The Duc stared at her before he said slowly,
“What you are now saying is that he would be extremely angry both with his daughter and with me if what he has arranged does not come off!”
“Very angry indeed,” Celita agreed, “and I have been trying desperately ever since we had his letter in Paris to think of what we could do. First to prevent you from proposing to Judy and then not to lose Lord Waterforde’s friendship because he will be so angry you have not done so.”
“I can see that is certainly a problem,” the Duc remarked. “I can hear how much this means to you, so forgive me if I ask you how you are involved in all this.”
Celita thought it was clever of him to realise that she was so involved.
She made a helpless little gesture with her hands as she said,
“My father was far from being a rich man and it was Lord Waterforde who suggested that we should give up the huge house which has been lived in by all the Earls of Langdale and move into a delightful much smaller Elizabethan house on his estate.”
She paused and then continued,
“After my father died and my mother was left with very little money, Lord Waterforde has been kindness itself to us. But, if he learns that I have interfered with one of his most precious plans, he will, I think, be very very angry with me.”
Her voice died away and she looked at the Duc pleadingly, hoping that he would understand.
“I can see, Lady Celita,” he said after a moment, “that this puzzle is far more complicated than I thought it to be at first.”
He arose from his chair and walked across the room.
“I will be frank with you,” he said after a moment, “and admit that I have no wish to quarrel with Lord Waterforde.”
“I have heard,” Celita said, “that you are hard-up. I cannot believe that is possible.”
“It does sound rather absurd,” the Duc said, “but, in restoring the château to its former glory, I have spent a great deal of money. And things have been rather difficult in France, as you will know, since the Franco-Prussian War.”
Celita nodded.
“As Head of the Sahran family, I am responsible for an enormous number of relatives, from great-grandparents down to newly born babies and the truth is I have not enough money at the moment to spend on my horses, which, of course, are what attracted Lord Waterforde in the first place.”
“So you need him as a partner,” Celita summed it all up. “And as he is a very kind man, it is something you will never regret.”
“But how,” the Duc asked, “are we to avoid, you and I, Lady Celita, upsetting him?”
“I don’t know. That is what is worrying me,” Celita said. “If he believes you don’t think that Judy is attractive enough, he will feel insulted and she dare not as yet tell him that she is in love with Clive Cunningham. Clive comes from an old and distinguished family and his father is a Baronet, but he cannot compare in any way with the Duc de Sahran.”
The Duc made a little murmur before he said,
“You must tell me, Lady Celita, what I can do.”
“If I knew, I would tell you,” she sighed. “Thank you for not being angrier than you are. I was very very nervous when I – came in – here.”
“I am thinking very seriously of what you have said,” the Duc answered. “I shall now be seeking real love, the Golden Fleece, rather than accepting second best.”
“Of course you must do that,” Celita said. “One day you will find somebody who is as perfect as your château, as beautiful as your pictures and who you will know was made by God for you and only you.”
“How can I be sure that will happen?” he asked.
“I feel that it will happen. I really do,” Celita said. “You have gone too far now to turn back. There may be a mountain ahead of you to climb and beyond that another mountain, but in the end you will find what will complete the perfection of ‘Monsieur Parfait!’
The Duc laughed.
“Now you are turning it into a Fairy story.”
“It is!” she replied. “It is a Fairy story! Who could play a part in one better than yourself?”
The Duc did not answer.
Then, after what seemed a long pause, he said,
“Unless we are to make Lord Waterforde the villain of the story, we have to think of a way out.”
“I have been thinking and praying,” Celita replied.
“I thought you might have been doing that,” the Duc said. “My Chapel is always open.”
“I had forgotten that you must have one,” Celita answered. “I will go there to pray very very hard that you will find an answer to this terrible problem.”
The Duc walked to the window and looked out.
The fountains were throwing their water into the sky, glinting in the sun as it fell.
It was, he thought, a genuine perfection in a perfect setting.
Then suddenly an idea came to him and he turned round.
“I have thought of something rather clever.”
“What is it?” Celita enquired eagerly.
“I shall tell Lord Waterforde when he arrives,” the Duc said slowly, as if he was thinking of each word before he spoke it, “that the moment I saw you, I fell in love with you.”
Celita gasped.
“You – cannot say – that!”
“Why not? It is something that Lord Waterforde is bound to accept. After all, you came here as part of his arrangement and from what you have said, I am sure that he is very fond of you. We can say that there is no hurry for us to marry or even to announce our engagement, because you wish to do the Season with Judy.”
“That is true,” Celita murmured.
“By the time the Season is over, Lord Waterforde will be my partner,” the Duc continued, “and if, which, of course, is very likely, you find someone you love or feel that you don’t wish to marry a Frenchman, we can terminate our association, which anyway has been secret, with no hard feelings from anyone.”
While he was talking, Celita was looking at him with wide eyes.
