Love Strikes a Devil

by Barbara Cartland

  Colonel Lionel Templeton kissed his daughter tenderly on her cheek and they walked up the steps with his arm round her waist.

  “It took longer than I expected,” he said, “for the simple reason that the new Marquis has not been to The Priory for so many years.”

  “So, of course, you had to tell him all he wanted to know,” Charisa remarked.

  “I did my best,” the Colonel answered, “and I only hope that he will prove as good a landlord as his uncle was.”

  Charisa knew by the note in her father’s voice that he was doubtful.

  “I hope,” she said, “he will at least be generous to the pensioners and, of course, keep the alms houses going.”

  “I suppose he will do so,” the Colonel agreed, “but he did not seem particularly interested. “What he wanted to know was what rents he would receive from the tenants and if the farmers were making sure of a good harvest.”

  They had reached the study by this time.

  As the Colonel walked across to the grog tray to pour himself out a drink, his daughter sat down on the sofa.

  She knew from the way her father had been speaking that something was worrying him.

  When he came towards her with a glass in his hand, she asked,

  “What is wrong, Papa?”

  “Nothing is exactly wrong,” the Colonel replied, “and I suppose it is what I have always wished to happen, although not quite so quickly.”

  Charisa looked puzzled.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “The Marquis has suggested, in a somewhat roundabout manner, I admit, that you should marry him.”

  Charisa stared at her father in sheer astonishment.

  “He suggested that today – when he has only just arrived?”

  “As I said, it was in a roundabout fashion, but I did think, my dearest, that he was rather rushing his fences. After all you cannot have seen him for at least ten years!”

  “Fourteen!” Charisa corrected him. “I was working it out this morning. I was four at the time and there was a party at Christmas that all the Mawde family had been invited to attend.”

  “You could hardly have expected him to be your prospective bridegroom at that age,” the Colonel commented with a wry smile.

  He put down his glass and walked across the room and back again before he added,

  “I will not pretend to you, my dearest, that it has not been at the back of my mind that you might marry the heir of the late Marquis, because we were such good friends.”

  “I have often thought that was what you were hoping, Papa,” Charisa said. “After all Mawdelyn Priory means so much to you and not only because his Lordship relied on you to see to everything for him. I always thought of you as his unpaid Manager!”

  “Certainly unpaid,” Colonel agreed, “considering I was obliged to help him in financial matters simply because he never had enough income.”

  “Do you honestly think,” Charisa asked, “that because he was so fond of you and because you loved him, he did not feel embarrassed by your generosity?”

  “Of course not,” the Colonel replied. “At the same time I don’t want a young man I have only just met to take it for granted that he can call on my purse whenever it pleases him. Now, in order to make quite certain that it will always still be available, he is prepared to make you his wife!”

  “Do you really mean that is what he is planning?” Charisa asked.

  “I have put it rather bluntly,” her father said, “but you know, my darling, I am a pretty good judge of men. It was always said in the Regiment that I had an uncanny knack of seeing into a man’s soul.”

  “Of course you have,” Charisa smiled. “So let’s tell the new Marquis that he can find his own friends to pay up for him and not rely on you.”

  “I would do that,” the Colonel said, “if it was not for Mawdelyn. You were right, dearest child, when you claimed that I love it.”

  He laughed before he added,

  “I often think The Priory means more to me than to the Mawdes themselves. But then, of course your mother was a Mawde and I can never forget how much it meant to her.”

  The Colonel had married a cousin of the Marquis, a distant one, but nevertheless she had been a Mawde.

  When his father had bought an estate that marched with Mawdelyn Priory, he had no idea how closely the families would be knit.

  Lionel Templeton as a young man was very handsome and very dashing.

  He had seen Elizabeth Mawde at one of the first parties that he had been invited to at The Priory.

  He had instantly fallen head-over-heels in love with her.

  She had also loved him.

  It seemed to the family very suitable that their nearest neighbour should have such a close connection with them.

  They were delighted as well that Elizabeth had married a very rich man.

  The Colonel’s father had made his fortune in shipping in the North of England and he had then moved South because he wanted to ‘live the life of a gentleman’.

  He came in fact from a long line of County Squires, but had entered the shipbuilding business when he was a young man.

  When he was rich enough to leave it, he wished to get away from the North and above all he wanted to start a new life for himself.

  He found exactly the house he liked in Berkshire.

  It did not, of course, in any way resemble The Priory, having been built in about the middle of the eighteenth century.

  It was, however, in its own way, extremely impressive.

  He soon had the estate running so smoothly that it was an example to all his neighbouring landlords.

  It was therefore not surprising that, when the fourth Marquis of Mawdelyn inherited, he should turn to a man of the same age as himself for advice.

  Their friendship turned out to be most satisfactory to both of them.

  Charisa had loved ‘Uncle George’, as she had always called the late Marquis.

