A Marriage Made In Heaven

by Barbara Cartland

  “Papa and I used to discuss how sad it is that there are so few men in the world today to direct people’s thoughts and minds, as the Greeks did, to what will support and develop civilisation rather than destroy it.”

  The way she spoke the last words made the Duke say,

  “I suppose you are thinking that Napoleon had the wrong type of power.”

  “Exactly – like the Devil!” Samala replied. “Look at the suffering he caused and the misery, which will take a century to put right.”

  “Yet, I suppose he will always be remembered as one of the great men of history.”

  “It depends what you mean by ‘great’,” Samala replied. “Perhaps we are conscious of him only because he is so close to us, when we should be thinking of Christ, Buddha, Marco Polo and Christopher Columbus.”

  The Duke was amused and rather intrigued by this conversation. It was certainly not the kind he had ever expected to have with a woman and certainly not anybody who looked so young and childlike as Samala.

  But already he was becoming aware that her looks were deceptive and he had to admit that she was very lovely and unusual and not in the least what he had expected to find in the wife he had been forced to marry.

  When his dinner was brought upstairs, Samala left him and only when she returned, having been waited on by a butler and two footmen, did she suggest,

  “I wondered if tomorrow we could have our meals together, unless you prefer to eat alone.”

  “Actually I dislike it,” the Duke replied, “and if it would not bore you to eat in my bedroom, then we will certainly have luncheon and dinner together here.”

  “I would love to,” Samala replied, “and I will put on one of my most beautiful new gowns so that you will feel you are dining in State and not as an invalid.”

  “What you are wearing now is certainly very pretty,” the Duke said, realising that perhaps he had been rather remiss in not noticing what she was dressed in until now.

  It was a gown of white silk and it made her look very young and even more like the small angel he had imagined her to be.

  His experienced eye told him that it had been made by an expensive dressmaker and the full skirt and tiny waist were very becoming.

  “I must tell your sister that you admire my gowns,” Samala said. “They were her wedding present to me.”

  She thought the Duke raised his eyebrows and she added quickly,

  “I know it sounds very unconventional that Papa did not buy my trousseau, but if he had, I should have been able to have only one gown and we would have gone hungry for at least a fortnight to pay for it!”

  She gave a little chuckle of laughter, which the Duke found rather endearing, as she added,

  “If I had come in my old clothes, I really would have looked like the Beggar Maid marrying King Cophetua and, although it would have been very dramatic, I think perhaps you would have been rather embarrassed.”

  “It would certainly have given everybody something to talk about,” the Duke replied.

  “I am sure they were talking quite enough as it was.”

  There was a little silence. Then she asked,

  “What made you want to marry me when every distinguished family in the country – would have welcomed you as a – son-in-law?”

  The Duke drew in his breath, thinking this was a question he should have anticipated and been ready to answer. Then, because he felt it was important to Samala, he replied after only a few seconds’ pause,

  “I had always heard of how much your father and mother were admired in this part of the world, and what could be more sensible, when our lands border on each other’s, than that our relationship should be closer?”

  He saw Samala’s eyes light up as if they were stars and knew that he had said the right thing.

  “I wondered if that might be the reason,” she said, “and I am so very glad that you thought of me.”

  She spoke very simply, but again with a sincerity that the Duke could not misunderstand. Then she said,

  “Yates is coming to get you ready to sleep and I thought perhaps, since you are so much better, you would not want me to sleep in here tonight.”

  She saw the Duke hesitate and added quickly,

  “In case you feel thirsty or restless in the night, I thought I might sleep in my own room but leave the doors open. Then if you call, or better still ring the little gold bell that Yates has found, I am a very light sleeper and I will come to you at once.”

  “I think that would be very sensible,” the Duke agreed, “but, Samala, I will not disturb you because, as you say, I am very much better and quite able to look after myself.”

  “But you promise that if you want me you will ring the bell?”

  “I promise,” the Duke agreed.

  She put out her hand impulsively and laid it on his.

  “Thank you for all the exciting things we have done together today,” she said. “It has been very wonderful for me.”

  There was a little pause. Then he saw the dimples on either side of her mouth as she added,

  “But I am sure you would much rather have been battling with Wild Rufus.”

  Before the Duke could think of an answer, she had slipped away into the sitting room next door and Yates came in through the door from the passage.

  When Yates had gone, the Duke lay thinking of Samala and how unlike she was from what he had expected and utterly different from anyone he had ever met before.

  He told himself it was because he was profoundly ignorant on the subject of young women. Even so, he was quite sure that Samala was unusual.

  He thought it very clever of his sisters to have found somebody who would assuredly play the part of the Duchess of Buckhurst with charm and, to his surprise, he now felt certain that she would not bore him to distraction as he had anticipated.

  For the first time he wondered what people must have thought when it was learnt that he had left his Wedding Reception to go riding on a horse that had thrown him ignominiously, resulting in his being carried back to his own house unconscious.

