A Duel With Destiny

by Barbara Cartland

  It was just the sort of house that she would have expected him to have.

  When she entered the marble hall embellished with Greek statues and was taken along a passage hung with priceless pictures and decorated with fine examples of French furniture, she had, despite herself, felt definitely overawed.

  But, when she saw the Marquis, even the huge and splendid room he was standing in sank into insignificance and she was conscious only of him.

  Now, as he drew a little nearer to her, she steeled herself to withstand the way he seemed to compel her to a tingling awareness of himself.

  She thought that he was looking more handsome and even more striking than he had yesterday.

  Then she told herself that she was behaving like a rabbit mesmerised by a stoat and that whatever he said or did she hated and despised him for his behaviour towards her.

  “Did you think of me last night?” the Marquis asked in a low voice.

  “Certainly not!” Rowena declared positively.

  But because she was not very good at lying the colour rose in her face and the Marquis laughed softly.

  “Could either of us think of anything but each other?” he asked. “You are fighting me, but you know as well as I do, Rowena, that it’s a losing battle. We were destined for each other since the beginning of time.”

  “That is not – true,” Rowena managed to retort, hoping that her voice sounded steady.

  Yet she was vividly aware of an aching sensation within her that made her long to move towards the Marquis and hide her face against his shoulder.

  “It was destiny that we should meet,” the Marquis went on, “and, although I expected to call on you this afternoon, it is destiny that you have come to me now asking for my help.”

  “It is nothing of the sort!” Rowena managed to say sharply. “What is happening at this moment, my Lord, is, as I have pointed out, entirely the result of your mismanagement of my affairs and your interference where it is not wanted.”

  “Are you telling me that you really do not wish Mark to go to Eton?” the Marquis enquired.

  “I would rather he remained uneducated than be beholden to you!”

  “If you say that, I can only believe that you don’t love your brother.”

  He moved still nearer and now, standing close to her, he said softly,

  “I shall win in the end, Rowena. Is there any point in continuing to fight me when I hold possession of your heart?”

  She thought wildly that that was true, but she was just about to repudiate the suggestion when to her relief the door opened.

  “Sam, my Lord!” the butler announced and the groom whom Rowena had seen so often in her own home came into the room.

  “Good mornin’, my Lord!”

  “Good morning, Sam,” the Marquis answered. “Miss Winsford has come here to ask your help.”

  Sam looked surprised and after a moment the Marquis quizzed him,

  “She wants to know, Sam, what you have said to young Master Mark about working with horses which could make him take it into his head to try to earn his living that way.”

  Sam’s usual smiling face was serious as he replied,

  “Your Lordship means the young gentleman’s run away?”

  “Yes, Sam. He has informed his father that he intends to find work with horses. Now where do you think that could be?”

  Sam thought for a moment.

  “I thinks Master Mark might make for Newmarket, my Lord.”

  “You talked to him about the races?”

  “Yes, my Lord, ’e was ever so interested and I remembers now ’ow I told ’im a large number of stableboys was required in the trainin’ of the ’orses there.”

  The Marquis looked towards Rowena and said,

  “That, then, is where Mark will have gone.”

  “He cannot have got far,” Rowena exclaimed. “I should be able to catch up with him.”

  “I will take you,” the Marquis suggested.

  She hesitated a moment before she replied,

  “I already have a conveyance.”

  “With four horses?”

  “N-no.”

  “Then I think my team will prove quicker. We should be able to overtake Mark on the road to Newmarket before he gets very far.”

  The Marquis looked towards his groom.

  “My phaeton, Sam, and the new chestnuts!”

  “Yes, my Lord,” Sam hesitated a moment and then he said,

  ‘I’m sorry if anythin’ I said, my Lord, should ’ave caused any trouble.”

  “It was not your fault,” the Marquis murmured briefly.

  “Thank you, my Lord.”

  The groom left the room and the Marquis then asked Rowena,

  “How did you get here?”

  “Mr. Lawson from the livery stables brought me.”

  “Of course! Your ardent admirer!” the Marquis remarked sarcastically.

  “Papa had already left on his calls and it may have escaped your notice that we have no other means of transport.”

  “I will thank the gentleman from the livery stables on your behalf,” the Marquis said, “and send him about his business!”

  He walked across the room as he spoke and Rowena rose to her feet.

  “No – please,” she said. “He has been very kind, and – ”

  The door closed behind the Marquis and she realised there was nothing she could do but allow him to send Edward Lawson away.

  She hoped that he would not be anything but polite. At the same time she had to admit to herself that she was glad that she did not have to make the return journey with Mr. Lawson.

  He was very persistent in his pursuit and quite impervious to snubs, however frequently they were administered.

  Equally she thought it typical of the Marquis to be so high-handed, leaving her no alternative but to do as he wished.

  ‘All that matters at this moment is to find Mark,’ Rowena told herself.

  Nevertheless, when the Marquis returned a few minutes later to say that he had sent the chaise away and that the phaeton was on its way round from the stables, she could not help feeling a little tremor of excitement because she was to travel with him alone.

