In Search of Love

by Barbara Cartland

  This time she did laugh.

  “Nonsense, of course you don't want to die. Please Piero, no more of this nonsense.”

  “You can never love me. I am desolate.”

  “Stop being such a silly boy.”

  His answer to that was to seize her and plant a kiss on her lips. She ducked but his mouth just managed to touch hers before she could avoid it.

  She was about to slap his face, not hard but just enough to make him see reason, when they were both stunned by the sound of a wail from the darkness of the trees.

  The next moment François staggered out into the soft light.

  “Traitor!” he screamed at Piero. “Betrayer!

  He appealed to Vanda.

  “Do not believe him. It is I who love you. Tell him that you belong to me.”

  “I do not belong to either of you,” Vanda asserted, beginning to lose her temper. “Do stop acting like a pair of clowns.”

  Piero turned reproachful eyes on her.

  “I do not understand you,” he wailed pathetically. “I only know that I love you.”

  “And I love you,” François declared.

  He tried to seize her hand, but she snatched it away. In the same moment Piero also attempted to take hold of her.

  Without hesitation Vanda brought down her fan first on Piero's head, then on François.

  “Perhaps you will understand that!” she exclaimed. “I have no patience with either of you.”

  “Do not judge me by this imbecile,” François begged, rubbing his head.

  “Ignore him,” Piero gasped, also rubbing. “You were mine first, and you always will be.”

  “I am nobody's and you are making fools of yourselves,” Vanda said. “Now, that's enough.”

  Determined to hear no more, she turned and almost ran across the lawn back to the house. At the French windows she looked back, to see if they had dared to pursue her.

  On the contrary, they had so far forgotten her as to become absorbed in their hostilities. She could just about see them squaring up to each other under the trees, and hear the odd shouted word.

  'So much for undying devotion,' she thought wryly.

  She slipped back into the ballroom just as the music was finishing. She looked round and was glad to discern the Countess talking to somebody. So she and Robert had not 'slipped away upstairs.'

  Not yet, anyway, she thought darkly.

  And then suddenly Robert was at her elbow.

  “Can you spare a dance for me, sister?”

  “Well, my card is really rather full,” she said, opening her dance card and pretending to consider. “But perhaps I could find you one later –”

  “To blazes with that,” he said, whisking it out of her fingers and tossing it away. “The others will have to wait. I am exercising my rights as your male guardian.”

  “You are no such thing,” Vanda replied. But her protest was mechanical. She was far more occupied by the feel of his arm encircling her waist as he swept her into the waltz.

  It was exhilarating to be held so firmly, yet so lightly. She could dance like this forever. How strange that she had never felt this sense of excitement when they had danced together in the past.

  But somehow those days felt like a different world. Something strange and new was happening, something that she did not understand, but which made her feel that she was on the brink of momentous discoveries.

  She looked into Robert's face, trying to discover any trace of the feelings that were beginning to possess her. But she saw only the humorous irony that was his normal look.

  That calmed her and put her on her guard. Not for the world would she allow him to suspect what was happening to her.

  What might be happening to her, she corrected herself. It would be very foolish to allow herself to fall in love with him and she could only be glad that she had detected the danger in time.

  “At any rate,” he said, “I am a very poor guardian to allow you to disappear into the garden alone with Piero.”

  “Then why did you?” she asked impishly.

  “I was prevented from coming after you by the Countess, hanging on my sleeve and making foolish chatter. By the time I had dislodged her it was too late. Did you behave yourself out there?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “I enquire because I was a little surprised to see you return alone. Has Piero shot himself for love?”

  “How can I tell?” she replied lightly. “He was certainly alive when I left.”

  “Heartless minx! I have been watching him throughout the evening and he has definitely been suffering. He thought he would keep you to himself, but you were surrounded by courtiers at every turn.”

  “It has all been very enjoyable.”

  “Has anyone knelt at your feet and begged you to love him?”

  “Two men tried to kiss me after I had danced with them. But I told them that my brother guarded my honour very severely and would shoot any man who tried to make love to me!”

  “Did they believe you?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes. I explained that you had already shot two men through the heart.”

  “You told them what?”

  “Well, I had to say something. They were getting out of hand.”

  “And the gentleman you sent off the floor limping?”

  “Ah, that's a long story.”

  “You mean it's a shocking story?”

  “Let's just say that I will tell you another time. In the end I sought some peace in the garden.”

  “Closely followed by Piero. And François. Or did you not see him?”

  “I believe he was there,” she answered vaguely. “I may have caught a glimpse of him.”

  Robert looked at her cynically, but said no more.

  As the music slowed he began to say,

  “I think you should stay by me for a while, in case you set the place into an uproar –”

  He was interrupted by a cry from the garden and a flustered young man rushed in.

  “A duel!” he cried. “Piero and François. A duel.”

  “Oh, no!” Vanda gasped. “Surely they cannot really be fighting a duel. Robert, we must stop them before they hurt themselves.”

