This was always an all-male party as some of the competitors were not considered well-bred enough to mix with the Duchess and certainly not with Caroline.
Therefore even if the Duchess had not gone to London, she would not have seen the Marquis at luncheon although he might have expected to say goodbye to her before he left.
Rocana had a sudden impulse to take Caroline’s place and somehow contrive to be in the drawing room where the Marquis would say goodbye to her uncle.
She had a feeling she would like to talk to him again and to assess in her own mind exactly what he was like.
It had been difficult to think of him clearly when she had been concentrating on Vulcan.
At the same time she thought it was interesting to meet a man with such a strong personality that he would dominate any company he found himself in.
He also, she remembered, had a reputation which ensured that he was talked about from one end of the country to the other.
‘I think he is hard and he could be cruel if it suited him,’ Rocana ruminated, ‘not to animals, but to people.’
She was thinking of the women who supposedly had committed suicide for love of him or died of a broken heart, but she felt they must have been weak ineffective creatures.
Equally it was obvious that a strong personality always attracted those who were weaker and wished to cling to him ‘like barnacles on the bottom of a boat’, as her father had once said.
“How can you be so rude about us poor women?” her mother asked.
“As a woman you should understand,” her father replied. “Those who cling like creeping ivy to a man stifle him to the point where he either accepts being imprisoned by them or fights himself free.”
“I think you are just making excuses for your own sex when they are ruthless and certainly heartless,” her mother protested.
Rocana had known she was arguing with her father because they both enjoyed it and she was aware that her mother always stimulated her father’s mind.
They therefore had arguments which made it seem to her as if sparks flew like shimmering fireflies backwards and forwards across the table.
After a minute her mother would laugh and say,
“You win! You are too clever for me, darling, and I admit that I am only a weak little woman while you are a superior dominating man!”
“One who lies adoring at your feet,” her father had replied once. “You know as well as I do that you twist me round your little finger and always and inevitably you get your own way!”
Her mother had wanted to argue, but he kissed her and said to Rocana,
“I hope you are listening, my little one, and making notes of how a clever woman can outwit any man, whether he is a King or a crossing sweeper.”
“You know that is untrue,” her mother protested, “and Rocana has to learn that women always must take second place and be the shadow of the throne! At the same time it is easier to get your own way with love.”
Rocana thought this was true, but in the case of the Marquis he obviously had too much of it and as he acquired it too easily he would inevitably find it boring and throw it away.
Then she told herself love was not like that, not the love that existed between her father and her mother, and which she was sure was the love that Caroline and Patrick had for each other.
That sort of love did not grow stale or wither, but increased, deepened and became more wonderful year by year.
‘Perhaps that is what the Marquis has never found,’ she thought.
Then she told herself that what really mattered was to prevent him from making Caroline unhappy as he had made so many other women.
Her instinct told her that he would always frighten Caroline and her sweetness would not interest him for long.
She had the idea that what he really needed in a woman was a challenge, just as a horse like Vulcan presented a challenge because he had to dominate him.
At the same time he would only gain complete mastery over such a horse by using the same magic she had used to make him docile and obedient.
‘I am wasting my time thinking of him,’ she admonished herself. ‘Once he is Caroline’s husband, it is unlikely that I shall ever see him again and if he is bored and unhappy it would be his own fault for being so overpowering.’
What she had to do now was to find Patrick and tell him what had happened to Caroline.
She crept down the stairs, afraid of being seen, and managed, while the servants were busy in the dining room, to climb quietly up the small stairway which led into the Minstrels’ Gallery.
The Minstrels’ Gallery was disguised by a screen of thick wood carving so that while the minstrels could peep through it onto the guests below, those looking up from the dining room table could hear the music, but not see who played it.
Now, as Rocana opened the door, there was the sound of laughter from those in the hall below which struck her like a strong wind.
She moved quietly to the screen and looking down saw first the Duke sitting at the end of the table in a high-backed chair surmounted by a Ducal crown.
The Marquis was on his right and Patrick on the opposite side of the table a few places down.
All the guests were enjoying themselves uproariously, toasting each other across the table and piling their plates with everything that was being offered to them on huge crested silver dishes.
Rocana noticed that the Marquis had very little on his plate and had hardly touched the wine in his glass.
The Duke however, as if he had found the morning strenuous, although he had not taken part in the race, was drinking more claret than usual.
The butler was filling his glass and he seemed in a good humour.
He was talking quite animatedly to the Marquis and, although Rocana could not hear what was being said, she had the feeling that he was discussing the wedding and revealing how gratified he was to have the Marquis as his son-in-law.
It was just an impression she had, almost as if she could read the thoughts of those she was watching.
Then, as she looked across the table to where Patrick was sitting, she was certain that her supposition was right.
