A Battle for Love

by Barbara Cartland

  Thinking that Serla looked disappointed, he added,

  “If we are going to ride in Hyde Park, it means getting up early tomorrow morning.”

  “I am used to that,” Serla said. “Sometimes when I felt very depressed I used to slip out of the house at six o’clock and ask a stable boy to saddle me a horse.”

  She gave a little sigh before she went on,

  “When I had ridden for an hour or so, I felt I could face all the tasks that were waiting for me with everyone speaking to me as if I was something unpleasant that had crawled in – by mistake.”

  “Forget it!” the Marquis said sharply. “All you have to do now is enjoy yourself.”

  “I am enjoying every minute,” Serla said in a rapt little voice. “But I know it cannot last for ever so I don’t want to miss anything and sleeping is a waste of time.”

  “You must have your beauty sleep or you will not look as elegant as you did today,” he admonished her.

  “Your grandmother has been so marvellous,” Serla said. “She is so nice to all the couturiers that they have been working all night to get my dresses ready and I have a new one to wear tonight.”

  “I look forward to seeing you in it,” the Marquis smiled, “and now I am going to the Club.”

  He went off to White’s and he knew that he would find his friends astounded by the notice in The Gazette.

  At the same time they would be very curious as to who his unknown fiancée was and to learn why they had never heard of her before.

  It was not as difficult as the Marquis had expected. They drank his health a dozen times and also made it quite clear that they wished to meet Serla.

  “My grandmother is asking you all to a party in two or three days’ time,” the Marquis told them. “You will see then that I have found someone very exceptional.”

  “It is just like you, Darincourt,” one of the older members said, “to find someone unique who all the rest of us have missed. How can you manage to be so lucky?”

  “You must wait until you see Serla,” the Marquis replied, “and then you can judge for yourself.”

  *

  The party in the evening was not that small.

  The Dowager had dressed Serla in a gown that was white but sprinkled all over with diamanté. As it glittered every time she moved, she looked when she was dancing in the ballroom like a small star in the firmament.

  To complete the whole illusion, she had diamonds cleverly clasped into her hair. This was done, as she had told the Marquis, by the most famous hairdresser in all of the Beau Monde called André.

  He was also, the Dowager well knew, the purveyor of a great deal of gossip and he told her the latest chatter while he was styling her hair.

  The ladies in the Beau Monde, he related, had at first been very shocked at the Marquis’s engagement to someone quite unknown.

  However, when they had met with Serla and were impressed by her appearance, they understood why she had captivated him.

  “I have heard, my Lady, that the future bride is to visit Carlton House tomorrow,” André prattled on.

  Serla had been a success at the evening party, but the next day would be, the Marquis thought, the real test.

  He had seen some very sensible people, much more experienced than Serla, tremble when they had entered the Royal mansion. Others had been just completely tongue-tied when they sat down at His Royal Highness’s table.

  At the other extreme were women who had made an exhibition of themselves trying to attract his attention. They had laughed too loudly, talked too much and thrown themselves about in an abandoned fashion.

  They drove to Carlton House in a closed carriage and the Marquis was hoping that Serla would be as much of a success as she had been at Devonshire House. All the same he could not be that confident.

  Serla certainly looked very beautiful.

  Today the Dowager had bought a pretty pink gown for Serla and it required only a few alterations. There were tiny ostrich feathers on her bonnet to match.

  She looked like a rose that was just coming into bloom and because she was so excited the Marquis thought she was even prettier than she had been the previous day.

  They drew up at Henry Holland’s fine Corinthian Portico and the Prince’s servants, in their dark blue livery trimmed with gold lace, hurried to take the Marquis’s hat.

  Then they went up the stairs and the Prince Regent was waiting for them and appeared delighted to see them.

  He was getting rather fat, but he was graceful and his manners were always courteous and, as the Marquis knew, his charm was irresistible.

  His Royal Highness had not forgotten what Serla had said to him and he insisted on her having a quick peep at some of the rooms even before luncheon.

  The Chinese drawing room she had heard so much about was as fascinating as she expected. It had been an enormous extravagance of the Prince Regent, but it was so pretty that she felt it had been worth every penny.

  The Marquis was in no doubt that her enthusiasm was genuine. She was thrilled with all the French furniture and an exquisite collection of Sèvres china.

  What astonished the Marquis was that Serla seemed to know a great deal about pictures. She talked easily and without any affectation to the Prince Regent about Vernet, Greuze and Claude Lorrain.

  He was simply enchanted to show her what he had recently bought and to hear her exclamations of delight.

  The other guests were kept waiting while the Prince Regent showed Serla some beautiful Van Dyck pictures.

  The Marquis knew that some people had laughed at him for buying them, but Serla said,

  “I am sure that Your Royal Highness is being very wise in purchasing so many Dutch pictures. My father said in the years to come they would be very valuable and are in fact a very good investment.”

  His Royal Highness was charmed.

  Serla was so entranced with the magnificent Gothic Conservatory that he had to be reminded several times that his other guests were waiting.

