Castle of Love

by Barbara Cartland

  “You can’t do that, miss!” exclaimed Nancy.

  “I can and – I will,” said Jacina. “But you must – help me. Before Sarah comes. Would you bring me – my dress from the wardrobe? Please!”

  Nancy hesitated. Then she went to the wardrobe and

  opened it. “Which one, miss?”

  Jacina was struggling out of her nightgown. “My best. The blue muslin.”

  Nancy brought the dress over to Jacina.

  “Help me put it on,” urged Jacina.

  She held up her arms. Nancy slipped the muslin dress over her head and then started fastening the hooks.

  “Hurry, Nancy. Hurry.”

  “It’s these hooks, miss. My fingers is all thumbs!”

  At last it was done. Jacina moved unsteadily to the pier glass to take a look. She was shocked at what she saw. Her hair was tangled. Her cheeks and lips were pale as chalk. Her eyes held no lustre.

  She picked up her hairbrush for an instant and then put it down. It could not be helped. She had no time to prettify herself. Sarah might return at any moment and Jacina knew she did not have the strength to defy the old Nanny in person.

  Nancy was folding up Jacina’s nightdress.

  “Nancy?”

  “Yes, miss?”

  “Is there any sign of Sarah coming upstairs?”

  Nancy walked to the door and looked out. “No, miss.”

  “Thank you Nancy,” said Jacina.

  “Miss Jacina?”

  “Yes, Nancy?”

  “You won’t tell no one about me sneaking the oyster, will you?”

  Jacina gave her a weak smile. “No, Nancy, of course I won’t.”

  With that she stepped out into the corridor and hurried down the tower steps.

  At first her legs felt as if they would give way beneath her at any moment. Every five steps or so she had to stop and lean on a table or against the wall. As she progressed however, she grew stronger.

  She began to move with greater confidence.

  At the top of the main stairway she stopped and peeped over the banisters into the Great Hall below.

  The servants had risen before dawn to decorate the hall under the stern eye of Jarrold. The walls were bedecked with ribbons and sprays of flowers stood on the consoles. Candles flared in garlanded sconces.

  The entrance door was flung wide open. Jarrold stood outside waiting to greet the coaches.

  Jacina glanced at herself in the gilded mirror that hung at the head of the stairway. She still looked ghostly. On an impulse she plucked a white flower from a spray arranged on the table in front of the mirror. She fixed the flower in her hair and then slowly descended.

  She could hear music and laughter as she approached the ballroom. Its doors were wide open and dancers whirled by in the bright light beyond. The brightness spilled down the centre of the corridor like a golden carpet.

  Jacina stopped in her tracks. She moved into the shadows.

  The Earl and Felice stood just inside the door. They were greeting a guest, Lord Bulling, whom Jacina recognised from one of the many suppers she had attended at the castle.

  There was no sign of Fronard.

  The Earl looked very distinguished in his dark frock coat. Felice looked stunning in a scarlet gown threaded with gold. Her amber eyes glittered at Lord Bulling over the top of her open fan.

  It was obvious the Earl had not yet confronted her with what he knew. The music ended with a flourish. There was scattered applause and then the ladies were led from the floor by their partners. All the dancers were hot and flushed from their exertions.

  Jacina heard Lord Bulling ask the Earl if he might claim the next dance with his wife.

  “By all means,” said the Earl dryly.

  Felice snapped her fan shut. She cast a dazzling smile at Lord Bulling and took his proffered arm. He led her proudly onto the floor just as the orchestra struck up and another waltz began.

  The Earl stood at the door, half turned towards the corridor. He seemed lost in thought. Jacina watched him for a moment. Then she slipped quietly forward to the Earl’s side.

  “My – my Lord.”

  He gave a start. “Jacina? What the deuce are you doing here? What are you thinking about, putting your health at risk like this?”

  A worried frown creased his brow. Without thinking – as if their relations had returned to the ease of former days – Jacina put a reassuring hand on his arm.

  When the Earl felt her touch, it seemed for a moment that a tremor passed through his body. Before she could wonder at it, the Earl had straightened.