Patrick was scowling and he had pushed his plate away as if he was not hungry.
She stood watching and long before the luncheon was finished the Marquis rose and she knew that he was saying he must leave.
The Duke rose too and Rocana thought that he was expostulating and telling him not to be in any hurry.
They walked towards the door side by side and the guests at the table lifted their glasses as the Marquis toasted him,
“Jolly good show, my Lord!”
“All the best for the rest of the Season!”
“You’ll be the winner at Doncaster!”
“Thank you,” the Marquis replied, “but I never count my horses before they cross the line!”
There was a roar of laughter at this and they were still drinking his health as he and the Duke left the room.
As they disappeared, Rocana saw Patrick rise too and knew he wanted to get away because he was worried about Caroline.
She thought it unlikely that anybody would have told him that she had already left for London.
He would therefore be wondering why he had not seen her and hoping she would be waiting for him in the wood on his way home.
Not hurrying, because she wished him to leave the stable first as it would be a mistake for them to meet there, Rocana found her way to the stall where she had put her horse before luncheon.
As she passed the end of the stableyard, she saw the Marquis had taken longer to leave than she expected and was only now driving away from the front door.
She stood in the shadows of the shrubs and watched him go, knowing that his phaeton which was built for speed was the smartest and most up-to-date model she had ever seen and that the four horses he was driving were superlative.
The Marquis himself seemed part of the whole entourage and made Rocana feel he had ste
pped out of a novel and was not real.
Then, as she saw Vulcan being ridden by one of the outriders in his black velvet cap and white wig, she thought with a smile that he was behaving better than anybody could have hoped.
She was, however, sure that the Marquis had his eye on him in case there was any trouble.
Then, as the small cavalcade passed over the bridge and started along the mile-long drive bordered by oak trees, she knew that, now the Marquis was out of the way, she must concentrate on Patrick.
She saddled her own horse as she had done so often at home and rode out of the stables before any of the Duke’s grooms had any idea that she had been there.
She rode the route that she and Caroline always used when they did not wish to be seen and, when she reached the centre of the wood, she found, as she had hoped, that Patrick was there.
He had tied up his horse and, as soon as she appeared, hurried to her side to lift her down from the saddle, saying as he did so,
“Where is Caroline? What has happened? I thought she would be at the race?”
Rocana waited until he had attached the bridle of her horse to a fallen tree and then she replied,
“The Duchess has already taken Caroline to London to buy her trousseau!”
Patrick looked worried.
“I never thought of that.”
“Nor did we until last night and it was very stupid of us. Of course Aunt Sophie is determined that, as Caroline is making such a brilliant marriage, she must have a trousseau fit for a Queen!”
Patrick did not smile.
Instead he said,
“I was desperately afraid I would not see you or Caroline because my uncle has died.”
“Does that mean you have to go away?” Rocana asked.
“Yes, for at least three or four days.”
“As Caroline will also be away for as long as that, or perhaps more, I will write and tell her not to worry about you.”
“Was she worrying about me?”
“She was so miserable that she could not even say ‘goodbye’.”
“You will be writing to her?”
“Yes, very guardedly in a kind of code, just in case Aunt Sophie sees my letter.”
“Then tell her, if you can, that I think my uncle’s death will help us because I shall now have all the money I need.”
Patrick paused.
Then he asked in a very different voice,
“When will Caroline be back?”
Rocana made a little helpless gesture with her hands.
“I have no idea, but she has promised to let me know exactly what has been planned. When shall I meet you here again? Next Monday?”
“I thought myself I would be back on Sunday night or Monday morning,” Patrick said. “The funeral should be over by then.”
“I hope I shall have some news for you.”
“Thank you, Rocana,” he said. “Did you watch the race?”
She smiled.
“I thought it was a good omen for you and Caroline that you rode so magnificently and it was a dead heat.”
“I wanted to beat him!” Patrick said fiercely.
“I can understand that, but because he had such an outstanding horse and is undoubtedly the finest rider one could imagine, it was fantastic the way you challenged him.”
“I would still like to have beaten him,” Patrick said, “and it is what I intend to do where Caroline is concerned!”
He spoke with a determination that Rocana thought he had never had before and she said,
“That is a race you will win! And I have convinced Caroline that my magic eye tells me you will both be very happily married.”
Patrick smiled for the first time since she had joined him.
“Thank you, Rocana, and after we are married I promise you that Caroline and I will do something about you.”
“About me?” Rocana repeated in surprise.
“You don’t suppose that everybody is not aware of the disgraceful way you are treated by your aunt and uncle?”
“Everybody?”
“Everybody who knew your father loved him and it is a shame and a scandal that you never go anywhere and are treated as if you were a nobody, instead of taking your rightful place as your father’s daughter.”
Because what Patrick said was so unexpected, Rocana felt the tears come into her eyes.