  Knowing that he had left the Reception before any of the guests had departed, he was aware how many witnesses there must have been to exclaim at his extraordinary behaviour.

  In retrospect he felt ashamed that his feelings had been so beyond his control that he had done anything so outrageous.

  He was well aware that most people would say that it was just like Buckhurst to enliven his own wedding and his personal friends would add that they were quite certain he would never conform to convention and he had therefore felt obliged to assert himself.

  However, he thought that his behaviour, whether expected or unexpected, would undoubtedly react on Samala and he was quite certain that one person who would read the reports of the wedding with satisfaction and delight would be the Baroness.

  She had been far too experienced to bewail the fact that he was getting married or even to refer to it, except indirectly.

  All she contrived to do was to bind him to her with bonds of passion so as to make certain that he would, not only miss her when they were apart, but would return to her as speedily as possible.

  A speedy return could not happen now and the Duke wondered whether his accident would make her feel that she had scored off his wife or if she was merely frustrated that it would be so long before they could see each other again.

  Then he told himself that perhaps it would be a mistake to look forward to something so enjoyable continuing indefinitely.

  The Duke was cynically aware what a short life his affaires de coeur always had and how quickly the fires of passion could die down and become ashes.

  His affair with the Baroness had begun, contrary to his intention, because she had pursued him, but at the time he had certainly regretted leaving her for a wedding which he shrank from with a loathing that was partly engendered by his hatred of his cousin Edmund.

  He had been quite certain as he journeyed from London that the Baroness attrac
ted him as no other woman had ever been able to do. But now he found himself questioning if this was true.

  He thought he had in fact lost control of himself with her, just as he had when he had caused a scandal by leaving his Wedding Reception in such an abrupt manner.

  He was sure that his sisters had been deeply shocked and that a number of the guests must have expressed their condemnation of his behaviour in no uncertain terms.

  Ordinarily this would not have troubled him in the slightest, but now he thought that if Samala should be aware of it, it would, as she was so young and idealistic about him, undoubtedly hurt her.

  He realised that when she spoke of him as a Knight in describing what she had felt when seeing him riding in the steeplechase, she was thinking of him, not so much as a man, but as the hero of her ideals, who filled her imagination and her dreams.

  ‘I must be very careful not to upset her by anything I say or do,’ the Duke thought before he fell asleep.

  It did not strike him that this was a strange attitude for him to take towards the wife whom he had not wanted and whom he was certain he would dislike from the first moment he saw her.

  *

  In her bedroom, Samala lay looking towards the open door leading into the flower-filled sitting room and beyond that into the Duke’s bedroom.

  Because she had left one candle burning by his bed and he had not blown it out, she could see the golden glow in the distance and she thought that it was like the light of a star gleaming in the darkness of the night.

  It was also, she mused, like a prayer that she had left with him, not only to protect him, but also to help him get better and be again as she had seen him first, strong and active, riding to victory.

  ‘He is wonderful,’ she told herself, ‘and exactly as I thought he would be!’

  Then, as if she could not help it, she said a prayer of gratitude because she was so privileged to be his wife.

  “Thank You, God, thank You,” she whispered. “How could I have known, how could I have guessed when Papa and I were so depressed, that You had planned that this wonderful, marvellous King amongst men should want me as his wife?”

  It was so unbelievably superb that she felt the tears come into her eyes.

  Then she was praying again, thanking God for the fact that everything had changed overnight and not only had she found the man of her dreams but so had Maureen.

  ‘I know Papa will be very happy with her,’ Samala thought, ‘and that too is due to the Duke, for if he had not asked me to marry him, I would not have worried about Papa being left alone and would never have had the courage to bring Maureen to him and make certain that he stopped being too proud to ask her to marry him.’

  It was all so sublime that Samala went on praying for a long time before she fell sleep.

  *

  She awoke with a start, feeling that something had disturbed her and, because she was not certain whether she had heard the Duke’s bell or his voice calling for her, she jumped out of bed.

  Without waiting to put on the satin robe her maid had laid over a chair by the bed, she walked in bare feet through the sitting room, guided by the golden light in the distance, which led her to the Duke.

  When she reached him, she saw that he had not called her as she had thought, but was fast asleep and his face looked very much younger in the light of the candle, which was now burning low.

  She stood looking down at him, thinking how handsome he was and how exactly like his Crusader ancestor on the tomb in the Church.

  The day after the wedding, because Yates had insisted that she go out and ‘take the air’, as he put it, before she sat by her unconscious husband, she had walked down the drive thinking that she would look at the flowers in the Church.

  It had been impossible to see them at all clearly since there had been so many people present at her marriage.

  When she entered the beautiful grey stone building, which had been erected at the same time as the first house had been built, she had smelt the fragrance of the lilies.

  She thought that without the packed congregation rustling and turning their heads and whispering to one another, there was a feeling of faith and sanctity that stretched back through the centuries.

