Lovers in Lisbon

by Barbara Cartland

His voice was very moving as he went on,

  “But it is right, completely and absolutely right, because I love you and because I know, even if you had not told me so, that you love me too.”

  “How can you be – sure of – that?” Felicita asked him.

  In answer he took her hand and, turning it over, put his lips against her palm.

  It was a long slow passionate kiss.

  Because it was something that had never happened to her, Felicita was at first surprised.

  Then, as she thrilled to the insistence of his lips, he could see in her eyes what she was feeling.

  He knew too that she drew in her breath, because it was difficult for her to breathe and her breasts were moving beneath the thin material of her blue gown.

  He held her hand in both of his and asked,

  “Now tell me what you are feeling, darling, and if anything else is of any consequence.”

  It was impossible to speak.

  She could only look at him until he put his arms around her and then pulled her roughly against him.

  “You are mine!” he asserted. “Mine, as you have been since the moment you were born and Fate has been moving us towards each other until at last we have found each other and we are together.”

  He kissed her fiercely as if he would conquer her with his kisses.

  Only when she was limp in his arms from the rapture of it all did he say triumphantly,

  “Now tell me you love me.”

  “I – love – you – !”

  He kissed her again this time very gently.

  Then, to her surprise, because she had not expected it, he took her out on deck.

  Now Felicita could see the Palace da Azul silhouetted majestically against the sky.

  It looked more Fairy-like and even more romantic than it had yesterday.

  There was no need for words.

  With the Marques’s arms around her, Felicita stood staring at his home.

  She reckoned that it was as strange and unpredictable as he was himself.

  They both, she thought, stirred the imagination and were too extraordinary to be human.

  Only when finally, time having seemed to go by in a flash, they moved into the Harbour of Estoril, did the Marques ask her,

  “Have I made you happy, my glorious darling?”

  “So – happy that there are no words to – describe it,” Felicita said in a rapt little voice.

  “We are in love,” the Marques declared, “and words are always inadequate when what we want to express comes from our hearts.”

  She wondered how he could understand so exactly what she was feeling.

  With a little smile she went back into the Saloon to collect her hat and her shawl.

  When they reached the shore, the Marques’s carriage was waiting on the quay for them.

  He held her hand as they drove back to the house.

  When they stepped out of the carriage, Pedro greeted them and then informed them that the Duchesse was waiting to see them in the drawing room.

  Felicita felt at once that she could not face her.

  How could she make the explanations that she knew would have to be made as to why she and the Marques had gone away for the day together?

  They had spent the time, reprehensibly from a social point of view, alone.

  But to speak of it must destroy the magic that still held her spellbound and in awe.

  She stood irresolute in the hall and, as if he totally understood what she was feeling, the Marques said quietly,

  “Go upstairs, my darling, and leave this to me.”

  Pedro opened the drawing room door for him and, as he passed through it, Felicita fled up the stairs.

  She went into her room and, pulling off her hat, she then flung herself down on the bed to hide her face in the pillows.

  Everything that had happened seemed utterly and completely incredible.

  She was not the same person who had left this room early this morning.

  Then she had loved him, but it had been a spiritual love, as ethereal as the mist over the sea and as pure as the lilies that she had found growing in the garden.

  It was a love that was intense and real, the same love she gave to the Virgin Mary, whom she worshipped and the God who she believed in.

  Now the Marques’s lips had awakened her to womanhood.

  She loved him not only as a Knight or an Archangel-like creature without substance but as a man.

  She could feel her whole body vibrating towards his. Although in her innocence that she did not understand, she wanted to be a part of him.

  She wanted to belong to him as he said she did.

  The thrills that ran through her were like little tongues of flame.

  “I love – him! I – love him! I love – him!” she repeated over and over into her pillow.

  What she felt for him was so compelling and captivating that her brain could not grasp how overwhelming it was.

  It seemed a long time later before there came a knock on her door.

  Maria, the maid came into the room.

  Quickly’ Felicita sat up on the bed.

  “You rest, Donna,” Maria suggested. “There is no hurry.”

  “No – hurry?” Felicita repeated stupidly.

  “No, Donna, you’re to be ready to leave for The Palace at eight-thirty and until then you should sleep.”

  Felicita drew in her breath.

  Quite obviously the Duchesse did not wish to see her.

  That meant she was not angry or she would not have accepted the Marques’s invitation for them to go again to The Palace for dinner.

  With a little smile she told herself that he would doubtless always have his own way over everything he ever touched.

  Somehow he would have persuaded the Duchesse that they had done nothing wrong.

  Even the Duchesse, like every other woman, found him irresistible.

  Felicita let Maria help her out of her clothes and into one of the beautiful diaphanous nightgowns the Duchesse had given her.

  It was not as well sewn as those she made herself, but the material was finer and the lace more expensive than she could afford to buy.

