Follow Your Heart

by Barbara Cartland

“I know all the arguments my family will make and all the criticism that will come from your people because you have married a Gorgio. That is why I do not intend to listen to anything either you or anyone else has to say on the subject!”

  There was a short pause before he continued,

  “You are mine. You belong to me and I belong to you. Our stars are joined and there is no escape for either of us!”

  As he finished speaking he opened another door.

  Della saw it was a large bedroom in which candles were burning on the dressing table and beside the bed.

  The Marquis put her bag down on the floor.

  “Go to sleep, my precious darling, and I shall do the same.”

  He looked at her and she thought she detected a glint of fire in his eyes.

  “If I touch you,” he muttered softly, “I shall not be able to leave you. I am going to lock your door not only to prevent you from escaping, which I know in your heart you have no wish to do, but also to prevent anyone, including me, from disturbing you.”

  “But – listen,” pleaded Della, “I must – tell you.”

  The Marquis put up his hand.

  “There is nothing to say, my dearest Della. I love you and you love me and that is all either of us needs to know.”

  He looked at her again.

  She knew without words how much he wanted to hold her close to him and how he longed to kiss her as he had by the fountain.

  Then, as if he had to force himself to obey his own commands, he walked out of the room.

  He closed the door behind him and Della heard the key turn in the lock.

  She could not believe it had happened.

  She stood staring at the door as if it might open again, and then she sat down on the bed.

  Could it be true?

  Was she dreaming?

  Did the Marquis really mean to marry her?

  She knew without being told that every word he had said to her came straight from his heart.

  It was what he intended to do and no one would be allowed to prevent him.

  She closed her eyes at the sheer wonder and ecstasy of it all.

  He loved her, as she had always wanted to be loved. So much so that he was prepared to marry a gypsy woman who would shock and horrify his relations.

  What was more he really believed that Lendi and the other gypsies would think it wrong, as none of them would ever marry a Gorgio, the gypsy word for a non–gypsy.

  It was so wonderful, so utterly unbelievable!

  And as she had said herself – perfect.

  She felt the tears come into her eyes.

  How could any man prove his love more vividly and more determinedly?

  ‘Thank you – God – thank you,’ whispered Della and she felt as she prayed that her father and mother were smiling at her.

  It took her a little while to undress as the Marquis had told her to do and to find a nightgown in her bag.

  She was exhausted even though she was wildly elated.

  She felt she had experienced a miracle beyond all miracles!

  She slipped into bed and only as her head touched the pillow did she think, for the first time, about Jason.

  Now she realised she need no longer be afraid, as the Marquis would always be there to protect her.

  If she was married to him, no one, not even the Duke, could hurt her.

  ‘I love him – I adore him,’ she murmured to herself.

  She felt, as she fell asleep, that he was like an Archangel from Heaven protecting her from her enemies.

  She was no longer afraid.

  *

  Della must have slept for a very long time.

  She only awoke because she heard someone moving about the room.

  For a moment she could not think who it could be or where she was.

  Then she remembered how the Marquis had brought her here and had told her she was to go to sleep.

  For a moment she was afraid to open her eyes.

  Perhaps now it was all not true – an incredibly improbable dream or just a figment of her imagination.

  Yet the bed did not seem like the small bed she had occupied in Mireli’s caravan.

  She opened her eyes to find the sun was shining through the windows into a large and beautifully furnished bedroom.

  Della felt a little tremor run through her body. If this was where she was, then it was true that the Marquis wanted to marry her.

  She would be his wife.

  Someone came to the bedside and she looked up to see an elderly woman.

  “Are you awake, miss?” she asked. “I’m his Lordship’s Nanny and he’s told me to look after you and to get you ready for your wedding.”

  Della drew in her breath.

  “Wedding!” she murmured.

  “It’s the best day of my life,” exclaimed Nanny. “I’ve been praying his Lordship’ll find himself a wife and when he told me the good news I’ve never seen him so happy.”

  Before Della could answer she said in a different tone of voice,

  “I’ve brought you something to eat, miss, because you’ve missed breakfast, luncheon and tea.”

  “What is the time?”

  “It’s getting on for six o’clock,” Nanny told her, “and I thinks when you’ve eaten what I’ve brought you, you’d like a bath.”

  “I would indeed,” agreed Della enthusiastically.

  It had not been possible to have a bath while she was staying with the gypsies and it had been very difficult to wash in just a small bowl.

  She sat up in bed and Nanny brought her a tray with a large mug of soup.

  Excited though she was, Della felt hungry and when she had finished the soup there was a dish of fresh trout, which she suspected came from the lake. It was cooked with a cream sauce and she enjoyed every mouthful.

  Nanny poured her out a glass of champagne to drink with it.

  After the fish there was a light soufflé followed by a variety of fresh fruit.

  Della felt Nanny would be disappointed if she did not eat everything she was offered and she only made a protest when she was given a second helping of fruit.

