64 The Castle Made for Love

by Barbara Cartland

  “I am sorry, Grandmère. My thoughts were far away. What did you say?”

  “I asked if you would see the chef and order a dinner that you think the Marquis would appreciate. I made some suggestions this morning, but I am sure that you know better than I do what young people like.”

  Yola was not deceived. She knew quite well that her grandmother was longing to say at dinner, if the Marquis enjoyed it, that the menu had been Yola’s choice.

  It was another way of showing her off to the Marquis and she thought how angry it would have made her a week ago! But now it was something she wanted to do, something she could do for him and she said eagerly,

  “Of course, Grandmère, I will go to see the chef now, but I am sure that your choice has been an excellent one.”

  “I would rather it was yours, ma chérie,” her grandmother replied.

  “I suppose there will be four of us for dinner, if your friend is still with you.”

  “When I learnt the Marquis was coming, I suggested that she should return to Tours.”

  “Surely that was very high-handed, Grandmère.”

  “To tell the truth, my dear, I found her rather a bore,” her grandmother answered.

  Yola knew that the real reason why her grandmother had sent her friend away was because she had no intention of allowing the Marquis to be distracted from anything but the girl he was to marry.

  It struck Yola that perhaps her grandmother was feeling as nervous as Yola herself was, but in a different way.

  The Marquis was a mature man and he might, after all these years, have very different ideas about who he would marry.

  Then she thought with a little smile that her grandmother was supremely confident that no one who was not a lunatic would refuse The Castle and the Beauharnais estates.

  She went from the salon, her heart singing with happiness and ran upstairs to her bedroom.

  It was a very beautiful room, which her father had decorated for her and the colours, the furniture and the pictures were all treasures they had enjoyed together.

  She knew that once she was married she would move into the Master suite, which had always been occupied alone by her father because her mother preferred the austerity of the single bedroom that was almost like a nun’s cell.

  In the Master suite, which stood at one of the corners of The Castle, there was a view over the valley that was unsurpassed by any other castle Yola had ever visited.

  There, one could see not only the Indre moving silver through the valley but catch a distant glimpse of the Loire, wide and majestic, carrying the life-giving water that made ‘the Garden of France’ the most beautiful and fertile place in the whole country.

  ‘We will look at it together,’ Yola thought and suddenly felt breathless with excitement and anticipation.

  She ran down to the kitchen, changed a few of the dishes on the menu and ordered the most superb wines in her father‘s cellar.

  Then she went out to the garden to pick some flowers for the Marquis’s bedroom.

  The garden was full of flowers, which were grown for the house and arranged with an artistry that her father had insisted was part of the beauty of The Castle itself.

  Yola wanted to put something personal in the Marquis’s room and she found a rose bush almost in bloom and thought it would remind him of the buds she had worn in her hair the night he had kissed her in the Bois de Boulogne.

  She arranged them in a little blue Sèvres vase and put them beside his bed and then she chose her favourite books and put them there too.

  ‘I love him! I love him!’ she thought, looking round to see if there was anything else she could do.

  Then, after talking to her grandmother for a little while, she went back upstairs to decide what she should wear.

  The noon train from Paris reached Langeais at about five-thirty in the afternoon, which meant that the Marquis would arrive at The Castle at six o’clock.

  Yola decided to wear an afternoon gown in which to receive him. Then, if they had dinner a little later than usual, she would have time to change into something very glamorous to celebrate their first meal together in The Castle.

  Her luggage had arrived and, while the maids were busy unpacking it, she chose to put on a gown that was very simple and made her look very young.

  She thought it was one of Monsieur Floret’s masterpieces as a summer dress. It was fashioned of broderie anglaise threaded through with turquoise-blue ribbons and there was a huge bow of the same colour at the back of the gown, giving it almost the effect of a bustle.

  Yola showed one of the maids how to arrange her hair in the style that Felix had created for her. Then, wearing no jewellery, she went down to wait in the salon with her grandmother.

  “That is another very unusual gown, ma chérie,” the Comtesse exclaimed as Yola entered the room. “I thought the one that you arrived in was rather extraordinary, but I did not like to say anything. Can that possibly be the latest fashion?”

  “It is indeed, Grandmère. The small crinoline is finished. There is to be no hoop, no whalebones to make one uncomfortable.”

  “I suppose it’s becoming,” her grandmother said. “Equally it looks a little strange to my eyes. I wonder what the Marquis will think.”

  “Of course he will have to ‘get his eye in’ like everyone else,” Yola replied. “You know a fashion always looks peculiar the first time one sees it.”

  “Yes, that is very true,” the Comtesse agreed. “I remember that when I first saw the crinoline I was astonished, but I must say I am glad they are finished. They took up far too much room in the carriage.”

  “And were very immodest if one bent over,” Yola laughed.

  “I agree,” the Comtesse replied. “And at least with this new vogue a lady will not show her ankles.”

  “No, Grandmère,” Yola agreed demurely.

  Hardly listening to what was being said, she was waiting for the sound of the horses’ hoofs and the wheels of the carriage outside in the courtyard.

