Never Laugh at Love

by Barbara Cartland

  “Why not?” the Duke enquired.

  “Because for one thing I am quite certain it is not only the cartoon that has upset him,” the Countess replied, “but that someone has been talking.”

  The Duke did not speak and she carried on,

  “You know my mother-in-law, old though she is, has cronies who report to her on everything I do. She always lets me know that she is au fait with my latest conquest.”

  She paused to add,

  “And one can never trust servants.”

  “I thought you said you had new staff.”

  “Not all of them,” the Countess answered. “And besides, I don’t suppose they are above gossiping to the servants from The Castle, without perhaps even realising what harm they are doing.”

  That was, the Duke knew, something that could not be avoided, and too late he realised how indiscreet he had been to visit the Countess so frequently at Sheldon House in her husband’s absence.

  “There is only one thing to be done to save ourselves,” the Countess insisted, “and that is for you to marry Anthea as quickly as possible.”

  “How can I do that?” the Duke asked impatiently, “and why the haste?”

  “Because Edward has said that until you are married he absolutely forbids me to speak to you again, and I am to stay shut up in The Castle until Anthea is actually a Duchess.

  ‘A broken engagement would be only too easy for Axminster,’ he said. ‘He can get out of his obligations, if in fact they have ever been made. You have made a fool of me for too long, Delphine, and this time I intend the laugh to be on your paramour – not on me’.”

  “There must be a better way of coping with this,” the Duke said slowly.

  There was silence for a moment and then he added,

  “I must of course ask you if you would prefer to come away with me.”

  The Countess looked at him in surprise.

  “Do you mean that?”

  “The only honourable thing I can do is to offer you my protection,” he replied, “until such time as your husband can arrange for a divorce to be passed by Parliament.”

  The Countess gave a little cry.

  “Oh, Garth, it is adorable of you! But do you really imagine either of us could bear to live abroad as the Herons had to do for years and years?”

  She put her hand on the Duke’s arm in a gesture of affection as she sighed,

  “I shall never forget that you asked me, but the answer is – no. Definitely no, dearest Garth, because we would both hate every moment of our exile and would be clawing at each other’s eyes within a month of reaching Paris.”

  The Duke took her hand in his and raised it to his lips.

  “Whatever the penalties,” he said, “I believe it would be preferable to what you are asking me to do.”

  “Nonsense!” the Countess said briskly. “Anthea is a very sweet girl. You have to marry sometime and, though the Forthingdales may be poor, their blood is as blue as your own. She will make you a commendable Duchess and you know as well as I do that you must have an heir.”

  There was no gainsaying this, but the Duke had never contemplated surrendering his freedom until it was absolutely necessary.

  He had thought there was no need for him to think of marriage for at least another five years or perhaps longer.

  As if she read his thoughts, the Countess said softly,

  “I am sorry, Garth, but there really is no alternative.”

  The Duke looked down at the cartoon as if he thought there might be some other way of repudiating its insinuation.

  There was no denying that the expression on the lion’s face, while a caricature, was unmistakably his own, or that the slanting green eyes of the ginger cat were all too obviously the Countess’s.

  It was a clever drawing and far more skilfully executed he thought than George Cruikshank’s crude, vulgar style. But its very delicacy made the cartoon all the more dangerous and to be honest he well understood the Earl’s anger at his wife being publicly pilloried.

  “You will do it, Garth?” the Countess asked him anxiously.

  The Duke had been silent for some time.

  “It is the only way you can save us both,” she murmured.

  “Then I suppose the answer is – yes,” the Duke said grudgingly.

  *

  Anthea was in the kitchen rolling out the pastry for a chicken pie she was making for dinner.

  A large white apron covered her gown and, because she had washed her hair the previous day, she had covered it with a protective white handkerchief.

  All the girls could cook well as their old Nanny had taught them when they were quite small and, when she retired to look after her sister who was ill, they had taken it in turns to prepare meals and often vied with each other in seeing who could produce the most delicious dishes.

  As she worked, Anthea was thinking that now she could make money, they would be able to afford Mrs. Harris from the village to come in two or three days a week to do the scrubbing.

  That was the side of the housework they all disliked and Thais always managed, if it was possible, to get out of her share.

  Anthea was sure that her mother would be too vague to ask any awkward questions as to why Mrs. Harris was employed or how they could afford to pay her.

  She thought with satisfaction that waiting on the schoolroom table were three more cartoons neatly packed up and waiting to be despatched to Mrs. Humphrey in London.

  The main difficulty, she found, was to keep her drawings out of sight of her mother.

  Rising early in the morning and working late after Lady Forthingdale had gone to bed was, she discovered, a better way than trying to hide what she was doing when her mother came unexpectedly into the schoolroom.

  “Tell us about the pictures you have sold,” Thais had asked.

  “To tell you the truth,” Anthea replied, “I have almost forgotten which they were. I drew them in my sketchbook whenever I had a moment and I never anticipated when I showed them to Mrs. Humphrey that she would take the lot!”

  She smiled.