“Thank you for – saying that,” she managed to say after a moment, “not only – because you are so kind to me – but because you have – reassured me that Papa is not – forgotten.”
“Of course no one has forgotten him!” Patrick retorted. “Everyone loved your father and those who knew her loved your mother.”
He sighed.
“If only Lord Leo had been the Duke I should not have to make Caroline run away with me and cause a scandal.”
“Does the idea upset you?” Rocana enquired.
Patrick smiled again.
“Not really. All I want is Caroline’s happiness and I know that she would never be happy with the Marquis, nor with any other man for that matter.”
“Just as I said to Caroline,” Rocana answered, “your difficulties are just hurdles or fences, which you have to jump before you reach the winning post.”
“You are right,” Patrick agreed, “and come hell or high water, Caroline is going to be mine and I will kill anyone who tries to prevent me!”
He spoke so violently that Rocana looked up at him in surprise.
Then she told herself that love had changed him into a man who knew his own mind and was determined whatever the cost to get what he wanted.
“I must go back,” she said, “because it would be a great mistake for anybody to know that we are plotting together. But I will be here on Monday and I hope with good news.”
“By that time,” Patrick said in a low voice, “I shall have the Special Licence and I hope a fortune with which I can give Caroline everything she wants.”
“I think all she really wants is you,” Rocana replied and saw that what she said brought a light to his eyes.
He lifted her into the saddle and watched her ride away back to The Castle before he mounted and rode off in the opposite direction.
Only as she saw The Castle ahead of her did Rocana remember the amount of sewing the Duchess had left for her to do.
It meant that to make up for her having wasted most of the day she would have to sit up half the night besides spending almost every moment stitching away until the Duchess returned.
‘I doubt if she will be back before the end of the week!’ she consoled herself.
The ten days in which the Marquis had said he must be married would end on Sunday.
It seemed a strange day of the week for a Society wedding, but the Marquis was a law unto himself and, if he wished to be married on a Sunday, on a Sunday it would be.
‘It is therefore certain,’ Rocana thought, as she reached the stables, ‘that Caroline will return by Thursday, at the very latest.’
It did not give them a lot of time, but the Duchess would be determined to make the future Marchioness of Quorn a ‘fashion plate’ for other ambitious brides to admire and naturally envy.
CHAPTER FOUR
Riding towards the wood, Rocana was wondering what she could say to Patrick because everything they had planned was falling to pieces around their ears.
She had been astonished when late last night a post chaise had arrived from London bringing her a letter from Caroline.
When she opened it, she realised that it was not only urgent, but so secret that Caroline had done the only sensible thing she could which was to get Nanny to send it by post chaise and not trust the mail.
The letter was written obviously in haste and anguish because Caroline’s usually elegant writing was little more than a scrawl.
Rocana read,
“Dearest Rocana,
I am sending this to you by post chaise because Patrick must know at once what has happened. I am absolutely des
perate and there is nothing I can do but pray that somehow despite everything he will rescue me.
Mama and the Marquis had quite a disagreeable argument this morning when he came to the house just as we were going shopping to say that he had to be in Paris by Tuesday and he suggested we should change the wedding day to Saturday.
I, foolishly, had been quite certain we were leaving on Thursday at the latest, but Mama told the Marquis we should not be back at The Castle until Saturday afternoon at about five o’clock.
He said it was ridiculous that everything should be dependent on the delivery of a wedding gown, but you know what Mama is like when she has made up her mind and finally he capitulated, but very disagreeably.
Instead he said we must be married at nine-thirty on Sunday morning and there could be no proper reception, but, as soon as I had changed into my going-away clothes, he intended to leave immediately for Dover.
I think it was because Mama was frightened he might call the wedding off altogether that she agreed to this, but with a very bad grace and was so cross to me afterwards that I burst into tears.
Really I was crying because I was frightened that, if we did not arrive at The Castle until so late, Patrick and I could not elope.
Please, Rocana, see him immediately and beg him not to give in, but to take me away. The more I see of the Marquis, the more he frightens me and I know that I cannot live without Patrick and I would never be happy with anybody else.
Nanny is going to send this to you as soon as Mama and I have left for the shops. I am sick of gowns and, as I don’t expect ever to wear any of them, it is just hours of boredom standing while the seamstresses stick pins into me!
Please, please, Rocana, help me! I am so frightened and unhappy.
With love from Caroline.
P.S. Please give Patrick my clothes so that I will have something to wear.
P.P.S. I have put a note in this letter for him.”
There was a piece of paper in the envelope marked, PATRICK and Rocana could only hope it would cheer him up which he would obviously need after he had read Caroline’s letter.
As she saw the wood in front of her, she thought that perhaps a lot of the trouble was her fault.
The Unbreakable Spell Page 6
