Magic From the Heart

by Barbara Cartland

  She spoke bravely, but at the same time she was feeling very terrified.

  She was alone with Isobel and no one else knew where she was.

  “I felt that that would be your attitude,” Isobel replied, “but let me tell you, it’s a very stupid one.”

  Safina did not speak and after a few seconds Isobel said,

  “As you doubtless know, in Italy, where you have just come from, marriages are always arranged as they are in France and England amongst the aristocrats. You should therefore be extremely grateful that I have chosen a Duke to be your husband.”

  “You have chosen,” Safina objected. “That is what is – wrong. Why has Papa not – told me who he – wants me to marry? And – of course I cannot be – married in his – absence.”

  “You will be married as soon as we arrive,” Isobel said, “and if you scream and make a fuss, I shall tell the servants to hold you down while the ring is put on your finger!”

  Safina stared at her.

  She knew by the sharp tone of Isobel’s voice that she was determined to have her own way.

  However, she would not be intimidated.

  “How dare you suggest anything so – disgraceful and – wrong when it concerns the Sacrament of Matrimony,” she said. “I know that, as Papa is my Guardian, he has to give his permission – before I can be legally married while I am still a minor.”

  She took a deep breath before she went on,

  “So I refuse to allow you to – intimidate me or to – force me to – marry a man I have not even seen or – spoken to.”

  “You will have plenty of time for that after you are married,” Isobel retorted.

  Now there was a jeering note in her voice that Safina did not miss.

  Trying to think clearly, she attempted to use another tactic,

  “Please, Stepmama,” she said, “don’t let us – quarrel over this and let me – wait at least – until Papa has – returned from Scotland before my – marriage is – discussed.”

  She thought for a moment that Isobel might listen to her.

  But then her stepmother said harshly,

  “I will offer you an alternative. Either you marry the Duke as arranged or else I will take you to the nearest lunatic asylum and, as your Guardian in your father’s absence, have you admitted because you are insane.”

  Safina felt that she could not be hearing Isobel properly.

  She had read about the horrors that took place in lunatic asylums and how harshly the patients were treated. And even to contemplate staying a night amongst people who were mad was petrifying.

  She realised that it would be weeks before her father returned and even then Isobel might not tell him where she was.

  It was quite obvious that she intended to dispose of her one way or another.

  “Why are you doing – this?” she asked almost pitifully.

  “Because I don’t want you on my hands,” Isobel said. “Who would want to chaperone an unfledged girl of eighteen when I am young and enjoying life as the most beautiful woman in England.”

  “If that is the reason,” Safina said, “then I will – go away. I will not bother you, Stepmama. I will live with – one of my relations. I am sure that Aunt Mary will have me or perhaps Uncle Gregory.”

  “And have them say that I don’t do my duty by you?” Isobel asked. “You are certainly crazy to think that your father would allow it.”

  She paused for a moment.

  “No, Safina, I have found an excellent way to get you out of my hair and you ought to be thanking me on your knees that you are marrying a Duke and not a crossing-sweeper!”

  “Why must I be – married?” Safina asked. “Let me go back to – the Convent. I will become – a nun and will not bother you – again.”

  “And what do you think your father is going to say to that?” Isobel enquired. “No, Safina, you will do as you are told. You will marry the Duke and be thankful that you don’t have a worse husband!”

  Her voice rose a little and became sarcastic as she went on,

  “Perhaps it will cheer you up to know that he is as reluctant as you are. He is in love with the French Ambassador’s wife and he will therefore doubtless dislike you as much as you dislike him.”

  “Then – why is he – marrying me?” Safina asked.

  ”Because he has to obey me as you have to,” Isobel replied.

  “But surely – ”

  “Shut up, Safina!” Isobel snapped. “Talking is not going to change anything. As I have said, you have a choice. If you prefer the lunatic asylum, that is where I will take you! But make no mistake, nobody, and that includes your father, will know where you are or what has happened to you!”

  She seemed almost to spit the words out.

  Safina put up her hand to her forehead.

  She felt as if she was going mad and was only imagining that this conversation was taking place.

  “Actually,” Isobel went on, “I am being remarkably merciful. There are some consolations, if not many, in being the Duchess of Dallwyn.”

  She gave an unpleasant little laugh before she added,

  “The Duke has no money, so you will not be at all comfortable. But what you do have at the moment will perhaps keep the duns away from him for a little while.”

  Scornfully she rattled on,

  “Let’s make it quite clear. If you appeal to your father to give you more money, I will prevent it. I am a young woman and, when your father dies, I shall require every penny I have been able to extract from him to live in the manner I am now very accustomed to.”

  Safina did not answer. She had always known that Isobel was an unpleasant woman and now she was aware that she was also wicked and evil.

  It was impossible to think of her in her mother’s place as her father’s wife.

  Because she had been taught ever since she was small to control herself, she bit back the words that came to her lips.

