A Battle for Love

by Barbara Cartland

  “Oh, not Sir Hubert! He is a most unpleasant man. I have met him once or twice and thought the way that he toadied to those more important than he was revolting.”

  “He has clearly toadied to the Earl who is making use of him,” the Marquis said. “Apart from the fact that Serla will be a huge help to me, I asked her why she was going to London and she said that it was to be a Cyprian.”

  The Dowager stared at her grandson.

  “A Cyprian! Does she know what that means?”

  “She has not the least idea, but Charlotte’s brother, Gerald, told her that they make a lot of money by dancing well.”

  “And who is this young woman?”

  “I thought perhaps you would know more about her than I do,” he replied. “She is Charlotte’s cousin and her mother apparently caused a major scandal by running away the night before her Wedding to some Royal Prince.”

  The Dowager gave a cry.

  “I know who you mean! Myrtle was lovely, one of the most beautiful debutantes I have ever seen.”

  “And you knew that she had run away?” he asked.

  “Of course, I did at the time. But, when you just said ‘Ashton’, the name meant nothing to me.”

  “That was the man she ran away with.”

  “I remember him too,” the Dowager said. “He was handsome, very polite and ran Langwarde most efficiently for the then Earl, who was the father of the present one.”

  “What I want you to do,” the Marquis said, “is to dress Serla in the next twenty-four hours so stylishly that the gossips will never doubt that I am marrying her quite simply because she is so beautiful. They may not have the slightest idea that I am really striking at Charlotte for her disgraceful behaviour.”

  The Dowager Marchioness patted his hand.

  “I can understand this has hurt you, dear boy,” she said. “But Charlotte is not the only girl in the world and you have a wide choice.”

  “I am aware of that, Grandmama, but what I dislike is being made to look a fool.”

  “That is something no one must think you are,” his grandmother said, “and I promise that if it is at all possible I will make this young girl look as lovely as her mother. Where is she by the way?”

  “She is downstairs waiting to meet you. I ordered Baxter to give her a cup of tea and then I thought I would bring her up here.”

  “I am indeed anxious to meet her,” the Dowager said. “Don’t worry, my dearest boy, I understand exactly what you are trying to do and, if I cannot help you, as I wish to do, then the sooner I die the better.”

  “Don’t talk like that, Grandmama. You know the whole family depends on you and they too have to believe that I have fallen unexpectedly but genuinely in love. And that I used Charlotte as an excuse for visiting her father’s house to see Serla.”

  He paused for a moment before he added,

  “They will surely believe that, because there must be many people who know how badly this child has been treated by the Earl. He is such an overwhelming snob that he never forgave his sister for causing a scandal and, as Serla puts it, made a blot on his precious Family Tree.”

  The Dowager laughed.

  “It describes the Earl exactly! I always thought him a tiresome man and, of course, he must be delighted that his daughter is to become a Duchess.”

  “I don’t know whether I am sorrier for her or for Nottingham, but everyone, Grandmama, has to believe that I have found, after a long search, the one perfect woman who I did not think existed until I met Serla.”

  “In other words a Fairytale come true. Of course, dearest boy, that is what we will make them believe. To me you have always looked like a Prince in a fairy story.”

  The Marquis laughed.

  “If I was one, I could doubtless wave a magic wand and sweep all these difficulties away. As it is, I am now going downstairs to fetch Serla for your inspection.”

  He left the room and as he did so his grandmother looked after him with an unhappy expression in her eyes.

  She had been so pleased that he had finally decided to be married, as she thought, to such a charming girl and it was essential there should be an heir to the Darincourt title.

  She also thought it was a mistake for her handsome charming and rich grandson to be spending so much time with married women.

  They fell into his arms far too eagerly and there was always a danger that one of their husbands might cause a scandal by demanding a duel in which inevitably someone would be hurt. Or worse still a divorce.

  ‘How could this possibly have happened to Clive?’ the Dowager Marchioness asked herself.

  She realised that to be seeking his revenge like this showed that he had been deeply hurt.

  She had disliked the first traces of cynicism that she had seen in his face and it was when he was being pursued by some pushy women.

  It was inevitable that he should only have to raise his finger or even look in the direction of some beauty and she would then rush to his side and agree to anything he suggested. Of course if this continued he would be spoilt.

  What the Dowager Marchioness minded more than anything was that he would lose all his illusions and ideals and she was well aware of them as he was growing up.

  The Dowager admitted frankly that she loved her grandson more than she had loved anyone except for her husband. If she was truthful, more than her own children.

  Because he had always been so kind and charming to her, she prayed fervently every night for his happiness.

  It just seemed impossible that the one woman who he had decided to marry should have thrown him over, not for another man but simply for a title.

  ‘I will not have my Clive humiliated,’ the Dowager vowed to herself.

  As she did so, the door of the drawing room opened and the Marquis came in leading Serla.

  He had gone down the stairs to find her chatting to Baxter as she ate a large piece of iced cake.