  “Come, madam. What explanation do you have for quitting your bed?”

  “Forgive me but I – I had to, my Lord. I had to warn you.”

  “Warn me? Those are strong words.”

  “Yes, my Lord. But you see – Fronard – may have a pistol. He was – in the gunroom – this morning.”

  The Earl was suddenly still as a stone.

  “The gunroom? Who saw him there?”

  “Nancy, my Lord.”

  The Earl’s brows drew together as he pondered.

  “But why should he feel it necessary to have a gun? As far as he knows, I remain ignorant of his – his attachment to my wife.”

  Jacina could not help but flinch at the sound of the word ‘wife’ on the Earl’s lips. Whatever might ensue, that was who Felice was now. The Earl’s wife and the Countess of Ruven. No power on earth could take those titles from her.

  “Jacina,” enquired the Earl suddenly. “How strong do you feel?”

  “I feel – very well, my Lord.”

  “Mmmn. Well, I must believe you, for I need you to be my eyes. Jacina, will you pay me the compliment of waltzing with me?”

  “I should be – delighted, my Lord.”

  She took the Earl’s arm and he led her – by instinct alone – through the crowd and onto the floor. There, the Earl asked her in a low voice to draw near.

  Trembling, Jacina obeyed. When he felt her close, the Earl gently put his arm about her waist and drew her to his breast.

  They glided out into the midst of the dancers.

  Jacina melted in the Earl’s firm embrace. They swept about the ballroom in perfect harmony. The Earl moved with confidence, his step never faltering. She felt his breath on her hair.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  “My Lord?”

  The Earl raised his hand and drew from her hair the white flower she had placed there before entering the ballroom.

  “Oh, the flower I used it as – an ornament, my Lord.”

  “What colour is it?”

  “White, my Lord.”

  “I can imagine it in your red-gold hair,” the Earl smiled.

  Jacina smiled in return, although he could not see her. How she wished they could dance forever! She was hardly aware of other faces, other figures, whirling by. Then the Earl spoke again, gently into her ear.

  “Jacina, do you see my wife still dancing?”

  Jacina let her eyes rove about the floor. They widened when she finally caught sight of Felice.

  “She is dancing, my Lord, but not – not with Lord Bulling. She has found – a new partner.”

  The Earl’s voice was low and contained in response,

  “And who is it, pray?”

  “Monsieur – Fronard.”

  “What the deuce!” cried the Earl. “Does she dishonour me in public now?”

  Jacina winced.

  “What is the matter?” asked the Earl quickly.

  “You are – hurting – my hand, my Lord.”

  The Earl loosened his grip instantly. “Forgive me,” he said.

  They stood still in the centre of the floor.

  “It is time,” growled the Earl menacingly. “Lead me to them.”

  Jacina hesitated. She gazed up at his darkening eyes and fear gripped her heart in a vice. What did the Earl propose to do? Sensing her hesitation, the Earl crushed her almost violently to him.

 
; “Do this for me,” he breathed.

  Reluctantly, Jacina took his arm and started to move with him through the dancers. At that moment the waltz ended. There was scattered applause.

  Fronard and Felice were among those who waited on the floor for the next dance to begin. They talked in an intimate manner, heads close together. As Felice threw her head back in a laugh, she saw Jacina and the Earl approach.

  “The Earl,” she murmured quickly to Fronard.

  Fronard turned abruptly. His lips curled in a barely disguised sneer at the sight of the Earl’s hand on Jacina’s arm.

  “I thought you were eeel,” said Felice to Jacina.

  Jacina supposed that by ‘eeel’ Felice meant ill.

  “I am better now,” she said simply.

  “Do not concern yourself with Miss Carlton’s health, madame,” said the Earl to Felice. “Concern yourself rather with your own behaviour.”

  Felice gave a gay laugh. “My behaviour? Mais pourquoi?”

  “Because, madame, it is too brazen for my taste.”

  Felice and Fronard exchanged a quick look.

  “What is this – brazen?” asked Felice.

  The Earl spoke in a controlled, cold tone. “It means, madame, that your conduct does not befit your station.”