  “I just thought how lucky I would be if she bought one and gave me perhaps one pound for it so that I could buy you all a present.”

  “Ten pounds for each!” Chloe exclaimed. “It seems an unbelievable amount for those scrawls you have been doing ever since I can remember.”

  “You used to make us laugh with your drawings when we were children,” Thais remarked. “It seems funny you should make the smart people in London laugh at them now.”

  “It seems funny to me too,” Anthea agreed. “But I had better draw everything I can while it is all fresh in my mind. It would be mortifying if Mrs. Humphrey should return anything I sent her.”

  “I asked you to tell us about the ones you have sold,” Thais enquired again.

  “There is no need for me to do that. You will see them. Mrs. Humphrey has promised to send me one of each issue as soon as it is printed.”

  “You gave her this address?” Chloe asked.

  “How could I help it? But I can assure you that no one in London is interested in Yorkshire – except that some of the gentlemen occasionally attend the races at Doncaster and elderly ladies take the waters at Harrogate.”

  “And of course no one will have heard of Miss Ann Dale,” Thais laughed.

  “Or the Country Mouse,” Chloe added.

  “No, that is my safeguard,” Anthea agreed.

  She put the pastry over the pie dish and cut the edge into an elegant pattern.

  The girls all liked chicken pie and Anthea had found time to make one this afternoon, as Chloe and Phebe were having lessons and Thais had gone with Lady Forthingdale to Doncaster.

  Once or twice a year an elderly Squire who lived two miles away would drive into Doncaster for a meeting with the Racecourse officials and, when he did so, he invariably invited Lady Forthingdale to accompany him.

  As she seldom went out, her daughters always persuaded her that the drive wou
ld do her good.

  “As a matter of fact,” Lady Forthingdale had said yesterday when the Squire’s invitation arrived, “I want to go to the Library in Doncaster. There is a book of poems by Lord Byron that I particularly wish to purchase.”

  “Lord Byron, Mama?” Anthea questioned. “Are you going romantic again, Mama?”

  “I feel that his Lordship’s work might be of assistance in the poem I have been considering this last week,” she replied.

  “I thought you would go back to love eventually!” Chloe said irrepressibly.

  “Love is a malady without a cure,” Anthea quoted with a smile.

  “It is also a sickness full of woes,” Thais interposed as she was as knowledgeable on her poets as Anthea was.

  “I think you are making fun of me,” Lady Forthingdale said with dignity. “But I don’t wish any of you to laugh at love. It is something very beautiful that I hope one day will come into the lives of all of you.”

  “Nanny said once that it was unlucky to laugh at love,” Phebe remarked.

  “And so it is!” Lady Forthingdale declared. “That reminds me, Anthea, I never asked if you had lost your heart to anyone while you were in London.”

  “No, Mama. I did not fall in love simply because I met no one as charming, handsome or attractive as Papa.”

  She knew that her words would please her mother and Lady Forthingdale’s eyes were suspiciously misty as she thought of the husband she had loved so dearly.

  Irrepressibly the thought came to Anthea that, however handsome her father had been, the Duke undoubtedly would take the prize in a contest between them.

  The pie was now ready to put in the oven and she wondered as she opened the door of the ancient stove whether any of her Godmother’s elegant friends were capable of cooking anything, even an egg.

  The idea of their doing so in their elaborate gowns and glittering jewels made Anthea smile.

  She was just wondering if that might give her an idea for a cartoon, when there came a loud knock on the front door.

  She felt it might be the letter she was hoping for from the Marquis.

  She had written to him on her return home to make quite certain that he would keep his promise and write to her.

  Without bothering to remove her white apron, she ran from the kitchen through the hall and pulled open the front door.

  As she did so, she gave a gasp of sheer astonishment.

  Outside there was an extremely elegant phaeton pulled by four horses. Behind it were two outriders in blue and gold livery and behind them, just coming down the drive, was a travelling chariot also pulled by four horses, escorted by two more outriders.

  As Anthea stared as if she could not believe her eyes, the servant who had knocked on the door announced sharply,

  “His Grace the Duke of Axminster calling on Lady Forthingdale. Is her Ladyship at home?”

  He spoke in the superior tone of a senior servant addressing an underling.

  While Anthea was finding it impossible to reply, the Duke stepped down from the phaeton and came to the front door.

  “Forgive my unexpected appearance, Miss Forthingdale,” he began, “which I gather is a surprise.”

  “A – surprise?” Anthea repeated stupidly.

  “It is obvious that you were not expecting me,” the Duke said. “I wrote to your mother three days ago, but the posts are lamentably slow and I imagine she could not have received my letter.”

  His eyes flickered over her apron as he spoke and Anthea realised how strange she must look.

  “No – no,” she faltered. “Mama has not – heard from you – and she is out this – afternoon.”

  “I still hope that I may have the pleasure of seeing her,” the Duke persisted.

  With an effort Anthea remembered her manners.

  “Will you come in, Your Grace?”

  “Thank you,” the Duke replied gravely.

  He walked into the hall.

  Anthea pulled the handkerchief from her head, but was so bemused that she made no effort to take off her apron.

