Lovers in Lisbon

by Barbara Cartland

  She knew that he was glad to see her and, as he took her hand in his, she felt her heart turn over in her breast.

  It was not a very large party of guests.

  The women were all very smart, very sophisticated and, to Felicita, very beautiful.

  The men were all aristocrats, a few of them much older than the Marques.

  Most were either husbands or else closely connected in some way to the ladies.

  There was, however, one woman who Felicita knew when she was introduced to her that she was undoubtedly antagonistic.

  She was attractive, although not beautiful and she had that exotic allure that was typical of the French.

  Her name was La Comtesse de Valmont and, when they were introduced, the Duchesse said,

  “I have often met your charming husband, madame.”

  '“So I have heard,” the Duchesse replied coldly.

  It was obvious that she was not in the least interested in her.

  She looked Felicita up and down as if she was trying to find something wrong with her.

  She then turned away and slipped her arm through the Marques’s.

  In a sharp voice that was quite audible she then said,

  “You always gave me to understand, Alvaro, that you found the local people boring.”

  The Marques did not reply and walked across the room to talk to a cluster of his guests by the mantelpiece.

  When dinner was announced, he bowed to the Duchesse and asked her,

  “I hope, madame, I may have the honour of escorting you into dinner.”

  “I shall be delighted,” she replied, knowing that she was entitled to this position as her rank was senior to all the other guests’ titles.

  The Marques then turned to another distinguished guest,

  “I want you, José, to look after the Comtesse Felicity, as she knows nobody in the party. I can rely on you to see that she enjoys herself.”

  “It is something I am very willing to do,” José replied and he smiled.

  Felicita had already discovered that he was a Baron.

  As they all proceeded into dinner, Felicita was aware that the Comtesse de Valmont was angry.

  Her dark eyes were flashing as she found herself sitting halfway down the large table in the Baronial Dining Room.

  She was obviously fuming that she should have been seated beside their host.

  The dining room was as unique and attractive as the rest of The Palace.

  There were statues in alcoves around the room instead of pictures and the table was lit by huge gold candelabra and the first course was served on sparkling gold plates.

  There were orchids of many species decorating the table and with the jewels worn by the guests glittering in the candlelight, Felicita thought that it would be impossible for the room to look more romantic.

  The Marques was sitting in a high-backed chair emblazoned with his Coat of Arms.

  He looked even more majestic than he had this afternoon as if he had just stepped out of a picture book.

  ‘Tell me about yourself,” the Baron turned and said to Felicita.

  “I would much rather you told me about this party and who all these exciting attractive people are,” Felicita replied.

  The Baron laughed.

  “I am sure that they would feel very complimented to know that is how you view them.”

  He looked then from Felicita to the Marques and said,

  “You must be well aware that our host chooses his guests as he chooses his food and, of course, his treasures and that is with taste and discrimination.”

  “That is what everyone should do,” Felicita enthused.

  “Alas, it is not always easy,” the Baron replied. “We, all of us, for one reason or another, have to endure bores and inevitably they spoil occasions that should be nothing but pleasure.”

  “But surely, tonight there are no bores here?” Felicita queried him ingenuously.

  “Perhaps not,” he agreed, “but there are the jealous, the envious and the avaricious and they are almost as bad.”

  “I don’t want to believe you.”

  “Believe what?” the Marques intervened.

  He had been speaking to the Duchesse.

  Felicita, however, had the idea that even while he had been doing so, he was listening to what she and the Baron were saying.

  She turned to look at him with shining eyes.

  “The gentleman on my left,” she said, “is trying to spoil what is a picture of perfection, like all that you showed me this afternoon!”

  “How dare he do such a thing!” the Marques exclaimed. “You must not listen to him”

  “Because everything is beautiful and it is something I have never seen before,” Felicita said looking round the table, “I want to believe that everybody is happy and enchanted.”

  “And that is what I want you to be,” the Marques said quietly.

  She looked up at him and, as her eyes met his, she found it difficult to look away.

  Then, as she did so, she saw the Comtesse glaring at her from the other side of the table.

  She knew that there was one person present who was not happy and she undoubtedly came into the Baron’s category of being jealous.

  When dinner was over, they moved back into the salon.

  There, to Felicita’s delight, there was a small orchestra playing softly behind a screen of flowers and shrubs.

  There were card tables and one for Baccarat, that the older members of the party were gravitating towards.

  “You are going to play, Duchesse?” Felicita heard somebody ask her.

  “Of course,” the Duchesse replied. “How could I resist anything so alluring?”

  She moved towards the other end of the room and, as she seated herself at the Baccarat table, the other places were quickly filled.

  Felicita was wondering what she should do, when she felt the Marque’s hand on her arm.