  “You’ll miss the country, miss,” Baxter was saying in a fatherly tone. “But His Lordship has some fine horses in the Mews, if he allows you to ride them.”

  “I will have to persuade him,” Serla replied.

  At the same time she was aware that she had no riding habit with her. When she had made up her mind to run away, there was no time to pack much. She took just what would go into a large bag she had found.

  She had had no idea, when her uncle had told her to come down to his study, what he was going to tell her.

  When she finally understood that he insisted on her marrying Sir Hubert Kirwin, she knew that she either had to run away or drown herself in the lake.

  She had lived in a house of love and had seen how happy her father and mother had been.

  She had therefore always believed that one day she would find a man who she loved and who really loved her. Then nothing else in the world would matter.

  It was a revelation for her to listen to her cousin trying to make up her mind.

  Should she marry the handsome Marquis, who had so distinguished himself in the War and was pursued by every woman in London? Or should she marry the Duke?

  Serla personally could not understand for a moment how there could be any hesitation.

  She had thought that the Duke of Nottingham was rather gauche and a tremendous bore. She had listened to him talking at the dinner table and both Charlotte and her father had hung on his words, but she thought that what he had said was not worth listening to.

  In fact she could not imagine anything more ghastly than being married to a man who was so boring.

  However, she was to learn that there was one man who was even worse and that was Sir Hubert Kirwin.

  She had disliked him from the first moment she had seen him. He had held her hand, she thought, a little longer than was necessary.

  When he had first come to luncheon, every time she looked up he was staring at her and she thought that there was an unpleasant expression in his eyes.

  He had managed, although it was rather d
ifficult, to speak to her on another occasion. They were in the garden watching the Earl play croquet with some of his guests.

  Serla was expected to make herself scarce when the luncheon was finished.

  She had, however, been sent to get a duster to clean some of the croquet balls and, when she returned, then Sir Hubert had more or less pounced on her.

  He had paid her compliments which made her feel uncomfortable and she thought as he moved himself a little nearer to her that he was repulsive.

  When later her uncle told her that she was to marry Sir Hubert, she felt as if he had struck her a blow that made her almost unconscious.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she had stammered. “I could – not marry Sir Hubert, he is old – and horrible.”

  “I have never heard such nonsense,” the Earl had said angrily. “Sir Hubert is a very rich man and you are very fortunate to have any offer of marriage, especially one from a man who is so distinguished and has a title.”

  That was the real answer, Serla knew, and what so appealed to her uncle. To him this was a miracle in view of the disgraceful way he thought his sister had behaved.

  “You will marry Sir Hubert,” he said firmly, “if I have to drag you to the altar. I have fed and kept you and allowed you the privilege you do not deserve of living here at Langwarde.”

  His voice sharpened as he went on,

  “Now thank goodness, I can be rid of you and as far as I am concerned the marriage will take place at once.”

  It was then that Serla knew that she must run away.

  She knew that her uncle wished to be rid of her at once as he would be so occupied with giving his daughter the most celebrated Wedding ever at Langwarde.

  Charlotte was marrying a Duke and it delighted the Earl to the point when, because of her mother’s behaviour, he disliked Serla more than he ever had.

  Now she realised that the Marquis’s departure was a Heaven-sent opportunity.

  Without thinking of anything but the menace of Sir Hubert, she flung the first things that came to hand into the bag. She left by a garden door and ran down the drive.

  She had known that she had had no time to think.

  She was convinced that the Marquis, having been informed by Charlotte that she was not going to marry him, would leave immediately.

  She had been desperately afraid that she would be too late. In fact she had only to wait a few minutes before she saw his phaeton gliding towards her.

  It was then for the first time she was afraid that he would refuse to help her as he might say that he would have nothing more to do with anyone at Langwarde Hall.

  But he had been kind and even understanding.

  When he had told her what he wanted her to do, she knew that, because he had helped her to escape, she would have climbed the Himalayas to please him. Or even gone down a coal mine if he had asked her to do so.

  She was worried now that his grandmother, being a woman, would turn her away.

  The Marquis opened the door of the drawing room.

  She expected to find a very old rather disagreeable face peering at her. Instead, as she then walked forward, the Dowager exclaimed,

  “You are exactly like your mother! I think I should have recognised you without being told who you are.”

  “You knew – Mama?” Serla asked her.

  “I knew her before she ran away with your father, and we met, I think twice, after she was married and she told me that she was very very happy.”

  Serla looked at the Dowager with what the Marquis thought was a very touching expression in her eyes.

  “You were not shocked at Mama – as everyone else was?” she asked.

  “I thought that your mother was very brave and did exactly the right thing for herself, even if it did upset other people,” the Dowager answered. “I can so understand her being very much in love with your good-looking father.”

  “Oh, thank you – thank you!” Serla cried. “No one has ever said anything – like that to me before. They have been unbelievably horrible about Mama while I have been at Langwarde and keep talking – as if she was a criminal.”