  Instead she led the way into the drawing room and was relieved to see that it was quite tidy.

  Three long windows opened onto the garden and there was a sweet fragrance from the freshly picked flowers in the big bowls that Anthea had arranged the previous day on various tables round the room.

  “You are on your way to the Doncaster races, Your Grace?” she managed to say when they reached the hearth and she indicated a comfortable chair for the Duke to sit on.

  It was the only thing she could think of to explain why the Duke had called.

  “I, in fact, intend to stay the night with Lord Doncaster, who is a distant cousin,” he replied, “but the races will not take place until next month.”

  “I had – forgotten.”

  There was a little silence.

  Then the Duke said,

  “As your mother is not here, it would perhaps be best if I explained myself to you.”

  “Explained what?”

  “The reason for my visit.”

  She looked at the Duke enquiringly, thinking that he must have a message from her Godmother.

  After a moment’s obvious hesitation the Duke said,

  “In my letter, which should have arrived by now, I asked your mother if she would permit me to pay my addresses to you!”

  Anthea’s eyes opened so wide that they seemed to fill her small face.

  Then after a moment she faltered,

  “I don’t – think I – understand.”

  “I am asking you to marry me, Miss Forthingdale!”

  Again there was a silence that seemed to fill the whole room before Anthea asked in a strange voice,

  “Is this a – joke?”

  “I assure you I am completely serious.”

  “B-but you – cannot – I mean, you – cannot – ’

  Anthea stopped stammering and said sharply,

  “Why do you want to – marry me?”

  “It is time I took a wife,” the Duke answered baldly, “and I thought when we met in London that we seemed to be well suited.”

  Anthea rose to her feet.

  “I cannot imagine, Your Grace, that you intended to be – insulting – but I cannot – credit for one moment that you expect me to – accept such an extraordinary and unexpected – suggestion.”

  “Why not?” the Duke asked. “I am usually considered extremely eligible.”

  “I am well – aware of that,” Anthea answered, “but Your Grace is also aware that there are – reasons why I could not – contemplate such – a-an – i-idea.”

  She stammered over the last two words, feeling it impossible to express what she was thinking in words, knowing quite well that he would understand what was in her mind.

  The Duke did not answer and after a moment Anthea said without looking at him,

  “I think we have – nothing further to say to each – other – Your Grace, and, as my mother will not be home for some hours – there is no point in your – waiting to see her.”

  As she spoke, she had an urgent desire for the Duke to leave as quickly as possible.

  She could not possibly imagine his motive for coming to ask her to marry him.

  But she was certain that, if he had spoken to her mother, it would be very difficult, without involving her Godmother, to explain why she could not accept him.

  She had every intention of remaining loyal to the Countess and she could only be thankful that she was alone in the house when he called.

  Now the sooner he departed the less likelihood there would be of having to make difficult explanations of his presence.

  “Please – go,” she asked him.

  “I think I had best be frank with you, Miss Forthingdale,” the Duke said.

  “About – what?” Anthea asked suspiciously.

  “I had not intended to tell you the real reason why I am asking you to marry me,” the Duke replied, “but perhaps it is the only way I can m
ake you understand the urgency of it.”

  “I cannot imagine what you are talking about. Let me make it quite clear that nothing Your Grace can say would make me agree to be your wife and, unless we mean to be involved in difficult explanations to my family – you should leave at once!”

  Anthea glanced towards the clock on the mantelshelf as she spoke and saw with relief that it was only two o’clock.

  That meant that unless anything unforeseen happened, it would be at least an hour before Chloe and Phebe returned from the village.

  She could imagine only too well how curious they would be, to say the least of it, in fact astounded, by the Duke’s entourage waiting in the drive.

  “I thought you seemed fond of your Godmother, Miss Forthingdale,” the Duke said surprisingly.

  “I am,” Anthea answered.

  “Then if you could save her from something very unpleasant, from a scandal that would completely ruin her life, would you not be prepared to do so?”

  “Y-yes, of course,” Anthea agreed, “but I – ”

  “The Earl of Sheldon is threatening either to divorce your Godmother, citing me as co-respondent or to incarcerate her in the country and never permit her to visit London again!”

  He spoke coldly and quite unemotionally.

  “Oh, poor Cousin Delphine!” Anthea exclaimed. “Why should the Earl do that? What – has happened?”

  “I daresay you have seen those scurrilous caricatures of which the Earl has a notable collection.”

  Anthea was very still.

  “The one that has caused all the trouble,” he went on, “portrays your Godmother and me in a manner to which the Earl has taken great exception.”

  Anthea found it almost impossible to breathe as he continued,

  “The only way your Godmother could prevent his Lordship from putting his threats into action was to tell him that the reason I had been at Sheldon House so frequently during his absence was that you and I are engaged!”

  “He – believed – that?”

  Anthea’s voice was so faint it was hardly audible.

  “He agreed to accept such an explanation on condition we were speedily married.”

  Anthea walked across the room to stand staring into the garden with unseeing eyes.

  She could hardly believe that what she had just heard was the truth.