  Because her father was so often at The Priory, it became as much a home to her as their own.

  There was not a nook or cranny that she was not familiar with.

  She loved the beauty of the ancient rooms was delighted in finding her way through the secret passages that had been first built by the monks.

  They had been forced to hide as the Roman Catholics were persecuted under Queen Elizabeth.

  Later the passages were extended and used by the Royalists to hide from the Cromwellian troops.

  If her father had dreamed of her one day living at The Priory, she had somehow felt in her own mind that it was inevitable.

  As she grew older, there were, however, very few of the younger generation for her to meet.

  Vincent, the Marquis’s nephew and heir apparent, had joined his Regiment as soon as he left Oxford University and had been posted abroad.

  Although he wrote to her and sent her postcards from India, it was not the same as seeing him regularly.

  He had been, she thought now, the nicest of the Mawde men.

  But she had been very much a little girl in the eyes of the teenage boy who was eight years older than herself.

  Other Mawdes had come and gone and the present Marquis, Gervais Mawde, she could hardly remember.

  It was a shock when they learnt that Vincent was dead.

  “How is it possible that Fate could be so cruel?” she asked her father.

  The news had come from India soon after the late Marquis’s funeral.

  Her father had been notified by a letter from Gervais Mawde.

  He had written to say he was unable to attend the funeral because he would be in Paris at that time.

  But he had learnt of his cousin’s death and, since he was next in line, he would be returning to England as soon as possible.

  There was, however, a snag.

  The Colonel of Vincent’s Regiment had reported to the War Office that what was assumed to be his body had been found in some obscure part of the country.

  It was,
however, not possible to be completely sure that the identification was correct.

  Colonel Templeton had gone to London to visit the War Office.

  He learnt that while a body had been discovered in Vincent’s tent stabbed through the chest, it had been over a week before the English were aware of it.

  Owing to decomposition in the extreme heat, it had been difficult to identify it with any certainty.

  The Colonel had also learned that a brother Officer was missing. They were still looking for him.

  He might be able to give the authorities more information.

  However, a month later, under pressure from Gervais Mawde, the War Office was forced to confirm that Vincent was dead.

  It was then that Gervais became the sixth Marquis.

  Until everything was settled, he had not come to The Priory.

  Now he had done so and the Colonel had met him at his request.

  “What is he – like?” Charisa asked.

  Her father hesitated.

  “I have not seen him for many years,” he replied, “in fact, it must be, as you say, all of fourteen years ago.”

  “Does he look like a Mawde?” Charisa enquired.

  “Yes, he does,” the Colonel admitted, “although there is something about him which makes him different. I expect it is because he has lived abroad for so long and is more cosmopolitan than the rest of the family.”

  “Why did he live in France?” Charisa asked. “I have often wondered why, but no one seemed to have – an answer.”

  “I am told he enjoys Paris and his mother was half-French. He was also educated there, so all his friends are French.”

  “It is difficult to think of the Mawdes as being anything but English country gentlemen,” Charisa remarked.

  “That is what I think too,” the Colonel agreed.

  He was silent for a moment before he said,

  “I suppose as marriages among French aristocrats are usually arranged, we can understand what Gervais expects of his own marriage. That is why he approached me first instead of getting to know you.”

  “I think we should make it clear, Papa, that we are English. You have always promised me that I would not be forced to marry anyone I did not love.”

  “Of course not,” the Colonel nodded. “At the same time, my darling, I would like you to meet Gervais with an open mind.”

  He paused before he went on,

  “We must bear in mind the fact that a young man who has been brought up amongst the French will not think or behave in exactly the same way as someone who has gone to Eton, Oxford and then inevitably into the family Regiment.”

  “I do understand that,” Charisa said. “But, Papa, I have no wish to be married in a hurry to anyone! I love being with you and I love my home.”

  “You also love Mawdelyn Priory,” her father said quietly.

  “It is beautiful, I grant you,” Charisa replied, “but it is only made of bricks and stone.”

  She paused for a moment before she went on,

  “You loved Mama and Mama loved you. What I want is to be married to a man with whom I am happy, not because he possesses anything in particular, but just because he is he.”

  The Colonel looked at his daughter.

  Then he put his arms round her and kissed her.

  “That is what I want for you, my dear,” he said fondly. “But we are dining at The Priory tonight and, as I have already said, we must both meet Gervais with an open mind.”

  Chapter Two

  Driving with her father towards The Priory, Charisa was thinking about Vincent.

  She had wished so many times since she had heard of his death that he could have become the new Marquis.

  Then everything would have gone on as it had in the past.

  She as a small girl had adored Vincent, although he had ordered her about.

  He made her bowl to him when he was practising cricket and ‘fag’ for him in every way when he was home from school. But he had always been kind and understanding.

