The Unwanted Wedding

by Barbara Cartland

  As she did so, she put her fingers up on either side of her forehead, aware that he was watching her every movement and knowing it was very graceful.

  “I am trying to think,” she said, “and, darling, you must not prevent me from telling you what I have in mind, because when you kiss me I can think of nothing but you.”

  “I want to kiss you again,” the Duke murmured.

  As he spoke he had a vision of the Princess Sophie’s fat emotionless face and knew that anything however unpleasant or outrageous would be better than having to marry her.

  “It almost seems as if Fate is playing into our hands,” Aline began, “because tomorrow – actually it was against my will – George’s niece arrives here from Florence.”

  “His niece?” the Duke asked almost automatically.

  He was not thinking of what he was saying, but of how much the woman opposite attracted him.

  She had aroused him, as she always managed to do, to a state where he felt that nothing else was important, except that he should make love to her.

  “Her name,” the Countess was saying, “is Honora. I don’t suppose you remember meeting George’s brother. He was very popular and, although he was wildly extravagant, he had a great many friends. Unfortunately he was killed in an accident while out hunting.”

  “I seem to remember hearing about it,” the Duke replied vaguely.

  “His wife had died previously,” Aline went on, “and, of course, as poor Harry left no money and a mountain of debts, George had to pay up as well as look after his daughter. She was sixteen, and as I remember, quite a pretty little thing.”

  “What happened to her?” the Duke asked in a voice that showed he was not particularly interested.

  “As I had neither the time nor the inclination to look after a girl of sixteen,” Aline said, and now there was a sharp note in her voice, “I persuaded George to send her to a very good Finishing School in Florence.”

  The Duke did not speak as she went on,

  “As she is now over eighteen, they have refused to keep her any longer and she is arriving here tomorrow.”

  There was silence.

  Then the Duke said,

  “Are you seriously suggesting that I should marry this girl?”

  “It seems a reasonable idea.”

  “Reasonable?”

  “But, darling, what alternative is there except to marry the Princess? George will make no objections, neither shall I, to your marrying Honora and the engagement can be announced immediately.”

  “How can I marry a girl who is just out of the schoolroom? And who has not the slightest idea of the life I lead or what will be expected of her?”

  The Countess smiled.

  “Is that not rather a good thing? Don’t be so stupid, Ulric. Can you not see that, as she knows nothing about Society life or us, we can do just exactly as we like? Once you are married to her she can stay in the country with your children! You must have at least half-a-dozen! And you will be as free as you are now!”

  The Duke stared at her.

  “I think this is the craziest idea I have ever heard!”

  Aline made a very pretty gesture of helplessness before she said,

  “I am only trying to help. Perhaps you would prefer to discuss it with the Queen!”

  The Duke groaned.

  “You know I cannot do that!”

  “When are you next going to Buckingham Palace?”

  “I am in attendance on Thursday.”

  “Then how do you know that Her Majesty is not going to speak to you then? Once she has actually informed you that she will give the Royal approval and her blessing to your marriage with Prince Albert’s delightful and charming cousin Princess Sophie, how can you refuse?”

  The Duke was silent knowing, infuriating though it was, that Aline was speaking the truth.

  It would be impossible for any one of the Queen’s household to refuse what she and Prince Albert would think was a most gracious gesture on their part without being ostracised from the Royal Presence and being deprived of his official duties.

  He was well aware that the Queen could, as her Ladies-in-Waiting knew only too well, if they put a foot wrong, expel them from Court for six months at a time or if the crime was a serious one, more or less exile them for life.

  “There must be another way out,” he remarked aloud.

  “If there is, I cannot think of it.”

  There was a long silence before he said,

  “You say this girl is arriving tomorrow. Suppose she refuses to marry me?”

  Aline laughed.

  “Is it likely she will do that? Besides, George and I will tell her how extremely fortunate she is and, as she has no money, she must either do as we say or starve!”

  “When it comes to getting your own way, I don’t think there is much to choose between you and the Queen!”

  “You must just ask yourself which you prefer as a close relationship.”

  Aline accentuated the word ‘close’ and, as she looked at the Duke and their eyes met, they were both aware of what the other was feeling.

  “You do see, dearest,” she said in little more than a whisper, “that it would be so easy for us to see each other and even George would be unable to prevent it.”

  She paused before she added,

  “We could stay for weekends at each other’s houses and, as Honora has no other friends in London, she will obviously want us to be continually with you at Tynemouth House.”

  “That is the one good idea in the whole box of tricks!” the Duke said savagely.

  “And a very important one,” Aline added softly.

  The Duke rose to his feet and she wondered if he was about to leave.

  But he walked across the room and locked the door, then put his hands out and pulled her from the sofa into his arms.

  He was kissing her again, kissing her until it was impossible to be aware of anything but the fire burning through them both with a rising desire that was both a pleasure and a pain.

