Fascination in France

by Barbara Cartland

  She would be young, innocent and unspoilt and all that she would know about love he was going to teach her.

  It was essential that the Duchesse of Sahran should be completely pure and never look at any other man but himself.

  The Ducs down the centuries had all indulged in the amusements of Paris and had sooner or later enjoyed liaisons with other women besides their wives.

  It was, however, all done with discretion and as much as possible kept from gossiping tongues of those who had nothing better to talk about.

  The Duc had never at any time contemplated marrying anyone like Yvonne.

  At the same time, he thought it would be hard to forget how she had said to him when they were lying in her bed in her fragrant scented room,

  “If you want to marry anyone, why do you not marry me, René? I love you and I would make you a very good wife.”

  The Duc had found it hard to believe his ears.

  It had never struck him for one instant that Yvonne wanted to marry anyone, even himself.

  She had had a number of lovers and had made no secret of it, but he could not help being aware that what she felt for him was more than just a physical passion.

  It was something deeper.

  This was in fact an old story, for women invariably fell in love with him and there was nothing he could do about it.

  How could he say from the very beginning of an affaire de coeur,

  “Don’t give me your heart because I have no use for it?”

  What he wanted was their exquisite bodies, their wit, their companionship and, of course, the thrill of fire which he had always found irresistible.

  As he thought it over, he could imagine nothing more appalling than being married to Yvonne or her like and never being certain, when he left the house, whether another man would be occupying his bed.

  ‘She cannot really have meant it,’ he told himself, as he turned into the gates of his house.

  Yet, as he drew his horses to a standstill outside the front door, he knew that she had meant it and perhaps was still imagining herself as the Duchesse de Sahran.

  Waiting for the Duc in the exquisitely furnished reception room on the ground floor with windows that opened into a large garden, was a man who had been a close friend of his since they first went to school together.

  Gustav was a Vicomte who had spent as much time as his friend pursuing the beautiful women of Paris.

  He was reading the newspaper as the Duc entered and, as he did so, threw Le Jour down on the floor to say,

  “You are late, René. I know where you have been, so I will forgive you.”

  “I am sorry,” the Duc said. “I have been with Yvonne and have told her my news. When I arrived there I was somewhat carried away.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Gustav smiled. “She is, in my opinion, quite the most beautiful of the women in Paris and I can assure you that there are a great number of suitors ready to take your place.”

  The Duc stared at him.

  “How do you know that I was saying ‘goodbye’ to her?” he asked.

  “I have known you since we were both ten years old and I know all the different aspects of your character. One of the nicest things about you is that you are sorry when you have to hurt some woman by saying ‘goodbye’.”

  “I had no idea that I was so transparent,” the Duc said sharply. “That is indeed what I was doing.”

  “You told her that you were going to get married?” Gustav asked.

  “I told her,” the Duc replied.

  “She will be upset,” Gustav said reflectively, “for the simple reason that she is fonder of you, I think, than of anyone else. But at the same time, as I have already said, there are plenty of eager young men willing to make up for your absence.”

  The Duc sighed and went to the grog table to pour Gustav out a small drink.

  He himself was almost totally abstemious because he liked to keep himself perfectly fit for riding, but at this moment he felt he needed a glass of something to help him forget how Yvonne had wept on his shoulder and suggested that he should marry her.

  “What is troubling you?” Gustav enquired.

  “Do you want a drink?” the Duc asked.

  “I have already had one,” Gustav replied, “and I would like an answer to my question.”

  “I can hardly believe it was sincere,” the Duc admitted rather reluctantly, “but Yvonne said that she would like to marry me.”

  Gustav looked surprised and then he remarked,

  “Well, that is unusual. I have always believed that the Yvonnes of this world would find it boring to be attached to one man and one man only. But obviously you are the exception to the rule.”

  “Something I have no wish to be,” the Duc said, “and I disliked hurting her.”

  “Of course you did, but she will get over it, you can be sure of that.”

  “I hope you are right,” the Duc answered. “Now the question is, what shall we do tonight?”

  “I have something planned for you,” Gustav said. “Fifi is giving a party at her house which I am told will surpass all parties ever given there before and we are both invited.”

  The Duc laughed.

  “I can always rely on you, Gustav,” he said. “It will take me out of a depression if I am in one and find me something to do if I have a moment when I am inactive.”

  “That is what friends are for,” Gustav commented. “So we will go to Fifi and incidentally it will be a cheap evening as everything is being paid for by von Baret.”

  “The rich German?” the Duc said. “Well he certainly can afford it.”

  He spoke in such a way that his friend looked at him sharply.

  “Are you feeling the pinch, René?” he asked. “Has Yvonne been more extravagant than usual?”

  There was a little pause before the Duc replied,

  “If you want the truth, ‘yes’ to both those questions.”