  As they walked back to the Chinese drawing room, the Prince Regent said to the Marquis,

  “She is fascinating, absolutely fascinating. She will be the perfect Chatelaine of Darincourt and will actually add not only to its beauty but also to its contents.”

  The Marquis thought secretly that it was something that his family would not take as a compliment.

  He was astonished that Serla, looking nothing more than a child, should be able to talk so knowledgeably about furniture and pictures and he had never known a woman so interested in them before.

  At luncheon, which was a large one, Serla was at the end of the table.

  She seemed to be laughing and enjoying herself in a way that the Marquis knew was most acceptable. Yet it was somewhat rare at Carlton House!

  When they left, Serla turned to their host,

  “Thank you Sire, thank you very much. It has been like visiting Aladdin’s Cave to see all the wonderful things you have collected. It is not only brilliant of Your Royal Highness, but something which I am sure is very important for our country.”

  “That is just what I like to think myself,” the Prince Regent said in a tone of satisfaction. “You must come again, my dear, and I will show you more of the treasures I have, many of which no one else seems to appreciate.”

  “But they are yours, Sire,” Serla replied, “and that is what is so vital. They will never be lost or forgotten.”

  When he said ‘goodbye’ to the Marquis, he put his hand on his shoulder.

  “If I have my treasures, Clive, then you have yours and be careful you don’t lose her. Bring her here again.”

  “I will indeed,” the Marquis answered, “and thank you, Sire, for your boundless hospitality.”

  As they drove away, the Dowager said,

  “Serla was undoubtedly the success of the party. Everyone present was talking about her and telling me how fortunate I was that you have found the right wife for Darincourt.”

  As she spoke, sh
e glanced at her grandson and she had a little twinkle in her eyes as if teasing him. At the same time she was making very sure that he appreciated how clever she and Serla had been.

  The Marquis understood and replied,

  “It is all due to you, Grandmama, and I don’t have to tell you that I am very grateful.”

  He looked across the carriage at Serla and said,

  “As for you, I am quite certain that there is always a career waiting for you on the stage. I have never known anyone act a part so brilliantly.”

  Serla smiled.

  “In fact I was not acting at all. Papa and Mama were so interested in reading about what the Prince Regent had bought, especially the French furniture.”

  “He sent his chef to buy it for him,” the Dowager remarked, “because he was the one person in his household who spoke French.”

  The Marquis, still looking at Serla, asked,

  “Do you really know as much about pictures as you appear to?”

  “My father was a professional artist,” Serla replied. “We often talked about the famous pictures he would have liked to own if he had been a rich man.”

  She gave a little sigh before she went on,

  “It was just a dream, but whenever we went to other people’s houses, my parents used to ask when we came home what I had specially noticed. That was how I learnt to recognise fine china, furniture and, of course, pictures.”

  “I have never heard of a better way of learning a lesson,” the Dowager exclaimed. “That is what you must do with your own children when you have them.”

  She spoke out spontaneously and then, as there was silence, she remembered that there was little chance of her beloved grandson ever having any children.

  After the way that Charlotte had behaved, he was determined not to marry anyone.

  She quickly began to talk about something else and fortunately they were not far from home.

  When they came into the house, the Dowager went up to her room to lie down and the Marquis to his study.

  Serla pulled off her feathered bonnet and going into the drawing room, sat down at the piano.

  She had never had time to play the piano when she was at Langwarde Hall. Anyway, if ever she did play a few notes, Charlotte or the Earl would inevitably find her something better to do.

  She thought that, if she played very softly, no one would hear her.

  She ran her fingers over the keys and began to play a piece that she had always loved and felt that the music added to the beauty of the room.

  Suddenly the door opened and Baxter called out,

  “Lady Charlotte Warde to see you, miss.”

  Serla sat up and took her hands from the keys.

  Charlotte walked in looking very beautiful and with a sinking of her heart Serla knew that she was in a rage.

  “I supposed that this was where I would find you,” she said in a hard voice. “As you are well aware, you have absolutely no right to be here. I am taking you back with me immediately!”

  Very slowly Serla rose and walked towards her.

  Charlotte gazed at her elaborate gown and the mere sight of it made her explode with rage.

  “How dare you!” she screeched. “How dare you run away and come to London with the Marquis!”

  Serla did not answer and Charlotte went on,

  “I know that he has put that absurd announcement about your engagement into The Gazette just to annoy me. You have no right to be here and you are coming back to Langwarde with me now.”

  “I cannot, Charlotte,” Serla said. “I am staying here with the – Dowager Marchioness and – she wants me.”

  She stumbled over the last words and just prevented herself from saying that the Marquis wanted her.

  “If you now expect me to believe all that stuff and nonsense,” Charlotte retorted, “you are much mistaken. Stop telling lies and fetch your coat. Papa is waiting.”

  “I will not go back,” Serla asserted. “Uncle Edward has tried to make me marry that awful man and I have run away to escape from him.”

  “You are very lucky that Sir Hubert or anyone else is interested in you,” Charlotte snapped, “considering the shocking way your mother behaved and you are behaving as badly as she did by running away when we have all been so kind to you.”

