The Duke Is Deceived

by Barbara Cartland

  I remain,

  Your affectionate and loving father.”

  Ursa read the letter again, as if she could not believe what it contained.

  It had never crossed her mind that her father would marry again.

  She had never imagined that he could love another woman after he had lost her mother.

  They had always seemed so utterly and completely devoted to each other.

  It seemed almost sacrilege that he should not remain faithful to her memory.

  Then, as she thought it over, Ursa told herself that she was being very childish.

  Her father was still a comparatively young man, not yet fifty, and extremely active both physically and mentally.

  He had always been absorbed in his work and seemed quite content to have her as his companion.

  It had never occurred to her that he might need a more mature woman to keep him happy.

  ‘How could I have been so stupid as to think that all Papa wanted were books and documents that could not breathe or speak?’ she asked herself.

  He himself had so much personality that it was not surprising he attracted women.

  If he had fallen in love with Theresa, then, of course, Theresa had fallen in love with him.

  As she thought of it, she calculated that her father was ten or fifteen years younger than his friend, Thomas van Bergen.

  Looking back, she could remember how her father had said that he had enjoyed staying with the van Bergens.

  He had added that his hostess had been very attentive to him and was also very lovely.

  ‘How can I have been so stupid as not to realise after Mama died that Papa would be lonely?’ Ursa asked herself. ‘I am too young to be a real companion to him.’

  She said the last words bitterly.

  Standing up from the dressing table she walked over to the window.

  She looked out into the garden that seemed brilliant with flowers.

  The small fountain was throwing its water up into the sky.

  She had always been happy in her home.

  Now she knew that she would have to leave it.

  Her father might protest, but what woman, and a bride, would not want to be alone with the man she loved?

  ‘Where can – I go? What shall – I do?’ Ursa asked herself.

  Once again the tears were back in her eyes.

  She changed her clothes and went out into the garden.

  For the first time the beauty of it failed to enrapture her.

  Instead of seeing the flowers and hearing the song of the birds, she could think only of the Marquis of Charnwood.

  By now the Greeks would have left and Penelope would be downstairs.

  She wondered if the Marquis would instantly be aware of the change.

  Perhaps, after last night, he would avoid looking at her.

  He might even go riding by himself, she thought.

  Or perhaps make some excuse to his grandmother and the girl who had rebuffed him to take them straight back to Brackley Park.

  That, she confessed to herself, was what she really wanted him to do.

  She knew it was because she was jealous.

  She was jealous of Penelope, with her beauty and her seductive ways, surrendering herself to the Marquis.

  He would, of course, quite easily receive from Penelope what she had refused to give him.

  As she thought about it, Ursa felt as if a hundred voices were jeering and laughing at her.

  ‘You loved him and he loved you! What more could you want?’

  It was then, as she sat down on the seat in front of the fountain that Ursa told herself that what the Marquis felt for her was not love.

  It was not the love she had thought about, dreamed of and which had inspired the poems she had read.

  It was not something so beautiful that it seemed a part of her prayers.

  The love she wanted was what her father and mother had had for each other.

  It was the love that men had fought for and died for since the beginning of civilisation.

  It was the love that was very human and yet a part of God.

  As she had grown older, her longing for love had seemed to creep into her dreams.

  She had thought of it when she looked up at the stars.

  She had thought in her head that perhaps one day they would send her the love she was seeking.

  ‘I found it only to lose it again,’ she murmured to herself bitterly.

  Then she looked at the fountain.

  It was almost as if she saw the Marquis’s handsome face in the iridescent water that rose and fell in the sunlight.

  Because the agony of it was unbearable she rose and walked back into the house.

  As she did so, she knew that whenever she saw anything beautiful in the future or heard music or felt it within herself, she would think of the Marquis.

  The Marquis – who was as far out of reach as the stars, amongst which she had once sought love.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Marquis saw off his Greek guests after breakfast.

  Alexis Orestes left affably, telling the Marquis how much he was looking forward to entertaining him and his wife in Athens.

  As they drove down the drive, the Marquis gave a sigh of relief and then walked towards the stables.

  He chose his favourite stallion and set off alone.

  At first he galloped very fast and then he moved more slowly.

  He had been unable to sleep after leaving Ursa’s bedroom.

  He had lain awake, finding it impossible to believe that for the first time in his life he had been refused by a beautiful woman.

  He had learnt of Penelope’s beauty and her frequent love affairs almost as soon as he had set foot on English soil.

  She was gossiped about at every party he was invited to.

  He could not help feeling sorry for Arthur Brackley.

  At the same time, as he grew up, he realised that Arthur was old, even for his age, and rather ponderous.

  When he learned that Arthur Brackley had married again, he had been abroad.

  He had received the news in a letter from his grandmother and it seemed to him odd that Arthur should have married anybody described as so young and beautiful.

  When later he learnt that Arthur’s new wife was being unfaithful to him, he was not really surprised.

  He was mature enough to recognise that there had been a revolution in the behaviour of married women.

  Those who were both beautiful and of Social stature were ready to take lover after lover.

  This was Socially acceptable as long as their husbands were either unaware of it or else ignored it.

  The Marquis thought now that from the moment he had met Penelope at his grandmother’s house he had found her very different from what he had expected.

  There was an air of innocence about her.

  He assumed it was an act, but such a clever one that it was difficult not to be deceived by it.

  Because she had not only attracted him but also intrigued and puzzled him he had gone to her bedroom.

  He had expected to learn the secret of how, with such a reputation, she managed to look so ‘untouched’.

  What he could only describe to himself as spiritual.

  He had enjoyed the intelligent and interesting conversations they had had.

  But she had never attempted to flirt with him as most other women did.

  He found himself talking to her in the same way that he might have done with one of his men friends.

