Love Strikes a Devil

by Barbara Cartland

  “It is delightful to see you again, Colonel,” he said.

  Then he looked at Charisa.

  “Is this my beautiful cousin who I have heard so much about?” he enquired.

  Charisa smiled at him.

  “I think I should say ‘welcome to The Priory’,” she answered. “In fact we have not met since I was four years old.”

  “How can I have been so remiss as not to have come to England until now?” the Marquis asked. “I might have guessed that a lovely child would grow into a very beautiful woman!”

  It was a pretty speech, but Charisa felt that it came too glibly from his lips.

  She was sure that it was something he must have said many times before.

  Then she chided herself for being critical.

  After all she had promised her father she would meet Gervais with an open mind.

  She went round to greet the other relations.

  She kissed the old aunts from the Dower House affectionately as she said,

  “I have never known you to come out to dinner before and you know how often Papa and I have invited you to do so.”

  “I know, dearest child,” one of the old ladies answered, “but Cousin Gervais was so insistent that we found it impossible to refuse.”

  It sounded to Charisa as if Gervais was determined to make himself pleasant to everybody.

  He paid the ladies compliments, which made some of them blush with surprise.

  He was very genial to the men as well.

  “You most certainly have a great deal to teach me because I have been living in France,” he said disarmingly. “So you must all tell me what I do wrong and I promise you I shall be grateful and not in the least resentful.”

  “We will do our best to turn you into a country gentleman,” one of the relations said heartily. “I suppose you enjoy riding? There has never been a Mawde who is not completely at home on a horse.”

  “I ride every day in the Bois de Boulogne when I am in Paris,” Gervais answered, “but I know before you all tell me so that it is not the same as hunting or riding over rough ground in the Shires of England.”

  They laughed at this and Charisa thought that he was being very clever.

  He was making them all feel that he wanted them, just as he had been astute enough to ask her father’s advice as soon as he arrived.

  He sat at the top of the table in the chair that had always seemed to Charisa like a throne. It was carved with the Arms of the Mawde family and looked almost Regal.

  As usual at The Priory, the food was delicious.

  It was served by Dawkins and five footmen in the quiet efficient manner that had always been to the admiration of any guest who stayed there.

  There was champagne to drink as well as some excellent white wine.

  Charisa saw her father look at his glass with an expression of surprise.

  She guessed that it was a wine that the new Marquis must have brought with him from France. There was certainly a great deal of it.

  By the end of dinner any shyness on the part of the Mawde family had vanished.

  They were laughing and talking with an enthusiasm that was unusual, especially amongst the older members of the family.

  As the meal ended, the Marquis turned to the lady on his right,

  “Now you have to instruct me. As you know, in Paris the gentlemen leave the dining room with the ladies. But here I must behave as an Englishman, so will you take the ladies away? I will then produce some stories that are not suitable for your shell-like ears.”

  The lady he was speaking to laughed before she rose to her feet and the other ladies followed her.

  When they reached the drawing room, they all began talking at once.

  “He is charming, really charming!”

  “Of course, some of the things he says are very French, but he will soon become more like us.”

  “I must say, I was nervous when I came here this evening. Now I am completely bowled over by him!”

  They were all saying very much the same thing over and over again.

  Charisa went upstairs to the room that she knew would be open and ready for any guest who wished to tidy herself.

  The elderly housekeeper was waiting there and exclaimed as soon as she saw her,

  “I was ’oping to see you, Miss Charisa.”

  “Good evening, Mrs. Bush,” Charisa said. “Is everything all right?”

  The housekeeper paused before she replied,

  “I ’opes so, miss, I’ope so with all me ’eart, but I’m not goin’ to say too much too soon.”

  “His Lordship seems very eager to please,” Charisa commented a little tentatively.

  “That’s what Mr. Dawkins tells me,” Mrs. Bush said, “but I’ve a feelin’ in me bones there’ll soon be changes.”

  “Now, what makes you say that?” Charisa asked.

  “It’s just somethin’ I knows as sure as I’m standin’ ’ere!” Mrs. Bush replied. “Well, I expects if anythin’ goes wrong, the Colonel’ll ’elp us again.”

  “Of course he will and I think you are just frightening yourself unnecessarily,” Charisa said.

  She could see the expression of worry on the housekeeper’s face and added,

  “If ever you want my father to help you, all you have to do is to send a groom to him with a note. You know he will come at once and try to sort things out.”

  “I’m ’opin’, miss, there will be no need to worry the Colonel,” Mrs. Bush said, “but somethin’ tells me that it be no use expectin’ too much.”

  Charisa sat down at the dressing table and tidied her hair.

  As she did so, one of her older Mawde cousins came into the room and it was therefore no longer possible to talk to Mrs. Bush.

  Equally she was feeling anxious as she went back to the drawing room.

  She knew that neither Dawkins nor Mrs. Bush would be looking for trouble. In fact she suspected they were afraid that the Marquis would consider them too old.