  There was a groom up behind, but he could not overhear what they said and, as they set off down the drive, the Marquis tooling the reins with the expertise that she expected him to show, she thought how many women would be envious of her.

  But they had no reason for envy, she told herself bitterly, being sure that any other women whom the Marquis drove would be Ladies of Quality to whom he had a very different attitude.

  They drove for a mile or so in silence until the Marquis said,

  “You are looking very beautiful this morning, Rowena. Every time I see you I am astonished by your loveliness.”

  Rowena did not reply, but she clasped her fingers together in her lap over the thin wool rug that covered her gown and made an effort to control the feelings that the Marquis’s compliments always evoked in her.

  “I had been planning how I could inveigle you into driving with me,” the Marquis went on. “There are so many places I want to show you and so much we might do together. However, as I have said, once again destiny has come to my aid.”

  “It is not destiny that has brought me here, but Mark! Mark, who has run away because your servants excited him about horses that he will never be able to afford to ride, let alone own.”

  “Can you be sure of that?” the Marquis asked.

  “I am quite sure!” Rowena replied. “Even my father will agree that, while he might accept education for his children, it would be extremely improper for you to supply them with luxuries.”

  “I see nothing improper about it,” the Marquis said. “You know as well as I do that I am ready to give you the sun, the moon and the stars and anything else you wish to have.”

  The words “except for a Wedding ring” trembled on Rowena’s lips. But thinking it would be ill bred to make such a remark she remained si
lent.

  “I love you!” the Marquis said, his eyes on his horses ahead. “You have no idea how much I love you. I could not sleep last night for thinking about you.”

  Rowena would not give him the satisfaction of learning that she had been unable to sleep either.

  All she managed to reply coldly was,

  “Your idea of love and mine are very different, my Lord, so please let’s talk about something else.”

  “What would you like to talk about?” the Marquis asked. “Shall I tell you that I find the dimples in your cheeks quite irresistible and I am missing them this morning? Or shall I say that I would give half my fortune at the moment for the privilege of kissing your lips?”

  “Stop!” Rowena ordered crossly. “You are not to say such things to me! If you continue to talk to me like this, my Lord, I shall get down and if necessary walk the rest of the way.”

  “In which case you are unlikely to catch up with your brother, who I am certain walks a great deal faster than you do,” the Marquis replied.

  This was irrefutable and Rowena lapsed into silence.

  They drove on passing the crossroads that led to Little Powick and now Rowena realised that they were on the road that Mark would have taken, the road that led over the downs to Royston and then on to Newmarket.

  She remembered that Mark had half a sovereign in his pocket, but she had the idea that he would not expend any of this on taking a stagecoach.

  He was sensible where money was concerned and would be well aware that he might not be fortunate enough to find employment immediately.

  She thought, however, that he might beg a lift on a farm wagon and, when they had travelled for some miles without a sign of him, she was sure this was what had happened.

  It seemed as if the Marquis was thinking the same thing for he said,

  “I am imagining what I would do if I was in Mark’s place, and I am certain I would look out for a farmer going to market or perhaps a hay-cart, although that would be slower, trundling in the right direction.”

  “If we pass a stagecoach,” Rowena replied, “it might be wise to see if Mark is inside.”

  “He would certainly not be inside,” the Marquis replied. “To begin with it is more expensive and all boys and most men prefer to ride on top.”

  That was true, Rowena thought, and when they passed a stagecoach, heavily laden not only with people but with luggage and a variety of coops containing chickens and geese, there were only three men seated outside and no sign of a boy.

  Rowena was beginning to think despairingly that perhaps they had made a mistake and Mark was not making for Newmarket.

  Her voice trembled as she said,

  “Please – I think we should turn back – perhaps we could try another road.”

  The Marquis looked at her. His eyes rested on her pale cheeks and worried anxious eyes, before he said,

  “We will find him, my darling, that I promise you.”

  “But suppose he is in trouble – suppose there are men – who rob or hurt him.”

  The Marquis’s lips tightened and he whipped up his horses.

  Then, as they were driving at what was a tremendous speed down a straight stretch of road, Rowena saw ahead a small figure trudging up the next rise.

  Instinctively she put out her hand and laid it on the Marquis’s arm.

  “Is that Mark?” he asked her.

  “I am – sure it is. Yes – it is!” Rowena gasped.

  She was conscious of such an overwhelming relief that for a moment she forgot to be on her guard where the Marquis was concerned.

  “We have found him!” she cried. “Oh, thank you – thank you for bringing me to him!”

  The Marquis took one hand from the reins to cover hers. She felt his touch and inevitably it made her quiver.

  She felt too a sudden weakness that brought tears to her eyes.

  She had an irresistible impulse to lay her head against the Marquis’s shoulder and tell him how frightened she had been that they would not find Mark and that he was lost to them forever.

  Instead with an effort she took her hand away from his arm to sit with her eyes on the small figure ahead of them until the Marquis drew his horses to a halt.

  As he did so, Mark turned his head.