At first she thought that the whole idea was impossible, ridiculous, absurd!
Then, as the Duc finished speaking, she saw how clever his idea was.
Lord Waterforde was very fond of her.
He would certainly not wish to upset her mother by quarrelling over the fact that she was engaged to the man he had wanted as his own son-in-law.
As the Duc had said, by the end of the Season, their racing partnership would be tied up neatly.
He and Lord Waterforde would be running their horses together.
She could then say that she had no wish to marry the Duc and they could part on friendly terms.
Celita clasped her hands together.
“All – right,” she said. “It’s – brilliant of you to think of such – a plan! Are you quite sure that – you don’t – mind pretending – to Lord Waterforde that – you are in love with me – ?”
There was a twisted smile on the Duc’s lips as he added,
“I hope I am a good enough actor for the part.”
Celita gave a little laugh.
“From all accounts you have had a great deal of experience.”
“Now you are being impertinent,” the Duc protested. “It is a trait I shall definitely not tolerate in my fiancée.”
Then they were both laughing.
Laughing because the tension was over.
Just for the moment it all seemed very funny.
When they went back to join the others, Celita could not help feeling as if she had passed through a very emotional experience.
It had been nerve-racking, yet in a miraculous way she had survived.
Judy had guessed that she had gone to talk to the Duc and as Celita rejoined her and the Vicomte in the music room, there was a questioning expression in her eyes.
Celita smiled at her and a few minutes later took her hand and squeezed it.
“It is all– right,” she said in a whispe
r.
“You are certain?” Judy enquired.
Celita nodded.
The Duc had been talking to the Vicomte and now he said,
“We are wasting this very fine morning. What would you like to do?”
“I would like to ride again after tea when it is cooler,” the Vicomte said, “and now, why do we not walk down to the cascade? I have been telling Judy about it and she is very interested.”
Celita noticed that he was calling Judy by her Christian name and thought that this was a step in the right direction.
Anything that prevented Judy from being tense and worried was in itself a blessing.
They went out of the French windows at the end of the music room and into the garden.
It was hot, but not too hot for the walk across the green lawns.
Beyond them lay the formal gardens, which the Duc said covered one hundred and fifty acres and they were the finest example of highly stylised French landscaping in the world.
To Celita they were enchanting in the way that they were laid out and, besides the fountain, there was a small sculptured pool and clipped yew hedges.
Then beyond them they came to the cascade.
The Duc explained that the water came from the hills that ran through the upper part of his estate.
The stream started high up in the mountains which they could see in the distance and it flowed down until eventually it fed into a small lake.
From this it fell in the form of a gleaming cascade into a great basin, surrounded by marble statues of Gods and Goddesses.
Finally it fell hundreds of feet into the gorge where the water splashed and tumbled over the rocks until it disappeared into the distance.
It was so unusual and at the same time so attractive that the girls stood gazing at it spellbound.
Celita turned to the Duc and said in a quiet voice that only he could hear,
“Another perfection by ‘Monsieur Parfait!”
The Duc smiled.
“I am delighted to accept your praise. But I must confess it was here exactly like this when I was born. The only parts I have had to replace were some of the Gods and Goddesses.”
“Your statues are beautiful,” Celita said.
“They came from Greece,” the Duc said. “I think you might almost find yourself among them.”
“That is a delightful compliment that only a Frenchman could make,” Celita teased.
“I am having to polish up my behaviour, my outlook and especially my ambitions,” the Duc answered. “I can only hope that you will not be disappointed with the result.”
“It would be very sad if I were,” Celita said. “Let me tell you I am not apprehensive. I think ‘Monsieur Parfait’, although it is very bad for you, you will always give what you want.”
“I wonder if you are right,” the Duc said.
Now she thought that there was almost a wistful look in his eyes.
They walked about in the garden for some time and then moved back to the château.
As they did so, they could see two men at the garden door.
Celita glanced at them and then was aware that a servant in livery was pointing them out to the man beside him.
She knew as she looked at them again that the visitor was someone she was expecting, but not so soon.
If she had seen Clive Cunningham, so had Judy.
As she stared at him advancing towards them, Celita saw that her face was transformed.
It was obviously the expression of a woman in love, one who was thrilled with what was happening and was very very happy.
Celita could only hope that the men would not notice.
Yet she was certain that the Duc had, when he stepped forward and holding out his hand said,
“I think you must be Mr. Clive Cunningham. Lady Celita has told me about you.”
“I hope I am not intruding,” Clive said. “I am very anxious to see Lady Celita, and I was in the neighbourhood.”
“Of course we are delighted to welcome you,” the Duc said, “and I am told you are extremely interested in horses.”
“I am indeed,” Clive answered.
He went towards Celita first and she said,
“How lovely to see you, Clive.”
Then he turned towards Judy.
Celita knew it was with the greatest difficulty that she did not throw herself into his arms.
