A Very Special Love

by Barbara Cartland

  She genuflected and stood for a moment looking at the High Altar and, then seeing a man who looked like a Verger, she went up to him and said,

  “I wish to see His Eminence the Cardinal. Is that possible?”

  Her appearance obviously impressed him for without hesitation the Verger replied,

  “I’m not certain, madam, if His Eminence is available, but Monseigneur St. Ives is, I know in the Cathedral and perhaps you would speak with him?”

  “Thank you very much,” Zia answered.

  She was led down a side aisle and behind the Altar until the man who was leading her asked her to wait a moment outside a closed door.

  She stood there feeling more numb than anything else.

  It was as if the agony she felt at first after she had listened to the Marquis’s visitor had stunned her.

  Now she was feeling almost detached from herself.

  The door in front of her opened and the Verger who had escorted her there said,

  “The Monseigneur will see you now, madam.”

  Zia walked forward and found that she was in a small room rather like an office.

  There were many religious books on a number of shelves and the Monseigneur, a kindly-looking elderly man, was sitting at a desk.

  As she entered he rose and she curtseyed to him as she had done when she was in the Convent to Father Anthony and indeed later to Father Proteus.

  “You wanted to see me?” the Monseigneur asked gently, holding out his hand.

  “I-I have a – request to make, Monseigneur,” Zia replied.

  He indicated a chair on the other side of the desk and they both sat down.

  “Now what can I do for you?” the Monseigneur enquired.

  Zia drew in her breath.

  “I want to – become a Roman Catholic – and enter a Convent. I am – wealthy – so that I can endow any Convent that will – receive me.”

  “You have thought this over carefully?” the Monseigneur asked her after a slight pause.

  “Yes – and I have already had some – instruction at the Convent I attended in Cornwall.”

  “What is its name?”

  “The Convent of the Holy Thorn,” Zia replied to him. “It was partly a school ‒ and Father Anthony who was – in charge is very ill – and it is – unlikely he will recover.”

  “I have heard of this Convent,” the Monseigneur remarked.

  “I have been there for the last two years,” Zia explained, “but then I was – persuaded to – try to live in the – Social world, but now – I know it is not for me.”

  As she spoke, she could not prevent the agony she was feeling sounding in her voice.

  The Monseigneur bent forward to say,

  “I think you are unhappy, my child. Is this the reason why you wish to enter a Convent?”

  Because it was impossible for Zia to speak, she nodded her head and he said gently,

  “Unhappiness is not always the best reason for dedicating your life to God. I would like you to think over the possibility of remaining in the Social world that you belong to for a little while longer before you make any hasty decision that will so greatly affect your whole life.”

  “I have – made my – decision,” Zia answered. “Please take me – take me – now!”

  She looked at the Monseigneur and her eyes filled with tears.

  Then, as he hesitated, obviously feeling for words, the door behind him opened and the same Verger who had escorted Zia announced,

  “A gentleman to see you, Monseigneur.”

  Zia did not look round, but she heard footsteps behind her and to her astonishment a deep voice said,

  “Zia! How could you do anything so foolish?”

  Zia still did not turn her head.

  Instead she put her hands over her eyes and could not stop herself from crying.

  The Marquis looked down at her and then he said,

  “You must forgive me, Monseigneur. I am the Marquis of Okehampton. I saw my Ward driving alone in a Hackney carriage past Buckingham Palace and I then followed her here, knowing that there must be something wrong.”

  “I think there is,” Monseigneur St. Ives answered, “and I suggest, my Lord, that I leave you two alone together to discuss your differences. Afterwards, if you or the young lady wishes to see me, I will be available.”

  “You are very kind,” the Marquis said, “and I am extremely grateful.”

  Immediately the Monseigneur went from the room closing the door behind him and the Marquis sat down in a chair that was beside Zia’s.

  “Now, tell me what has happened?” he asked gently. “What is wrong? I could hardly believe it possible when I saw you driving alone.”

  Zia did not reply and after a moment he said,

  “Why did you come here?”

  “I – want to – enter a – Convent!” Zia murmured.

  “And leave me?”

  “Y-yes.”

  The monosyllable was hardly audible, but the Marquis heard it and after a moment he said,

  “I thought you loved me!”

  “I do – I do!” Zia sobbed. “But you belong to – her and – I cannot – stay in a world – where I might – see you with somebody else as your – w-wife.”

  The Marquis stiffened.

  Then he said,

  “Stop crying, my darling, and tell me exactly what has happened and why it has upset you.”

  Zia did not answer nor did she take her hands from her eyes, but she was no longer crying.

  Very gently the Marquis bent forward to pull her hands from her face.

  Her cheeks were stained with tears, her long eyelashes were wet and, when she looked at him, he saw the pain and agony in her eyes.

  It made him go down on one knee beside her and put his arms round her shoulders.

  “What has happened, my darling, my precious little love?”

  He could feel Zia trembling and she looked down.

