It was impossible to say anything more.
She knew that what she had done was unforgettable and once more she put her hands up to her face.
“If I cannot – die,” she asked, “what can I – d-do to make – things better for you?”
The Marquis did not answer and after a moment Valessa went on,
“Perhaps – if I stayed somewhere – abroad, I could find – work, then in a year or so – you could say I had – died.”
There was silence after she had spoken and at last the Marquis asked,
“What sort of work are you suggesting you could do?” Valessa sighed.
“I have thought of – this before. When they had finished with – me at The Towers, I meant to – go to London with the – money Lady Barton had – given me to visit one of – the Domestic Bureaux.”
She was thinking it out, as she had before.
“As I look too young to be – a Governess, I thought perhaps – I could be a – companion to an old lady and read – to her, or whatever it is companions do.”
She was unaware that the Marquis was watching her. There was a curious expression in his eyes, as if he still thought that she might be play-acting.
At the same time he was almost convinced that she was not.
“I am sure that – someone would – want me,” Valessa went on bravely, “and the – two hundred pounds would last – a long time in Italy or – perhaps in Greece.”
“And if it did not,” the Marquis asked, “what would you do then?”
Valessa made a helpless little gesture with her hands before she replied,
“That would not – worry you and I am sure I – could manage for a year. Then you – could say I had died – of some fever.”
“It might be from the starvation you said that you were suffering from when Lady Barton arrived at your house.”
He saw an expression of fear in Valessa’s face.
Then she said,
“I will – manage – I am sure I can manage – somehow.”
“By yourself?”
“It will be difficult, because I have always been – with Papa, but I am nearly – nineteen and I should be able to – look after myself.”
The Marquis rose to his feet.
As the yacht was moving smoothly, he walked to the porthole to look out to sea.
Valessa sensed that he was thinking.
But, as he stood there, she could not help remembering how magnificent he had looked on Saladin and how exciting it had been to watch him win the steeplechase.
‘I want – him to – believe me!’ she told herself.
He walked back to her and again sat down in a chair.
“I have been thinking over what you have told me,” the Marquis said, “and I believe you!”
He saw Valessa’s eyes light up.
“You do? You – really – do?” she asked. “I promise you – that I have told you – the truth!”
“I think I would know if you were lying,” the Marquis said, “and I therefore suggest that we forget Lady Barton and never mention her again.”
Valessa drew a deep breath.
Then, as she would have spoken, the door of the Saloon opened and a Steward came in.
He walked to the Marquis’s side to say,
“Chef says, my Lord, that luncheon will be ready in five minutes and I wondered if I might lay the table?”
“Yes, of course,” the Marquis agreed.
He turned to Valessa to say,
“I had no idea it was so late. I expect you would like to tidy yourself and I hope you will eat with me?”
For the first time Valessa thought about her appearance and put her hands up to her hair.
It had been made wet by the spray and she was sure that her eyes needed bathing.
She hurried below to find Bowers tidying her cabin.
“You all right, my Lady?” he asked.
“Yes – I am all right – thank you,” Valessa replied.
She went into the small bathroom to wash her face and then, because she did not wish to keep the Marquis waiting, she hurriedly tidied her hair and went back to the Saloon.
The Stewards had already laid the table that was arranged on one side of it.
The Marquis was drinking a glass of champagne, but, when he offered Valessa one, she shook her head.
“I think that I should have something to eat first.”
The Marquis raised his eyebrows and she explained,
“I had food at the Towers, but it was the – first time after having had very – little for so long.”
She gave him a quick glance before she added,
“I drank on the way to London to keep myself awake, but I am sure it is – something I should – not do otherwise.”
“I understand your reasoning,” the Marquis said, “and I think you are very sensible.”
He put down the glass he was holding in his hand and said,
“As it happens, I seldom drink during the day because I want to keep myself fit for riding. But I felt after the dramatics of this morning I needed a little sustenance!”
He smiled at Valessa as he spoke and it took the sting out of the words.
She gave him a shy little smile in return and then sat down at the table opposite him.
After the Steward had brought in the food, which was, she realised, quite exceptionally good, the Marquis talked to her.
Inevitably it was about horses and especially Saladin and he told her where he had bought him when he was only a yearling and how exciting it had been to watch him develop.
“I was praying that – he would win the steeplechase,” Valessa said simply.
“It was something I really wanted to do,” the Marquis admitted.
“I kept wishing that Papa was there – and he could see you. He would have been as excited as I was.”
“Your father was keen on horses?”
“He was a very good rider and he made what income we had after Mama died by buying horses cheaply and training them until he could sell them for quite a good sum of money.”