  Felice tapped her fan against her lower lip. “I do not understand what you are saying,” she shrugged.

  “I am saying,” said the Earl, “that your treachery is discovered. You were seen in the folly. With your – with Monsieur Fronard.”

  Felice paled. Fronard slowly levelled a black gaze upon Jacina and she shrank before him.

  “Fronard,” demanded the Earl.

  “Monsieur?” said Fronard, his eyes still on Jacina.

  The Earl stepped nearer to Fronard. It was as if he were measuring the distance between them.

  “You will understand,” he said, “that I must demand satisfaction?”

  He removed a glove as he spoke. Jacina, looking from one man to the other, did not for a moment grasp his intent.

  Only when the Earl struck Fronard’s cheek with his glove did she realise. She almost fainted with horror.

  An immediate hush ran through the ballroom. The musicians, about to play, lowered their instruments and stared.

  The Earl, the blind Earl, had challenged Fronard to a duel! Surely this was the most foolhardy act imaginable!

  Jacina cast wildly about her as if seeking a sane human being, someone who would talk the Earl out of this idiocy.

  It should be his wife. But she seemed as shocked as Jacina. It should be Fronard, if he had any decency in him at all. But Fronard wore the air of a man who could not believe his luck.

  “Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” he leered, “than to accept.”

  “Tomorrow at dawn?” said the Earl coldly.

  “Tomorrow at dawn,” repeated Fronard. He bowed, cast an unreadable glance at Felice and walked away.

  The crowds parted in wonder to allow him through and then drew together again to gaze on the Earl, Felice and Jacina.

  Suddenly Felice began to laugh hysterically.

  “Felice!” ordered the Earl sharply. “Stop it!”

  Felice went on laughing.

  “Control yourself, for God’s sake, madame,” said the Earl.

  Felice stopped laughing. She stepped forward in a seeming daze and buried her head against the Earl’s chest.

  He stood as if stunned. Over her bowed head, his eyes looked almost haunted.

  “Jacina, Jacina,” he murmured at last. “Are you there? Can you – lead – us out?”

  Without hesitation – numb and unable to speak – Jacina took his hand. With his free hand, the Earl grasped Felice.

  The three of them made their way to the door.

  Guests looked at each other. It was obvious that the ball had ended.

  Jarrold, having been summoned from the Great Hall, stood aside to let the Earl and the women pass. He then hurried over and spoke to the musicians, who began to pack up their instruments.

  “Take us to the stairs, Jacina,” requested the Earl.

  Felice seemed to be allowing herself to be mutely led. Then suddenly, at the top of the stairs, she wrenched herself free of the Earl’s grasp and threw herself down before him.

  “Husband – you must believe me – Monsieur Fronard, his – his attentions were – never welcome. Always I was resisting him. I was – afraid of him. I do not lie. My husband – only once were his lips on mine. I am – pure for you.”

  Jacina could not believe her ears. She scanned the Earl’s face anxiously but could not read his expression. Was it possible he believed Felice?

  The Earl hesitated. Then he lowered a hand and gently pulled Felice to her feet.

  Jacina caught a sudden scent of heady perfume, sickly sweet as funeral lilies. Her vision swam as she watched Felice place a hand on the Earl’s face.

  “You are my husband,” Felice whispered huskily. “Zis is our wedding night. Come, come to our bed now. Prove you believe me.”

  The Earl caught at her wrist. He held it tight, his jaw clenching and unclenching.

  “That is a pleasure I must forgo for the present, Felice,” he said at last. “How can I lie with you tonight when tomorrow you may be a widow?”

  Hearing these last words, Jacina gave a great cry and fell to the floor.

  She neither saw the figure of Sarah hurry forward from the shadows, nor felt the strong male arms that lifted her. Lifted and carried her gently and carefully to her own so recently abandoned bed.

  All that was left behind at the top of the stairs was a white flower, crushed violently underfoot.

  *

  A cold mist hung over the grass. The moon still hovered in a hazy dawn sky. Outside the castle, a black horse and a grey stood waiting, their nostrils steaming in the cold air.