  She enjoyed a cup of coffee after she had finished the meal.

  Nanny had not talked to her while she was eating and now she carried away the tray.

  Two housemaids brought in a round bath and set it down on the mat in front of the fireplace. There were two large brass cans to follow it and Della knew that one contained hot water and the other cold.

  The maids disappeared and she climbed out of bed and into the bath. The water was scented with what she recognised as the perfume of white violets.

  When she finished washing herself Nanny helped to dry her with a large Turkish towel.

  It was then, for the first time, she wondered what she should wear if she was indeed to be married as the Marquis had insisted.

  She guessed the service would be in his private Chapel as it was obvious a large house like Clare Court would have one.

  At the same time she worried that she would not look as pretty as she would like to for she only had the rather plain gowns she had brought with her.

  Nanny went to the wardrobe.

  “There are two wedding dresses for you to choose from,” she announced grandly, “and I thinks, as I’ve measured them against one of your own, they’ll fit you almost as if they’ve been made for you.”

  “Wedding dresses!” cried Della. “How could you have wedding dresses here?”

  Nanny gave a little laugh.

  “Very easily. Every bride in the last two hundred years has left their wedding dresses in what we calls the Museum.”

  “I have not seen it.”

  “His Lordship’ll show it to you, but it’s in the East wing. Most visitors prefer to see the pictures in the gallery on the other side of the house.”

  “You have a collection of wedding dresses!” sighed Della. She could hardly believe it.

  Nanny lifted down two lovely gowns from the wa
rdrobe.

  “This one was worn by his Lordship’s mother,” explained Nanny, “and the other by his grandmother.”

  They were both classic in shape and made, Della knew, by the master hands of a great designer.

  One was of rather heavy satin and the other was of chiffon that reminded Della of the gowns worn by the Greek Goddesses.

  She thought instinctively that was how the Marquis would like her to look.

  When Nanny put it on her she found it fitted her perfectly, giving her an almost classical look as if she had just stepped out of the Acropolis in Athens.

  “That’s the one I hoped you’d choose,” crowed Nanny with satisfaction. “Now I have the veil which is worn by all the Clare brides. It is, I’ve been told, over three hundred years old.”

  The veil was made of exquisite lace and after Nanny had arranged Della’s hair she placed the veil over her head. It fell down on each side of her face, but did not cover it.

  It was then that Nanny opened a leather box which was standing on the dressing table and in it was the most beautiful tiara Della had ever seen, made of diamonds in the shape of flowers.

  It made her think not only of the formal flowers in the garden, but the wild flowers that grew in the woods. She thought that when the Marquis was choosing it for her the same idea was in his mind too.

  Only he could be so understanding and know exactly what she wanted without her putting it into words.

  When she looked at herself in the mirror, she thought once again that she must have been dreaming.

  This is how she had always wanted to look for the man she loved and she thought it could never happen because she would not be lucky enough to find him.

  She had taken some time in bathing and dressing and now Della realised it was nearly seven o’clock. She looked at Nanny enquiringly who told her,

  “Your wedding’s to take place on the hour and his Lordship’ll not want you to be late.”

  “I think I am to be married in the Chapel,” said Della. “But how can it be legal when the banns have not been read? I cannot believe that his Lordship has a Special Licence.”

  Nanny gave a little laugh.

  “It’s something I would’ve asked myself if I didn’t live here. There are still private Chapels which are allowed to marry anyone without the formalities that people expect elsewhere.”

  “Of course! I remember now,” exclaimed Della, “and his Lordship’s Chapel is one of them.”

  “It’s because Clare Court has been here for so long,” said Nanny proudly. “It were built originally when Queen Elizabeth was on the throne.”

  She spoke with a pride which Della felt was rather touching. She knew in the future that was what she would feel herself.

  Even as she thought of it, everything seemed too incredible to be true.

  “Now come along,” urged Nanny, “I’ll take you down to the Chapel. His Lordship has left a bouquet of flowers for you.”

  She opened the door as she spoke.

  She brought in a beautiful bouquet made up of white orchids with just a touch of pink in the centre.

  As she took the flowers in her hands Nanny said,

  “Be kind to my baby, I’ve loved him as if he were my own ever since he were born. I’d give my life to make him happy.”

  “I promise you, Nanny, I will do my very best to make him the happiest man in the world,” answered Della. “And thank you so very much for helping me.”

  She bent to kiss the old woman’s cheeks and saw the tears in her eyes.

  Then walking slowly because her veil trailed a little behind her, she let Nanny guide her along the corridor.

  They did not use the impressive staircase that came up from the hall and Della guessed that there would be a special staircase leading from the Master Suite down to the Chapel. It would be a unique feature the Adam brothers would have designed for Clare Court and many other great houses.

  When they duly arrived at the first step, Nanny beckoned her to descend first.

  As she walked slowly down the Adam staircase, Della could hear an organ playing very softly in the distance.

  Then as she reached the ground floor, she saw an impressive gothic door immediately in front of her.

