A Perfect Way to Heaven

by Barbara Cartland

  “You are truly married, my cousin Elvira?” she whispered.

  “I am married,” confirmed Elvira, in a firm voice that she hoped would placate the Prince.

  It did not.

  Moodily her husband drew a glass towards him and filled it for Serge.

  “There,” he said. “And for Delphine, another glass. You may drink a toast to us at our wedding breakfast.”

  Serge, wolfing down a piece of suckling pig, did not fully understand. He grinned anyway and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

  Delphine, sinking down beside him, picked up a napkin and gave it to him without a word.

  Elvira regarded her cousin with compassion.

  “W-what has been happening to you?”

  “Everything,” she replied bitterly. “Everything and nothing.”

  “Let her eat,” ordered the Prince, his features finally softening as his eyes rested on Delphine.

  Elvira piled a plate high with food for her cousin, who picked at the offering and then pushed her plate away.

  “I am not so hungry after all,” she moaned and burst into tears.

  Serge stared, fork arrested mid-air. He did not move to comfort Delphine and so it was Elvira who took her cousin to her bosom.

  “There, there,” she soothed, stroking Delphine’s hair. “Let me send for Madame Gossec. She will bring you upstairs where you can have a hot bath and put on some clean clothes. There are plenty of gowns which were, I think, meant for you.”

  The minute she had said this Elvira regretted it. Delphine threw back her head and gave a terrible, raw laugh.

  “Meant for me, yes. The old Prince wrote that he was putting together a wardrobe for his nephew’s bride. Little did he know that it was not I who would marry Charles de Courel, but Elvira Carrisford!”

  Elvira bent her head.

  “But – you made your choice, cousin.”

  “Choice!” screamed Delphine. “How can you call it choice when I did not know the truth?”

  Now at last Serge responded to her distress. He put down his fork and stroked her arm and to Elvira’s surprise, Delphine turned and threw herself against his breast.

  The Prince, who had been listening coldly, now leaned forward.

  “I think Serge should tell us just what has been happening to them both.”

  Elvira shook her head.

  “I could not understand him, sir. Let Delphine tell us.”

  “As you wish.”

  Delphine lifted her head with a sniff. She took a draught of wine from the glass the Prince had poured for her and began,

  “I fell in love with – him,” and she threw a glance at Serge, “almost as soon as I met him. Of course, I thought he was Prince Charles de Courel and he certainly knew how to woo a woman. I just wished he would propose and then, when he did, it seemed all in a rush. It didn’t matter, I was happy as a rabbit in a cabbage patch. I was! That night of the ball was the last truly happy night of my life.”

  Delphine paused to wipe her eyes with her napkin.

  “I didn’t see him at all the next day,” she resumed, “because he went shooting, but that night at supper he seemed not himself and then he sent a note asking me to meet him. Elvira tried to stop me. If only – if only she had succeeded. He persuaded me to elope with him, saying – he couldn’t wait – to possess me. ”

  “He was so ardent, so romantic! I was madly in love by then, I couldn’t resist. He assured me that once we were married, my father would accept it. We could still have a public wedding later, if we wished. So I went along with it.

  “We left before dawn. I took some jewellery, that was all. I was convinced my father would forgive me and send me money once I let him know where I was. That was before I found out that the Prince was not a Prince, only a valet. A valet! How could I tell my father that?

  “We travelled from inn to inn, from village to village and finally returned to France. I sold all my jewellery. We had nothing, nothing. He could not find work and said we must return to – to this place, the Palace. He said you would give him work –”

  Delphine’s voice failed her. She lowered her head and began to weep again.

  The Prince observed her silently.

  “There is something you have failed to tell us,” he said at last. “Where and when were you married?”

  Delphine half raised her head.

  “Married?” she repeated in a whisper. “ We – are not married, sir, though I am – no longer a maiden.”

  The change that came over the Prince was terrible to witness.

  With a roar of “villain” he leapt to his feet, sweeping the bowls and plates from the table in his anger.

  Serge stared in fear, swallowing a mouthful of meat in one gulp.

  “You have treated this lady dishonourably!” the Prince screamed, pointing at Serge. “On your feet, man.”

