A Battle for Love

by Barbara Cartland

  Serla laughed as he meant her to do.

  “I shall have to wait a long time for that, but it was so wonderful today seeing Carlton House and so exciting last night and the night before. Oh, please, please don’t want to be rid of me too quickly.”

  The Marquis smiled.

  “You have a very long way to go before you find someone you want to marry and leave me in the lurch.”

  Serla wiped a tear away from the corner of her eye.

  “I am so very very lucky,” she said, “to have found you and everything has been really marvellous. I was so frightened that I would have to go back to Langwarde.”

  “Forget her! Let’s just enjoy ourselves and how can Grandmama give her party if neither of us is here?”

  Serla grinned.

  “She is so excited about it and is making a list of the most important people one could ever imagine.”

  “You can be certain that they will all come. You, of course, will be the belle of the ball, otherwise not only Grandmama but I will be disappointed.”

  “I will try – I promise I will try,” Serla assured him.

  She jumped to her feet.

  “I am happy again. But I do feel that Charlotte has put a curse on us and we will have to be very careful.”

  “I will protect you,” the Marquis promised. “You can be quite certain of that.”

  Serla smiled at him.

  “You are so kind and I think you are wonderful.”

  She picked up her bonnet and said,

  “I will go and tell her ladyship what has happened. I am sure she will want – to know.”

  “Don’t upset her and it also applies to you. Forget Charlotte, she is only getting her just deserts.”

  Serla reached the door and, as she looked back at the Marquis, she said,

  “I think, if she is honest, she is very very sorry that she is not marrying you. And I can quite understand why she is feeling like that.”

  After she had gone, the Marquis walked across the room to the window, but he did not see the flowers in the garden or the birds singing in the trees.

  He was thinking that he was starting to roll a very large cannon ball down a hill. And he did not know what would happen when it reached the bottom.

  He was, however, worried that someone small like Serla might be hurt by it.

  Upstairs Serla went into the Dowager’s bedroom.

  “I am glad you have come to see me, my dear,” she said. “I was told that Charlotte Warde had called.”

  “She came,” Serla replied, walking over to the bed, “to take me back with her.”

  The Dowager gave a little cry.

  “She cannot do that!”

  “No, the Marquis came in and told her so. She was very angry and I think that somehow she will manage – to hurt him and me.”

  The Dowager could see that Serla was upset, so she put out her hands towards her saying,

  “Don’t worry. Of course Charlotte cannot hurt you and I am certain that my grandson can look after himself.”

  “She is – extremely angry,” Serla murmured.

  “Of course she is. No woman likes to think a man who was in love with her has recovered within twenty-four hours and become engaged to someone else.”

  “I think really she would have liked to marry him,” Serla said. “But she has been brought up by Uncle Edward to think that a great title is far better than anything else.”

  “Well, she has her title,” the Dowager pointed out, “and now you just have to forget what has happened and for my grandson’s sake go on being a success.”

  “He is pleased that he has hurt her,” Serla said in a small voice, “but that is not right, is it?”

  “I suppose if we were all perfect we would never want to hurt anyone. But being human, if someone hits us, we automatically hit back.”

  She sighed deeply and then said,

  “What I just don’t want is that this should embitter Clive and make him think that every woman is deceitful and that there is no such thing as real love.”

  She saw that Serla was listening and went on,

  “You know that love is much more important than anything else and, because your mother was brave enough to prefer love to being a Princess, she was happy.”

  “So blissfully happy. If Papa was away painting a picture, when he came home Mama would run and throw her arms round him as if he had been away for a year.”

  “That is love,” the Dowager said. “It was in the same way that I loved my husband and he loved me.”

  She gave another deep sigh.

  “I was very lucky, Serla. I was completely happy.”

  “Like Papa and Mama.”

  “Exactly and that is what you must look for and try to find. Never, never be content with second best.”

  The Dowager spoke firmly and then Serla said,

  “Suppose I never find anyone like that. I cannot just stay here for ever, so I shall have to find someone to look after me.”

  She gave a little shiver before she added,

  “I can never go back now to Uncle Edward.”

  “Of course not, my dear, I suggest, Serla, that, as you are so sensible, you don’t worry for the moment about what is going to happen in the future. Just enjoy yourself. You found it exciting today to go to Carlton House and you were a great success yesterday at Devonshire House. Just live from day to day and forget tomorrow.”

  “I know exactly what you are saying to me,” Serla said. “You are so right, ma’am, and I am sure that it is what Mama would say as well. But I was so happy until Charlotte came and then I was afraid all over again.”

  She gave a little tremble as she spoke.

  “You are not to be frightened,” the Dowager said. “Already you are a great success and every day all the nice things people are saying about you will multiply until you will feel that you are riding on one of the stars.”

  Serla laughed.

  “That is what I shall be doing tomorrow morning when I ride with the Marquis.”