  She did not want to think of the work she had done or of the desperate days when she had gone from hotel to hotel trying to find a buyer for her wares.

  Instead she climbed into bed and concentrated her thoughts only of the Marques.

  She could feel his arms around her and his still lips on hers.

  She knew that she was safe as he was holding her, but there were a thousand problems ahead waiting to be solved.

  She shied away from them like a frightened horse faced with a fence that was too high to jump.

  She would not – she dared not – think of what the future held for her.

  There were explanations to be made and apologies offered.

  Perhaps retribution would then follow.

  If the Marques was angry, what could she do about it?

  What was more, as she had given her word to the Duchesse, who had done so much for her, she must therefore continue to be deceitful at least until she was released from her vow of allegiance.

  ‘I am sure that she will understand when she realises that we are in love with each other,’ Felicita thought confidently.

  Because she was afraid of the answer, she forced herself, and it was not difficult, to think only of the Marques.

  His lips, his kisses and him!

  Chapter Six

  Driving towards The Palace that evening, Felicita was tense with excitement.

  She did not realise until they were nearly there that the Duchesse was very quiet sitting in the Marques’s smart carriage.

  There was a faint smile on her lips and yet Felicita had the distinct idea that she was not particularly happy.

  It all seemed strange to her, but there was nothing that she could actually put into words that would make any sense.

  She could only wonder if, after all, the Duchesse was
annoyed with her because she had been out all day on his yacht with the Marques.

  She had waited apprehensively in the drawing room for the Duchesse to appear and she was wearing the gown that she had been informed she was to wear.

  It was pretty and charming and the pale translucent blue of a thrush’s egg and trimmed with snowdrops.

  But it did seem a little out of place in the warm sunshine.

  Yet it made her look very young and at the same time innocent and untouched.

  Instinctively she thought about the lovely lilies in the garden and, when the Marques had arrived this morning, she had been standing amongst them.

  For the first time she wondered if perhaps he had been shocked that she had allowed him to kiss her.

  But ‘allowed’ was not really the right word.

  She had been asleep when his lips found hers and indeed she could not have struggled or resisted him.

  It would have been like standing up against one of the great waves flowing in from the Atlantic Ocean and smashing themselves against the rocks.

  Her love had seemed to flow over her like a flood tide. She knew that it had intensified until the idea of seeing him again made her feel breathless.

  She had no idea that the Duchesse was vividly conscious of the brilliance of her eyes.

  Once again the older woman was stepping back into the past.

  She was remembering how she had felt when she had driven to The Palace to find Juan waiting for her.

  The Marques Juan had completely overwhelmed her and she had thought foolishly that their love was as eternal as the sea.

  Felicita was not aware that the gown she was wearing was almost a replica of one that the Duchesse herself had worn to go to The Palace then. It was soon after she had met Juan and she had bought it when her mother was not with her.

  It had cost a great deal more than they usually spent on dresses and she suspected that, if she had asked for permission to buy it, her mother would have refused.

  The colour of the soft material had been a background for the darkness of her hair, the whiteness of her skin and the obvious happiness in her eyes.

  The snowdrops, the first flower of spring, symbolised the blooming of emotions that she had not known before.

  She would never forget that particular evening, for it was then that Juan had said to her,

  “I cannot bear any longer this parting and your leaving me! You must tell your mother tomorrow that you are coming to stay with me at The Palace.”

  She had looked at him somewhat apprehensively and he said,

  “Say there is a party, say the Queen herself is here to chaperone you, but for God’s sake come or I think I shall go mad without you!”

  He had not waited for her reply but swept her into his arms.

  He had kissed her until she would agree to do anything he asked of her.

  It was impossible to think about anything but him and their love.

  She knew that it was what Felicita was feeling now.

  She wondered a little cynically whether, if the Marques offered to take her away, she would be strong enough to resist him.

  It was impossible to be with Felicita and not be aware of how much her religion meant to her.

  The teaching of the nuns, her belief in God and the Virgin Mary were so much a part of her character and personality.

  The Duchesse knew in this respect that she was very different from the girl she had been when Juan first found her.

  Her parents were Roman Catholics, but not particularly ardent ones.

  She herself had been far too conscious of her own beauty at a very early age to worship the abstract beauty that filled Felicita’s eyes.

  Now she realised that the girl had awoken from being a child into becoming a woman.

  Where before she had been concerned only with her soul, now she felt all the pulsating emotions of the heart.

  The Duchesse had to force herself not to go on thinking about Felicita.

  Instead she thought about her plan and that everything so far had taken place exactly as she wished it to do.

  Felicita was in love and so was the Marques!

  Her years with the Duc had taught her to know when a man was completely sincere or just pretending.

  She knew too when what was called ‘love’ was no more than a passing desire for a pretty face and a softly curved body.