  The Prince reached for the two silver swords on the wall behind him. Throwing one to Serge, who caught it in trembling hands, he challenged him to a duel.

  Both Elvira and Delphine cried out in horror as the men set to.

  The Prince was the fitter and his rage drove him on. Serge was, however, in fear for his life.

  The battle went now in the Prince’s favour, now in Serge’s.

  Elvira cried out as Serge with a devious thrust drove the tip of his blade into the Prince’s right arm. He barely flinched, but flew all the more mercilessly at his opponent.

  At last he disarmed him and Serge fell, the Prince’s sword at his neck.

  The Prince’s eyes so blazed that it seemed as if he would not hesitate to drive the blade in.

  “No, no!” howled Delphine. Rushing forward, she threw herself across Serge’s body. “I love him. Do not kill him, please.”

  The Prince straightened and flung his weapon across the room.

  “He is pardoned. But on one condition and one condition only. That he marry you forthwith.”

  The commotion had brought footmen and maids to the door, Madame Gossec amongst them. Now she thrust her way through the crowd, taking all in with a glance.

  The Prince spoke to her in French. Hearing the name ‘Father Leduc’ Elvira surmised that he was asking if the Priest was still on the premises.

  Madame Gossec nodded and the Prince motioned to Serge and Delphine.

  “This lady will now take you to a Priest,” he told Delphine. “Then Madame Gossec will prepare a room for you. For your sake only, Miss Baseheart, I will find employment for Serge at the Palace. He was always a conscientious employee and I blame myself for putting him in the way of such temptation in the first place.”

  He could say no more.

  Swooning from loss of blood, he sank to his knees.

  Madame Gossec made to move to his side, but it was Elvira who reached him first.

  Snatching up a napkin, she quickly bound his arm and cradled his head against her breast.

  “Don’t die,” she moaned. “Don’t die, sir. I love you. I realise now I have loved you from the first – as servant and as Prince.”

  She would have said more, but the Prince raised her hand and pressed it to her lips.

  “No more, no more,” he murmured weakly. “Till we are alone.”

  Rising with her aid, he told the onlookers that he was recovered. Madame Gossec, reassured, beckoned to Delphine and Serge to follow her.

  Delphine in her turn helped Serge to his feet and the two stumbled to the door in Madame Gossec’s wake. At the threshold Delphine turned to survey Elvira.

  “So I end up with the servant, cousin,” she said bitterly, “while you have married a Prince.”

  “Not a Prince,” Elvira admonished her softly. “I have married a man, a man who I love with all my heart.”

  The doors closed on the onlookers, Madame Gossec and the two hapless lovers, while the Prince turned dark and loving eyes on Elvira,

  “Come,” he beckoned, holding out his arms, “I will carry you to our wedding bed.”

  Elvira
looked anxious.

  “You cannot, sir. Your arm!”

  The Prince swore softly under his breath.

  “My wound will not prevent me! Your love gives me strength!”

  Sweeping Elvira up and against his chest, he moved to the door.

  “B-but sir,” she continued to protest. “You have lost a lot of blood and must not exert yourself.”

  The Prince, kicking open the door, pressed his face into her hair and breathed deeply.

  “Nothing will prevent me from claiming my prize,” he moaned. “Nothing.”

  Slowly, he mounted the staircase, Elvira’s hands around his neck. All the way he whispered such endearments of love and devotion that her body began to writhe in anticipation.

  The Prince paused before two large doors, embossed in gold with the Courel crest.

  “What room is this?” asked Elvira, her lips against his cheek.

  Carefully the Prince reached down and opened one of the doors. The other he manoeuvred open with his shoulder and Elvira’s eyes settled on an expansive canopied bed.

  “The Bridal Suite,” announced the Prince. With his body he closed the doors and carried her to the bed.

  Laying her down he began to unbutton his linen shirt.

  “It has taken us so long to reach this wonderful moment,” he sighed, his voice choking with desire. “But now I can see it was the perfect way to Heaven.”

  One knee on the bed beside her, he leaned down.

  Her arms rose to receive him, her heart opening like a flower to the demands of love.

  The strength of his desire took her breath away.

  “S-sir – I love and adore you – , ” she murmured and then at last she was his for Eternity and she would never leave Heaven.