The first gleam of the sun rose in the sky and as it did so it came through the cabin in a faint diffusion of light that seemed to Lucia the answer for which she had been seeking.
It was as if her mother was speaking to her and telling her that the love she had for the Marquis was a gift from God and must not be wasted.
“I will tell him that I will do what he – wants and pray that he will not too – quickly find me boring and send me – away from him,” Lucia decided.
She was not certain exactly what being the mistress of a man entailed, but she was sure that if the Marquis made love to her it would be as wonderful and as perfect as his kisses had been.
He had said he felt differently about her and loved her as he had never loved any other woman, so she wanted to believe that there would be no comparison in his loving between herself and Francesca, or any of the other women in his life.
And yet she knew that because of the way she had been brought up to believe that love was a part of God, she would always feel that what she was doing was a sin, even though she must never say so.
‘I will pray and pray to be forgiven,’ she told herself, ‘and perhaps because I shall be helping the Marquis to help other people, I will not feel so – ashamed and – degraded.’
But however much she argued with herself, she could still see Francesca’s painted face and her sensational appearance.
That had proclaimed, Lucia thought, not only her theatrical profession, but also that she was like the women who were escorted by the aristocrats of Venice.
Her mother had looked at them scornfully and refused to discuss them.
“There are women no lady notices, Dearest,” she had said to Lucia.
“They are very flamboyant, Mama,” Lucia had said once when they were attending the Opera.
She had seen them waving from one box to another, laughing uproariously and flirting outrageously with their gentlemen-friends.
“Watch the stage, Lucia!” her mother had said sharply. “And remember that to a lady such creatures do not even exist.”
But they did exist, Lucia thought now, and the Marquis had asked her to become one of them.
She wondered if he would want her to paint her face and if he would give her jewels as he had given them to Francesca.
When she was with him, ladies like her mother would look through her, and for them she would not exist.
She felt herself shudder in the same way as she had shuddered and shrunk from the men who had pursued her in Venice.
Then she knew that, if the Marquis was not beside her and she was alone, there would be men to menace her wherever she went.
Even if she buried herself in Little Morden and saw only Nanny and the villagers for the rest of her life, they would still find her.
‘What else can I do?’ she asked. ‘When the money the Marquis will pay me for the pictures is finished, I shall have to earn my living somehow.’
Just as if her thoughts had gone round in a circle, she was back where she started, knowing that, however reprehensible it was, she would be safe with the Marquis.
Then she need not be afraid of anything except for the moment when he would no longer need her, and she also would be working to inspire him to ‘catch a falling star’.
‘I will do it,’ she decided again, ‘but – please God – help me.’
*
The sun became more golden as it rose above the horizon, and there was the sound of footsteps on the deck overhead. Lucia got up and dressed herself, finding because the tumult of the night was past and her mind was made up, that she felt quite calm.
She felt, because she had lived through a Gethsemane of her own, that it should have left some mark on her face. Instead, as the sunshine came into the cabin, it lit her eyes, and found the gold of her hair, and illuminated the clearness of her skin.
‘It is because despite everything I love him!’ she thought. As she put on one of her simple gowns which was limp with so many washes, she could feel her heart beating tumultuously because in a few minutes she would see the Marquis again.
She thought how glad he would be that she was prepared to be amenable.
He would smile at her, and perhaps he would kiss her again, so that she would find it impossible to think of anything but the rapture he aroused in her, and that she loved him beyond life itself.
That was the truth.
And finally, when he no longer wanted her in his, life, then it would be quite easy to die.
‘I shall live and love, for without him I shall feel as Papa felt when Mama died, that there was nothing more to live for,’ she told herself.
She took a last glance in the mirror and thought that she had arranged her hair in a particularly becoming way, and that her eyes were shining - or was it just the sun coming through the porthole?
Then as she looked at her mouth and remembered the Marquis’s kisses of the night before she blushed.
She was almost sure her lips now looked different because it was through them he had given her such ecstasy that it had carried her away from the earth and into the sky.
‘I love him!’ she thought and knew all she wanted was to be with him again, and for him to reassure her that despite the way she had behaved last night, he still loved her and still wanted her.
Then, almost like the feeling of a cold hand on her heart, she wondered if perhaps because she had run away he had changed his mind and would no longer offer her a little house in London near his, with Nanny to look after her, but prefer instead somebody like Francesca.
Then she told herself she was being needlessly apprehensive.
The love they had both felt could not vanish overnight, but came from eternity and would go on to eternity.
Then, as if she needed desperately to be reassured, she ran across her cabin to open the door.
As she did so the door of the Master Suite opened at the same time and the Marquis was there.
For a moment they both stood still and as their eyes met it was as if they were both turned to stone.