  “She produced you,” the Dowager said, “and that must have made her even happier than ever. You are very lovely, my dear, and my grandson has told me that you are going to help him.”

  “As he has helped me,” Serla said. “If he had not taken me away, I think I would have had to drown myself in the lake.”

  “That is something you must never think of doing,” the Dowager cautioned. “As long as you are with me, no one will force you to marry anyone you do not love.”

  “I just don’t know how you can be – so kind,” Serla said with a small break in her voice. “And that you said such nice things about Mama makes me happy for the first time – since she died.”

  Now her voice broke and tears were in her eyes and the Dowager patted her hand and smiled,

  “We will talk more about your mother later, but at the moment we have to concentrate on what my grandson wants. As far as I can make out, he expects me to perform a miracle in twenty-four hours.”

  She looked at the Marquis as she spoke.

  “I have always told you, Grandmama,” he replied, “that you are a miracle-worker and I want the evidence of it immediately!”

  “I don’t believe that Serla and I will let you down, my dear boy. You must realise, I hope, that we are going to spend a great deal of money very quickly.”

  Serla gave a cry of horror and the Marquis said,

  “Money is no object and, of course, Grandmama, I expect you to give some very grand parties for the Beau Monde to meet my fiancée.”

  “There is nothing I shall enjoy more, dearest boy. “I am very tired of sitting here and thinking of the elegant people who crowded into this room night after night when I was married to your grandfather.”

  She gave a little sigh before she added,

  “It was a privilege in those days to be invited to one of my parties.”

  “As now so it will be again,” he said quickly. “You know as well as I do, Grandmama, that you only need an excuse to give one and everyone will come running.”

  “I just hope that you are right. Maybe I have been rather lazy lately, but now I have a good excuse for being hospitable. Mr. Simpkins will be very busy sending out the invitations.”

  “That is exactly what I want to hear,” the Marquis said. “Now I am going to arrange with Simpkins that the announcement will appear in The Gazette and, of course, in The Morning Post and The Times.”

  “When you have finished doing that,” the Dowager suggested, “Serla and I will deserve a glass of champagne.”

  The Marquis chuckled, bent down and then kissed his grandmother on the cheek.

  “I adore you, Grandmama. You have never failed me since I was a small boy and I know you will not now.”

  “Be careful and don’t boast,” she replied. “We must play our parts very very carefully so that no one will have the least suspicion that we are not what we pretend to be.”

  The Marquis turned to Serla,

  “I will tell Baxter that the housekeeper is to look after you and, of course, to unpack that large quantity of luggage you have brought with you.”

  “Now you are being unkind,” Serla said. “I was so afraid that I would miss you, I just snatched up the first things I could find.”

  “All we have to worry about tonight,” the Dowager said, “is that it is very important that Clive does not appear at his Club or anywhere else until the good news is in The Gazette. He will just have to make do with a quiet dinner here with only two women to amuse him!”

  “How could I possibly complain,” he asked, “when they are surely the two most beautiful women in London.”

  He walked to the door before he turned back to say,

  “If I am to be staying in, don’t forget to tell the chef that I would relish my favourite dishes.”

  He did not wait for an answer, but went out closing the door
behind him

  The Dowager looked at Serla.

  “Now we have to work very quickly, my dear,” she said, “and make you just as beautiful as your mother was when she took London by storm.”

  “Did she really do that?” Serla asked.

  “When I look back, I remember that everyone was talking about her, saying that she was the most beautiful debutante there had ever been. And I would like to add that she was also the most charming. I met her when she was a girl because my husband shot with your great-uncle in the autumn, and I thought then that she was very lovely and at eighteen she was breathtaking.”

  “Tell me more, please tell me more,” Serla begged. “It has been so horrible ever since Mama and Papa died and everyone has either said unkind things about them or looked disapproving when their names are mentioned.”

  “I know what you mean,” the Dowager said, “but you have to forget that. You have to force yourself to look radiantly happy because you are going to marry the most handsome man in London, a man no woman, if she was in her right mind, would refuse.”

  “You are quite right,” Serla replied in a low voice. “I cannot think how Charlotte could be so foolish.”

  “At the same time,” the Dowager said quickly, “the one thing you must not do, Serla dear, is to fall in love with my grandson. You can be certain that after what he has just experienced it may well be years before we can once again persuade him to get married.”

  “Do you really think that because of what Charlotte has done he will hate women?” Serla asked.

  The Dowager smiled.

  “I don’t think that he will hate women, he will just refuse to marry one. That is why you, my dear, while you go to all the parties which will be given for you, you must look around for someone you could really fall in love with as your mother fell in love with your father.”

  “At least I shall have the chance of meeting young men,” Serla said. “When I was at Langwarde, Charlotte monopolised every man who called and if they were at all important, I was not allowed to come down to dinner.”

  There was no mistaking the pain in her voice.

  “Now you have to shine like a star,” the Dowager told her, “and as I am a good fortune-teller, I can promise you that a great number of men will try to take you away from Clive. Undoubtedly you will find one who will really make you happy.”