  One window of the salon looked out onto the front of The Castle and she moved towards it as if she could not restrain herself from watching for the Marquis’s arrival.

  “If he sees you peering out at him,” her grandmother‘s voice said behind her, “he will think it inquisitive and perhaps uncontrolled. I know you are curious, Marie Teresa, but remember, it is part of our breeding not to show emotions, whatever they may be.”

  Yola wondered what her grandmother would think if she knew how emotional the Marquis had been in expressing his love for her.

  She also knew that her grandmother’s rebuke was a very mild one because she was so delighted that the opposition and arguments Yola had put forward at first, at the idea of the Marquis visiting The Castle, had now apparently been forgotten.

  It was then that Yola heard the carriage arrive and felt herself tremble.

  What would he say? What would he think when he saw her?

  Because she was so nervous she instinctively went to stand by her grandmother’s chair and knew as she did so that the old lady was also tense.

  It seemed to be a very long wait, although it was only a few moments before she heard footsteps coming up the wide staircase.

  They were moving slowly because the butler was getting on in years and it was impossible for him to hurry.

  The door of the salon opened.

  “Monsieur le Marquis de Montereau, madame,” the butler announced.

  Yola drew in her breath and held on to the back of her grandmother’s chair until her knuckles were white.

  He came into the room and she thought that he looked more attractive and more arresting than she had ever seen him.

  He was not dwarfed by The Castle, but seemed to fit into it as if he was already a part of the great edifice.

  He crossed the room with a grace that was peculiarly his own and taking her grandmother’s hand raised it to his lips.

  “I am delighted to see you again, Leonide,” the Comtesse
said, smiling. “Forgive me if I do not rise, but my knees are a little tiresome these days.”

  “I cannot tell you what a pleasure it is to be here again, madame, and I have never forgotten your kindness to me when I was a boy.”

  “You were a very nice little boy,” the Comtesse said, “and I will not be banal and say how you have grown!”

  The Marquis laughed an easy natural laugh.

  “And now,” the Comtesse said, “I shall present you to someone else who has grown. I can hardly believe that after all these years you will remember my granddaughter, Marie Teresa.”

  Yola curtseyed and because she was shy as well as excited she could not look at the Marquis.

  Her eyelashes were dark against her pale cheeks and then as she heard him say, “I am delighted to meet you, Marie Teresa,” she rose and looked directly into his eyes.

  Then, as she did so, she felt as if she had been struck by a streak of lightning, for incredibly, unbelievably, there was not even a glint of recognition in his eyes!

  Chapter Seven

  Standing in her own bedroom, Yola felt as if she had encountered a hurricane and was unable to think and hardly able to breathe.

  They had not been long in the salon before her grandmother suggested they go upstairs to dress for dinner.

  But the Marquis had talked easily, amusingly, and in a manner that did not seem to be in the least assumed and yet his behaviour towards her was that of an absolute stranger.

  She could not believe, could not credit, that any man could act so well.

  As she listened to him speaking to her grandmother of the old days, saying how glad he was to be back again, it was hard to think that this was the same man who had said that he loved her and would sacrifice everything and anything because of his love.

  It was impossible for him not to have recognised her and she asked only for one glance from his eyes, one smile from his lips, to reassure her, to tell her that he understood and forgave her deception.

  But it also seemed unbelievable that he had not been startled at seeing her when he entered the salon and that he was able to look straight at her and talk to her with just the ordinary courtesy of a visitor.

  ‘Perhaps I shall be able to have a word with him alone before dinner,’ Yola thought and hurriedly began to undress for her bath.

  It was, however, very hard to decide what she should wear.

  She had intended to put on the dress that she had worn the night when they had first dined together and he had kissed her in the Bois de Boulogne.

  Now she changed her mind. Instead she let the maid dress her in a gown she had never worn before, but because it was the soft pink of a rose, it made her think of the roses in the garden.

  It might make the Marquis remember that they were in ‘the Garden of France’ and more especially that roses were the flowers of love.

  Yola hurried, but even so she delayed so long trying to make herself look her best, worrying over the arrangement of her hair and choosing which jewellery she was to wear, that when finally she went down to the salon it was to find that the Marquis and her grandmother were there before her.

  “I was hoping that some of the old servants I knew as a boy would still be here,” the Marquis was saying. “Dubac, for instance, who taught me to ride, must, I imagine, have retired.”

  “He is dead,” the Comtesse replied, “but you will recall Albert, who has taken his place?”

  “Yes, of course!” the Marquis exclaimed. “I remember Albert well and old Cargris, the gardener – is he still alive?”

  “He has retired,” the Comtesse told him, “but I know it would give him great pleasure if you would call and see him in his cottage near the gates.”

  “I certainly will do that,” the Marquis agreed.

  Dinner was announced and he gave his arm to the Comtesse and Yola, following behind them, felt ignored and unnoticed.

  How could he possibly behave in such a manner to her if he still loved her?