  She looked at the Dowager and added,

  “Now I do feel much better. I am happy again and thank you for being – so kind and understanding.”

  She bent and kissed the Dowager on the cheek.

  “I so wish I had a grandmother like you and Clive is the luckiest man in the world because you love him.”

  She did not wait for her to reply, but slipped out of the room.

  When she had gone, the Dowager lay back against her pillows with a worried expression on her face.

  ‘That little child is so sweet,’ she said beneath her breath, ‘but very vulnerable. I am afraid while this charade is amusing for Clive she may be hurt by it. In fact I am quite sure that she will be.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The next few days were filled with activity.

  There were fittings every morning, luncheon parties and dinner parties.

  To Serla it was a memorable occasion when she was taken for the first time to Vauxhall Gardens.

  She was thrilled with the gardens, the Rotunda, the singers and a loud brass band. The crowds varied from the smartly-dressed members of the Beau Monde down to the Cockney Pearly Kings and Queens.

  Serla had longed to stay for the fireworks, but the Dowager had said it might be rowdy, so they went home.

  Early in the morning before breakfast Serla rode with the Marquis in Rotten Row.

  It was thrilling to be on a really well-bred and well-trained horse. Also to see all the other thoroughbreds and the elegance of the women riding them.

  One morning after buying some bonnets in Bond Street, the Dowager drove down Rotten Row for Serla to see the fashionable ladies.

  They came out at midday in open carriages holding small sunshades over their heads and the Dowager stopped the carriage for a little while so that she could talk to some of the gentlemen on horseback.

  They invariably looked at Serla and waited for an introduction.

  The Dowager was about to g
ive the word to go home when a carriage came down Rotten Row that looked different from all the others.

  It was painted bright green and the coachman and footman on the box were wearing white tall hats with green buttons and braiding.

  Serla looked at them in surprise and at the occupant of the carriage. She was exceedingly beautiful and dressed in striking clothes and her bonnet had more ostrich feathers than any other in Rotten Row.

  “Who is that?” she asked the Dowager.

  “It is someone who you don’t notice and should not look at.”

  “Why not?” Serla asked.

  The Dowager hesitated and then, recalling what her grandson had told her, she replied,

  “That, my dear, is a Cyprian.”

  Serla gave a little gasp.

  “A Cyprian!” she exclaimed. “But she must be a wonderful dancer to afford such an expensive carriage and her clothes must have cost a fortune.”

  “She most certainly did not pay for those through her dancing,” the Dowager responded.

  She spoke in a way which made Serla curious and she enquired,

  “Explain to me. I don’t understand.”

  “That young woman who, as you can see is ignored by everyone like ourselves, is kept by Lord Massingham, a very rich man who can afford such luxuries.”

  Still Serla looked bewildered and she went on,

  “He has given her a house in Chelsea and I am told has taken her abroad with him to Paris and Baden-Baden.”

  “But if he is prepared to be so kind to her,” Serla said, “why does he not marry her?”

  The Dowager gave a little laugh.

  “Lord Massingham has a wife, my dear, and I think five or six children.”

  Serla gave an audible gasp and said in a low voice,

  “I think you are saying that the lady we are talking about is his mistress.”

  “You are right, my dear, ‘Cyprian’ is a fashionable word for them, although there are a great many others.”

  Serla was silent.

  She understood now why the Marquis had said that she could not be a Cyprian because she was a lady and she thought how silly she had been to imagine that it was the way she could earn a living.

  She had read about mistresses in her history books and she had no idea that they looked like the woman who had just passed by.

  This was another dangerous trap that might have happened to her if she had come to London alone.

  So she was even more grateful than she had been before and she was safe because the Marquis had been kind enough to look after her.

  The preparations for the Dowager’s party were so elaborate that Serla found them bewildering.

  There were to be thirty for dinner and apparently, everyone who had been invited to come in afterwards had accepted, but the large drawing room upstairs was hardly large enough to take all of them.

  “You will have to take the young to the ballroom to dance almost immediately dinner is finished,” the Dowager said to Serla. “Otherwise there will not be room for His Royal Highness or my friends like the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire and the Duke and Duchess of Manchester.”

  “Is it exciting for you to give a ball here in your own house?” Serla asked in an awed tone.

  The Dowager smiled.

  “I have given so many balls here in the past and everyone said they were the best in the whole of London. I shall be very upset if I lose my reputation at this one.”

  “Of course, you will not,” Serla added. “And you must look more beautiful than any of your friends.”

  “You forget,” the Dowager replied, “that this ball is being given for you. As my grandson has already said, you will be the belle of the ball. But I will certainly try to look my best and he has already sent to Darincourt for some of the famous family jewels.”

  Serla gave a little jump for joy.

  “I am longing to see them. One or two people have mentioned them to me and one girl said, ‘I am so envious that you will wear the fantastic diamond tiara which is the finest in London, I dream that I would wear myself’.”

  The Dowager smiled.