The Marquis thought that was what quite a number of men had tried to do, mostly unsuccessfully.
He was watching Valessa all the time he was talking and he was finding it more and more difficult to understand how she could have become embroiled in the dastardly plot thought up by Sarah and Harry.
He found it hard to believe completely in her story of being penniless. It was even harder to credit that in consequence she had been on the verge of suicide.
One thing, however, was obvious that she did not come, as Sarah had said she did, from the gutter and it was hard to believe that she was not a lady.
He listened to the way she spoke and realised that she was educated and that there was not the trace of any accent in her voice.
He also noticed the way she ate.
She did nothing that would not have been approved of in the most distinguished social circles.
His brain told him that there must be a snag somewhere.
But his instinct was sure that he could accept her story and that she was telling the truth.
As they talked, Valessa seemed to have lost most of her shyness and he realised too that there was no longer the terror in her eyes that there had been when she looked at him.
The Marquis could be very beguiling when he tried to be and by the end of luncheon Valessa was talking to him as she would have talked to her father.
She had had little or no social experience since her mother had died and she therefore found it fascinating to be alone with a very handsome man even though she admitted that she was afraid of him.
Yet it was delightful to have him talk to her as if she was his equal.
The Marquis found that she was knowledgeable in a way that he would not have expected.
When he talked of his visiting Italy, she spoke of the history of Naples.
She spoke of how the Greeks and the Romans had left behind the ruins of their
temples and villas.
The Marquis told her how he had visited Pompeii and she said with a little shiver,
“I have often thought of the horror that the people must have experienced as they found themselves choking to death in an atmosphere suddenly thick with volcanic ash.”
When luncheon was over, the Marquis thought that she looked tired and he sent her to her cabin to rest.
“Tomorrow we shall be in smoother water,” he said, “and then I am sure that you would like to come out on deck.”
“I would like that,” Valessa said, “and Bowers has told me of the many gadgets that you have installed in your yacht. I would love to see them too.”
When she went below, the Marquis sat for some time alone in the Saloon thinking about her.
His thoughts were very different from those that had darkened his mind and infuriated him all the time he was driving to London and for the first days of the voyage.
Instead of a common harlot, who was intending to extort huge sums of money from him or, worse still, flaunt herself as the Marchioness of Wydonbury, he was confronted with a young girl.
As he watched and listened to Valessa, he found it impossible to believe that she was not what she appeared to be.
Which was somebody young, very innocent and deceived rather than deceiving.
It was such a complete volte face that he found himself bewildered and not at all certain what he should do about it.
He had thought when he came abroad to escape the mockery of his friends that he would somehow be able to bribe himself out of this dreadful situation.
He had told himself that he would give this woman who had been foisted upon him as his wife, an enormous allowance on condition that she stayed out of England.
He would still be married to her. But at least he would not have to see her or be continually humiliated by her behaviour.
The only alternative, he knew, was to challenge the legality of the marriage.
He had been aware before Valessa realised it that it was Cyril Fane who had impersonated him in the Chapel.
It was he who had made the responses that the Parson believed came from the Marquis.
He knew, however, all too well, the publicity that such a case would engender.
And the way he would be laughed at and undoubtedly lampooned for having been drugged and manipulated by people he thought were his friends.
The idea made him shrink in horror.
Either way, whatever he did, the whole scenario would be a disgrace not only to himself but to his family.
As he thought it over, he was astutely thinking that perhaps by some miracle he might manage to avoid the worst of the situation he was in.
Valessa was very young. Surely he could teach her how to behave decently?
If she was at all intelligent, she could act the part of a lady and get away with it.
The more he thought of the situation, the more this seemed to be the only possible answer.
It was something that had not occurred to him until now after he had met Valessa.
There was certainly nothing notably vulgar about her and, when she had cried, she had seemed little more than a child who had got into trouble through no fault of her own.
He found himself feeling sorry for her.
How was it possible that she had been on the verge of suicide because she had no money and no food?
How was it possible that she was prepared to die rather than face his anger?
How was it possible that she had wanted to set him free?
The Marquis was used to dealing with people of all sorts and conditions and he had been noted as an exceptionally good Officer because of the way he looked after the men under him and understood them.
He was now almost convinced that Valessa was not deceiving him.
He was also aware that, when she had washed and bathed her eyes and come back into the Saloon for luncheon, she had looked very lovely.
At the same time she seemed rather as if she had been battered about by forces over which she had no control.
He had been genuine in his efforts to set her at ease.
He thought that he had been successful when, before he sent her below to lie down, she had said with a shy little smile,
“Thank you – thank you very much for – being so kind to me.”
