There was a twist to the Marquis’s lips as he said,
“Frankness is something I have not experienced before, Rocana, in my relationships with women.”
“Please – I am trying not to be – rude or difficult – ” Rocana said pleadingly, “but I must try to make you – understand that ours is a – different marriage from what you expected – and I wanted.”
“I suppose every bride wants to be in love!” the Marquis remarked.
He made it sound as if it was something reprehensible and for a moment Rocana forgot to be humble and replied,
“Of course she does! How could it be otherwise? Why should she be – forced to marry a man because he is rich and important? It is wrong! It is against – everything that God – intended.”
“And yet you married me,” the Marquis insisted, “to save Caroline and yourself.”
“I – told you – that.”
“Then I suppose, in the circumstances, you don’t think you owe me anything?
Rocana looked puzzled.
“I have told you how – grateful I am – but there is nothing else I can do to show my gratitude – except try to – please you.”
There was a little silence.
Then the Marquis said,
“Suppose I tell you that I prefer to have a quite normal marriage, as I envisaged with Caroline, in which you are my wife not only in name, but in fact?”
Because what he said upset her, Rocana rose to her feet and walked across the room to the window.
The curtains had been drawn except over a French window that opened out into the garden.
She stood looking out. The light was fading from the sky and the stars were coming out, one by one.
It was very quiet and there was a faint breeze rustling the leaves of the trees.
It seemed to Rocana to have the magic she had always sought and found in beautiful places, a magic that was part of herself, her instincts, her dreams and her longing for happiness.
She felt as if she was reaching out blindly towards something that eluded her, something that she was afraid she would never capture.
Yet every nerve in her body and every part of her mind longed for it.
Then she started, as she realised that without her hearing him, the Marquis had risen too and was standing just behind her.
“Are you thinking of running away from me?” he asked in a deep voice.
“I have – nowhere to run – to.”
“Then I suggest you stay and we will start with my horses and pictures and see where they take us before I do anything that might frighten you.”
Rocana turned to look up at him.
“Do you mean that – do you really mean – it?” she asked.
Now her eyes were shining with the starlight and the fear had gone from their depths.
“I don’t often allow my decisions to be overruled,” the Marquis said dryly, “but you are very convincing, Rocana, not only in what you say, but what you think.”
“Are you – telling me that you can – read my thoughts?”
“Your eyes are very expressive.”
“I am glad if they persuade you that I am right.”
“I am not saying you are right,” the Marquis contradicted “but merely that I will agree to what you want.”
“Then – thank you. I am very grateful.”
As if the subject was closed the Marquis then started to talk about what they would do tomorrow, and it was nearly midnight when Rocana said,
“I think I should go to bed. There are so many – exciting things that I can talk to you about that I want to have all – my wits about me.”
“I take that as a compliment,” the Marquis replied. “Go to bed now and, if you wish, join me when I ride in the Bois de Boulogne at eight o’clock.”
“May I – really do that?”
“I shall look forward to your company.”
“Thank you – thank you!” Rocana exclaimed. “I promise not to be late.”
She rose from where she had been sitting to hold out her hand, wondering as she did so if it was the right way to say goodnight.
To her relief the Marquis took it, raised it perfunctorily to his lips in French fashion and said,
“Go to bed, Rocana, and stop worrying. If you leave everything to me, I will try to make you very much happier than you have been in the past.”
She smiled at him before she sighed,
“Now I am quite certain I am dreaming. I had half expected that tonight I should have to sleep in the street – or beg my way back to England!”
She spoke half-seriously, half-jokingly and the Marquis said,
“I believe impersonators and forgers in France are taken to the Bastille.”
“Then I am most grateful for the comfortable bed waiting for me upstairs,” Rocana smiled. “Goodnight, my Lord.”
She curtsied and walked towards the door that the Marquis opened for her.
She looked up at him as she stepped out into the passage and thought that there was a strange expression in his eyes she did not understand.
Then, because she was relieved, excited and somewhat bewildered all at the same time, she ran upstairs.
Marie was waiting for her to help her undress and get into bed.
*
The following evening, as she changed for dinner, Rocana mused that she had never had a more thrilling or delightful day.
For nearly two years she had crept about The Castle like a ghost, hoping not to be seen, because if she was, she would undoubtedly be reprimanded by the Duchess.
She had never been able to have a conversation with any outsider or be listened to if she spoke to anybody except Caroline, so it was a joy beyond words to be with a man like the Marquis.
He was so intelligent and so well read that she forgot to be frightened of him and found herself making sparkling replies to everything they talked about because he stimulated her imagination.
They rode in the Bois and Rocana had found two extremely attractive summer habits among Caroline’s clothes that the Duchess had bought for her trousseau.