  “I am afraid that there are many girls who pursued Clive, not because they loved him but because they wanted to wear the Darincourt jewels and be hostess at Darincourt Hall and at this house.”

  “Whoever they are,” Serla replied, “no one could do it as beautifully as you do, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, my dear, and I am only hoping that your gown will be as beautiful as I want it to be.”

  The Dowager had chosen a dress for Serla which no one expected.

  Everyone was aware that their hostess would wear the Darincourt jewels and glitter from top to toe and so every female guest therefore would put on her largest tiara and hang ropes of diamonds or pearls round her neck.

  The debutantes were not allowed to wear jewellery, but for this occasion they would persuade their mothers to lend them at least a necklace of small pearls and several daringly would wear a choker of small diamonds.

  The Dowager kept the secret of what Serla would wear even from her grandson.

  *

  When the night came, he was waiting for them in the drawing room where they were to receive their guests.

  Because His Royal Highness was to be present, the Marquis was wearing all his decorations. There were two diamond stars on his evening coat with a glittering cross hung just below his collar on his chest.

  He was thinking that a description of the ball would appear in The Court Circular as well as every newspaper and Charlotte would undoubtedly be even angrier than she was already.

  He wished that she could see the beautiful flowers that his grandmother had arranged in the house. The guests would enter under an arch of pink roses and lilies and all the rooms were filled with the same flowers.

  When the Marquis first looked at them, he said with a smile and a twinkle in his eye,

  “I know why you have chosen them, Grandmama.”

  “You tell me why, dear boy,” she replied.

  “The roses typify the older women in bloom and the lilies are the pure, untouched little debutantes.”

  “That is very perceptive of you,” she replied.

  The house with all the flowers and their fragrance filling the air, seemed, the Marquis thought, very romantic and this was exactly what his grandmother intended.

  She came into the room and, although he knew her so well, he felt that she surpassed not only every woman of her age but of any age.

  She was dressed in a gown of silver lamé which had a long train behind it.

  There on her beautifully arranged white hair was the Darincourt tiara that was so like a Royal crown. Huge chains of diamonds encircled her neck and fell down below her waist and her wrists were covered in bracelets.

  As every jewel glittered under the light from crystal chandeliers she not only looked lovely but as if she had stepped down from the stars.

  The Marquis kissed her hand.

  “I don’t have to tell you, Grandmama,” he smiled, “how beautiful you look and that every beauty in London pales beside you.”

  “Thank you my dearest,” his grandmother replied. “You know as well as I do that I have done all this for you and I think that it will give them a great deal to talk about.”

  “They will be dumb with envy that words will fail them.”

  It was then, as the Marchioness moved towards the fireplace, which was filled with lilies, that Serla came in.

  Knowing that every one of her guests would glitter and shine like a Christmas tree, the Dowager wanted Serla to look completely different.

  Her gown was made of a white material that had just come from France and was as white as snow itself.

  It was arranged very plainly yet, while it kept the fashion with its high waist, it seemed somehow to reveal the exquisite proportions of Serla’s figure.

  In contrast to the Dowager Serla wore no jewellery of any sort. Her only decoration was a little bunch of small
white lilies arranged at the back of her head.

  With her childlike face, golden hair and large grey eyes, she looked like an angel who had fallen down from Heaven by mistake.

  The Marquis thought that it would be very difficult for any man to keep his eyes off her.

  He was right, the men clustered round her like bees round a honeypot.

  When they went in for dinner, Serla found herself seated between a young man who was the son of a Duke and on the other side Lord Charlton.

  She had met him several times and had danced with him at her first evening at Devonshire House.

  As soon as they were seated at the table, he said,

  “I don’t have to tell you how beautiful you look and how it is impossible to realise that there is anyone else in the room except you.”

  Serla smiled and whispered,

  “Lower your voice or everyone will be affronted.”

  “Let them be,” Lord Charlton said, “and promise you will give me every dance in the ballroom.”

  “I am sure, if I did, our hostess would be very angry with me and I should likely be sent to bed in disgrace!”

  Lord Charlton laughed.

  At the same time he continued to pay Serla endless compliments all through dinner.

  He was very good-looking and there was something young and enthusiastic about him that she found appealing.

  So many of the young men who called themselves ‘bucks’ were inclined to be rather sarcastic and cynical and thought that they were doing the debutantes a big favour if they even spoke to them.

  Serla had already learnt that Lord Charlton, who had come into his father’s title the previous year, was only twenty-three. He had just missed fighting in the War, but was in the Household Cavalry and like Serla adored riding.

  Instead of discussing horses he kept telling her how lovely she was and was unable to speak of anything else.

  The man on Serla’s other side was older and clearly thought that debutantes were beneath his condescension.

  She therefore talked for most of the dinner to Lord Charlton.

  As the Dowager had told her, when the gentlemen joined the ladies, Serla led the way to the ballroom.