  She could remember crying on his shoulder when she had been stung by a wasp and he had carried her home when she had fallen down and hurt her foot.

  ‘Why did he have to die?’ she asked angrily.

  By the time they reached The Priory she was, although she would not admit it, feeling rather nervous.

  It seemed ridiculous, when going to The Priory in the past had always been like going home and she often thought that she had spent her life until now more at The Priory than in her father’s house.

  Certainly all its amenities had been available to her, the horses, the lake where she could propel a small canoe, the hothouse greenhouses with their fruit and flowers, and, of course, every room in the house itself.

  She played the piano in the music room because the room was larger and the piano was a superior instrument to their own.

  She took any book she wanted to read from the extensive library.

  The servants at The Priory had spoilt her ever since she was a tiny child.

  “I suppose,” she said to her father just before they turned into the drive, “that Gervais is delighted to find such a splendid staff waiting for him.”

  “He did murmur something about bringing in some younger servants,” the Colonel mentioned.

  Charisa gave a cry of protest.

  “How could he think of doing anything so foolish?” she demanded. “Most of the families have served there generation after generation and, if there is anyone extra required, they should come from the village.”

  Her father did not answer.

  She knew that he was thinking that neither of them could interfere with the new Marquis, except perhaps very tactfully.

  This was another thing that made Charisa feel nervous. He might make alterations, which she was sure would be wrong for The Priory itself.

  They walked in through the great oak door that led into the huge Great Hall where the monks had originally eaten their meals.

  It was also where they had received visitors and it had been traditional that anyone who was hungry or in need of spiritual guidance was welcome.

  To Charisa the spirits of the monks still lingered in the Great Hall and every time she came into the house she felt that they welcomed her.

  There was, however, now only the butler, old Dawkins, who had been at The Priory for forty years.

  “Good evening, Miss Charisa,” he said in his courtly voice. “Good evening, sir.”

  “Here I am again, Dawkins,” the Colonel said. “I hope everything is all right and to his Lordship’s liking.”

  “We can only hope, sir, that there won’t be too many changes,” Dawkins replied cautiously.

  Charisa glanced at her father, but there was nothing either of them could say.

  They followed Dawkins towards the drawing room.

  This was one of the most beautiful rooms in The Priory and had been redecorated by her mother at the old Marquis’s request.

  Mrs. Templeton had made it very beautiful. She had moved into it some Louis XIV furniture that had come to The Priory after the French Revolution.

  Hanging on the white panelled walls were pictures of the same period and these she had collected from the Picture Gallery and other parts of the house.

  The crystal chandeliers were unique and very beautiful.

  So were the mirrors, which had also been brought to England at the same time from Italy.

  The Mawdes had been intrepid travellers and had also held many Diplomatic posts abroad.

  This meant that The Priory had become a treasure house for the many priceless gifts that they had received as well as other unique and lovely objects that they had discovered for themselves in different parts of the world.

  Charisa as a small girl had loved the pieces of Greek statuary that one Mawde had carried home in triumph from a visit to Athens.

  She had also loved the porcelain guard dogs from China, which warded off evil spirits.

  But she could not believe
there were any evil spirits in The Priory and to her the atmosphere always seemed to be charged with a special form of sanctity.

  It was what the monks had brought with them when they had built The Priory with their own hands.

  It had been decorated to the glory of God and when she was small her mother had told her its story.

  She used to imagine the monks praying as they laid brick upon brick, singing as they cut down a large number of trees in order to make beams or floorboards.

  The recent decorations had screened the primitive efforts of the monks in making everything look as perfect as possible.

  Everywhere Charisa looked she saw beauty.

  Yet she was sure that the monks were still as proud of The Priory as they had been when they first built it.

  The chandeliers were all lit in the drawing room, which had not happened for some years. It made the room seem very festive as they entered it.

  The late Marquis had not entertained very much after Vincent went to India and Charisa guessed that the new Marquis was making his dinner party a ‘gathering of the Mawde Clan’.

  Everybody present was related, and of course, Charisa and the Colonel knew them all well.

  There were the two elderly sisters of the late Marquis who lived in the Dower House and they seldom went out to dinner.

  There were quite a number of cousins who had houses within driving distance of The Priory and some lucky relations had been given a house actually on the estate.

  There was no one young except for two men of about twenty-five and Charisa knew that they had come a long distance to attend this evening.

  She looked round at those who were present before she was acutely aware of the one stranger amongst them.

  Gervais, as they were announced, had his back to them.

  Then, as Dawkins called out their names, he turned round.

  At first glance Charisa thought that he was very much a Mawde.

  He had the same square forehead and the clear-cut features that were characteristic of all the men in the family.

  But because he had French ancestry, his hair and his eyes were darker.

  As he walked towards them, she realised that he was not tall and there was something different about him that she could not quite put a name to.

  He reached the Colonel first and held out his hand.