  They obviously had neither of them any wish to retire.

  ‘Gervais would not be so stupid as to send them away when the entire household depends on them,’ she thought.

  Nevertheless she felt somewhat apprehensive.

  Perhaps he wanted French servants at The Priory and that would be a mistake.

  It was considered an honour for any girl or boy to be taken into service at the Big House and they would object strongly to being deprived of the privilege.

  Especially, she added to herself, if the intruder was of a different nationality and she knew that the villagers and the estate workers resented foreigners.

  ‘I am quite certain that Papa has explained this to the Marquis,’ she told herself as she re-entered the drawing room.

  The ladies were still talking on and on about the Marquis.

  “It’s surprising,” one of them commented, “that he is not married. After all, he is over thirty, because Simon, his father, married long before Richard and therefore Gervais was always the oldest nephew.”

  “I was so very fond of Vincent,” one of the cousins joined in in a sad voice.

  “So was I,” another agreed. “I often thought, considering he was the heir presumptive to George, it was a great mistake for him to be in the Army and so risk his life.”

  “What I think is strange,” another cousin said, “is that his body has not been sent home to be interred in the family vault. Surely somebody should have told the Commanding Officer of Vincent’s Regiment that was what we would all be expecting?”

  “I think Papa did mention it at the War Office,” Charisa chimed in, “but as you know, there was some difficulty in identifying whether the body found was Vincent’s or somebody else’s.”

  “Anyway they must have made up their minds by now,” an elderly aunt said sharply, “otherwise Gervais would not have been allowed to assume the title.”

  She paused before she turned to Charisa,

  “I shall speak to your father and say he m
ust go to the War Office again and insist that Vincent is decently buried with all the other Mawdes.”

  Charisa moved away from the gossipers.

  It upset her to hear them talking about Vincent.

  She had only to look out of the window to feel that she could see him moving in the garden. He had loved the great hedges with their intricate topiary work.

  He had practised archery on the long green lawn she could now see from where she was standing.

  “Why do you want to use a bow and arrow when you can use a gun?” she had asked when she was very small.

  “Because I want to be proficient at both,” he had answered. “A bow and arrow is actually more difficult than shooting with a gun. Try it for yourself.”

  When she first tried she found it difficult, being so small, to pull back the string.

  Vincent had helped her and, when she grew older, she would challenge him to a contest as to who could score the most points.

  Invariably he won, but she liked being with him.

  When he went shooting, he allowed her to go with him to carry what he shot in a game-bag.

  Now the gentlemen had finished their port and so they joined the ladies.

  As they did so, Charisa realised that one of the reasons why Gervais looked different was that his clothes seemed too close fitting.

  Perhaps, for want of a better word, he was too smart as there was nothing casual or comfortable about him.

  Watching him she thought that he was also very much on the alert.

  He seemed always ready with his compliments, his jokes and his ingratiating way of asking for advice.

  ‘He is too polished,’ she thought and again rebuked herself for being overly critical.

  Towards the end of the evening when some of the older relatives were asking for their carriages, Gervais said to the Colonel,

  “I have a suggestion to make which I hope you will agree to.”

  “What is it?” the Colonel asked.

  “As I have so much to discuss with you and, as you know, so much to learn, would you and Charisa come and stay here for a few days? Or should I say for at least a week or so?”

  The Colonel looked surprised.

  “Do you really want us?”

  “More than I can tell you,” Gervais replied. “First, because I have no wish to be alone. Secondly, because I have some friends coming from Paris whom I want you to meet and thirdly, because, quite selfishly, I really do need your help.”

  He spoke so sincerely that it was impossible for the Colonel to do anything but say,

  “Very well, of course, if I can really be of assistance.”

  “I cannot begin to tell you how grateful I would be if you would do as I ask,” Gervais said, “and I am sure Charisa will show me all the best places to ride better than anybody else could do.”

  Ever since the Marquis’s death, Charisa had been to The Priory two or three times a week to help exercise the large stable of horses.

  Her father had said,

  “You know as well as I do that the grooms will become lax if there is nobody to keep an eye on them. Therefore, my dearest, you should make it quite clear that you will not only ride the horses but also inspect all of them.”

  Charisa knew exactly what he meant.

  Tomkins, the Head Groom, was getting old and suffered from rheumatism.

  Because he was not always about, the young grooms were inclined to be slack in their duties. The one thing that Charisa could not bear was that the horses might suffer in any way.

  They had been acquired for the late Marquis by her father and she had always suspected that he had also paid for quite a number of them.

  As the Marquis had become older, he had found it a bore to drive a long distance and he was not well enough to ride.

  However, he still liked to think that his stables were in good condition and he wanted excellent horses there when Vincent returned from India.

  They could also be ridden by any of his relatives who came to The Priory to see him.

  It was therefore the Colonel who had stocked the stables for him and he insisted on their being in the same perfect condition as his own.