  “I want to show you the view at night,” he suggested.

  He did not wait for her to reply, but drew her through a French window onto the terrace.

  There was no wind and it was actually quite warm. Felicita was not thinking of herself, but of the stars overhead and the lights below them.

  In a way the panorama was even more beautiful than it had been during the day.

  There were several ships moving out to sea, their lights reflected on the water.

  There were the lights of Lisbon in the distance and just below them, the gleam in some of the cottage windows looked like jewels in a velvet setting.

  It was so lovely that Felicita stood by the stone balustrade gazing out.

  She felt that this was something that she would always remember for the rest of her life.

  Then she was aware that the Marques was looking at her and she turned her face towards him, saying,

  “Thank you, senhor, for showing me all this beauty.”

  “What does it make you feel?” he asked.

  “As if for the moment – I was God,” she answered, “and I had created the world beneath me – and it is perfect for everyone ‒ with no suffering and no cruelty.”

  The Marques smiled.

  “This is most unusual. I have brought many people here, but no one has ever said that before.”

  “I am sure it is what you yourself feel.”

  “How can you think that?”

  “I am right, am I not?”

  “You are indeed and I find it strange and almost disturbing that you should either read my thoughts or know so much about me and in such a short time.”

  “And now you are laughing at me,” she protested. “I would certainly not presume to read your thoughts and, when I told you that it was what you yourself felt, it just came into my mind suddenly.”

  “And what else do you know about me?” the Marques then enquired.

  Felicita made an expressive little gesture with her hands.

  “Nothing – except I think that you are looking for something
that you are – afraid you will not find.”

  She became aware that the Marques was staring at her in astonishment.

  Then he asked,

  “Why should you say that?”

  There was a sharpness in his voice and Felicita said quickly,

  “I- I am sorry – I did not mean to be – rude.”

  “You are not rude, it is just that you surprised me.”

  Then in a different voice he asked,

  “Who has been talking about me? What has your aunt told you?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all – that I do promise you. It was a – mistake for me to – say what I thought.”

  “Now I have frightened you,” the Marques said, “and that is something I have no wish to do. In fact I have been looking forward to this evening and it seemed such a long time after you left until you returned.”

  Felicita did not answer, she merely looked up at the stars again.

  After a moment the Marques asked in a low voice, “Did you think of me?”

  “Yes – of course.”

  “Why ‘of course’?”

  “Because – I have never met – anyone like – you before.”

  “And having done so, what did you think?”

  She put her head a little to one side as she considered his question before she replied,

  “I think you are very magnificent – very clever and – quite unreal.”

  “Unreal?” the Marques questioned.

  “I am sure you exist only in a picture or in a storybook. In fact, as we came up the hill, I would not have been surprised if The Palace had no longer been there!”

  The Marques chuckled gently.

  “I know exactly what you are saying and I can understand. At the same time I want you to realise, my beautiful little Comtesse, that I am both real and a man!”

  Felicita was suddenly aware that this was true.

  Rather nervously she looked back at the window that they had emerged onto the terrace through.

  “I-I think perhaps I should now – go back into the salon and see if my – aunt wants me,” she said hesitatingly.

  “The Duchesse is now perfectly happy playing Baccarat,” the Marques said, “and I just cannot allow you to run away from me.”

  “I am – not!” Felicita retorted and knew at once that it was untrue.

  The moon was growing stronger and now she could see his face clearly in the moonlight.

  There was also light behind them where the curtains in the drawing room had been left open.

  She looked up at him and then looked away again.

  “When you left me this afternoon,” he said, “it was I who thought I was dreaming and it was impossible for you to be as beautiful as you appeared to be. Now that I see you again, however, you are even more beautiful!”

  There was a depth in his voice that made Felicita quiver.

  She felt a strange excitement creeping over her that was different from anything she had ever known before.

  The Marques was leaning on the balustrade looking at her.

  And now he asked her,

  “Have you ever been kissed, Felicity?”

  “N-no – of course not.”

  He laughed very softly before he went on,

  ‘That is what I thought, although when I see how lovely you are, it seems impossible.”

  “I-I would not allow – anyone to kiss me – unless – ”

  Felicita stopped and the Marques added for her,

  “ – unless you loved him. That is what you were going to say, is it not?”

  “I-I have not – thought about it.”

  “That is untrue.”

  As he spoke, she thought that, of course, she had indeed thought about being in love and of being kissed, but it all seemed unreal.

  These past months, when she had been alone, her thoughts had been too engaged on how she could earn money, how she could afford to buy enough to eat and how she could just stay alive.

  There was no room in her mind for love when she was hungry when she went to bed at night and even hungrier when she woke up in the morning.

  From that very basic existence to where she was at the moment, the transformation was extraordinary.