  “Calm yourself. I shall be very surprised if this does not turn out to be another piece of foolery, which is about all those two are capable of. Really Vanda, whatever did you do to provoke this drama?”

  “Why do you assume that it's my fault?” she demanded indignantly.

  “Because I am beginning to know you.”

  “You have known me for years.”

  “I thought so too, only to find myself quite mistaken. Come along, let's go and witness this farce.”

  She was rather indignant at such a way of dismissing the subject. While she did not want anyone to be hurt, she was not really averse to two handsome young men duelling over her charms.

  Everyone in the ballroom streamed out into the grounds, eager to witness the diversion, but nobody could really take the duel seriously.

  And they were right. Piero and François were under the coloured lamps, squaring up to each other in the kind of fancy dress that could only have come from a child's nursery.

  Each had slung a cloak over his shoulders. The cloaks were designed for children, but still managed to swirl flamboyantly.

  Each wore a paper hat on his head and they wielded swords that looked impressive but were blunt and made of wood.

  As soon as Vanda made her appearance they ran to her, each taking a hand and drew her forward to stand on a small incline in the ground. Standing there she was like a queen, looking down on the proceedings.

  Then, moving in perfect unison, they stepped back and raised their wooden swords to her.

  “We who are about to die salute you,” François cried melodramatically.

  They turned to confront each other.

  “En garde!” they cried.

  Two wooden swords clashed. For the next few minutes they strove back and forth with
grim determination while the crowd cheered, laughed and clapped.

  At last Piero took a mighty swipe at his opponent, knocking his sword from his hand with a force that broke it and sending him staggering back until he fell full length on the grass.

  The spectators roared with delight. Robert too grinned at the comedy, until he saw Piero stride purposefully towards Vanda.

  “I am the victor and you are mine,” he proclaimed.

  He would have taken hold of her, but Robert reacted quickly. With a mutter of, “Oh, no, you don't!” he sprang up the incline, seized Vanda up in his arms and made a run for it.

  “Hey!” she cried as she felt herself being swept along willy-nilly. “What do you think you are doing?”

  “Putting an end to this nonsense once and for all,” he stated firmly.

  “But you have no right. Put me down.”

  “No, and that is final.”

  To emphasise his point he tightened his arms around her. Vanda felt the pressure and suddenly her head swam. She looked up at his face with a hint of eagerness, but she could see only exasperation and grim determination.

  The next moment she felt herself being tossed into a carriage like a bag of flour. Robert climbed in after her and they were away.

  “From now on,” he said, “you are going about with a sack over your head!”

  “That won't help,” she screamed, struggling up into a sitting position and joining battle. “I am a great beauty, remember? I can shine through any sack.”

  “Two sacks. Understand me, from now on you are going to behave yourself with complete decorum.”

  “Am I? Are you sure of that?”

  “Quite sure,” he asserted repressively.

  “We will see.”

  “Vanda, I am warning you –”

  She gave a provocative little chuckle, beginning to enjoy herself again. There was something to be said for bickering with Robert. She could count on his full attention.

  They continued the argument all the way back to the hotel, but he was no longer annoyed and nor was she. He leaned back in his corner of the carriage and regarded her with cynical appraisal, until he noticed something that made him concerned.

  “You are shivering,” he remarked.

  “Well you made me leave without my cloak,” she protested, running her hands over her bare arms and shoulders.

  “My poor girl. That was indeed thoughtless of me. Yes, it's turning cool in this night air.”

  “I shall probably contract pneumonia,” she sighed pathetically. “And it will be all your fault.”

  He grinned.

  “Stop trying to make me feel guilty, you little witch. Here, take my jacket to keep you warm.”

  He stripped it off and wrapped it gently around her shoulders. Vanda shivered pleasurably and snuggled down inside its protection.

  “Thank you,” she said with a meekness that made him regard her with renewed suspicion.

  Her eyes met his, bland and innocent.

  His grin turned into a smile of real warmth, which she met with one of her own. He slipped his arm around her shoulders, drawing his jacket even closer about her, and they finished the journey in harmony.

  When they reached her door he said,

  “Perhaps it is time we thought about leaving.”

  “So soon?”

  “Haven't you brought enough men to your feet? Wouldn't you like to explore pastures new, and slay some more victims?”

  “I have not finished with Paris yet,” she retorted in a teasing voice.

  “Come, the whole of Europe lies before us. Think of the conquests you can make.”

  “That's very true,” she said, regarding him mischievously. “But are you sure that you can stand the strain.”

  He groaned.

  “No, I am not. I will swear on my life that living with my five real sisters has not prepared me for you. I had no idea that being a brother could be so exhausting. What else will you teach me before our trip is through, I wonder?”

  “Perhaps it is you who will teach me?” she mused.

  “I cannot believe there is anything I can teach you,” he asserted wryly. “You seem mistress of every situation.”

  “You forget how long I have been mistress of my father's house.”