  Serla did not answer.

  She was wondering frantically what she should do.

  She was feeling terrified. Maybe she would literally be forced by Charlotte to return to Langwarde.

  Then she told herself that the Marquis needed her.

  She had to stay, considering that she was supposed to be engaged to him.

  “Hurry up!” Charlotte shouted. “I am not going to wait all day and I would not be surprised if Papa gives you a good whipping when we arrive home. He is appalled at your behaviour.”

  “I am sorry – Charlotte,” Serla said in a trembling voice, “but I cannot leave – here.”

  “You will do as you are told,” Charlotte snarled.

  As she was speaking, she raised her right hand as if to strike Serla.

  The door then opened and the Marquis came in.

  He saw Charlotte’s raised hand and Serla shrinking away from her.

  “What is happening?” he asked sharply. “I am most surprised, Charlotte, to see you here.”

  “I have come to take Serla back home,” Charlotte replied. “My father is appalled at her running away in this disgraceful fashion and you have no right, as you surely well know, to announce your engagement to her.”

  “I cannot see why not. I have asked Serla to marry me and she has agreed to do so.”

  “You cannot be serious,” Charlotte replied.

  There was an incredulous note in her voice.

  “Of course, I am serious,” the Marquis countered. “My grandmother and the rest of my family who have met Serla are delighted and they think that she is exactly the wife I should have.”

  “How can you say that to me?” Charlotte replied.

  She was now speaking in a much lower tone than she had used before.

  “If you have come from Langwarde just to take Serla back with you,” the Marquis said, “I am afraid that you are wasting your time. She is staying here with my dear grandmother to chaperone her and we have already accepted many invitations from our friends. Grandmama is also giving a party to celebrate our engagement.”

  Charlotte lost her temper and stamped her foot.

  “How dare you say such things?” she demanded. “You know quite well you wanted me to be your wife and you are piqued as I have accepted Derek Nottingham.”

  “It is of no interest to me whom you accept,” the Marquis said loftily. “I am fortunate to find someone who is marrying me for myself and not for my title.”

  “I will not listen to you telling such lies,” Charlotte stormed. “They are lies, lies, lies! You love me, you know you love me, and are only doing this to make me unhappy. As for this wretched girl, whom my father befriended only out of pity, he will not as her Guardian permit her to go through this farce of marrying you.”

  The Marquis laughed, but it had no humour in it.

  “I think your father would look extremely foolish,” he said, “to say the very least of it, if he tries to stop me marrying his niece because he does not think she is good enough for me.”

  He paused before he went on,

  “And, as I should violently oppose such an action, I suggest you tell him to keep quiet and leave Serla alone.”

  “You will be sorry for this,” Charlotte sneered.

  She knew, however, that she was beaten.

  She glared at the Marquis, but could find nothing more to say.

  Then she turned to Serla, who was standing looking at her wide-eyed and with a very pale face.

  “This is all your doing,” she said in a voice that was almost a snarl. “One day I will make you sorry that you have ever been born!”

  With that, holding her head high, she walked over to the door. She did no
t turn to look back and the Marquis did not move until the door closed behind her.

  As it did so Serla gave a little sob and put her hands up to her face and then sank down into the nearest chair.

  “It’s all right,” the Marquis said soothingly. “It’s all over and there is nothing she can do to hurt you.”

  “But she may hurt – you,” Serla murmured.

  “I can look after myself,” the Marquis replied, “and I am also going to look after you. You are not to be upset. We might have guessed that the notice of our engagement would make her furious.”

  “She will do something horrid and wicked,” Serla said almost beneath her breath. “I just know it and she is cursing us as she drives away.”

  “Now you are merely using your imagination,” the Marquis said. “It is not like you to be frightened. I am here to protect you and so, of course, is Grandmama.”

  “Are you – quite sure that Charlotte – will not hurt you?” Serla asked him tentatively.

  The Marquis thought it very touching that she was thinking of him rather than of herself.

  “She will not be able to hurt either of us,” he said firmly. “She is as angry as I meant her to be and, if she talks about what has happened to anyone except her father, they will just think that she feels humiliated because I did not propose to her and preferred you. Now she is merely behaving to her own disadvantage like a woman scorned.”

  Serla took her hands down from her face.

  “Uncle Edward cannot compel me – to go back?” she asked in a trembling voice.

  “There is nothing that he can possibly do without making himself appear extremely foolish and announcing to the world that he is angry because I am to be married to his niece rather than to his daughter.”

  Serla drew a deep breath.

  “He would not like anyone to think that,” she said.

  “Of course not,” the Marquis agreed. “He would merely look a fool and no one can say you are not making an excellent marriage from a social point of view.”

  “And you will not – let me go?” Serla asked.

  She sounded like a child frightened by an unhappy dream and the Marquis said a little more quietly,

  “You will not leave me, Serla, until you wish to do so. I want you to enjoy what we are doing and think of it all as an amusing adventure. Something to describe in your autobiography when you are an old lady.”