. “How could any woman be so lovely or have eyes that are not human but are part of the sky?”

  He kissed them as he spoke, then his lips touched Rowena’s straight little nose before once again he sought her mouth.

  He kissed her until she felt as if the garden swum dizzily around them and the house was falling!

  Then the Marquis drew her back into the drawing room.

  “Let’s sit down, my darling,” he said. “I want to talk to you.”

  “I-I did not – know that love was like – this,” Rowena murmured a little incoherently.

  “Like what?” he asked.

  “So wonderful – so perfect. When you kissed me – we seemed to be – alone in the sky where there is only – music.”

  “That is what I want,” the Marquis said, “that we should be alone, just you and I Rowena, so that I can teach you, my precious, about love.”

  “I suppose because I have never been – in love before – I did not – realise that was what I felt for you,” she whispered.

  “
And you will never be in love again,” the Marquis said. “You belong to me, Rowena, and I shall be very jealous if another man so much as speaks to you.”

  Looking at her face again he said,

  “I feel like an explorer who finds an unknown unlisted flower on the summit of a mountain and knows that he has discovered a treasure which the world has never known.”

  He laughed.

  “You are making me poetical, Rowena, which is something I have never been.”

  She drew in her breath.

  “Is it true – really true that you – love me?”

  The question was childlike.

  “It is true!” he answered. “I have been loving you for days. I felt when you went out of my room that you took the light with you and I would lie awake at night wishing that I was ill again so that you would be beside me and I could hear your voice and feel you touch me.”

  “When you were ill,” Rowena said, “I felt that you were like a child – who needed me as Lotty or Mark might do. But tonight – ”

  She paused.

  “What about tonight?” the Marquis asked.

  “You are so much a – man that I am – afraid.”

  “Afraid?” he questioned.

  “You are different – and I know that you are – going away.”

  “And you wanted me!”

  There was a wealth of meaning behind the word ‘want’ and Rowena felt a little quiver run through her.

  But she did not answer him and after a moment the Marquis said,

  “I will teach you to want me as I want you and we will not lie awake at night, my darling heart, alone and feeling lonely.”

  He kissed her again and this time there was a fire on his lips that seemed to Rowena to awaken a flickering flame deep down in her body.

  She could not understand it, but it was very strange and wonderful and, although she was a little afraid, she knew that it was what he wished her to feel.

  The Marquis kissed the corners of her mouth and the dimples in her cheeks and then he bent his head to kiss the softness of her neck and to give her a strange sensation that was different to what she had felt before. It was even, she thought, more wonderful.

  “I love you!” he said again. “It is difficult to think of anything else because I love you and want you with me, both by day and by night, and it is impossible, my precious one, to think of anything but you.”