  “That's not what I –” he checked himself with an awkward laugh. “No matter. I bid you goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” she said and entered her own room with a smile.

  Half an hour later, when she had finished undressing and was sitting whilst her maid brushed her hair, she heard a knock on her door. When the maid opened it, she found one of the hotel servants with the cloak that Vanda had left behind at the Chateau.

  “It was delivered downstairs by a young gentleman who would not leave his name,” she reported.

  In the next room Robert heard the door open followed by a murmur of voices. But by the time he had put on his dressing gown and looked out into the hall there was nobody to be seen. Frowning, he shut his door and retired to bed.

  He was just sinking contentedly into sleep when the night was rent by a strange sound from below.

  “Bella signora – la mia bellissima –”

  Someone was singing in a light tenor voice that floated up through the night. The sound was not entirely displeasing, but it was not what a tired man wanted to hear at this hour of the night.

  Groaning, Robert rose, walked to the window and threw it open, looking down onto the hotel garden.

  There, just as he had feared, was Piero, standing on the grass directly beneath Vanda's window, arms raised and head thrown back as he carolled up to her.

  “Amore – amore –”

  “What the devil do you think you're doing?” Robert called down to him.

  “I am proclaiming my love to the world,” Piero declared joyously.

  “Making a devil of a racket, you mean! For pity's sake, be silent.”

  “My love can never be silenced,” Piero shouted. “It cries to the heavens!”

  “Well it had better not,” Robert snapped. “How dare you make an exhibition of my sister!”

  “She will forgive me –”

  “Not if I have anything to do with it.”

  To the right of him he heard the sound of a window being opened and Vanda appeared on her balcony, dressed in a becoming robe of peach satin. Her black hair hung down to her waist in a fashion he had never seen before.

  “Amore,” Piero cried, “how beautiful you are with your hair loose and flowing. In just the way I have seen in my dreams.”

  “The devil you have,” Robert snarled.

  “Did you see that I returned your cloak?” Piero asked.

  “Yes, I did, thank you.”

  “How could your so cruel brother be so barbaric, so indifferent to your comfort?”

  “I often wonder that myself,” she sighed.

  “Vanda,” Robert called urgently, “Go back inside.”

  “Why?”

  “Because this is a most unsuitable scene for you.”

  “But it is about me. And your barbaric indifference, of course.”

  Robert ground his teeth.

  “It is not appropriate for you to be involved,” he demanded. “Kindly retire at once.”

  “But that would be most unkind when Piero has taken so much trouble.”

  To Robert's horror it now became apparent that the Italian was not alone. Three more figures emerged from the shadows and took up their positions on the grass. There was the plink of strings, the sounds of a flute, and an accordion.

  “Oh, no!” Robert groaned.

  To his annoyance he could see that Vanda was leaning over her balcony rail showing every sign of enjoyment at the spectacle.

  Piero dropped down on one knee and began singing again.

  “La bella mia piccina –”

  “Vanda!” Robert called.

  “Hush,” she told him. “I am trying to listen.”

  “Do you know how unseemly this is?
”

  “What does it matter?”

  “Amore del mia cuore –”

  “What's that he says?”

  “He says I am the beloved of his heart. Isn't it romantic?”

  “It's a load of dashed nonsense!”

  “Stop being a killjoy!”

  “Vanda, I am trying to get some sleep.”

  “Well, go inside and shut your window. He isn't singing to you.”

  She gave the singer a little teasing wave, which Robert regarded with exasperation. Had she no sense of propriety?

  “Cuore del mio cuore –” Piero warbled.

  The Earl scowled, thinking it was time for action before this idiot had them thrown out of the hotel. He turned away and disappeared inside.

  Outside, Piero was just getting into his stride. His voice soared with triumph as he saw Robert, apparently in retreat. Emboldened, he reached for a very high note and hit it successfully.

  But that was his last moment of glory. The note was cut off in its prime, ending in spluttering, as though the singer had just been doused with a large quantity of water!

  After that there was peace and silence.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The next morning Vanda breakfasted alone in her room. After waiting for her in the restaurant downstairs, Robert came to find her.

  He was forced to admit that she looked a picture sitting at a table in the alcove by the window. The sun, streaming into the room, brought out blue highlights in her black hair. Her gown was made of soft fine wool in a delicate tawny shade that suited her perfectly.

  For a moment his admiration checked the words he had meant to utter. But the moment passed.

  “You might have informed me of your decision to take breakfast in your room,” he said.

  “I saw no need to inform you,” she declared in austere tones. “I did not wish for your company this morning.”

  “May I enquire why?”

  “I should have thought that the reason must be perfectly obvious to you,” she replied, in a voice that was even cooler. “Your behaviour last night was not that of a gentleman.”

  “My behaviour was that of any reasonable man driven beyond endurance by nauseating sentimentality.”

  Vanda regarded him as she might have done a worm.

  “Is it nauseating for Piero to declare his love for me?”

  “It is if he does it to the whole world. I would think more of his so-called love if he declared it in private.”