  Instead she clasped her hands together and tried to pray.

  ‘Help me – oh God – help me!’

  They were now travelling very fast along the main road.

  They drove on perhaps for an hour in complete silence.

  Only when Isobel drew a tiny pot of salve from her reticule and started to smooth it on her lips did Safina guess that they were nearing their destination.

  She wondered if, when the carriage came to a standstill, she would be able to jump out and run away.

  Then she was sure that if she did so, Isobel would send the servants to catch her and that would be very humiliating.

  As she was thinking about it, the horses turned through some large wrought-iron gates.

  There were lodges on either side of them, but they looked empty and in a bad state of repair.

  The horses were now moving up an avenue of oak trees.

  Without even looking, Safina knew that at the far end there would be the house belonging to the Duke of Dallwyn.

  The man she was to marry.

  ‘Help me – God – please – please – help me – save me – save me!’

  It was a cry that came from the very depths of her heart.

  But she knew even as she prayed that it was hopeless and that even God had forsaken her.

  Chapter Three

  The horses drew up at the front door and Safina thought that she might have a last chance of escaping.

  Then, as the footman jumped down from the box, she saw that he was young and doubtless a good runner. And if she ran away, she would be easily caught.

  The Countess stepped out.

  Her crimson dress and cloak looked incongruous against the ancient grey stones of the house and her high-heeled shoes crushed the weeds sprouting through the cracked steps that led up to the front door.

  Because there was nothing else she could do, Safina followed behind her.

  Her heart was beating frantically and her lips were dry.

  She felt as if she was going to the guillotine.

  An old butle
r with white hair greeted them.

  “Where is his Lordship?” the Countess asked sharply.

  “In the Chapel, my Lady,” the butler replied.

  “Show us the way.”

  It was an order and Safina looked desperately at the stairs curving up to the next floor.

  If she ran up them, it would be impossible for the butler, who was old and somewhat unsteady on his feet, to chase after her.

  Then she knew that her stepmother would somehow contrive to have her dragged back.

  They walked down a long passage.

  To Safina it was ominously dark and threatening and they might have been going into the bowels of Hades.

  She was praying, saying over and over again beneath her breath,

  ‘Save me – please – save me – God.’

  She remembered how, when she had parted from Sister Benedict, the nun had said,

  “May God and His angels guard and protect you.”

  It was certainly something that was not happening at the moment.

  She felt as if she were engulfed in a nightmare and it could not be real.

  How could she – her father’s daughter – be forced into marrying a man she had never even seen?

  It suddenly struck her that perhaps he was old and grotesque. Perhaps he was evil and looked like Satan.

  She could see that her stepmother was determined to have her own way.

  She was not in the least concerned with her feelings, Safina thought, and the Duke must be as bad as she was if he was prepared to yield to her orders.

  How could he be so subservient to her stepmother? How could he have no will of his own?

  Then, she thought cynically, it must be because one day she would be rich and her mother’s money would be spent by a man whom she would hate and despise.

  They reached the end of the passage.

  At the end of it there was a large door, which was open.

  Beyond it, Safina knew, was the Chapel.

  She felt a terror rising within her and she knew that it would be impossible for her to make the responses.

  How could she in this mockery of a Wedding that was a sin against God?

  As they reached the door, the butler stood to one side and the Countess swept in.

  Safina followed her, not daring to look ahead to see the man who was waiting for her.

  The Countess walked up the short aisle.

  There was a smile of satisfaction on her face when she saw the Duke standing in front of the altar steps and behind him was his private Chaplain.

  There were six candles lit on the altar, but there were no flowers. And like the house the Chapel was badly in need of restoration.

  There were cracks in the stained-glass windows and some of the panes of glass were missing. The cross on the altar needed polishing and the altar cloth, which had once been a beautiful example of Elizabethan needlework, was faded and torn.

  The Duke had turned round as the Countess approached.

  When she reached him, she declared with a note of triumph in her voice,

  “As you can see, we are here.”

  The Duke did not speak, he merely looked at her and held out his hand.

  She knew what he wanted and for a moment she hesitated.

  The Duke guessed she was thinking that at the last moment he might save himself by tearing up the letters and repudiating the agreement.

  Then she recognised that he was too much of a gentleman to break his word.

  Reluctantly, because they had served her well, she pulled the letters from her reticule that was made of the same material as her gown.

  The Duke took the letters from her, glanced at them and put them in the inside pocket of his coat.

  Then the Countess walked to the carved chair that stood in the Chancel that was intended for a Bishop or a visiting Priest and sat down on it.

  The Duke also turned, not towards Safina but towards the altar.

  She had stopped a few feet behind her stepmother.

  Now, when she did not move, the Chaplain looked towards her, saying in a quiet voice,

  “Will you please stand beside the bridegroom?”

  Words of protest came to her lips, a last plea that she need not be married.