  “So that is why you are marrying Lord Waterforde’s daughter,” Gustav exclaimed. “I rather suspected it, but I cannot believe that you of all people are running short of cash.”

  “Things have been very difficult this past year,” the Duc explained. “I have a great many structural repairs to make to the château and I was perhaps somewhat extravagant in the pictures I bought for the gallery.”

  “Château, always the château,” Gustav remarked. “Well, I can understand it, but I always thought that you wealthy landowners were never short of a few million francs.”

  “I wish that were true,” the Duc said. “Unless I dismiss some of the people I employ, discontinue the improvements on the estate, which I consider essential, and curb my own personal extravagances, I have to have more money.”

  “Now I understand,” Gustav replied. “Which brings us, of course, to Waterforde’s daughter.”

  “He is very anxious for me to collaborate with him in forming the finest stable of horses in Europe,” the Duc said, “and you know that will cost money. I also wish to put this new electric lighting into the château, which will make all the difference to it.”

  “Now you are certainly moving with the times,” Gustav smiled. “But I believe the installation of electric lighting is very expensive.”

  “So is anything if it is properly done,” the Duc added. “It would make all the difference to those long corridors and, of course, would save the expenditure on candles which is astronomic.”

  Gustav laughed.

  “Only because you insist on having the chandeliers lit.”

  “What is the use of a chandelier unless it is lit?” the Duc enquired. “But seriously, though, of course, I have not told this to anyone else, I am considerably overdrawn at the Bank.”

  “I think you are very sensible,” Gustav said, “in marrying an English girl who will obviously adore you and behave in exactly the way you would expect the Duchesse de Sahran to behave.”

  “Naturally.”

  “I will doubtless drink your health
a thousand times before you put the ring on the bride’s finger, so I will not do it now,” Gustav went on. “But, as my closest friend and as a man I admire tremendously, I wish you, old boy, the very best of luck. Quite genuinely you deserve it.”

  “Thank you,” the Duc said.

  He drank his own health and, as he did so, thought that luck was what he needed and he needed it more urgently than he had admitted to his friend, Gustav.

  As he put down his glass, he could hear, almost as if she was in the room, Yvonne saying as he left her,

  “I will never forgive you, never, and someday I will make you as unhappy as I am now.”

  Chapter Three

  As they drove away from the railway station into the countryside, Celita found herself thrilled by the beauty of it – by the vineyards that were everywhere, the forests of trees and the distant mountains rising higher and higher.

  It was a part of France that she had not known before.

  She had, however, read about it and knew a great deal of its history.

  She was also aware that Provence to most Frenchmen was the most beautiful part of their country.

  So here at least there was something new for her to enjoy.

  Yet she recognised that it was going to be spoilt if Judy was unhappy.

  How could Lord Waterforde really be so indifferent to his daughter’s feelings? Surely he must understand that as Judy was so young she wanted time to grow up and make her own life apart from his.

  Celita tried to visualise herself saying this to Lord Waterforde, but knew it would be impossible.

  He was one of those men who was quite certain that whatever he thought was right and that what he decided was right for other people, regardless of their own feelings.

  If it was to be a battle between him and Judy, she would not have a chance. It would be one-sided from the word ‘go’.

  ‘What can I do, what can I do?’ Celita asked herself.

  There was one obvious answer that she really dared not put into words.

  It was that she should help Judy to run away with Clive Cunningham.

  But if she did, she knew how furious Lord Waterforde would be and it would put her and her mother in a hopeless position that they could not afford.

  The carriages had now left the level plain and were moving up a long steep slope.

  And Celita could feel the horses straining almost towards the clouds.

  Then a thought suddenly came to her.

  It was almost as if it was a message from Heaven and she grasped at it with two hands and with her heart.

  The only possible way she could help Judy was if somehow she could persuade the Duc not to propose marriage to her.

  There was still a long way to go, but the scenery, the view and the mountains became more entrancing every mile.

  Even Judy came out of her despondency to exclaim at the loveliness of the gorges they passed. They fell down below the road and the two girls could see cascade after cascade splashing over the rocks.

  At last the country seemed to be more thickly wooded and there were a number of small villages in the distance.

  When they finally turned in through some magnificent gates, Celita felt herself holding her breath.

  Soon there was the first sight of the château and she knew that it might have stepped out of a Fairy story.

  It was very large and very impressive.

  In front of it there were three large fountains playing, the water glistening iridescent like a thousand rainbows as it caught the sunshine.

  “We are here, dearest,” Celita said and then realised that Judy had closed her eyes.

  “I don’t – want to – look,” she wailed. “I want to – go home. Oh! Celita, I want to go – back to England.”

  Celita thought hastily that she might have anticipated this and instinctively put her arm around her friend.

  “Now listen, dearest,” she said. “I have thought of a way that I hope can save you. It’s very very important that you should behave quite normally, otherwise it may make things more difficult than they are already.”

