A Nightingale Sang

  “Why?” Mr. Wardolf asked sharply.

  The Duke smiled and there was something boyish about it.

  “Quite frankly, I have fallen very much in love with somebody else and wish to make her my wife.”

  This was something Mr. Wardolf had not expected.

  “Isn’t it rather sudden?” he enquired.

  “It is,” the Duke admitted. “And I hope you will forgive me for upsetting you in any way. I can only thank you for what you have done for me in the past and, of course, I am prepared to leave immediately.”

  “Wait a minute,” Mr. Wardolf said. “I want to understand what’s happened. Are you tellin’ me that you have fallen in love with someone since you came to stay with me?”

  The Duke smiled again.

  “It seems strange even to me, but that is what has actually happened.”

  “Then who – ?” Mr. Wardolf began.

  He thought that ever since the Duke had arrived at Kings Wayte he had never seen him showing the slightest interest in any of the girls staying in the house.

  Then suddenly there was a twinkle in his eye as he asked,

  “I may be drawing the wrong conclusion, but is the lady in question called ‘Aleta’?”

  He saw the astonishment in the Duke’s expression before he replied,

  “I did not know you were aware that she was staying in the house.”

  “I’ve only just become aware of it,” Mr. Wardolf admitted, “but havin’ seen her I can understand your feelings.”

  “Thank you.”

  The Duke was reflecting as he spoke how Mr. Wardolf could have seen Aleta when only a few hours ago she had pleaded with him to keep her presence in the house a secret.

  “I am just wonderin’,” Mr. Wardolf said, “if you are aware of who Aleta is?”

  “I am revealing a secret,” the Duke answered, “but I hope I am not making trouble for anybody if I tell you that she is the sister of your manager, Harry Dunstan.”

  Mr. Wardolf laughed and it was a genuine sound of amusement.

  “So you too have been deceived,” he chuckled. “Well, I’m glad I’m not the only one who has been made a fool of!”

  “A fool?” the Duke questioned.

  “These two young people have certainly been very astute in concealin’ their true identities,” Mr. Wardolf said, “so let me inform you, Tybalt, that your Aleta is, in fact, the sister of Sir Harry Wayte, who owns this house!”

  He saw the undisguised astonishment on the Duke’s face and added,

  “And Sir Harry is at this very moment proposin’, which you omitted to do, marriage to Lucy-May!”

  *

  The Duke awoke and for a moment thought that he was alone. Then he saw his wife standing at the window that overlooked Berkeley Square.

  She had pulled back the curtains and the moonlight turned her fair hair to silver and shining on the transparency of her white nightgown gave her an ethereal appearance as if she was part of the moonlight itself.

  The Duke, watching her, thought that every time he saw Aleta she was even lovelier than she had been before.

  Today, when they had been married in the Chapel that was part of his Castle, it had been a ceremony that was not only moving and sacred but somehow part of the ecstasy they always aroused in each other.

  It was not possible, he thought now, to believe that the happiness he felt could really exist in this world. Yet somehow ever since he had first met Aleta she had seemed to transport him onto a different plane from that of an ordinary everyday existence.

  ‘I love her!’ he told himself, ‘and I will spend the rest of my life making her happy.’

  There was so much for them to do together and he thought that Mr. Wardolf, despite his shrewd business acumen and the reputation he had in industrial circles of being tough, was also a sentimentalist at heart.

  Only a man who understood romance could not only have made his daughter happy but also done the same for a discarded son-in-law.

  When the Duke had finally understood the strange twist of fate that had not only allowed him to find Aleta but also brought an almost unbelievable happiness to her brother and to Lucy-May, Mr. Wardolf had said,

  “That reminds me, Tybalt, I have a commission for you, which I would like carried out as quickly as possible.”

  “A commission?” the Duke enquired.

  “Yes,” Mr. Wardolf replied, “I want everythin’ that has been sold from this house tracked down, bought back and restored to the place where they have belonged for centuries.”

  The Duke had looked at him in surprise and Mr. Wardolf had said,

  “You haven’t forgotten, I hope, that you are my Agent in Europe? I’ll allow you a short break in which to get married and have a honeymoon, but after that I want you to get to work before other Agents get ahead of you.”

  The Duke had been silent for a moment.

  Then he said,

  “Are you telling me that you still wish to continue with our arrangement, even though I am not to marry Lucy-May?”

  Mr. Wardolf put his hand on the Duke’s shoulder.

  “I never let anything interfere with business,” he said, “and where you are concerned your usefulness in this particular field doesn’t rest on my idea that you would make me a good son-in-law, but on my belief that you were the best man for the job.”

  The Duke drew in a deep breath.

  While he had been prepared to sacrifice a great part of his possessions so that he could marry Aleta, it was an inexpressible relief to know that it would not now be necessary.

  If they were careful for a few years, very little would need to be sold off the estates and, once he put them in good running order, they would be much more productive than they were at the moment.

