Then his relatives began at first tentatively and then more insistently to beg him to produce an heir.
But every word they spoke revived the horror of his honeymoon as vividly as if it had happened only yesterday.
“I shall never marry until I fall in love,” he told his grandmother.
She looked at him in consternation.
“But, my dearest boy, what have you been doing all these years?”
“Enjoying myself, Grandmama,” he replied. “But that is not love as I see it.”
“I don’t understand,” she murmured.
Armond bent and kissed her cheek.
“It would be a mistake for you to do so,” he said. “But I promise you one thing, Grandmama, that when I do fall in love, I will bring my choice for you to approve.”
The Dowager had to be content with that.
She loved her grandson and, when she learned of his latest affair with a beautiful Marchioness whose husband was frequently away, she had wept.
The nurseries at the château were closed and she thought that by this time there should have been children playing round the fountains, where they would dip their tiny fingers into the stone basons to try to catch the goldfish.
‘What can I say to him?’ she asked when she prayed in the Chapel to her favourite Saint.
She knew, however, that Armond would not listen and would go his own way whatever anyone might say.
The Duc was meanwhile to all appearances extremely happy.
At the age of nearly thirty he was the Monarch of all he surveyed, his father having died over five years ago.
He enjoyed introducing new methods on the estate and had improved the vineyards out of all recognition.
But his real delight was in his horses, which were becoming more and more successful year by year.
He won race after race until a number of other owners said sourly,
“If you go on like this, Roux, we shall have to emigrate if we want to win any races!”
The Duc laughed.
He knew that despite their jealousy and envy he had already raised the standard of horse racing in France.
He was sure that competition among those who had large studs was the best thing that could happen.
Later that afternoon he went to the stables as he usually visited his horses before they were shut up for the night.
He chose the one that he intended to ride first thing next morning.
He talked to his Head Groom about one horse that seemed a little off-colour and then he congratulated the man on the performance of several others that he had in training.
As he walked back to the château, he realised that it was nearly half past four.
The Earl of Grateswoode would be arriving at about that time.
Because he was a perfect host the Duc had remembered that as the Earl was English he would like English tea.
He had therefore ordered the butler to serve it in the Salon Bleu.
His chef had a predilection for making very elaborate pâtisserie and he hoped that he would not have forgotten what invariably appeared on the tea table in England, cucumber sandwiches.
‘I want the Earl of Grateswoode to enjoy himself,’ the Duc reflected.
He walked into the château by a side door and proceeded down the long corridor towards the front of the house.
It was fortunate that the Revolution had not given rise to much death or destruction in the Dordogne.
Much of the furniture in the château was Louis XIV.
The Duc always remembered that a great amount of fine furniture and priceless paintings had crossed the channel after the Revolution.
It was not only the collection at Buckingham Palace that was impressive, there were five magnificent rooms at Scone Palace in Scotland, the Earl of Mansfield having been Ambassador to France at the time.
In fact in almost every great house the Duc had visited he had found beautifully inlaid French commodes and boulle cabinets.
They could only have come from Versailles or from the châteaux of the aristocrats who had lost their lives.
The Roux collection had remained intact just as the members of the family had kept their heads and yet many of their friends had lost theirs on the guillotine in the Place de la Révolution in Paris.
The Duc walked into the Salon Bleu.
There was no sign yet of the Earl, but another visitor had arrived whom he had been looking forward to seeing.
She was very beautiful and had been acclaimed by all the great artists in Paris as the loveliest woman of her period.
At twenty-five the Marquise de Grozant was at the height of her beauty.
Her dark hair had blue lights in it and it seemed as if her dark eyes had the same.
Her skin was very white and her figure perfect.
She was standing alone at the end of the room when the Duc entered the room.
For a moment he just stood still inside the door taking in her beauty and her elegance, which was somehow indescribable.
When she realised that he was there, she ran towards him with both her hands outstretched.
“I thought you had forgotten me,” she said.
“Forgive me,” he replied. “I did not expect you so early.”
He raised her hands one after the other to his lips, his mouth actually touching the softness of her skin.
And then, as he gazed into her eyes, she asked,
“You have missed me?”
“Of course I have,” he replied.
“Oh, Armond, I have been counting the hours until I could come here and be with you.”
“And now you are here,” he said, “I feel as if the sunshine has come with you.”
It was a pretty speech.
She smiled at him, her red lips turning up to his.
Then, before either of them could move, the door opened and the Comtesse de Soissons came into the room.
“Oh, here you are, Armond,” she exclaimed. “I was wondering where you were. I hear we have English tea this afternoon.”
“We do have English tea,” the Duc smiled, “because my friend, the Earl of Grateswoode, is arriving. But let me introduce the Marquise de Grozant who has just arrived.”