  She found it impossible to think clearly or to answer the Marques’s questions coherently.

  There was a poignant silence between them.

  He stared at her little straight nose silhouetted against the darkness and was aware of the tumult within her.

  For a long time neither of them spoke.

  And then he said to her very softly,

  “I want you to trust me and, when you do, I will sweep away all that worries you and makes you afraid and intimidated.”

  Chapter Five

  Felicita awoke early and walked down the stairs.

  The servants hurried to fetch her breakfast and she knew that she would be alone in the breakfast room.

  The Duchesse had said last night that she was tired and would not be called until late on in the morning.

  Felicita was glad, although it seemed ungrateful, because she did not want to talk.

  She thought when they left The Palace last night that she was in a dream.

  She had then dreamt of the Marques all night and felt that he was still standing beside her and smiling.

  When they came back from the terrace, they had stopped to listen to the fine music of the small orchestra.

  Somehow even when they were not talking to each other, she felt certain that she could fully understand the Marques’s thoughts.

  She felt that he too knew exactly what she was thinking.

  She had found it difficult on the way home when the Duchesse seemed almost to cross-examine her about what had happened.

  “What did you and the Marques talk about when you were there alone on the terrace?” she wanted to know.

  “We talked about the view,” Felicita answered evasively.

  “And what else?”

  “H-he said I was – beautiful.”

  She felt as if the words were being dragged from her, but she felt that the Duchesse was pleased.

  “And did he say anything else?”

  Felicita remembered how much she owed the Duchesse and she recognised that she must answer her questions truthfully.

  But she did not wish to say that the Marques had asked her to trust him and that he would sweep away all her worries and fears.

  It was something that she was quite sure he would never do and yet it was wonderful to know that he wanted to help her.

  But those were deep feelings that she could not share with anyone.

  She tried desperately to think of the other subjects that they had discussed on the terrace.

  She could feel as they drove homewards that the Duchesse, and it seemed extraordinary, was somehow disappointed with the evening.

  “I would expect we will see him again tomorrow,” she said finally when they reached the house.

  Felicita did not answer her.

  She was aware when she had said ‘goodnight’ to the Marques that he had held her hand for longer than was necessary.

  The strength of his fingers made her feel as if he was protecting her.

  From what or why, she had no idea.

  She only knew that he was like a rock that she could cling to and, as long as she did so, nothing could hurt her.

  When she eventually climbed into bed, she wanted to go over and over again everything that he had said to her.

  Instead all she could see was his handsome face and his grey eyes gazing into hers.

  She was aware of the pulsating vibrations that came from him and which seemed to join with hers.

  ‘It is just my imagination,’ she tried to tell herself sensibly.

  But she knew that it was nothing of the sort.

  Now she went from the dining room onto the veranda.

  She could see a haze over the sea that was just beginning to disperse and she could also hear the murmur of the waves.r />
  She thought that they were very like the music that the orchestra had been playing last night. And it had made The Palace seem even more enchanted than it was already.

  ‘Perhaps I shall see him again today,’ she thought.

  It was what she wanted more than anything that she could put into words.

  Because she felt restless, she went down the steps of the verandah and into the garden.

  She moved among the bushes which were brilliant with the blossom that scented the air with unworldly fragrance.

  The Comte, who owned the house, must have spent a great deal of money planning the clusters of camellias, bougainvillaea and hibiscus.

  Further away in the garden, in a sheltered spot, there was a profusion of lilies of a great variety and they were all so lovely in their white purity that Felicita felt she wanted to kneel down amongst them and pray.

  They were the flower of the Virgin Mary and all Portugal was dedicated in its devotion to the Mother of God.

  In the Convent where Felicita had been educated, the nuns celebrated every Holy Day connected with the Madonna.

  She had become so real to Felicita that she talked to Her almost as if she could see Her and she even felt that sometimes she gave her the answer to her problems.

  Now, as she gazed at the lilies, she found herself thinking how happy she was to be with the Duchesse.

  And how different the Marques was from any man she had ever met or even read about in her books.

  He was like one of the Knights Templar who had defended Portugal against her enemies.

  Even more than that, when they had stood together on the verandah she felt that he was not a man but a God.

  She talked on and on to herself, not aloud, but in her heart.

  Somehow it was not really that much of a surprise when, turning around, she saw him coming towards her across the green lawn.

  She stood without moving.

  She had no idea that with the lilies all around her and the mimosa trees beyond, she was a picture of sheer glorious beauty.

  The Marques reached her.

  And just for a moment they just stood gazing at each other.

  Then he began,

  “You are perfect! So perfect that every time I see you again I expect to be disappointed, only to find that you are even lovelier than you were in my dreams!”