  In fact Charisa often found it difficult to remember which horses belonged to the Marquis and which to her father.

  As far as she was concerned, all she wanted to do was to ride them and she gave them all an equal part of her affection.

  Now she smiled at the Marquis as she said,

  “Of course I will do that. There are places in the woods you will love, just as there are some flat fields that make excellent gallops.”

  “Then we will explore them tomorrow,” he proposed, “and I shall be looking forward eagerly to your arrival.”

  When a little later they said ‘goodnight’, he repeated what he had said just to make sure that they would not change their minds.

  Charisa held out her hand.

  “Goodnight, Cousin Gervais,” she said, “and thank you for a delicious dinner.”

  Gervais took her hand in his and unexpectedly raised it to his lips.

  He actually kissed the softness of her skin and it was not the perfunctory gesture it normally was.

  Then, as he did so, Charisa felt suddenly a very strange sensation move through her.

  For a moment she could hardly believe that what she felt was true.

  Gervais released her hand and she ran down the steps to where the carriage was waiting.

  As she did so, she knew what she had felt was a feeling of repugnance.

  ‘But – why? Why?’ she asked herself and could find no reasonable explanation for it.

  She drove with her father for a long time in silence before the Colonel asked,

  “Now that you have seen him, what do you think?”

  “I was just going to ask you the same question,” Charisa replied.

  “He is certainly a very good host,” the Colonel conceded, “and he went out of his way to be exceedingly pleasant to everybody.”

  “You are still not telling me what you really think of him, Papa,” Charisa said.

  “To be quite frank, my dearest, I don’t know,” the Colonel replied. “I suppose I thought him a little too glib and that he was trying too hard to be disarming.”

  “Do you think that he was expecting criticism?” Charisa asked.

  “Of course he did! He is obviously intelligent. He is well aware that because he has lived all his life in France, his relatives are suspicious of everything about him.”

  “I can see that,” Charisa agreed, “and you are right, Papa.”

  “I think in the circumstances that he has taken his first fences extremely cleverly,” the Colonel said.

  “After dinner,” Charisa then told him, “everybody in the drawing room was saying how charming and courteous they thought him to be.”

  “That is exactly what he wanted them to do and he certainly made himself very much at home among the men.”

  “Then I suppose we should not be critical,” Charisa said in a small voice.

  She was still thinking, as she spoke, of what she had felt when he had kissed her hand.

  ‘It must have been because he took me by surprise,’ she thought. ‘Englishmen don’t go about kissing the hands of unattached young ladies.’

  However, she found it impossible to dismiss it lightly.

  It had been like a streak of lightning and she did not wish to discuss with her father what had happened.

  Yet she realised that she would continue to think about it.

  When she reached home, she said ‘goodnight’ to her father and he kissed her.

  She was just going up to her bedroom when she said,

  “Don’t let us go too early to The Priory tomorrow, Papa. I have so much to do here before we leave.”

  “I feel the same,” her father answered. “We will arrive at teatime. That will be quite soon enough.”

  When she reached her bedroom, Charisa thought, and it was a strange thing for h
er to think, why did she not want to go to The Priory?

  She had always been so thrilled to be going there in the past.

  It was something that happened frequently because the late Marquis would insist upon them staying the night.

  She had thought of it then as an adventure and something she enjoyed more than anything else.

  Now, surprisingly, she was reluctant to leave her home.

  Even the thought of the horses waiting for her in the stables was no compensation.

  She went to the window to gaze out into the darkness.

  ‘Why do I feel like this?’ she asked herself. ‘Why do I not accept him as our other relatives have done as somebody very pleasant and charming?’

  Finally, when she had undressed and climbed into bed, she told herself that she was being very stupid.

  The Priory was an important part of her life.

  The Mawde family that she belonged through her mother were all very close to her heart.

  “I have to – like him – I have – to,” she murmured aloud.

  Even as she spoke she felt something strange within herself shrinking from the thought of him and recoiling in horror at the touch of his lips.

  ‘It is something he must not do again,’ she told herself.

  It was a long time before she could fall asleep.

  *

  ‘The trouble is,’ Charisa told herself the next morning, ‘we were rather keyed up last night.’

  Everything that happened had been exaggerated simply because there was a new Marquis at The Priory.

  Looking back into its history, she supposed that there had been other times when unknown members of the family had inherited the title.

  They too must have felt, like the new Marquis, that they had to make a good impression right from the start..

  ‘He was understandably overacting – that is what was wrong,’ Charisa finally decided.

  When she went down to breakfast, she found her father reading a letter that had just been delivered.

  “Good morning, my dearest,” he greeted her. “To tell the truth, it is inconvenient to have to leave here today. There are several people who particularly want to see me. I shall have to tell them to come to The Priory or else drive backwards and forwards to my own house.”

  “Just send a message to the Marquis saying that you are unavoidably prevented from accepting his Lordship’s invitation,” Charisa suggested.