  He was looking rather drawn, Rowena thought, and his boots were very dusty.

  “Can we give you a lift?” the Marquis asked. “It’s still a long way to where you think you are going.”

  For a moment Mark seemed quite speechless.

  Then Rowena leaned out of the phaeton, her hand outstretched towards him.

  “Come home with me, Mark dear,” she pleaded. “You know that Papa and I cannot lose you.”

  Just for a moment Mark seemed to hesitate.

  Then he looked at the horses and the fineness of them seemed to sweep away the thought of everything else.

  “I say, can I drive with you?” he asked. “Is there room?”

  “Plenty of room,” Rowena answered.

  She squeezed herself against the side of the phaeton so that Mark could climb up and sit between her and the Marquis.

  He sat down and, as the Marquis drove on a little way to turn his horses, he said somewhat unsteadily,

  “I am – sorry if I have put you to any – trouble, my Lord.”

  “Did you really think you could disappear without upsetting your sister?” the Marquis enquired. “I gave you credit for more sense.”

  There was a curt note in his voice that made Rowena feel uncomfortable.

  She put her arm round Mark’s shoulders as if to protect him, but he did not relax against her.

  He merely replied to the Marquis,

  “I am sorry, my Lord, I did not think.”

  “Then you should have done so,” the Marquis answered. “If you had waited, I had intended this afternoon when I came to your father’s house to talk to you about your riding.”

  “My – riding?”

  “I was going to suggest that for the rest of the holidays I should lend you a horse and a groom and, if your progress is good, as I am sure it will be, that you could come out hunting when you come home at Christmas.”

  For a moment Mark’s breath was taken away.

  Then he said,

  “Hunting! Did you say – hunting, my Lord?”

  “That is what I said,” the Marquis replied, “but, of course, you may prefer to be a stable-lad and spend at least a year mucking out stables or if you are fortunate being allowed to groom the horses.”

  There was silence and then Mark admitted,

  “I realise I have made a fool of myself, my Lord.”

  “Another time when you feel rebellious or not quite certain what is the right thing to do, you might talk it over with me,” the Marquis declared. “I am quite experienced in such matters, having been a boy myself at one time.”

  “I will, my Lord, and thank you very much!” Mark agreed. “Did you really mean that I could ride until I go to school?”

  “I meant it,” the Marquis replied, “and I have another suggestion to make.”

  Mark was gazing up at him rapturously, but Rowena was staring straight ahead of her, her lips pressed together.

  She realised that after this Mark would worship the Marquis with adoration that nothing she could say or do would shake.

  A horse for the holidays! Hunting at Christmas! How could she compete with that?

  ‘I hate him! I hate him!’ she told herself.

  And yet it was impossible not to realise that what he was proposing would open new horizons for Mark and make all the difference to his life.

  They drove to Little Powick and Rowena never spoke, while Mark with shining eyes talked excitedly about horses, interspersed with almost a paean of gratitude for what the Marquis had promised him.

  When the phaeton drew up outside the door of their house Mark asked eagerly,

  “May I go to their heads, my Lord?”

  “If you wish,” the Marquis r
eplied.

  Mark jumped down from the phaeton before it came to a standstill to beat Sam to the horses’ heads.

  As Rowena pulled back the rug that covered her gown, the Marquis said in a low voice,

  “Am I forgiven?”

  “No!”

  “That is most ungenerous of you.”

  “You are merely bribing him, just as you have bribed Hermione and, of course, Papa.”

  “I think that is an unpleasant word.”

  “What you are doing is unpleasant. You are cheating in order to get your own way.”

  “I have always been told that all is fair in love and war and this is both, Rowena.”

  “It is certainly war,” she answered, “and, as you are prepared to use every weapon in your power, I shall do the same.”

  The Marquis did not answer.

  With a swiftness that was surprising in a man who had been so recently injured, he climbed down from the phaeton on his side and, before Rowena could step down, was waiting to assist her.

  It was impossible for her to avoid him and, as he lifted her to the ground, he held her close against him.

  Despite every resolution, despite telling herself firmly that she was furious with him, she felt her heart turn over and an unmistakable thrill run through her body.

  She felt to her annoyance that the Marquis was aware of it, for there was a smile on his lips as he saw her face and swept his hat from his head.

  “As I am sure you are feeling inhospitable,” he said, “I will not invite myself in.”

  As he spoke Mark came from the horses’ heads to stand beside him and he continued,

  “I was going to tell you, Mark, that I have to go to London first thing in the morning.”

  “You are going away, my Lord?”

  There was no doubt of the dismay in the boy’s voice.

  “Only for three or four days,” the Marquis said reassuringly. “You may not know it but all London is celebrating on August 1st and the Prince Regent wishes to pay a special tribute to the Duke of Wellington. He is giving a huge party at Carlton House at which I must be present.”

  “You will not stay long?”

  “I shall return as soon as possible,” the Marquis answered. “Perhaps on the 2nd, but certainly on the 3rd. Then I was going to suggest that you should come to Swayneling Park and we will choose a horse for you to ride until the beginning of September.”