  Only as they clung closer and closer did the Duke think vaguely at the back of his mind that he was paying a very high price for the loss of his freedom.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Honora, arriving in London with three other girls from her school and a nun in attendance, felt herself growing more and more apprehensive.

  Having been away for over two years in Florence with little contact with her uncle and aunt, she was intelligent enough to realise that they had no particular wish for her to return to England.

  In fact she had written the previous year saying that now she was approaching eighteen the school did not wish her to stay.

  The only reply was a letter from her uncle’s secretary to say they were communicating with the Mother Superior to the effect that she was to remain there for another two terms.

  It had been embarrassing not only to be the oldest girl in the school but also the cleverest.

  She had actually gone to the Mother Superior and suggested that, as she was so much older than the other girls, perhaps it would be best if her work was not considered in the award of prizes.

  “That is very unselfish of you, Honora,” the Mother Superior answered, “but we really cannot alter the rules of the school just for one person, who should have left by now.”

  “I know that, Reverend Mother,” Honora replied, “but what am I to do? My aunt, who is very beautiful and still quite young, has no wish to chaperone me and I have no other relatives who would wish me to live with them.”

  The Reverend Mother’s eyes had softened, for she realised only too well why the Countess of Langstone, who was an acknowledged Social beauty, did not want her niece.

  Another woman, even if only slightly attractive, would be a rival.

  But in fact Honora in the last two years had grown and developed until she had, the Reverend Mother thought, not only a very lovely face but also a character to match it.

  There was nobody in the school who was a better
influence or whom the younger girls admired more.

  The Mother Superior knew that if Honora was her daughter she would be very worried at her being plunged straight from the quiet security of the Convent into the Social circle of which her aunt was the leader.

  At the same time everybody knew that the Queen of England and her husband, Prince Albert, were a model couple who were an example of all that was best and finest in married life.

  The Reverend Mother found herself praying that Honora, whom she had grown to love, would marry a decent man and not anybody with a reputation like those of the Queen’s uncles, which had scandalised all Europe.

  Aloud she said,

  “I know, Honora, that wherever you go, whatever you do, you will remember what we have taught you here and follow the dictates of your conscience.”

  “I will try, Reverend Mother,” Honora replied.

  The other girls who had gone home in the holidays to Paris, Rome, Madrid and other gay Cities were very voluble about the parties, balls and receptions that their parents gave.

  They also whispered about handsome young men who paid them attention even though they were still at school.

  ‘I am so ignorant about such things!’ Honora thought helplessly.

  She hoped, although she thought it unlikely, that her aunt would help her and instruct her as her mother would have done.

  ‘If only Papa was alive,’ she thought wistfully as she travelled across France remembering how dashing he had been and how he had laughed at everything, even his debts.

  “Something will turn up,” he would say loftily when tradesmen were pressing him and he would wonder where his next penny was coming from.

  “That is a gambler’s outlook, Papa,” she said to him once.

  Harry Lang laughed before he replied,

  “All life is a gamble. Sometimes you are up and sometimes you are down and the only thing to do is to take it all philosophically and believe that eventually, whatever the odds against you – you will win!”

  Because his gaiety was infectious, Honora realised that there was no point in arguing with him.

  It was easier to laugh as he did and hope that the right cards would turn up the next time he played.

  But, when he was killed in the hunting field during, as one of his friends had said, one of the best runs they had had that Season, neither his cards nor horses had shown a win for some time.

  Honora had therefore been very conscious of the large amount of debts that her uncle had to pay on her father’s behalf and her Aunt Aline had made sure she did not forget it.

  “I hope you are grateful,” she had said sharply when she informed Honora that she was to go to Florence.

  “Thank you very much, Aunt Aline,” Honora murmured.

  “It is costing your uncle a great deal of money to have you educated in the smartest and naturally the most expensive Finishing School in Europe. I suppose you know what that word entails?”

  Because Honora was well read, for her mother had seen to that, she was aware that girls from aristocratic families in France and Italy had for generations been sent to what were now called ‘Finishing Schools”.

  Not only did the pupils have academic lessons but it was also made sure that they were proficient in the art of being a successful woman before they entered the Social world.

  This meant that the curriculum included painting, learning French, German and Italian, playing the pianoforte, riding and most important of all, dancing.

  As was traditional, nuns ran the school, but the majority of the teachers came in from the City and were exceptionally gifted.

  Once Honora got over being homesick and the loss of her father, her lessons filled her whole life and she enjoyed the classes, realising that she was improving her brain with everything she was taught.

  It was her father who had said to her on more than one occasion,

  “For Heaven’s sake, make sure, dearest, you have something to talk about besides yourself. A pretty face is a good introduction, but a man quickly grows bored with lips, however irresistible, that can only mouth platitudes.”

  Honora had laughed as he had meant her to do, but at the same time she knew that he was speaking seriously.

