Love and Lucia

by Barbara Cartland

  His Captain saluted him and the Marquis said,

  “I expect you received my message, Captain Bateson. I wish to leave for England as soon as possible, but obviously we have to wait for the luggage to be brought aboard, and that will take a little time.”

  “I’ve already, at Mr. Johnson’s request, my Lord, sent six of the crew to the Palazzo to help those already there.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  The Marquis guided Lucia down into the Saloon.

  As soon as she saw it she realised that the Sea Horse was very different from any ship she had ever seen or imagined.

  To begin with, it was exquisitely decorated and the Saloon itself was more like an English drawing room than anything she had expected to find in a sea-going vessel.

  There were fine pictures on the walls, curtains to cover the port-holes, and the sofa and chairs were in an attractive green material.

  She looked around and the Marquis watched her face before he asked,

  “Well? What is your verdict?”

  She smiled at him before she answered,

  “Need you ask? It is beautiful and quite different from what I expected.”

  “What did you expect?”

  “I suppose something austere and very practical.”

  “I was thinking more of my guests than myself when I designed this.”

  She imagined he was referring to the fact that he would be entertaining beautiful women, and as she thought again of Francesca Rosso the colour rose in her cheeks.

  “Forget her!” the Marquis said quietly. “That chapter is finished, and now we turn the page to begin another one.”

  Lucia smiled to show she understood what he was saying. Then with a little cry she exclaimed,

  “But first, before we think of anything else, you must have your arm seen to. Although you will not admit it, I believe it is beginning to hurt you.”

  “You sound regrettably like a nanny I once had,” the Marquis answered, “but if it will prevent you from nagging me, you had better come to my cabin and prove your skill in taking away the pain.”

  They walked from the Saloon and when Lucia saw the Master Cabin she was even more impressed than she was already.

  It took up the whole stern and was, she thought, exactly the cabin the Master of a ship should have.

  There was a box-like bed with four carved posts, which her father had told her was the prerogative of every Admiral or Captain of a man-o’-war.

  But apart from that all the other furniture seemed to be fitted on to the walls so that even the roughest sea could not dislodge it.

  There were several very attractive pictures by Maritime artists on the walls and a thick carpet on the floor, besides two deep armchairs in which a man could relax.

  As Lucia looked around the Marquis took off his tightfitting whip-cord coat.

  When he did so she gave a little cry, for there was a crimson stain on his white linen shirt.

  The Marquis looked at it a little ruefully before he untied his cravat and pulled his shirt from his shoulder, saying,

  “I was not aware, when I changed my coat, that I was bleeding.”

  Lucia inspected what was a long, unpleasant scratch where the point of the stiletto had slit through the sleeve of his coat and across the top of his arm.

  The wound was several inches long, and she knew that if she had not diverted Francesca’s aim, the stiletto buried in the Marquis’s chest would have been an altogether different matter.

  As if he was thinking the same thing, he asked,

  “Well? What are you going to do about it?”

  “Could I have a little brandy?”

  The Marquis raised his eyebrows.

  “Are you going to drink it, or am I?”

  “Neither,” she replied. “I am going to use it to clean the wound just in case it is infected. If it is, you will run a fever.”

  “Now you are trying to frighten me!”

  “Mama was always insistent that any open wound could be dangerous unless it was kept clean. Actually, brandy was used for that purpose at the Battle of Trafalgar, and should have been used ten years later at Waterloo.”

  “I believe you are reproaching me for my ignorance,” the Marquis remarked, “but I am quite prepared to bow to your superior knowledge.”

  As he spoke, he walked to the bed to pick up a gold bell which stood beside it.

  He rang it sharply and a moment later the cabin door was opened.

  “Come in, Evans,” the Marquis said to his valet. “Miss Beaumont insists that I must use my best brandy to clean the wound on my arm.”

  “Wound, M’Lord?” Evans enquired. “What’s y’r Lordship been up to now?’

  The Marquis smiled.

  He was well aware that by this time, because Evans had been at the Palazzo, he would have learnt exactly what had happened and the way in which Francesca had behaved.

  Nothing could ever be kept from the knowledge of the servants, and Evans, being over-protective, must have been horrified that any woman should behave in such a way towards his Master.

  He had followed them from the Palazzo in another gondola and now said reproachfully,

  “You didn’t tell me, M’Lord, you wanted to change your coat. I were downstairs and couldn’t believe your Lordship was leaving so quickly.”

  “But I have,” the Marquis said good-humouredly, “and now you had better do something about me.”

  “So I should think, M’Lord!” Evans said. “Miss Beaumont’s right, that’s a nasty cut and should be cleaned, otherwise we’ll have your Lordship suffering the deliriums of a madman!”

  “I hope not,” the Marquis protested.

  Evans produced from a cupboard a bottle of brandy and poured a little of it into a glass.

  Then, watched by Lucia, he dipped a clean white linen handkerchief into it before he dabbed it on the Marquis’s wound.