One was in the pale blue of Caroline’s eyes, the other a leaf green trimmed in military fashion with white braid that Rocana thought was the smartest outfit she had ever seen and there was a black riding hat to go with it, trimmed with a green gauze veil.
When she joined the Marquis at exactly eight o’clock, she thought there was a glint of admiration in his eyes, although she could not be sure.
“For a woman you are surprisingly punctual,” he said in his dry mocking voice.
“As your wife, would I dare to be anything else?” Rocana replied. “And as a friend I did not wish to keep you waiting.”
He smiled at her quickness.
Then, instead of allowing a groom to help her, he lifted her into the saddle and arranged her skirt over the pummel with an experienced hand.
The horse she was riding was not as magnificent as Vulcan, but nevertheless a fine and well-bred animal.
Rocana was completely unaware that she and the Marquis together created quite a sensation amongst the other riders in the Bois.
Most of them were men and several greeted the Marquis as old friends and were obviously anxious to be introduced to his wife.
Because Rocana spoke to them in their own language, they all exclaimed at her proficiency and her perfect accent.
Only when they were alone did she ask,
“Am I to say that my mother was French? Or should I let them go on believing I am Caroline?”
“I think for the moment we should leave things as they are,” the Marquis replied. “Explanations are always a mistake and my marriage will have been reported by the Duke in The London Gazette as well as The Times and The Morning Post.”
“I can see it is a complicated situation for you,” Rocana said, “and I still think it would be wise to wait for as long as possible to give Caroline and Patrick time to have left England.”
“They intende
d to go abroad?” the Marquis asked.
“I think they were coming to France,” Rocana replied, “but Patrick had planned everything down to the last detail, so I cannot believe there was any real danger of their being apprehended at the last moment.”
She was sure this was the truth.
At the same time there was a little note of fear in her voice because she had lived in the shadow of her uncle’s Ducal authority for so long that it was hard to believe that anybody could defy him and win.
“You are worrying again, Rocana,” the Marquis said, “and I like you best when you are smiling.”
“Then I will smile,” Rocana replied.
After their ride the Marquis took her to an exhibition of pictures which left her breathless.
“Mama would have loved seeing these,” she said. “She taught me so much about the French artists, and although I have seen reproductions of them, it is not the same as seeing the originals.”
She thought her enthusiasm rather amused the Marquis.
Then they went to luncheon at a restaurant in the Bois.
Driving in his phaeton, the groom sitting up behind them, they once again attracted the attention of everybody who saw them.
The Marquis noticed how unselfconscious Rocana was and that she did not notice the admiration in the Frenchmen’s eyes or the curiosity and envy in the women’s.
The luncheon, which was delicious, was eaten at a table for two under the trees.
Rocana talked of pictures and horses and the Marquis found himself answering innumerable questions he had never been asked before.
Once when he hesitated with his reply, Rocana asked quickly,
“Am I boring you and being a nuisance through being so inquisitive? You must tell me if I am.”
“I assure you I am not bored,” the Marquis answered.
“I am well aware of how ignorant I am about you and your whole life,” Rocana said, “and although I will try to learn as quickly as possible, I am afraid you will have to teach me so many things that you may find it very tedious.”
“If I do I will tell you so.”
“I was just thinking,” she went on, “how wonderful it is for me to be with somebody like you. It is like being with Papa – only more so!”
“I am flattered!” the Marquis replied dryly.
“I am not disparaging Papa,” Rocana explained. “He was very clever, very witty and insisted that I should be able to hold what he called ‘intelligent conversation’, but he really preferred talking to Mama and if she was there I could not hold his attention.”
She sighed before she ended,
“So you can understand how thrilling it is for me to have you all to – myself, at least for the – moment.”
“Are you putting a time limit on it?” the Marquis enquired.
“Of course,” Rocana replied. “I am afraid that not only will some lovely lady snatch you away, but you will vanish and I shall wake up!”
The Marquis laughed.
“The trouble with you, Rocana, is that you are far too imaginative and goodness knows what trouble I shall find myself in! You have caused enough trouble for me already and I am just wondering what the future holds.”
“I am only hoping,” Rocana said quickly, “you will not find me dull.”
“I think that would be impossible!”
The way he spoke made it difficult for her to know if it was a compliment or a criticism.
*
Now as Marie helped her into another beautiful gown, she told herself that she was so lucky that for the first time since her father died she was not only happy but unafraid.
‘He is not really frightening after all,’ she told herself.
At the same time she knew that if the Marquis was angry with her, as he had been last night, he had the power to make her feel as if her heart had stopped beating and it was impossible to breathe.
‘I must just keep him laughing,’ she thought, ‘and amused by what I say.’
She sent up a little prayer to her father for help, knowing how he had always managed to raise the tempo of any party he attended.
He had also drawn people by his magic as he always said he had been drawn by her mother’s.
‘I want that magic!’ Rocana murmured to herself.