Then, trembling and finding it difficult to find her voice, Lucia began,
“I – I have – something to tell –.”
The Marquis moved forward and took her hand in his.
“Forgive me, my darling,” he said in his deep voice, “and tell me how soon you will marry me.”
Chapter Seven
Lucia was stunned into silence and while she tried to find her voice she could only stare at the Marquis.
Then he said with a smile,
“I am going for a walk. As we have a lot to say to each other, will you come with me?”
He put out his hand as he spoke, and as she put hers into it, she felt again as if his vibrations joined hers and they were one person.
Just as she was, she went with him up on deck.
There she saw he had obviously given his orders, for a boat was waiting to row them the short distance to the shore.
The ship was anchored in a very attractive bay with a low cliff at the far end of it which, Lucia found when she reached it, had well-cut steps in the rock which made it easy to climb.
First she had to clamber down a rope-ladder into the boat, and the Marquis went first so as to help her.
When his hands touched her waist she felt a little tremor go through her and was sure he was aware of it.
The sailors rowed them to the centre of the bay where there was a small jetty from which they could step ashore.
“Come back in an hour,” the Marquis told them, then followed Lucia along the jetty and on to the beach.
Without speaking they climbed the steps and found that at the top of them there was some rough ground on which small shrubs were growing, heavy with blossom.
Beyond was a line of mimosa trees as golden as the sun and as beautiful as the early morning light that was just filling the sky.
The Marquis again took Lucia’s hand in his and they walked for a little way through the trees until they came to a
seat looking out towards the sea.
They were obviously in a beauty spot which later in the year could be enjoyed by summer visitors.
It was, at the moment, too early for there to be anybody in sight and as the Marquis paused by the seat Lucia sat down, raising her eyes to his.
He sat beside her. Then, taking both her hands in his, he said,
“I love you! I lay awake last night thinking of how I had hurt you, and I realised that nothing in the world is more important than our love.”
As that was exactly what Lucia had thought, her fingers tightened on his and she murmured,
“I was – thinking of – you too.”
“I was sure of it.”
“I – I have – something to – say to you.” He smiled before he answered,
“I am listening. Do not take too long, my darling, for I want more than anything else to kiss you.”
“No – please –,” Lucia said, “you must first – hear what I – have to say.”
She took her hand from his because it was difficult to talk when he was touching her, which made her think of nothing but the nearness of him and the feelings he aroused in her.
As if he understood, he leaned back against the seat and put his arm along the back of it so that he could face her.
As she hesitated for words he said,
“Could anybody be more lovely? Your face has haunted me, my precious, ever since I first saw you and, as far as I am concerned, no other woman exists in the whole world.”
Because what he was saying moved her, he saw a tremor go through her and he asked,
“What do you want to tell me?”
Clasping her hands together, Lucia answered,
“I – too was thinking last night of how – much I love you – and because I love you – I will – do what – you want.”
“That is what I thought you might say, my darling,” the Marquis answered, “but what I want is that you should be with me always and at all times, not just secretly or hidden away.”
Lucia drew in her breath at the way he spoke. Then she said,
“That is – what I want too – but because – it is impossible for you to marry me – ”
“I intend to marry you,” the Marquis interrupted, “and it was only because I was being extremely stupid and very obtuse last night that I suggested anything different.”
“No – no – you were – right,” Lucia said. “We cannot lose our love – but at the same time I – cannot be your wife.”
The Marquis smiled and it was very tender.
“You are thinking of me rather than yourself, and I adore you for it, but I intend to marry you.”
There was a little silence. Then Lucia said falteringly, “I – I never imagined – never dreamed that you would ask me to be your – wife – because I knew it – was impossible.”
“Why should it be impossible?” the Marquis asked a little aggressively.
“You are so – important – and Mama explained to me that – aristocrats must marry aristocrats – and because of your position – you must be – proud of your wife.”
“I shall always be very proud of you,” the Marquis said quietly, “because of your beauty and your purity.”
Lucia looked away from him and he thought her profile was so lovely and so perfect that it might have been that of a Greek goddess.
It flashed through his mind that nobody who looked at her would question for one moment that she was as aristocratic as he was, with a pedigree to equal his.
Then Lucia turned to him again and said,
“I am honoured – deeply honoured that – you should ask me to marry you – but although I love you with all my heart, I cannot – be your wife.”
Because she spoke so positively the Marquis looked at her in astonishment before he said,
“Do you really think I would allow you to refuse me? I have made up my mind, Lucia, and nothing you can say, except that you no longer love me, will prevent us from being married!”
Lucia gave a little cry.
“Please – you must understand that – although I will love you for ever and be with you for as – long as you want – me, there is no question of my being – able to marry you.”