  It came, she knew, from the family whose members had worshipped there and the people of the village, who had come to God with their troubles, big or small, and their experiences, happy or tragic.

  As soon as she walked up the aisle, she had seen the tomb of the Crusader and, because in her mind it was linked with the Duke as a Knight, she stood for a long time looking at him, as she thought, carved in stone.

  Then, as if the atmosphere of the Church demanded it of her, she went down on her knees and prayed that he would love her.

  ‘I want his love, I want him to love me as I love him and, although I ought to be content that You have given him to me for my husband, please, God, let him love me a little, just a little, so that we will be happy together, as Papa was with Mama when I was a little girl.’

  She prayed with an intensity that seemed to vibrate from her towards the Knight on the stone tomb.

  Then it seemed in her imagination that the Knight spoke to her and promised that one day she would win her battle just as he had won his.

  Now, looking down at the Duke as he slept, close to her and breathing, Samala felt she must pray again.

  Perhaps because they were so near to each other, God would understand even better than He had in the Church how much she needed her husband’s love.

  Then, as it was what she had always done, she went down on her knees and put her hands together in the age-old attitude of prayer and closed her eyes.

  ‘Please, God, please – ’

  She felt her whole being winging up to the sky, reaching out towards the love she craved and there was no need to put her prayer into words.

  At the same time she knew the vibrations that went from her body towards God were a living force.

  Only when she felt as if she had sent her heart and her soul up to the very throne of God in supplication, pleading for the love she needed, did she open her eyes.

  The Duke’s face was very near to hers and he was looking at her in astonishment.

  Chapter 6

  Samala came in through the front door and the old butler hurried forward to say,

  “I hope Your Grace had a good walk. ’Tis a lovely day for it.”

  “It is indeed, Higson,” Samala replied.

  “But Your Grace must not go too far or do too much,” the butler went on. “Nursing His Grace will have taken a great deal out of you.”

  Samala smiled.

  She realised that Higson was speaking like a Nanny and that all the older servants in the house treated her in the same way, as if she was a child they must look after, cosset and prevent from doing too much.

  It was such a change after having to do everything for herself at home, thinking out what was required and having so many difficulties in obtaining it, that sometimes she felt she had dropped some years from her life and was back again in the Nursery.

  “Is His Grace down yet?” she asked.

  “He should be coming down at any moment, Your Grace,” Higson replied, “and by the side staircase, because that’ll be easier for him.”

  “He must do as little as possible today,” Samala said as if she was speaking to herself and added, “Tomorrow, if His Grace is well enough, we are going riding.”

  “I know Your Grace’ll enjoy that,” Higson said, “and there’s no one who sits a horse better than His Grace.”

  Samala smiled as if this was something she was well aware of. Then she said,

  “I am longing to ride with His Grace tomorrow, but I did not bring a whip with me.”

  She did not explain that hers was so old and dilapidated that she would have been ashamed to show it amidst the perfection that she found everywhere at Buckhurst Park.

  “There’s no difficulty about that, Your Grace,” Higson said. “
There are riding whips here that Your Grace has probably not even seen.”

  He walked to where under the stairs there was a marble-topped table on which was arranged riding crops and whips of every description.

  Samala gave a little cry at the variety of them. Then, as one seemed to outshine the others, she put out her hand towards it, but Higson said quickly,

  “That’s the only one Your Grace must not use.”

  “Why not?” Samala asked curiously.

  “His Grace brought it back with him from India, where it was given to him, I understand, by a Maharajah.”

  “From India!” Samala exclaimed.

  The whip was thin and wiry, the handle topped with gold in which were encrusted small precious stones.

  “I am sure it’s much too valuable to use,” she said with a smile.

  “It’s not that,” Higson replied. “Let me show Your Grace.”

  He picked it up and, while it looked quite an ordinary whip, he pressed a small button on the gold handle and drew from it, as from a sheath, a long sharp rapier that looked exceedingly dangerous.

  “The Maharajah gave it to His Grace,” Higson explained, “as a weapon with which to protect himself when he was out riding in the forests.”

  Samala could see quite clearly how it could prove an excellent defensive weapon if a cobra dropped down from an overhanging branch or a savage animal attacked from the ground.

  Higson slipped it back into the sheath and picked up another whip from the table.

  “I’m sure this one’d suit Your Grace admirably.”

  “I am sure it will,” Samala replied. “Actually I never use a whip if I can help it, although it is correct to carry one.”

  “I’m sure any horse’d want to obey Your Grace without having to be punished to do it,” Higson replied and again there was that protective Nanny-like note in his voice that made Samala smile.

  Then she could not wait to find the Duke and sped across the hall to where she knew they were to sit in his private sitting room.

  It was a beautiful room hung with portraits of the Buckhursts that were some of the most valuable in the whole collection.

  But, when Samala entered, she had eyes only for the Duke, who was sitting in the window in an armchair and looking exceedingly smart in his champagne-coloured pantaloons, cut-away coat and intricately tied high cravat.