She hoped the Marquis would be aware of it and would continue to be as kind as he had been today.
“You look very beautiful, madame!” Marie was saying.
She brought Rocana’s thoughts back to herself and she looked at her reflection in the mirror.
She saw that Marie had dressed her in a gown of very soft pink, which in a subtle manner accentuated the gold of her hair and the mysterious darkness of her eyes.
The gown was trimmed with pink carnations around the hem and the shoulders and Marie had procured some real pink carnations from the garden that matched and arranged them in her hair.
They made her look very young and, as she entered the salon, the Marquis thought she looked like Persephone coming back from the bowels of the earth to bring the first blush of spring to the world outside.
He watched her walk the length of the salon towards him and knew that because she was so slight Rocana had a grace that most young women lacked.
It was entirely natural and unselfconscious with nothing artificial about it.
As she reached him, he said,
“I thought after dinner, if it pleases you, I might take you to a party that friends of mine are giving and where there will be dancing.”
“That would be very exciting!” Rocana cried. “I only hope I can dance well enough! I have danced the waltz with Papa, but of course I have never been to a ball since I grew up.”
The Marquis stared at her.
Then he said with a smile,
“That is something else I must teach you.”
“Do you mind?”
“Of course not! I shall enjoy it!”
Rocana hesitated.
Then she said,
“Please – as I feel – embarrassed at being so ignorant – could we first go somewhere to dance where there will only be strangers – and not your friends?”
“I think that is a sensible idea,” the Marquis agreed, and that is what we will do.”
“You do understand!” she exclaimed.
“Did you expect me to be utterly obtuse or should I say ‘thick-skinned’?”
“No, of course not! It is only that you are very much more understanding than I thought you could possibly be, and I think you have an instinct about people’s feelings that I did not expect.”
The Marquis did not answer and Rocana went on,
“I think very few people have that particular instinct, but it is something Papa thought was magic.”
“The magic you used on Vulcan?”
“Exactly!” Rocana agreed. “And it works on both animals and humans.”
“Then I am delighted you should think I have it.”
She smiled at him, but before he could say any more dinner was announced and they went into the dining room.
The meal was even more delicious than that of the night before.
Because Rocana was hungry, she tasted everything she was offered and drank a little champagne that the Marquis told her came from a vineyard he was thinking of buying.
“It would be wonderful to have your own vines,” she said. “Could we go and see them?”
“I was thinking I would like to do that,” the Marquis replied, “and my plan was to drive there as soon as we are tired of Paris.”
“But not too soon,” Rocana pleaded. “There is so much more I want to see in Paris and I am sure there are many, many more pictures for you to inspect.”
The Marquis was just about to reply when suddenly the door burst open and the noise of it made Rocana turn her head.
A man came into the room in an aggressive manner which seemed extraordinary.
Then, as Rocana saw several servants behind him looking anxious, she realis
ed he had thrust his way into the house and had not waited to be announced.
He slammed the door shut behind him, then walked across the room, his eyes on the Marquis.
“I heard you were here, my Lord,” he said, “and if you thought to escape me, you made a mistake!”
He was speaking in English, but with a distinct accent that was not French but showed, Rocana thought, he was either Austrian or from one of the Balkan countries.
He had a flamboyant look, with a curling moustache and clothes that while expensive and smart looked very un-English.
He advanced until he was standing only a few feet away from the Marquis before he went on,
“I consider your behaviour with the Princess an insult to me as a man, and I intend to take my revenge!”
The Marquis slowly rose to his feet.
“I must welcome your Highness to my house,” he said in a very controlled voice, “and may I have the honour of presenting my wife.”
Because she felt she should do so, Rocana also rose ready to curtsy as soon as the Prince looked in her direction.
Instead he was glaring in a very menacing way at the Marquis and he retorted in a voice of barely repressed anger,
“If you think you can trick me by getting married and leaving England, you are very much mistaken! I am not a fool, Quorn, and I am well aware of the outrageous way in which you have been behaving and I have no intention of allowing you to evade your just deserts!”
“I can only regret that Your Highness should feel this way – ” the Marquis began.
“You have insulted me,” the Prince roared, “and you shall pay for it!”
Still very quietly, the Marquis replied,
“In which case, Your Highness, as I cannot refuse such a challenge, I will meet you at dawn.”
Rocana knew that this meant a duel and, as she looked at the furious anger on the Prince’s face, she made a little murmur of dissent, thinking how dangerous he might be in his desire to hurt the Marquis.
“Dawn be damned!” the Prince exclaimed furiously. “I am not going to fight you with pistols! I know your reputation as a shot and I have a much better way of avenging myself from which you will not escape.”
As he spoke, he drew back the cape he was wearing over his evening dress and, as he did so, Rocana saw that in his hand he was holding a stick.
The Unbreakable Spell Page 12