  Opening the door hesitatingly, she found that the Marquis was waiting for her. Two more steps and she arrived at his side.

  He was looking at her with an expression of pure love and devotion in his eyes.

  She felt as if the stars were shining above her head and the light of the moon enveloped them both.

  There was no need for words and the Marquis held out his arm and she slipped her hand into it.

  As she did so she was aware that he was wearing his decorations and they glittered in the light of the candles on the altar.

  The Chapel was small but very beautiful and behind the cross on the altar the sun was streaming through an exquisite stained glass window.

  It seemed to Della as if there was light everywhere.

  A light that was divine and heavenly.

  The Marquis drew her a few steps up the aisle and a Priest was waiting for them at the altar.

  When the organ lapsed into silence he started the marriage service.

  Della felt as if every instinct in her body and her heart were extended towards the Marquis and she knew he felt the same.

  When he placed the ring carefully on her finger they were already joined together by every breath they drew. Their hearts and souls were linked irrevocably and could never be divided.

  They knelt in front of the Priest and he blessed them and Della was sure that her father and mother were blessing her too.

  God had answered her prayers.

  He enveloped them both with a wonder and a glory they could never lose.

  When they rose to their feet the Priest knelt down in front of the altar and the Marquis, holding Della by the hand, drew her out of the Chapel.

  The only witness who had been present at their marriage was Nanny and she was wiping the tears from her eyes as the Marquis took Della away from the Chapel.

  They walked up the staircase she had descended with Nanny and he opened a door on the landing. Della thought it must be the entrance to the Master Suite and she was not mistaken.

  It was a lovely room with sky blue carpet and curtains and a huge canopied bed with gold cupids occupied the centre of the room.

  For a moment Della could only see flowers. The whole room had been decorated with endless blooms and they were all white.

  Never had she seen such a profusion of lilies, orchids and roses which scented the air with their sublime fragrance, making the room seem to Della an essential part of the enchanted world into which the Marquis had spirited her.

  He was looking at the surprise and excitement in her eyes.

  “You are so lovely,” he sighed in a deep voice. “I am still afraid you are not real, my adorable Della, and you might vanish in a puff of smoke.”

  “Nothing that has happened since you came to the gypsy camp has seemed real,” replied Della, “but as you said, it is all so marvellous and so perfect that I think we must both have died and are in Heaven.”

  “You have not died, my precious one,” the Marquis assured her. “Now I am able to tell you how much I love you and how much you mean to me.”

  His voice had deepened as he continued,

  “But first I am going to take off my finery and you, my lovely bride, must do the same.”

  As he spoke he lifted her veil and started to undo the back of her wedding gown.

  For a moment he paused.

  She thought he was going to pull her into his arms and kiss her. Instead, almost as if he ordered himself to obey his own instructions, he left the room.

  He disappeared through what Della imagined was a communicating door into his dressing room.

  ‘How can he be so wonderful and at the same time so well organised?’ she asked herself.

  But she knew he was right. If he wanted to kiss her i
t would be tiresome to have her wreath, her veil and her gown in the way.

  She placed the veil on the dressing table and it was easy to slip out of her Greek wedding gown.

  She was not surprised to see one of her prettiest nightgowns lying on the bed.

  She took the pins out of her hair and her long golden tresses fell over her shoulders.

  She lay back against the lace–edged pillows and waited breathlessly.

  The evening sun was shining through the windows and its rays seemed to glitter on everything they touched and even the flowers looked more exquisite than they could ever have seemed.

  ‘Only a fairy Princess,’ Della told herself, ‘could be blessed with such a wonderful setting and I am afraid it might vanish before my husband sees it.’

  She blushed as she referred to the Marquis as her husband.

  It all seemed so extraordinary.

  How could she ever have guessed when she first met him that he was the man of her dreams? The man she thought she would never find because he did not really exist.

  The door opened and the Marquis entered and stood for a moment looking at the room.

  Then he turned his gaze on Della waiting for him in the large bed with its golden cupids over her head.

  As he moved nearer to her she realised he was staring at her hair.

  “That is how I have always wanted you to look,” he breathed, “but how is it possible?”

  Della smiled.

  “It is quite simple. I am not, as you supposed, a gypsy.”

  The Marquis sat down on the edge of the bed facing her.

  “Not a gypsy!” he exclaimed. “Then why were you with them? How can you tell fortunes so brilliantly and if I have not married a gypsy, then who are you?”

  Della gave a little laugh.

  “It is a long story – but – ”

  It was not possible to say any more.

  The Marquis had put his arms round her and was kissing her fervently.

  At first his kisses were gentle as if she was so precious that he was afraid of hurting her. Then he became more possessive as if he wanted to make sure she was his and could not escape from him.

  Somehow Della was never quite certain when it happened, but they became closer still.

  His kisses were so passionate and demanding it was impossible to think, only to feel.

  Not only did her whole body become part of him, but her heart and her soul were his as well.