  As if he read his thoughts, Mr. Wardolf said briskly,

  “Well, that’s settled and there’s one good thing about all this, I shall not have to bother findin’ a wedding present. Your Canalettos and the Van Dyck have only to be re-hung.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you – ” the Duke began, but Mr. Wardolf brushed his words aside.

  “We both have a great deal to do,” he said, “and the first is to order a bottle of champagne to celebrate with.”

  It all seemed rather like a Fairytale, the Duke thought now, and he remembered that Aleta had said the same thing when he had gone upstairs to the nursery to tell her what had occurred.

  He had walked in to find her sitting, as she had been before when he had first found her, in the chair by the window.

  He had guessed that she had been expecting to see Harry and, when he came into the room, she sprang to her feet with the startled grace of the fawn outside in the Park.

  He had stood looking at her and because he could find no better way to express his happiness and the wonder of the future that lay before them, he merely held out his arms.

  As if Aleta too sensed instinctively that there was no need for words, she ran towards him.

  He held her very close, his lips found hers and he kissed her as he had done in the darkness of the Temple and found the magic and rapture was still there, but even more intense, more wonderful.

  They kissed until they both felt as if once again they were swept up into the sky and were no longer mortal but part of an ecstasy that could only be Divine.

  Then at last, as Aleta hid her face against him and her whole body quivered with the rapture that possessed them both, the Duke said,

  “I love you! And now, my darling, I am free to ask you to marry me – but quickly. It is impossible for me to live without your becoming mine as you have been since the beginning of time.”

  “I-I can – marry you?”

  He could hardly hear the words, but the lilt in Aleta’s voice was unmistakable.

  “You will be my wife,” the Duke said, “and then, darling, everything in my world will be entirely different because we are together.”

  “It is – what I want,” she whispered, “to be
– with you – to love you.”

  He kissed her again and it was a very long time before they came back to reality to tell each other that everything that had happened since that first night when they had met in Berkeley Square was true.

  It seemed somehow Fate that Stadhampton House in London should actually be one of the great houses in that very special Square that meant so much to them.

  When the Duke had told Aleta it was obvious that they must spend the first night of their honeymoon there, she had said,

  “I can imagine nothing more – wonderful than to be your wife and – to be with you – anywhere in the world, but to be where we first met – and know that marvellous perfect magic as the nightingales sing – would be just like being part of a Fairytale.”

  “That’s what we are,” the Duke replied. “And no one, my darling, could look more like a Fairy Princess than you.”

  “I love you!” Aleta sighed, “and – everything to do with you is – enchanted.”

  “That’s what I wanted to say to you!” the Duke protested.

  Then he found it easier to express his feelings with kisses, rather than to put them into words.

  *

  Lucy-May wanted to wait to be married for just a few weeks until her friends and some of her relations could come from New York to be present.

  The Duke having declared he had no intention of waiting for anyone, had gone from Kings Wayte to his Castle to make arrangements for his Wedding.

  Two days later, Harry had taken Aleta and the Wardolfs to The Castle and found it magnificent and beautiful, although different in every way from Kings Wayte.

  All that was left of the Norman building, which had been a stronghold of the Barons, who had forced the Magna Carta upon a reluctant King, was a grey tower.

  Attached to it was a Georgian house designed by Robert Adam and the Duke explained that the first holder of the Dukedom had commissioned Adam to pull down the buildings that had been added over the centuries to the original keep and provide a house that he thought would be a fitting background for his dignity and consequence.

  Money had been no object and Stadhampton Castle was certainly a fine example of the Palladian style with its huge high rooms, painted ceilings and surmounting dome.

  Mr. Wardolf was certainly extremely impressed.

  The Castle was in good repair and comfortably equipped with the exception, of course, that there was a scarcity of bathrooms, while Kings Wayte had so much to be done to it.

  Now it would belong to Lucy-May and he knew its full restoration would keep him interested for the whole year of his tenancy.

  The Duke, as he was in mourning, was not obliged to invite outsiders to his Wedding Ceremony, which was exactly the way he and Aleta wanted it.

  When she came into the Chapel on Harry’s arm, he thought that nothing could be better than that there were no curious eyes to stare at them.

  To the Duke Aleta was the embodiment of everything that was perfect and, when he saw the love in her eyes, he knew that he was the most fortunate man in the world.

  Her happiness seemed to light up the whole Chapel and, when he put the ring on her finger, he felt that they were both trembling with the rapture of belonging to each other and nothing would ever part them, either now or in Eternity.

  They had been driven to London in the comfort and safety of a Rolls Royce that Mr. Wardolf had just bought and which he loaned them for the occasion.

  The Duke half-regretted that he could not drive Aleta behind his own horses. But journeying by car was quicker and, he thought, more comfortable for her and that was all that mattered.

  He had held her hand and felt as they sped through the countryside driven by an experienced chauffeur that they were being carried away into a world where there was only beauty, music and poetry and nothing harsh or discordant could encroach on their happiness.