  After her mother had died there were a number of beautiful women anxious to console her father and she had studied them with interest.

  She was not, which was unusual, jealous of them, as many young girls were jealous, because she knew she held an unassailable position in his heart that no one else could touch.

  “Hurry and grow up, Poppet,” her father had said, “and then we can have a great deal of fun together. But let me tell you, I shall be a very strict chaperon! I have no intention of allowing you to be pursued by the wrong sort of man.”

  “What is the wrong sort of man, Papa?”

  Harry Lang had thought for a few seconds before he answered,

  “I suppose, if I was not your father that would apply to me!”

  “Oh, no, Papa!”

  “It is true. You must avoid men who are out for amusement and not marriage and men who marry a woman because she has money or a grand Social position.”

  “Nobody is likely to marry me for either of those two reasons,” Honora pointed out.

  “No, my dearest, but, while they will be beguiled and enchanted by your face, you must make sure they want more than that.”

  Honora looked puzzled and he explained,

  “A man must love you for your real self, your personality and your character, as I loved your mother. She was not only the most beautiful person I have ever seen but the sweetest and the most adorable.”

  There was a note in her father’s voice that told Honora only too clearly how much he missed his wife.

  Then he said,

  “I loved her and – this is the truth – we never for one moment grew bored with each other because we laughed at the same things and stimulated each other’s minds. And that, my poppet, is very very important when you are choosing a husband.”

  “But suppose the man I fall in love with does not want to marry me?” Honora asked.

  “He will,” her father replied, “but do not fall into his arms too quickly like an overripe peach. Give him a run for his money and he will appreciate you all the more when he catches you.”

  Honora had understood exactly what her father was saying.

  When she watched the lovely women fluttering around him because he was so handsome and attempting to entice him by wiles that were so obvious, she felt they were not only embarrassing but foolish.

  She could understand why he had laughed at them and how, if he seemed infatuated, it had never appeared to last for long.

  “Are you bored with Lady Studleigh?” she remembered asking her father when she was only thirteen.

  She thought that he hesitated before he replied,

  “You have asked me a direct question, my dearest, and so I will give you a direct answer – yes! She is a bore and I have no further wish to be bothered by her.”

  Because the servants talked, Honora was aware that Lady Studleigh’s groom called almost every day with notes that smelt of her perfume, but which after a while her father did not even bother to open.

  Once when he was out she had come to the house and walked into the drawing room where Honora was sitting reading.

  “Where is your father?” she had demanded.

  Honora, who had not heard her enter the room because she had been concentrating on her book, jumped to her feet to curtsey and say,

  “I am sorry, Lady Studleigh, I did not hear you arrive.”

  “I asked you where your father was. I want to see him!”

  There was no doubt that Lady Studleigh was looking very beautiful.

  She was wearing a fashionable bonnet and her red hair gleamed beneath it and her green silk pelisse in the very latest fashion was very becoming.

  Her skin was very white, her eyes had a touch of green in them, and it flashed through Honora’s mind t
hat it was very strange that her father could have become bored with her so quickly.

  Aloud she said,

  “I am afraid Papa is out.”

  “He is always out when I want to see him,” Lady Studleigh said. “When will he be back?”

  “I don’t know,” Honora replied. “I think he has driven down to Ranelagh.”

  “He will not be doing that alone!” Lady Studleigh exclaimed sharply.

  Suddenly she sat down on a chair and said in a very different tone,

  “What am I to do? Oh, God, what am I to do?”

  Feeling shy and awkward Honora did not know how to reply.

  She only watched Lady Studleigh’s beautiful eyes fill with tears. Then, as she wiped them away with a small lace-edged handkerchief, she rose to her feet and walked towards the door.

  As she reached it, she turned back to say in a voice that was hoarse and broken,

  “Tell your father when he comes back that, if he has any compassion in his heart or any feeling of decency, he must come to me. I have to see him – do you understand?”

  “Yes, of course,” Honora answered, “I will tell Papa.”

  Lady Studleigh had not said any more. She had gone from the drawing room and Honora had pitied her.

  She knew that her father was escorting a new interest in his life and, when he returned looking exceedingly handsome and with a light in his eyes that showed he had enjoyed himself, Honora told him what had occurred.

  “Noreen Studleigh had no right to come here worrying you,” he said. “It is an extraordinary thing that women never seem to know when the game is over.”

  “Is that what it is, Papa? A game?”

  “Of course that is what it is,” her father had said. “A game in which two people are meant to enjoy themselves with no regrets and no recriminations.”

  “But Lady Studleigh was crying, Papa.”

  “Women can cry very easily when they cannot get their own way,” her father said. “I am sorry, Honora, that you may think me hard, but there is nothing I can do about it.”

  “If you saw her, Papa, would it not make it better?”

  “No, worse!” her father replied. “Lady Studleigh wants what I cannot give her.”