  Then in a voice he could hardly hear she stammered,

  “The – Lady said – she was – carrying your – baby – and you had promised to – marry her.”

  The Marquis was very still.

  And then he said,

  “Look at me, my precious, I want you to look at me.”

  Slowly she raised her eyes to his and, when she had done so, he said,

  “We are in a Holy place, the House of God, and I swear to you by everything I hold sacred, on the memory of my mother whom I loved as you loved yours, that no woman, including the one who spoke to you, has ever had a child by me.”

  Zia stared at him.

  “You have to believe me,” he went on, “because I think that your instinct and your love for me would tell you if I was lying, just as it will also make you know that I am telling you the truth.”

  He saw a little flicker of light in Zia’s eyes before she said,

  “Then – why – why should – she say such a – thing?”

  “Because she had made up her mind to marry me, even while her husband was still living.”

  “But – you don’t – want to – m-marry her?”

  “I have never wanted to marry any woman, except you!” the Marquis asserted truthfully.

  “Then I don’t – understand – why – ?”

  “Listen to me, my precious. I will not pretend to you that there has not been a number of women in my life. I am a man and if a beautiful woman wishes to honour me by giving herself to me, I would be inhuman if I did not accept such favours.”

  He saw that Zia was listening and he carried on,

  “But you are intelligent enough to understand that a man may desire a woman because she is beautiful and that what he feels for her is an appreciation such as he would feel for a beautiful flower or the joy that is expressed in music or the warmth of the sun.”

  He felt Zia relax a little as he continued,

  “But, while it can be a delightful sensation, it is not real love, the love that I have for you, my dearest heart, and
that I believe you have for me. What we have found together is the love that comes from God, the love a man has for the one special woman in his life, who is actually the other half of himself.”

  He drew Zia a little closer to him.

  “It is the very special love that your father had for your mother and my father had for mine. It is the love that is Divine and which could never ever be spoilt by lies, deception or treachery.”

  Zia made a little murmur and the Marquis went on,

  “Just as Father Proteus was a bad man, so the woman you have just met is bad beneath the beauty of her face. We simply have to forget them both.”

  “But – suppose,” Zia said in a very small voice, “she – tries to – hurt you?”

  “That she has done already by upsetting you,” the Marquis said. “I had no idea, when her husband has not yet been buried, that she would come to my house or that you would see her and she would tell you such a lie.”

  There was silence between them.

  Then Zia said,

  “I am – sorry – forgive me – I should have – trusted – you.”

  “That is what I want you to do,” the Marquis said, “and you must forgive me – that I have sinned in the past, which I can swear to you here in the Cathedral, is something I shall never do in the future.”

  Zia gave a little sob.

  “I love you – I love – you!” she whispered, “but when I – came here – I-I wanted to – d-die!”

  “And now we both want to live. And I want you to come home for you have to choose your Wedding gown that you will become my wife in tomorrow.”

  As he spoke, he drew Zia to her feet.

  “I love you with all my heart and all my soul,” he said. “That, my darling, is something I have never said to any other woman for it would not have been true.”

  “And – I love – you!” Zia whispered. “You fill the – whole world – the sky and the sea – and I know, if I – lost you, I would have – nothing – nothing at all.”

  “You will never lose me,” the Marquis vowed.

  She thought that he would kiss her.

  But, as if he was thinking of the Holy place they were in, he raised her hands to his lips and kissed first one and then the other.

  Then he drew her towards the door.

  When they reached it, they saw on duty outside the Verger who had brought the Marquis to Monseigneur St. Ives’s study.

  “May I speak to the Monseigneur again for a moment?” the Marquis enquired.

  “I regret, sir, the Monseigneur is presently in the Confessional, but he asked me to tell you that he would pray for you.”

  “Will you thank the Monseigneur,” the Marquis said, “and say that I will be sending him a thank-offering.”

  The Marquis walked down the aisle with Zia, and as they did so she felt as if the Saints in the Chapels they passed were giving them a special Blessing.

  Then they were outside in the sunshine and she saw the Marquis’s phaeton drawn by two horses that were being held by a groom.

  They drove back the way that Zia had come past Buckingham Palace.

  They did not speak, but Zia felt as though the sun had never been brighter and it seemed to envelop them with an aura of happiness.

  When they arrived back at Oke House, Zia was aware that there was an expression of relief on Carter’s face as he saw that she was with the Marquis.

  As she ran up to her bedroom to take off her hat, Carter informed the Marquis in a low voice what had occurred and how anxious he had been.

  “By sheer chance, I saw Miss Langley driving past Buckingham Palace, where I had been to see His Royal Highness, who was holding an Investiture,” the Marquis explained. “However, it was sensible and very intelligent of you, Carter, to have sent someone after her. But then I know that I can always rely on you.”

  Carter was now beaming.

  Then the Marquis asked,

  “Is Lady Caton still here?”

  “She left fifteen minutes ago, my Lord, having waited for nearly an hour.”

  “If she calls again,” the Marquis ordered firmly, “I am not at home!”