  He had known this to be true when, after a quiet and intimate dinner in Stadhampton House, waited on by old servants, who had known his father and mother, he had taken Aleta by the hand and drawn her out of the front door, across the quiet street and into the garden of Berkeley Square.

  As if nature had deliberately reconstructed what had happened two years ago, it was a star-strewn night with a young moon creeping up into the sky.

  It shone through the thick leaves of the high trees so that they could just see the little path that led through the garden towards the Temple.

  Now there were roses and honeysuckle in bloom where there had been lilac and syringa, but otherwise the garden seemed little changed.

  The Georgian vase on top of the Temple gleamed in the moonlight, the pillars were very white and there was the same darkness inside where the Duke had discovered a shy girl who had slipped away from a ball because she had no partners.

  From a house on the other side of the Square there was the sound of music and a faintly familiar tune was wafted on the warm air,

  “ – there’s nothing surer,

  The rich get rich and the poor get poorer,

  In the meantime, in between time,

  Ain’t we got fun!”

  But both Aleta and the Duke knew that the music they heard was in their hearts.

  They walked into the Temple and just for a moment they stood side by side, seeing nothing, not touching each other, but waiting, as if they listened for the fluttering wings of the angels that Aleta had been sure were present at their marriage.

  Then slowly, as if he must savour every moment of its wonder, the Duke drew his wife into his arms and his lips came down on hers.

  He kissed her until she became one with him and they were indivisible, their minds, their hearts and their souls entwined until they were complete in one person –

  A long time later the Duke raised his head and asked in a voice that was curiously unsteady,

  “You love me, my darling?”

  “I love you!” Aleta whispered, “and Tybalt – I can hear the – nightingales singing as they sang the – first time you kissed me.”

  “They will always sing for us,” the Duke breathed.

  Then he was kissing her again until, as if they understood the need, one for the other, they walked back to the house with his arm round her.

  Because she had awoken in him everything that was fine and spiritual and had inspired him since the first moment they had met, the Duke had been half-afraid that his more human desire for Aleta as a woman might shock or frighten her.

  But when he held her in his arms in the great carved bed that had been used by the Stadhampton family for many generations, he found that the fire within him had awoken a little fire in her.

  He had been very gentle, but their love had been complete. Pure and innocent though Aleta was, she loved him enough to think that anything he did was right and their love made it part of the Divine.

  “Do you still love me?” he had asked.

  “Oh, Tybalt, you know I do.”

  “You excite me so wildly, my precious.”

  “I – want to – excite you – as you excite me.”

  “That is what I prayed I might do, my wonderful little Goddess.”

  “Making love is so – wonderful – like flying up to the – stars.”

  “My precious, you are sure that is how you felt?”

  “Quite – quite – sure and the nightingales were – singing and – I am certain the angels were too.”

  The Duke had held Aleta closer still and said a prayer of thankfulness in his heart.

  Looking at her now, standing in the moonlight, he told himself that no man in the world had been more blessed.

  Aleta must have been aware without his saying anything that he was there and that his eyes were on her, for she turned her head and with a smile that illuminated her whole face, she exclaimed,

  “It’s so lovely!”

  “And so are you, my darling.”

  “Come and look.”

  “I am quite content to look at you.”

  “I he
ard the nightingales and I wondered if I could see them. Everything is silver in the moonlight and it looks like Fairyland.”

  “You can tell me about it,” the Duke said, “but I want you to come back to me. I am afraid that you might slip away into the night and I shall lose you again.”

  Aleta gave a little laugh.

  “You could never do that.”

  “Come here!” the Duke demanded.

  Without waiting to close the curtains, she ran back to him and he pulled her into bed beside him.

  He held her close and said,

  “Are you real? I was afraid just now that you would turn out to be really the Goddess I thought you to be, when we first met and you might disappear into the sky from where you came while I was left looking for you for the rest of my life.”

  “I am real – and yet I am – so happy that I am afraid it is all a – dream and I shall wake up to find that you are – still the man who I have never seen, but who – kissed me in the dark.”

  “It’s not a dream, my precious, as I shall prove to you over and over again,” the Duke replied. “And I was thinking how very lucky we are to have found each other again by chance and we must never take such risks again.”

  “Perhaps it was not by chance,” Aleta said in a soft voice. “I think the – magic you have for me and I for you, will always – draw us together even if we were a world apart.”

  “But we are not!” the Duke said quickly. “You are here my lovely one and I can touch you, kiss you and make love to you, because you are my wife.”

  She made a little sound of happiness and sighed,

  “Sometimes I frighten myself by thinking that when we met again you might have been already married to Lucy-May.”

  “You are not to think about it,” the Duke commanded, “and she will be very happy with Harry.”

  “She will do everything he wants because she loves him, as I love you! But, darling – no one could love anybody as – much as I love you!”

  The Duke drew her closer.

  “That’s what I want you to say to me, not once but over and over again,” he said. “But love is such an inadequate word to express what I feel for you. I adore you, I worship you, and you fill my whole world to the exclusion of everything else.”