  Because the brandy made it sting, the Marquis tightened his lips, but he did not complain, and when the wound was cleaned to Evans’s satisfaction he turned to Lucia to say,

  “Will you bandage ’is Lordship, Miss, or shall I?”

  The Marquis was startled.

  It was the first time he had ever known Evans allow anybody else to have any part in caring for him, and the man was in fact absurdly jealous of any other servant.

  Then, with a slight twinkle in his eyes, he realised that Evans was showing his disapproval of Francesca and her behaviour by being pleasant to what he thought of as his Master’s ‘new interest’.

  “Oh, please, will you do it?” Lucia answered. “I can bandage if necessary, but I am sure you are much more competent than I am.”

  She was certainly being very tactful, the Marquis thought, for Evans, having made the magnanimous gesture, would have been extremely annoyed if she had accepted it.

  He bandaged the Marquis’s arm skilfully, having first of all covered the wound with a linen pad in case it continued to bleed, then applied a bandage which was just tight enough not to slip, but was in no way constricting.

  “Thank you, Evans,” the Marquis said, “and now, while I change my shirt for another, I suggest you take Miss Beaumont to her cabin. I imagine she would be most comfortable in the Waterloo Room.”

  Lucia looked surprised at the name, but the Marquis did not explain, and she merely followed the valet from the Master Cabin into the one next door.

  As soon as she entered it she understood why it was called after the Battle in which the Marquis had been decorated for gallantry.

  There were three paintings in the room. Two were of the Battle and one was a portrait of the Duke of Wellington. Evans looked at them with satisfaction.

  “Bring back memories, Miss, to them as was there.”

  “Were you with His Lordship?”

  “I were! and havin’ to look after ’im then as I does now. Brave as a lion ’e be, and never thinks of ’imself.”

  Lucia looked round at the large bed draped with bl
ue curtains, and fitted furniture which was almost the same as that in the Master Cabin.

  “You’ll be comfortable ’ere, Miss,” Evans said, “an’ your luggage shouldn’t be long in comin’. It were bein’ packed as I leaves the Palazzo.”

  “Thank you, thank you very much.”

  When the valet had left her to return to the Marquis she put her shawl down on the small armchair which just fitted into the cabin and began to take off her bonnet.

  The cabin was certainly very different from the one she had occupied in the ship in which she had travelled with her father and mother to Venice.

  That had been very austere and most uncomfortable, and there had only been one small port-hole and not two as she had now.

  When she had got into her bunk at night she felt almost as if she lay in a coffin.

  Considering the fact that this was a ship that had been built for speed, there was a remarkable amount of room, and she thought how exciting it was to be travelling in such luxury, and with the Marquis.

  She went to the port-hole to look out at the sun which was sinking low on the horizon, leaving a last glitter of gold over the smooth water.

  ‘I am glad to be leaving Venice,’ she thought in her heart.

  And yet it was in some ways an agony to know that she left behind not only her father but also her mother in the City of Light.

  ‘Perhaps I should have stayed there to be near them,’ she thought.

  Then she remembered how frightened she was of being alone and of the men who spoke to her and followed her, however hard she tried to avoid them.

  “In England it will be different,” she told herself reassuringly.

  And yet that was frightening too, except that now she was with the Marquis he would help her and perhaps look after her.

  Then she remembered the coldness of his voice when he had spoken to Francesca, and she knew that just as he could be charming, kindly and sympathetic, he could also be hard and ruthless.

  Looking out of the port-hole, she clasped her hands together and prayed,

  “Please – God – do not let me – bore him too quickly. Make him as kind to me as he is now. If I – lose him I shall have – nobody and I shall be – afraid.”

  She felt herself tremble.

  Then, almost as if the light outside spoke to her, she had the feeling that both her father and mother were protecting her and helping her, and things would not be as bad as she anticipated.

  She remembered how the Marquis had said to Francesca that he always kept his promises, and that she should have the emerald necklace.

  He would therefore certainly keep his promise and pay her for her father’s pictures.

  “I shall not go home empty-handed,” she told herself, “and somehow he will think of – something I can do, and I will be – safe.”

  When she thought of it she knew that if she had travelled back alone in one of the ships that were outside in the harbour it would, in fact, have been terrifying.

  Because she had been with her mother and father on the way out from England she had not worried about the other passengers.

  She had known however that when she walked round the deck with her parents, men of every age had looked at her in a way which made her feel shy.

  Her mother had therefore refused to be friendly with some of the people who approached them, even though she was always polite.

  One evening when they thought she was not listening she had heard her mother say to her father,

  “In a few years’ time Lucia will be very lovely, and we shall have to be careful of her.”

  “She is only a child,” her father replied.

  “Children grow up, darling,” her mother answered, “and I can only pray that Lucia will find a wonderful man like you to marry her and live happily ever afterwards.”

  “Is that what you have done?” her father asked.