“Why not?”
The question came from the Marquis’s lips like a pistol shot before he added,
“You cannot be – it is impossible that you are already married!”
“No – of course I am not married,” Lucia said quickly, “but I cannot marry you – and there is no – point in saying any more.”
The Marquis stared at her.
“Do you really think that I would accept that decision without your giving me a very good reason for it? You love me, Lucia, I know you love me as I love you! You must therefore explain in words I can understand why you would prefer to be my mistress rather than my wife.”
He had deliberately intended to shock her by the way he spoke, and he saw the little shiver that went through her.
He knew she was thinking of Francesca and how much the Venetian’s behaviour had appalled her.
Then he asked very quietly,
“What is this secret you are keeping from me? I think I have always known there has been something you are concealing.”
“I – I do not think I should – tell you.”
“It is something you have to do. Can you imagine that anybody, least of all the man who loves you, will allow you to hide something that would always stand between us as a barrier?”
Lucia did not speak and after a moment he said,
“Whatever it is, whatever you have done, I will love you as I love you now, and will still want you to marry me.”
The way he spoke made the tears come into Lucia’s eyes and after a moment she said,
“How can you be – so wonderful? How – can you always say the things I – want to hear? Things – which speak to my heart?”
“Just as you speak to mine,” the Marquis said. “That is why, my beautiful one, there can be no secrets between us, now or in the future.”
Again Lucia looked away from him and he knew she was wondering what was the right thing to do.
“Whether you marry me, or whether we live together,” he said quietly, “we are one person, Lucia, and nothing can part us except death, and I believe even then we will be together.”
As if the words moved her more than she was already, the tears in her eyes overflowed and ran down her cheeks.
The Marquis made a little movement as if he would take her in his arms, then with an effort he prevented himself from doing so and merely said,
“Tell me, my darling, however difficult it may be, and I promise you that I will understand.”
For a moment there was silence. Then Lucia said in a voice that did not seem like her own,
“I – I cannot marry you because – I have – no real identity. People would want to – know all about me as your wife – and if they should find out – it would – hurt you.”
The Marquis looked puzzled. Then he said,
“I do not understand. Start from the beginning, my darling, and tell me about yourself.”
“Mama said,” Lucia answered, “that I was never to breathe a word to – anybody about it – except – my husband.”
Then quickly, in case the Marquis was too encouraged by what she said, she added,
“Mama never envisaged that I would marry anybody like you. In fact, she told me it was – impossible. She just hoped that I would love – an ordinary man to whom it would not – matter very much.”
“As far as you are concerned, my precious little love,” the Marquis answered, “I am the man who will be your husband, and nothing else is of the least importance.”
Lucia put up her hand to wipe away the tears from her cheeks as she said with a faint smile,
“You know that is – not true. You cannot help being you – and that is what – makes it so difficult.”
“Tell me your secret and I will decide
how difficult it is,” the Marquis said. “But I promise you, Lucia, before you go any further, there is nothing, no barrier, no difficulties, no crime that will keep us apart.”
Lucia drew in her breath. Then she said, almost in a whisper,
“Papa’s – name was not – Beaumont, as you thought but – Beaufoy.”
She felt the Marquis stiffen, but he did not speak and she went on,
“He was in fact, the – youngest son of the – Duke of Beauhampton!”
“Can this be true?” Lucia nodded.
“But why? Why did he paint under an assumed name?”
“That is what I am about to tell you.”
The Marquis leaned forward to take her hand in his. “I am listening, my darling.”
“When my grandfather, the Duke, he is – dead now – was over fifty,” Lucia began, “he went to Europe during the Armistice with France to stay with an old friend, the Grand Duke Maximus of Valenstein.”
As if she thought the Marquis did not understand, she said, “Valenstein was a small country on the borders of Austria and I believe its people were very happy.”
“I have heard of it,” the Marquis said quietly.
“Before the Duke returned to England, he asked the Grand Duke if he could marry his youngest daughter – the Princess Ilena.”
Lucia’s voice altered as she said,
“The Princess, who still in the school room, had hardly spoken to the Duke while he was staying in the Palace, and only after he had left was she told she was to marry him. Although she was astonished and perturbed, she knew there was nothing she could do about it.”
“She did not wish to marry an Englishman?” the Marquis asked.
“It was not because he was English,” Lucia said quickly, “because the Princess was in fact a quarter English herself, her grandmother being English, and she had always longed to visit England.”
There was a little pause before Lucia went on after a moment,
“But she had always dreamed of marrying somebody young and handsome, and although the Duke was a good looking man, she felt he was very old.”
“Go on,” the Marquis prompted.
Love and Lucia Page 13