‘What I must do,’ the Marquis finally decided, ‘is to gain her confidence and her trust and then mould her into being at least presentable in public.’
Equally he felt the fury of his anger seething once again inside him.
He knew that while he was out of England, his relatives would undoubtedly hear of what had happened and, as far as Valessa was concerned, they would inevitably be outraged.
‘They will hate her for what they think she is,’ the Marquis told himself and knew that whatever he did the future was very problematical.
Now he made up his mind.
He was determined to mould Valessa into at least a very good imitation of what he expected of the Marchioness of Wyndonbury.
So he decided that the first move would be not to continue to talk of what had occurred.
He would try, if it was possible, to forget Sarah Barton and what was a diabolical revenge.
But he knew he would find it even harder to forget Harold Grantham. He admitted to himself that Harry had some justification to dislike him for having taken away Yvonne.
At the same time his behaviour was not that of a gentleman and the Marquis knew that he himself would never have stooped so low as to humiliate another man he had been at school with and they belonged to the same Clubs.
The Marquis was wise enough to know that hating anyone would not undo what had been done and it would only make it impossible for him to be at his ease with Valessa.
He was aware, when she dined with him, that she had an instinct or a perception that had surprised him.
He knew that it would be as difficult for him to deceive her as it was for her to deceive him.
She was looking extremely attractive in a pink gown, which must have cost an enormous amount of money and was really too smart to be worn in a yacht.
But the Marquis, experienced where women were concerned, realised that Valessa had put it on because it gave her confidence.
Bowers had told her before she left her cabin,
“You looks like flowers, my Lady, and that’s the gospel truth!’
“Thank you,” Valessa smiled. “I only hope that is what – his Lordship will – think too.”
“He be in a different mood this evenin’,” Bowers confided. “I don’t know what you said to him, but he’s almost like his old self.”
Valessa thought her heart leapt as, if the Marquis had forgiven her, she need not be so afraid.
He was certainly charming when she entered the Saloon and, when they sat down to dinner, he began talking again on the subjects that interested her.
She told him a little shyly how she had loved the stories of the Gods of Olympus and found that he was as knowledgeable as her mother had been about them.
They talked about Egypt, where the Marquis had been, and he found that she had read the history of the Pyramids and the stories of the Temples of Luxor.
The Marquis noticed how her eyes would light up when they discussed things that he had found in the past were of little interest to other women he had dined with.
They were intent only on attracting him and receiving the compliments that they thought of as their right.
He was aware now that everything they talked about was to Valessa quite impersonal.
He was sure by the end of dinner that she had never given a thought to herself or her appearance.
*
Two days later they sailed into the Mediterranean Sea.
The Marquis found himself thinking that if he had to have a female aboard his yacht, it would be hard to find a more congenial companion than Valessa.
She made no demands upon him.
She di
d not expect him to compliment her, but she did want to listen to him.
She was very interested when he showed her parts of the yacht, which other women he knew would not have given a second glance at.
He was astonished how much she had read about the countries at the far end of the Mediterranean and he realised that her father was widely travelled and she was, of course, repeating what he had taught her.
Equally he could see that she thought for herself and the questions she asked him were so intelligent that he thought that they might almost have come from one of his men-friends.
Sometimes they argued.
The Marquis was aware that Valessa talked to him in the same way that she had talked to her father when he was alive.
As they sailed on, the Marquis told himself with a mocking smile that the first time in his life he was with a young and attractive woman who did not desire him as a man.
He was aware that Valessa looked at him with admiration and, when she spoke of the way he rode, there was a note almost of admiration in her voice as if she thought that there was something God-like about him.
It was a position, he thought with amusement, that he had to share with Saladin and he and his stallion were indivisibly linked in Valessa’s mind.
Lying in bed he found it hard to sleep.
The Marquis had never in his life been in a situation where a woman was concerned only with his brain rather than his heart.
He knew that Valessa watched him, after she had said something provocative or unusual, to see his reaction.
She waited eagerly for his reply because it appealed to her mind.
He knew that he was not mistaken in thinking that they had become what he might call ‘friendly’. Yet her heart had not for one second beaten quicker because he was near her.
Nor had her lips suggested that he should kiss them.
He thought that he knew every movement a woman would make when she was attracted by him.
The way her hands would go out to touch him.
The glance she would give him from under her eyelashes.
The very conscious movements of her body that were an invitation in themselves.
Valessa might, he thought, have been talking to a Professor, who was eighty years old or, as she had told him so often in their discussions, with her father.
The Marquis began to think that he had met the one woman in the whole world who was immune to his charms.
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