Then, as he took her hand, her fingers clung to his.
Only someone quite blind would not have realised that the rather dull apathetic young woman, who had not taken much interest in anything, had suddenly woken up.
“We have been looking at the cascade,” Judy enthused. “You must see it, you really must!”
“I am sure it’s magnificent,” Clive replied.
“Then come and look at it now, while we are here,” Judy begged.
Celita felt there was nothing she could do and the Duc, who was well aware of the situation, said,
“That is a good idea. You show Mr. Cunningham the cascade and then join us in the music room. I want to show Lady Celita some old pictures of the cascade and a new plan of the gardens.”
Judy and Clive were hardly waiting for him to finish before they moved away.
As the three of them walked on towards the château, the Vicomte said,
“Surely this is rather a surprise. Who is Clive Cunningham?”
“He lives near us in the country,” Celita said quickly, “and he is an outstanding horseman. He wins every point-to-point, much to the annoyance of Lord Waterforde.”
The two men laughed.
“I can see that must be irritating when you own as many horses as his Lordship does.”
“Clive’s father is the fifth Baronet and has an attractive, but much smaller estate adjoining Lord Waterforde’s.”
“I am only surprised,” the Vicomte commented, “that Lord Waterforde has not gobbled it up – the age-old story of the rich ogre.”
“I think Sir Reginald would rather die than sell his house or the estate,” Celita said. “But like everyone else he finds life very expensive today, especially horses.”
She could not help glancing at the Duc as she spoke.
“That is true enough,” he said. “You must take Mr. Cunningham round the Racecourse and he can show us how to win an English point-to-point.”
Celita looked at him and, as if she had asked the question, he said,
‘Of course he must stay if he has come so far to see you.”
He accentuated the last word and she smiled at him.
“That is very kind of you,” she said, “and I am sure he will be very eager to do so.”
He went into the house and Celita went upstairs to tidy herself before luncheon.
When she had gone, the Vicomte turned to the Duc and said,
“What is going on? I thought that you were concentrating on Waterforde’s daughter?”
“She is in love with the young man who had just arrived,” the Duc told him bluntly, “but her father has no idea of it.”
The Vicomte held up his hands.
“More problems! For Goodness sake, René, walk carefully, or you may put your foot in it. You want that money as I well know, if you are to go on living as you are at the moment.”
“I think with a little luck we can arrange everything,” the Duc replied, “so pretend to notice nothing and be careful in front of Lady Hilton. It’s the gossipers who always ruin everything if they are given a chance.”
“That is true enough,” the Vicomte agreed. “At the same time I admit that I am finding myself very much out of my depth. I thought everything was arranged nice and tidily although I do not exactly approve of you marrying a docile little English girl.”
“Now stop pointing and probing,” the Duc said, “for the moment my attentions are for Lady Celita.”
“Now there you have something!” the Vicomte asserted. “I find her enchanting, very amusing and not in the least what I expected in a debutante who is
usually as dull as ditch water and has no conversation.”
“You certainly cannot say that of Lady Celita,” the Duc observed.
“Personally, I think she is lovely,” the Vicomte said, “and if you are not claiming priority rights, I might try for a chance myself.”
“This is a game, Gustav,” the Duc asserted, “in which you are not entered for the prize nor are you allowed to interfere!”
“Then what am I to do?” the Vicomte enquired.
“Make yourself pleasant on the touchline and for Heaven’s sake don’t make a mess of it.”
“What I am asking is what I am to make a mess of?” the Vicomte said plaintively.
Before the Duc could answer the door opened and Lady Hilton came in.
She was dressed with great elegance and her face was made up as if for the stage.
“Oh, here you two boys are!” she said coyly. “I have been feeling rather neglected as I did want to walk in the garden with you.”
“I am so sorry,” the Duc said, “but we felt as we were going down to the cascade you would find it rather hot and tiring.”
“I should indeed, if that is where you have been,” Lady Hilton said. “I have just been told that Mr. Cunningham is here. He lives in Berkshire, so why has he turned up?”
“He is travelling in France, so he called in to see his English neighbours,” the Duc answered, “and as he is very interested in horses, I think I should ask him to stay.”
“Horses! Always horses!” Lady Hilton said, holding her hands up.
As she spoke, the Duc remembered Yvonne saying exactly the same thing.
It struck him that while he had been entertaining his English guests he had actually not given a single thought to Yvonne.
It was a relief because he disliked scenes more than anything else.
He had feared that the way she had behaved would worry him and that he would be wondering if he could have been more tactful and perhaps gentler with her.
At the same time he was confident that she would soon get over her obsession for him and a great number of other men would be waiting to take his place.
Then, although he had tried to forget it, he found himself remembering how, when they had been in bed together, she had said in a very soft tone,
“If you want to marry anyone, why do you not marry me, René? I love you and I would make you a good wife.”
Fascination in France Page 7