  “I had no idea that Miss Langley was in the study, my Lord.”

  “I realise that, but don’t make another mistake before we leave tomorrow morning for The Castle and say nothing of all this to her Ladyship.”

  “No, of course not, my Lord. It would only upset her.”

  The Marquis wanted to say that it had upset him, but by the mercy of God everything was now all right.

  Then, as if he could not wait another minute to see Zia, he gave orders,

  “We will have tea in the drawing room.”

  “Very good, my Lord.”

  He went upstairs to wait for Zia to come from her bedroom.

  *

  There was so much that Zia wanted to see in The Castle when they arrived after stopping on the way for luncheon, but the Marquis insisted firmly that she was to rest.

  They were to be married at five o’clock and he sent her to her bedroom until then.

  She guessed that one of his reasons was that he wished to see that the Private Chapel was filled with flowers and later she found that she had not been mistaken.

  It was a small but very beautiful Chapel that had been built at the same time as The Castle and very few alterations had been made to it over the years.

  Only the Marquis, she thought, could have contrived that it was filled with Arum lilies and their sublime fragrance scented the air.

  It was the perfect background for her white gown that had arrived just before they left London and had been ordered by the Marquis almost from the moment that he had asked her to be his wife.

  “How could you have been so marvellous in planning everything ‒ so cleverly?” she asked him as they drove through the beautiful countryside towards The Castle.

  “I want everything in your life to be perfect, as perfect, my precious, as our love.”

  “That is so – perfect that there are no – words to – describe it,” Zia said softly.

  It was what the Marquis thought too.

  Harry, who was to be his Best Man, had said to him last night after dinner,

  “You are marrying exactly the right woman in taking Zia as your wife.”

  “I love her!” the Marquis said fiercely.

  He was afraid that Harry was still thinking that he was marrying her purely to be rid of Yasmin.

  “I know that, Rayburn, and I have never seen you looking so happy or so pleased with yourself!”

  The Marquis laughed.

  He knew it was true that he was happy.

  He also was pleased to believe that he had been clever enough to find the one woman in the world who he was sure was different from anyone else.

  He had taken Zia to The Castle alone and Harry had arranged to stay with friends who lived only about two miles away.

  “You realise,” he said, “that everyone will want to tear my eyes out if I am the only guest at your marriage? They will all be expecting a big ‘slap-up’ feast with the Prince of Wales present and at least a dozen bridesmaids.”

  “Then they will be disappointed. This is exactly the sort of Wedding that I have always wanted, but thought I would never be lucky enough to have.”

  “What you are really saying is that it is the sort of Wedding that Zia wants too,” Harry remarked.

  “Of course,” the Marquis agreed. “After all she has been through, I am not having her upset by women being spiteful or men making eyes at her.”

  Harry laughed.

  “She is so beautiful that you will be kept busy fending off men like Charles who will find her irresistible.”

  “I know that,” the Marquis agreed, “but we are going to spend most of our time in the country and men like Charles will not be amongst our guests!”

  The Marquis paused.

  Then he said,

  “As a matter of fact, I do not intend to have any guests for a long time. I
want Zia all to myself.”

  The way he spoke made Harry gaze at him enviously. It was indeed the sort of marriage he wanted himself if he ever found a woman he wished to marry.

  But that could be said of every man who, like Lord Charles Fane, flitted from boudoir to boudoir inevitably to be bored and disappointed.

  *

  As the Marquis and Zia knelt side by side for the final Blessing from the Chaplain, they were holding hands.

  It seemed to them that the vibrations that they felt emanating from within themselves were like a Divine Light.

  They left the Chapel and, without speaking to anyone, as the Marquis had arranged, they went up to Zia’s bedroom, which had been his mother’s.

  The Marquis closed the door and then to Zia’s surprise he did not take her in his arms, but drew her to the window.

  They stood looking out at the garden, the lake that lay beyond it and the great oak trees in the Park.

  Beyond that there was a vista over the woods that eventually led to the sea.

  For a moment the Marquis did not speak.

  Then he said,

  “This is my world, my precious, which is now yours. I think we will both love it, rule over it and try to give everyone who lives in it the same happiness that we have ourselves.”

  Zia gave a little exclamation and moved closer to him.

  “Only – you, darling Rayburn could – think like that.”

  “It is the way you have taught me to think,” he answered, “but it has been there in my heart, although I have never been able to express it until now.”

  He put his arms round her and there was no longer any need for words.

  *

  A long time later when the sun was sinking and the rooks were going to roost in the trees, the Marquis said,

  “I am wondering, my darling glorious wife, why you are so different from any woman I have ever known before.”

  “Am I – so different?” Zia asked. “You are so – wonderful – so utterly and completely – marvellous that when you made love to me I was – just a little afraid – as it was so new to me – that you would not – feel the same as I did.”

  “I felt all that you felt and more,” the Marquis said, “and once again I am being truthful when I tell you that never has anything been so perfect or so glorious as loving you.”

  Zia gave a little cry.