  A thought struck her like a blow. Suppose he was so angry at her deception that she had lost his love forever?

  She looked at him apprehensively across the flower-decorated table.

  Although it was still light outside, the curtains had been drawn and the huge silver candelabrum, which had never been used in her mother‘s time, had been brought from the safe to light the table.

  As she studied the Marquis, while he talked to her grandmother she thought that he looked a little stern, but perhaps it was just her imagination. He certainly seemed to appreciate everything round him, except herself.

  “I remember this room so well,” he was saying. “The perfect symmetry of it has always made every other dining room in which I have eaten seem ugly in comparison and the picture over the mantelpiece has always been my favourite.”

  He looked at it as he went on,

  “I used to stare at it as a little boy and imagine myself to be that Knight, so skilfully painted by Uccello, killing the dragon.”

  “It is difficult not to believe in dragons with the forest of Chinon just behind us,” the Comtesse smiled.

  “It used to seem very dark and mysterious to me,” the Marquis said, “just as I am sure it would have seemed to any child.”

  He looked across the table at Yola.

  “Did you imagine that there were dragons when you went riding in the wood, Marie Teresa?” he asked. “And did the idea frighten you?”

  He spoke in the mocking tone he had used to her when they had first met in the Winter Garden at the Duc’s house.

  “I always imagined that the Knights who lived in The Castle would kill any dragons who might frighten me,” Yola answered.

  She looked appealingly at him as she spoke, hoping that he was really interested in her childhood dreams, but he merely turned to her grandmother to say,

  “I imagine the sounds heard by the yokels and ascribed to dragons were really the sounds of the wild boars. I expect there are still plenty of them to be hunted.”

  By the end of dinner, Yola, who had been unable to eat anything, was feeling as if she moved in a strange nightmare in which she was reaching out, trying to capture something that eluded her.

  They moved back to the salon, her grandmother again supported on the Marquis’s arm.

  They drank coffee and the Marquis accepted a glass of a well-matured brandy from the cellars, while the desultory conversation continued until Yola felt that she would go mad.

  It seemed as if a century passed before finally her grandmother rose to her feet.

  “I have to retire early, Leonide,” she said to the Marquis, “but I will leave you two young people to get to know each other. I am sure there are many things about The Castle which Marie Teresa can tell you better than anyone else.”

  “May I thank you once again for inviting me here,” the Marquis replied.

  He kissed the Comtesse’s hand and opened the door for her to leave after she had said goodnight to her granddaughter.

  The Marquis closed the door and came back into the salon. Yola, watching him advance, felt her tension leaving her.

  They were alone, they were together! Now at last they could be themselves.

  She waited for him to come to her and take her in his arms, but to her surprise he stopped at the coffee table to pick up his glass of brandy.

  “Your grandmother is a remarkable woman,” he said conversationally. “She rather frightened me as a small boy, but even then I appreciated that she was very beautiful.”

  Yola looked at him in astonishment.

  Surely now that they were alone he did not intend to continue this farce of pretending he did not recognise her?

  “I hope tomorrow, Marie Teresa,” he said, “you will not only show me The Castle, although I believe I could take myself round it blindfolded, but ride with me over the estate as I used to do with your father so many years ago.”

  “Leo!” Yola tried to say, but the word seemed to be strangled in her throat.

 
; “I suppose,” the Marquis continued, seating himself in an armchair, “that it is to be expected we should both feel somewhat awkward, knowing exactly what is required of us. So shall we dispense with all the unnecessary preliminaries?”

  “Wh-what – do you – mean?”

  Yola’s question was hardly above a whisper.

  She had not moved from where she was standing and now she put out her hand and held on to the back of a chair so that it would support her.

  “I mean,” the Marquis replied in that mocking voice she disliked, “we are both aware that we are to be married, so let me say without troubling to beat about the bush that I hope I will make you happy!”

  For a moment Yola felt that she could not have heard him aright.

  Could he really be speaking to her in such a manner and in such words?

  Could it really be Leo who was treating her as if her feelings were of no account and making it only too clear what he felt about her?

  Before she could reply he rose and walked to one of the windows, still holding his glass of brandy in his hand.

  “This is one of the most perfect views in the world,” he said, “but I suppose even a view would grow monotonous after a time. However, I am sure that you and I will make the best of it, which is, after all, what your grandmother and father wished us to do.”

  Suddenly Yola gave a cry. It was like the sound of a small animal that has been hurt.

  Then she rose and ran across the room to pull open the door of the salon.

  Without thinking what she was doing, she ran down the great staircase, out through the front door, across the courtyard and along the terrace.

  She did not choose where she was going, her feet just carried her away from The Castle, away from the Marquis, and when she stopped she found herself at the far end of the terrace where it turned to encircle the house.

  In front of her was the view that the Marquis had admired from the salon, but Yola could not see it for the tears that were gathering in her eyes.

  She could only hold onto the stone balustrade and fight to stop herself from breaking down completely.

  There was just a faint glow from the sun in the West, but already the sky overhead was beginning to darken and the first evening stars were coming out.