  The Earl came quickly down the steps, pulling on his gloves. He was followed by his valet. The valet held the black horse while the Earl mounted and then himself mounted the grey. With a nod from the Earl the two horses and their riders wheeled round and set off over the stone bridge.

  A moment later a gig drove up to the castle entrance. It was driven by one of the stable boys. He sat whistling under his breath.

  The castle door opened again and Jarrold ushered out two cloaked women. They hurried down the steps and into the gig. Jarrold muttered something to the boy, who stopped whistling and climbed down from the driver’s seat. Jarrold then got up in his stead. He cracked the whip and the gig set off.

  In the gig, Jacina stared resolutely ahead. She did not need to look back to know that Felice stood watching from a window of the Great Hall. She had expressed no desire to be present at the duel, while Jacina could not for her life have stayed away.

  She had told Sarah fiercely that if no one would order her a gig, she would walk by herself to the appointed place.

  In the end Sarah had prevailed upon Jarrold to let herself and Jacina ride with him.

  Jarrold was bringing the pistol case.

  Today, one man would fall, be injured or killed. No one at the castle believed it would be Fronard. How could it be, when his opponent was blind?

  Nobody but Jacina and Sarah was clear as to the reason for the duel.

  Jacina sat in the gig with her hands in her lap. She had only one thought in her head, one prayer on her lips.

  ‘Let me be his eyes somehow. Let me be his eyes.’ She knew it was impossible yet all her will was trained to this one end.

  To save the Earl by her very presence.

  The gig rolled through the wood and turned off the path into a glade. The black horse and the grey stood tethered to a tree stump. Fronard and the Earl stood in the centre of the glade but apart. Fronard had his back to them. He was smoking a cigar.

  Jacina shuddered when she saw the doctor sitting in his gig. He had been summoned from Ruvensford village. She wished that it was her father and not his locum.

  Jarrold helped Jaci
na and Sarah from the gig. After glancing around for a moment the two ladies withdrew under a giant oak to watch the proceedings.

  Jarrold carried the pistol case over to the Earl’s valet – serving as the Earl’s second – and the Steward, who had reluctantly agreed to second Fronard.

  The Earl and Fronard removed their cloaks. Jarrold opened the pistol case for Fronard and the Earl to choose their weapons. The Earl ran his hand over the pistols. Fronard picked them up and examined them, a faint smile playing on his lips.

  Then the duellists stood back to back. At a word from Jarrold they started on their paces. The Earl walked in as straight a line as Fronard, his head held high. He never hesitated, never stumbled.

  Jacina could not tear her eyes from him.

  The men turned and raised their pistols.

  The Earl was to take the first shot. He raised his pistol straight before him, but Jacina was sure it was not levelled directly at Fronard. She twisted her hands together.

  ‘Please God let him not miss.’

  Fronard, standing with the oak in his view, caught sight of Jacina. He could not resist baiting her.

  “Ah! You have come, Miss Jacina, to say goodbye to your friend!”

  It was a foolish thing for him to do. The Earl cocked his head and slowly moved his pistol to the right, towards the sound of Fronard.

  Jacina noticed the adjustment and hope flooded her heart.

  The shot reverberated over the trees. Wood pigeons burst from amid the leaves, calling in alarm.

  Fronard staggered but did not fall. He glanced at his shoulder as a red stain appeared on his pale grey shirt.

  With an angry snarl he raised his pistol. Jacina felt the shot in her very being.

  The Earl’s head snapped back and he fell.

  Jacina cried out and ran towards his prone body, but Jarrold and the doctor were there before her. She caught a glimpse of a bloodied forehead before the doctor waved her back. She was caught sobbing in the arms of the Earl’s valet who had joined the group around the Earl. Sarah hobbled up a moment later.

  “Is he dead, is he dead?” Jacina moaned.

  The doctor pressed his ear to the Earl’s chest. Then he felt for his pulse. “He is still breathing,” he said.

  “Thank God,” cried Jacina in relief. “THANK GOD!”

  The doctor hurriedly bound the Earl’s brow with a white cloth. “Let us get back to the castle” he urged. “He may be saved.”