The Comtesse held out her hand.
“I have heard about you, madame,” she said. “The tales of your beauty have travelled even as far as the Dordogne.”
The Marquise bobbed a small curtsey.
“Thank you. It is a great delight to be here.”
She looked directly at the Duc as she spoke.
He smiled at her, looking, although he did not realise it, so handsome that it would be impossible for any woman not to be beguiled by him.
It was then that the Major Domo appeared in the doorway.
“The Earl of Grateswoode, Monsieur le Duc,” he announced.
The Duc gave an exclamation and walked towards the Earl.
As he held out his hand, he realised that he was accompanied by someone else.
“How are you?” the Earl asked. “Thank you for the extremely comfortable carriage you sent to meet us at the Station. I was, of course, extremely impressed by the speed it brought us here.”
The Duc smiled and then questioningly his eyes went to the young woman standing beside the Earl.
“I hope you will forgive me,” the Earl said, “but I have brought my daughter with me. I could not, as it happens, leave her behind in London. I felt sure that you would find a small place for her somewhere in your large château.”
As the train carried them from Paris to Southern France, Marcia had been entranced by the beauty of the Dordogne.
Then her breath had been taken away by the château and the four fountains playing in front of it.
She felt as they walked inside that she was stepping into a fairy story.
When they had entered the salon, it was undoubtedly Prince Charming who came towards them.
The Duc was in every respect entirely different from what she had expec
ted.
To begin with he was much taller than most Frenchmen and with his broad shoulders and narrow hips he also looked exceedingly athletic.
As he greeted her father, she thought that he was the most handsome man she had ever seen.
It was, she thought, difficult to put into words, but there was an alertness about the Duc that made him unmistakably unique.
Marcia held out her hand and dropped a small curtsey.
As she did so, she was aware that the expression in the Duc’s eyes was no longer warm and welcoming as it had been to her father.
Instead he looked at her with what she could only describe as an expression of dislike.
In a very different tone of voice he said,
“But, of course, my Lord, we can accommodate your daughter. My aunt, the Comtesse de Soissons, whom I think you know, will arrange it.”
He turned abruptly as he spoke towards the Comtesse, who was moving towards them.
Even as she greeted the Earl and he introduced Marcia, the Duc walked away.
They proceeded towards the tea table that was near the fireplace.
As they reached it, Marcia was aware that the Duc, talking to the most beautiful woman she could imagine, had his back towards them.
CHAPTER THREE
The Duke was furious.
He knew exactly what was afoot the moment he saw Marcia enter the room with her father.
Because he was so perceptive he had been aware that there was something in the air as far as his aunt the Comtesse was concerned.
He had, however, not really expected that she would actually produce a prospective bride for him, even though she talked about it incessantly.
She had also, he thought, been discussing it with the other relations.
He had noticed, although it was nothing unusual, that as soon as he entered the room there was a sudden silence.
But that the Earl of Grateswoode should suddenly produce a daughter was something he had not expected.
The Duc was well aware that his refusal to marry was a topic that was talked over hour after hour, week after week, year after year.
His relatives tried in every possible way to convince him that he must do his duty to the family name and produce an heir.
There would be no difficulty whatever about it.
Just as when he was young every great family in France would be only too eager to ally themselves with the Roux.
And yet the whole idea of it made him shudder.
The ghost of Cecilia stood between him and any prospective bride.
Now the Comtesse had gone a step further and paraded one for him.
Because he had learnt to control himself ever since he was a child, he managed to hide his feelings.
He talked to the Marquise in his usual flirtatious manner with every other word having a double meaning.
She was witty and amusing where the subject of love was concerned and yet the Duc was already aware that on other subjects she was either palpably ignorant or uninterested.
For the moment, however, because he was so angry he made himself admire the beauty of her features and the blue lights in her hair.
The provocative invitation in her eyes was very alluring and that was something he was accustomed to.
The Comtesse was busily introducing the Earl and Marcia to the other guests.
Several more who were staying in the house came in after their arrival and the Comtesse sat at the tea table and poured out the tea.
The Earl sat down beside her and said,
“It is very kind of you to remember that Marcia and I enjoyed our tea when I know that you don’t have it in France.”
“It is so delightful to have you here,” the Comtesse answered, “that I want you both to feel at home.”
She lowered her voice so that no one else could hear her,
“Your daughter is even lovelier than I thought possible. Everyone was talking about her in London, but her beauty is quite breathtaking.”
“That is what I think myself,” the Earl replied. “But then I am, of course, a proud father.”
“A very proud one I should imagine,” the Comtesse answered.
Marcia was talking to two of the Duc’s cousins and several men, who had just arrived, were obviously anxious to join in the conversation.