  “You have thought of a way?” Judy gasped. “What way?”

  “There is no time to tell you now,” Celita answered, “but please trust me when I say that you must act as if you have no idea that anything unusual is happening. You have just been invited here as a visitor, because the Duc knows your father.”

  Judy stared at her and then, because she had always let Celita lead her from the time they were children, she said,

  “I will try to do what you say, but it’s going to be difficult.”

  “Tell yourself that you are acting a part that will help to prevent your having to marry the Duc,” Celita urged. “If you remember that all the time, it will not be so difficult.”

  “You are quite certain I shall not have to marry him?” Judy asked.

  “We cannot be certain of anything,” Celita said. “But if we use our brains and pray very hard for help, I feel sure we shall win.”

  Judy flung herself against her.

  “Oh! Celita, I love you! You have always got me out of trouble and you must save me now! There is no one else who can help me – except you.”

  Celita knew that this was true.

  But she was worried in case Judy should make a scene at their arrival and they would start off on the wrong foot.

  “Wipe your eyes, dear,” she said, “and let me tidy your hair.”

  She pushed aside some of Judy’s fair curls and waited until she had wiped her eyes.

  Her lashes were still a little wet and therefore darker and Celita thought that it made her even prettier than ever.

  “Now, courage!” she urged. “Remember that we are fighting a battle which we have to win.”

  “We must win, we – must,” Judy replied passionately.

  As she spoke, the carriage came to a standstill outside an extremely imposing front door.

  Servants came hurrying down with a red carpet.

  The girls were then helped out of the carriage and walked up the steps hand in hand.

  At the top was a grey-haired but magnificent Major Domo who bowed, welcomed them in French and asked them to follow him.

  Celita, still holding Judy’s hand, realised that her friend was trembling and thought it not surprising.

  The huge hall was so grand as to be almost awesome and there were at least six footmen in a very picturesque livery on duty.

  The Major Domo led the way with a flourish across the hall.

  He then opened the door of a room that was almost as large and exquisitely furnished.

  Even at a glance, Celita was aware of the painted ceiling and of the walls decorated in what she knew was the fashion before the French Revolution. On one wall there hung some beautiful tapestries.

  It was, however, difficult to look at anything but the far end of the room.

  In front of an enormous marble mantelpiece were standing two men.

  As she and Judy walked towards them, one detached himself from the other.

  Celita knew at once that this must be the Duc.

  Her first glance told her that he was taller and even more handsome than she had expected with his dark hair swept back from a square forehead.

  His skin was fair and he might almost have been English.

  His features were clear-cut and his eyes seemed somehow to be twinkling with amusement.

  They gave him the raffish look she had expected.

  “Welcome,” he said, speaking very good English with only a touch of an accent. “I do hope that you have had a comfortable journey.”

  He paused in front of the girls and said,

  “Now which of you owns Lord Waterforde and his marvellous horses as a father?”

  The way he spoke made even Judy give a little giggle before she said,

  “I am Judy Forde,” and held out her hand.

  “I am delighted to meet you,” the Duc said. “And this, of course, is Lady Celita.”
<
br />   Celita gave him her hand.

  As his fingers closed over it, she had the feeling that his vibrations were very strong.

  He was in fact far more of a personage than she had expected.

  They moved towards the fireplace and were introduced to the Vicomte, who Celita thought had a very charming manner.

  “Your aunt, Lady Hilton, has already arrived,” the Duc said to Judy, “and is upstairs resting after her long journey.”

  “Oh! She is here!” Judy murmured.

  “As I now have three English guests,” the Duc went on, “I have ordered afternoon tea for you, which I hope you will appreciate.”

  “Of course we will,” Celita said. “But, as we have been at school in Paris, we are quite used to not having tea.”

  “I had forgotten that is where you have been,” the Duc said. “Did you enjoy your time there?”

  Judy had by now lapsed into silence and Celita found herself doing the talking.

  As she did, so she was well aware that the Duc was sizing both of them up, especially Judy.

  She saw the sideways glance he gave her after he had asked something that she did not respond to.

  She thought with a sinking heart, there was no doubt that he intended to marry Judy and it was going to be a very difficult outcome to prevent.

  To make the conversation easier, Celita said how much she admired the château and that she had heard how he had tried to restore it to the magnificence it had enjoyed before the Revolution.

  “My great-great-grandfather spent a fortune on it,” the Duc said, “and various other members of the family contributed when it was being built and furnished.”

  “And you have brought back many of the treasures that were stolen?” Celita questioned.

  “A great number of them,” the Duc replied. “Unfortunately I have never been able to discover where the gold plate, which was the finest set in the whole of France, went to. Or the jewels that had been worn by so many of my ancestors and were museum pieces.”

  “I suppose someone, somewhere in the world, is lucky enough to be wearing them,” Celita remarked, “and imagining that she is the Duchesse of Sahran.”