  Then, as if she was aware of what she was thinking, Isobel rose from the chair.

  She stood looking at Safina with an expression that told her all too clearly what she would do if she did not obey her.

  It was then that Safina realised that she was in a consecrated place, a Chapel dedicated to God, where she could not make an ugly scene.

  If she ran away, Isobel would have her brought back and, if she protested, no one would listen.

  As the Duke had obviously agreed to this outrageous scheme, he and her stepmother would force her into complete submission.

  Slowly, every step forward an agony, she moved to stand next to the Duke.

  She had not dared look at him since she had come into the Chapel, but she had watched the handing over of papers to him by her stepmother, which she presumed had something to do with the marriage.

  Now that she stood next to him she was aware that he was vibrating with anger.

  ‘How can Stepmama do this to us both?’ she wondered.

  Then, because the Duke was so tall and overpowering, she felt weak and helpless.

  She was utterly, utterly alone.

  Her father had no idea that this was happening and, if her mother knew, she could not help her from Heaven.

  ‘If he is as horrible as he must be,’ she said in her heart, ‘let me – join you Mama – let me die – because I cannot – live with a man – I am afraid of.’

  The Chaplain then began the Marriage Service.

  He was an old man who knew the words by heart and he barely glanced at his Prayer Book.

  He said the sacred words with a deep sincerity and it made Safina wonder how he could say them as if he cared.

  He was at the same time joining together two strangers by a bond that would shackle them for a life of misery and frustration.

  Then, as if she had become a puppet with no will of her own, Safina heard herself repeating the responses after the Chaplain.

  Then a ring was put on her finger and she realised that it was not a wedding ring but a signet ring.

  The Duke must have taken it from his little finger, but even so, it was too large and she had to close her fingers to keep it in place.

  Then came the Blessing.

  She wondered how any man dedicated to God could pronounce them blessed in these circumstances.

  As the Duke rose to his feet and Safina did the same, she looked at her stepmother.

  She knew from the expression in Isobel’s eyes and the smile on her red lips that she was feeling delighted that she had won.

  She was triumphant and now ready to crow over those who had been forced to obey her.

  The Chaplain was still kneeling in front of the altar.

  Then to Safina’s surprise the Duke took hold of her arm.

  He marched her down the aisle and out through the door into the passage.

  His grip hurt and, as he was walking quickly, she felt as if he propelled her forcibly from the Chapel.

  Outside the Chapel door he stopped and she realised that he was waiting for her stepmother to join them.

  Isobel did not hurry, walking lightly and with a contrived grace and it made her seem to be acting as if on a stage.

  The red feathers in her hat fluttered against the burning candles on the altar and the sunshine coming through the stained-glass window.

  To Safina they seemed like the fires of Hell and she felt that her stepmother was positively a disciple of the Devil.

  The Countess reached the Duke and said in a caressing tone,

  “Congratulations, dearest Crispin, and, of course, I so much hope that you and Safina will be extremely happy – ”

  “Leave my house!” he interrupted her. “Go now and I hope that I never have to see yo
u or speak to you again!”

  He spoke harshly, but at the same time there was an authority and dignity about him that surprised Safina.

  “If you mean that,” Isobel replied to him, “it’s a very stupid attitude and one that you should be well aware will react unfavourably against you.”

  “I am not concerned with any reaction that happens to me,” the Duke riposted. “I wish only to be rid of you.”

  “Which is something you will find impossible,” Isobel said. “Have you not forgotten that Albert will believe you have married his daughter because you fell in love with her?”

  She smiled at him before she continued,

  “That is also the story which I intend to circulate in London. Otherwise, as you must know, there will be some very unpleasant things said about Safina being obliged to marry in such unseemly haste.”

  It took a moment for Safina to understand what her stepmother implied.

  Then she was aware that the Duke had stiffened and she gave a little gasp.

  “I am leaving now,” Isobel went on lightly, “because I am returning to London and also because I am sure that you two young people want to be alone. Of course I shall be thinking of you and, when Albert returns, we must have a little family reunion where you can both tell him how happy you are!”

  She accentuated the word ‘happy’.

  Then, without waiting for the Duke to reply, she walked away down the passage, moving with an unhurried ease towards the hall.

  The Duke did not move, nor did he speak, but Safina was aware that he was cursing her stepmother under his breath.

  They stood there without moving until she was out of sight.

  Safina was almost afraid to breathe.

  Now for the first time she looked at the man she had just married.

  She could see his face in profile.

  It was dark in the passage and he seemed very large and as frightening as he had been in the Chapel.

  He was, however, certainly not old, nor was he disfigured in any way.

  Equally she sensed that he was very angry and his feelings seemed to pulsate towards her.

  She wanted to run away and hide. She felt as she had when as a child she had been terrified of a thunderstorm.

  Her father had found her on the floor underneath his bed with her hands over her ears and he had picked her up in his arms as she cried against his shoulder, muttering,