  “You know that ever since our marriage I have lived in Heaven!”

  “With no regrets?”

  “How can you ask anything so foolish?” her mother replied. “How could I regret being in Heaven with the most handsome, magical, adorable man who ever existed?”

  “That is what I want you to say, and you know that I am more blessed than any man could be in having you.”

  Her father and mother had looked into each other’s eyes and Lucia knew she was forgotten.

  Then as they went into their cabin and shut the door she knew her father would be holding her mother close in his arms, and kissing her as if he would never let her go.

  ‘That is what I want in my life,’ she thought.

  Then she felt despairingly that perhaps it would never happen and she would always be alone and afraid.

  *

  Very early the next morning Lucia was awakened by the sound of the anchor being raised and movements overhead.

  She knew then that everything must have come aboard and they were now leaving Venice.

  It had been an unexpected joy last night to sit in the attractive Saloon with the Marquis, waited on by stewards in white coats embellished with crested silver buttons, rather than the elaborate livery which the servants had worn in the Palazzo.

  The food, as usual, had been delicious and the Marquis had insisted upon her having a glass of wine.

  When they were alone he had said,

  “I want to commend you, Lucia, on the exemplary manner in which you behaved today, which I admire in a way which is difficult to put into words.”

  He paused as she looked shy and blushed a little before he went on,

  “I also want to thank you for saving my life.”

  “No – please – ” Lucia began, but he interrupted, “We will not speak of it again, but I just wanted to say that the quickness with which you acted was exceptional, and because the consequences if you had not done so might have been very serious, I can only say thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

  Then, as if he knew she was finding it embarrassing to reply, he said,

  “Now I want you to tell me what you think of the pictures I have here in the Sea Horse.”

  He smiled as he added,

  “It gave me a great deal of enjoyment to find them, especially those in this room, and tomorrow I will show you the other cabins, all of which I have named after the battles in which I took part.”

  “I am sure it is a very original idea,” Lucia said.

  “That is what the Duke of Wellington said when I told him that I not only had his portrait in my ship, but am having a room dedicated to him and the battles in which I served under him arranged in my house in London.”

  “That will be very interesting to anyone who is privileged to see it,” Lucia said.

  “It is certainly something that will keep me occupied,” the Marquis answered, “and I intended to make a journey to France specifically to find pictures painted during the war by French artists.”

  “People must never forget how much England suffered in the years they fought Napoleon,” Lucia said as if she spoke to herself. “But now the war is over there are so many other things to be done.”

  The Marquis looked surprised before he asked, “What do you mean by that?”

  Lucia hesitated a moment before she said,

  “Mama and I always read the Parliamentary Reports, and after the troubles in the North, I hoped somebody like you would be – fighting for the reforms which are so long overdue.”

  The Marquis looked at her in astonishment.

  He knew she was referring to the uprising among the workers in Manchester which had resulted in a number of deaths and twelve thousand people being wounded.

  When those who had rebelled against the misery and privation of their lot had been crushed and severely punished, it seemed as if their efforts had been all in vain.

  At the same time, those who had declared in Parliament and elsewhere that reforms were essential had increased their arguments against the Government, who had refused to listen to them.

 
; “I am afraid politics do not interest me particularly,” the Marquis remarked.

  “But they should do,” Lucia objected. “I feel sure that the Prime Minister and the Cabinet would listen if – you fought against the many injustices which are being perpetrated all over the country.”

  The Marquis thought with a sense of amusement that she was talking to him exactly as Alastair had, and he said,

  “I cannot think why people will not leave me alone! I am perfectly content with my successes in sporting circles, with the management of my houses and estates, and entertaining my friends.”

  There was silence and he knew that Lucia did not agree with him.

  Somewhat aggressively he asked,

  “All right, say aloud what you are thinking – that what I do is wrong!”

  “I am sure you would never do anything wrong,” Lucia replied softly, “but when somebody is as dynamic and intelligent – as you are – your country needs you in time of peace just as your – leadership was essential in – war.”

  The Marquis sat back in his chair and looked at her as though he could hardly believe she was real.

  He had never before dined with a beautiful woman who had taken him to task for not doing more in the national interest.

  Usually on such occasions the conversation revolved around what they would do together and, as far as she was concerned, the country did not exist.

  “Are you really suggesting that I should proclaim from a soap-box like the agitators in Hyde Park the whining and grumbling of a small minority who cannot get themselves heard otherwise?” he asked for the sake of argument.

  “Are you quite sure it is a small minority?” Lucia replied. “From all I read before I left England and the little I have been able to read while we were in Venice, it appears to me that a very great number of people are most dissatisfied, however complacent the great landlords and those who sit in the House of Lords may be.”

  If the Marquis had been attacked by one of the birds that flew round them in the harbour he could not have been more astonished.

  To him it seemed incredible that anybody so ethereal and feminine should speak to him in the same way that one of his contemporaries might have done.