Occasionally she glanced across the room towards the Duc.
He was still in deep conversation with the same very attractive woman.
For a moment she thought it was strange that he was apparently ignoring her father whom he had been so anxious to see.
Then a knowing glance between two of the older relations revealed the truth.
Marcia could not help finding it amusing that the Duc was no less antagonistic than she was to the idea of an arranged marriage.
She guessed too that he had not been forewarned of her arrival and that would account for the strange expression in his eyes when he had looked at her.
‘I shall have to tell him that I feel exactly the same about the situation,’ she thought.
She even had a wild idea of announcing it to the family, now that they were all gathered together.
She wanted to tell them that she had been brought here against her wishes.
If they thought that she intended to marry their precious Duc, they were very much mistaken!
She could imagine how horrified their expressions would be at her being so outspoken.
Then she remembered that it would deeply hurt and embarrass her father.
It was therefore something that she could not do.
Because she was hungry she ate a good tea, enjoying the delicious pâtisseries that the chef had provided.
She refused the cucumber sandwiches that he had taken so much trouble over, but the Earl ate two.
When tea was over, the Comtesse said,
“I am sure, Lady Marcia, that you would like to see your room.”
“That would be delightful,” Marcia replied. “At the same time, as you were such a friend of Mama’s, I do hope you will call me, ‘Marcia’.”
The Comtesse put her hand on her arm.
“Of course I shall. But, as we have not met since you were a very small child, I did not wish you to think I was being too familiar.”
They both laughed and Marcia said,
“I am thrilled to see this entrancing château and I hope that I shall have time to see over it all before we return to England.”
“There will be plenty of time for you to do that,” the Comtesse promised. “And to see the horses.”
She had risen from the tea table.
As if she was aware that her nephew was behaving in a somewhat unfriendly manner, she turned to him, raising her voice a little,
“I was just talking to Marcia about your horses, Armond. I am sure that she is as anxious to see them as her father is.”
Reluctantly the Duc rose to his feet.
“The Earl has come to see my horses,” he said. “And, of course, they are available for anyone else who is interested in them.”
He spoke coldly.
As his eyes rested on Marcia, she was once again aware that he was looking at her as if he wanted to protest at her intrusion.
Because she wished to provoke him, a little she walked a few steps nearer and said,
“I have heard so much about your château, your horses and, of course, yourself, monsieur, that I feel now I am here that it cannot be real.”
She felt as she spoke that the Comtesse was pleased with her and was feeling like a conjuror.
She had produced a rabbit out of a hat at exactly the right moment.
The Duc, however, was not beguiled.
Almost rudely he walked passed Marcia to reach the Earl.
“I have a great deal to talk about to you, my Lord,” he said. “I suggest we go somewhere quiet where we will not be disturbed by the chatter of the ladies, lovely as they may be.”
The Earl smiled.
“I feel that they wou
ld soon be bored by the subject of our conversation.”
“That is what I thought,” the Duc agreed.
“The exception being,” the Earl went on, “my daughter, Marcia, who is as knowledgeable as I am on the breeding of champions and who is exceedingly interested in seeing your stud.”
The Duc did not answer.
He started moving towards the door and the Earl went with him.
It was quite obvious to Marcia that she was excluded.
She thought it would be a mistake if her father approached the Duc immediately and suggested that they should be married, as the Duc might resent it.
She went upstairs beside the Comtesse.
Then she reassured herself that there was nothing she could do about it and that her father was a very tactful man and would therefore, in his own words, not be inclined to jump the gun.
The bedroom she was shown into was magnificent.
The huge canopied bed had been there for generations and the Aubusson carpet seemed to be a reflection of the colours of the painted ceiling depicting Venus surrounded by Cupids.
“I felt sure you would enjoy this room,” the Comtesse was saying. “And the pictures by Fragonard make it very romantic.”
“It is exquisite,” Marcia exclaimed in all sincerity.
At the same time she felt as if she was walking into a trap.
A beautifully decorated, softly padded trap, but nevertheless a trap!
She wondered if she should tell the Comtesse frankly and without mincing her words why she was here.
She wanted to say that, although she had come with her father as the Comtesse had suggested, she had no intention of marrying the Duc.
However hard she and her father might try to push them to the altar, it was something that she would never do.
“It is so delightful to have you here,” the Comtesse was saying in her soft voice. “You are very like your mother, whom I loved and thought was the most beautiful person I had ever seen.”
“I love to hear you say that,” Marcia answered. “And it is a nice change for Papa to come to France. He has been so miserable and unhappy since Mama died that I feel it is good for him to get away from home where everything reminds him of what he has lost.”
“I can understand,” the Comtesse said sympathetically, “and your father is a very remarkable and very clever man.”
Born of Love Page 4