  Everything was happening very quickly.

  Yet she was prepared to wager a great deal of her large fortune that the Marques was completely captivated by Felicita.

  In fact it was only a question now as to how long it would be before he declared himself.

  If it was tonight, she was ready.

  *

  The horses turned in at the gates and they started the last climb up the steep drive to The Palace.

  The dying rays of the sun were turning the cupolas and the spiral tops of the minarets to gold.

  It was just so lovely that the Duchesse heard Felicita draw in her breath.

  She knew that the girl was once again in a Fairyland where nothing was in any way real and everything was an enchantment.

  As usual the footmen in their livery rolled down the red carpet.

  The Major Domo then bowed low and the Duchesse swept into The Palace with Felicita in her wake.

  Two footmen hurried ahead of them to open the double doors into the salon.

  Before they could do so, as if the Marques was too impatient to go on waiting, he had pulled them open himself.

  He came out of the room to greet the Duchesse.

  “You know how glad I am to see you,” he proclaimed.

  She did not miss the note of sincerity in his voice.

  He kissed her hand, but, as if he could not help himself, his eyes were already resting on Felicita.

  For a moment they just stared at each other and she managed to forgot to curtsey to him.

  Then, as she did so hastily, she could feel his fingers tightening on hers.

  It was with the greatest difficulty that she did not throw herself wildly into his arms.

  “Now we can enjoy ourselves,” the Marques said. “A party always makes it difficult to talk to a person one wants to.”

  “Nevertheless I enjoyed myself very much last night,” the Duchesse smiled.

  With the ease of an experienced and sophisticated hostess, she then began to talk about the Marques’s guests.

  She told him amusing little anecdotes of those she had known in the past and he laughed, as she had expected him to do.

  At the same time his eyes kept going towards Felicita.

  When she refused a glass of champagne that she was offered by one of the footmen, he rose and, taking a glass from the tray, he put it into her hand.

  “Tonight we celebrate what to me has been a perfect day!” he announced.

  She realised that his eyes were on her lips and he was thinking of how he had kissed her for the first time.

  She blushed, but obediently took a tiny sip of champagne from the glass he had offered her.

  They went into dinner and she was aware that the Marques was not only looking happy and relaxed but he was really enjoying himself.

  He was obviously determined that his guests should be happy too.

  He told them interesting stories of The Palace, his estate and the people who worked for him.

  He did not make the mistake, as many men might have done, of talking to the Duchesse about people they both knew in Paris.

  That would have precluded Felicita from the conversation. Instead his tales were those that she could understand and that he knew she would be interested in.

  Some concerned the history of Portugal and its people.

  When he spoke of the Knights Templar, he knew from the expression in her eyes that she was thinking of him dressed in Shining Armour.

  The food was even more delicious than it had been the night before.

  As if he knew that it was what she would enjoy, halfway through
the meal an orchestra, hidden in the Minstrels’ Gallery, began to play softly as a background to all that they were saying.

  Tonight the table was decorated with jewelled vessels of gold and the Marques said that they had been in his family for many centuries and had been made by the greatest craftsmen in the world.

  The orchids that decorated the table were all white and Felicita knew why the Marques had chosen them.

  When she had realised this, she saw that there were lilies in great vases on either side of the fireplace.

  As she gave him a faint little smile, he knew that she was thanking him for thinking of her.

  When the servants had withdrawn, they sat for quite a long time at the dinner table and the soft strains of Strauss’s romantic music filled the air and everything seemed even more like magic.

  Then at last they moved from the dining room into the salon.

  Electric light had recently been introduced in a great number of buildings in Lisbon, but the Marques insisted that it would spoil The Palace and he would stick with candles.

  The light from the chandeliers and the crystal candelabra standing on some of the tables was soft and certainly beautifying for the ladies.

  There was the strong fragrance of flowers and the windows were open to the star-strewn night outside.

  It made Felicita feel that no background anywhere could be more perfect for her love of the Marques or his for her.

  As they sat at the dinner table, they had felt each other’s presence strongly.

  Sometimes in the middle of a sentence the Marques would forget what he was saying and she knew that it was because he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her again.

  She felt a little thrill run through her because it was what she wanted too.

  She started wondering if there would be any chance of their being alone together this evening.

  Instinctively she moved a little nearer to the window.

  She was not aware that the Duchesse knew exactly what she was feeling.

  She was remembering one evening when she had come from the dining room with the Marques Juan and, as they entered the salon, Juan had said,

  “I forgot to tell you, my lovely one, that tomorrow I have to go away.”

  She had given a little cry of protest.

  “Oh, no! Why and where are you going?”

  “I have an appointment in Madrid that I cannot avoid. The King of Spain has asked me to discuss a matter of policy with him. I have put him off so often, I dare not put him off any more.”