  Yet – she had refused him!

  She had sent him away and he could only ask why he had been a failure.

  And why had she been so frightened?

  He could still hear the fear in her voice.

  There was no doubt that the tears that had filled her eyes were real.

  ‘Why? Why?’ he asked.

  It was a puzzle he could not unravel.

  He rode on, unaware of where he was going or what he was doing.
>
  He could only see two blue eyes filled with tears and a childlike voice telling him that he was frightening her.

  ‘I don’t understand!’ he muttered to himself as he turned for home. ‘I just don’t understand!’

  It was getting on for luncheon time as he rode into the stables.

  His Chief Groom, who had obviously been looking out for him, came hurrying to take hold of the stallion’s bridle.

  “Did you ’ave a good ride, my Lord?” he asked.

  “Yes – thank you,” the Marquis replied in a dull voice.

  He dismounted heavily.

  Trying to think of something other than his personal problems, he said,

  “Oh, by the way, Gavin, I think we should try to acquire another team at least as good as the one we have already.”

  He saw a light come into his Chief Groom’s eyes and he went on,

  “I was delighted with their performance when I drove them over to Brackley, but for longer journeys we must have a change”

  “I agrees with you, my Lord,” Gavin replied “and let’s ’ope we’ll find summat as good as them chestnuts I spied standin’ outside the front door this mornin’.”

  “Chestnuts?” the Marquis enquired.

  “Aye, my Lord, and nought between ’em! The best four chestnuts I’ve seen in a long time.”

  He saw that the Marquis was interested and went on,

  “I says to the coachman, as I’ve met afore, ‘’ow fast does they go? They flies like swallows,’ he answers, ‘their feet never touches the ground’.”

  The Marquis smiled,

  “They sound good and it is a pity we have nothing like them.”

  “They was only sold a month since,” Gavin said, “and ’is Lordship got a right real bargain.”

  “His Lordship!” the Marquis exclaimed and then asked,

  “Who do they belong to?”

  “Lord Vernon Winter, my Lord.”

  The Marquis was still.

  Then he asked,

  “And they were here this morning?”

  “Aye, my Lord, ’bout six o’clock, it were.”

  The Marquis longed to ask more questions, but thought it would be a mistake.

  As he walked towards the house, he was thinking that this was very strange.

  Why should Vernon Winter, whom he knew well, be calling so early?

  Why had he not been informed of it?

  Vernon Winter had been at Eton with him and then at Oxford University until he had been sent down.

  He had stayed out all night with a woman who was appearing at the local theatre.

  And even when he was in India, the Earl had continued to hear about Lord Vernon Winter’s love affairs.

  Just before he left for home there had been talk about a duel that Vernon had been involved in.

  It had taken place in Green Park and somewhat unfairly the husband, who had challenged him because of his behaviour towards his wife, had been injured.

  Vernon, however, had escaped scot-free.

  If Vernon had come to Charnwood Court, then it could only have been to see Penelope.

  But why so early in the morning?

  And why had he not been informed of his Lordship’s visit?

  The Marquis strode into the hall.

  The butler was there as well as two footmen.

  When the Marquis had handed his hat, whip and gloves to him, he asked,

  “Who was on duty first thing this morning?”

  “That was Henry, my Lord,” the butler replied.

  He indicated one of the footmen as he spoke.

  “I understand,” the Marquis said, “we had an early caller this morning, in fact six o’clock I believe it was.”

  “Yes, my Lord,” Henry answered. “I’d just come on duty.”

  “Who was it?” the Marquis enquired.

  “It were a lady, my Lord.”

  “Did she give her name?”

  “No, my Lord. She said that she had to see the young lady as come here with your Lordship’s grandmother and ’twere a matter of urgency. Then she went upstairs.”

  The Marquis thought for a moment before he asked,

  “How long was she here?’’

  “About fifteen to twenty minutes, my Lord.”

  “Then she left?”

  “She did, my Lord.”

  “Did you in fact recognise her?”

  “Her were wearing dark spectacles, my Lord, very dark, they be.”

  “She was still wearing them when she left?”

  “She was, my Lord.”

  The Marquis did not say any more.

  He was thinking as he walked away that now he knew what had happened.

  The answer to the puzzle came to him like a light in the darkness.

  He went upstairs and changed from his riding clothes.

  As he did so, he was certain that his acute brain had the answer to everything that had perplexed him.

  As he went downstairs, there was an alert look about him, which those who knew him well would have recognised.

  He entered the drawing room.

  He saw at the end of it sitting in her favourite chair by the fireplace was his grandmother.

  And on a sofa opposite her was a woman with fair hair.

  As he walked towards them, she turned her head.

  He knew immediately that he was seeing Penelope Brackley for the first time.

  She was beautiful, there was no denying that, but in a very different way from her sister.

  He kissed his grandmother and then said to the woman sitting opposite her,

  “Good morning! I trust you slept well”

  “But, of course!’’ Penelope answered. “It is so comfortable and luxurious in your beautiful house!”

  She looked at him as she spoke with an expression that the Marquis was very familiar with.

  He had seen it on so many women’s faces.

  It was deliberately provocative with an invitation in their eyes and the movement of their lips.

  He was well aware that Ursa had never looked at him like that.

  Nevertheless Penelope’s voice was indeed very similar to her sister’s.

  The Marquis could understand how his grandmother had been deceived.

  He glanced at the clock thinking that it was time for luncheon.

  At that moment the door opened and the butler announced,

  “Lord Brackley, my Lord!”

  Arthur Brackley walked in and Penelope gave an excited cry,

  “Arthur, Arthur!” she exclaimed. “You are back! How wonderful!”

  She ran across the room and flung herself against him.

  Putting her arms round his neck she drew his head down to hers.

  The Marquis was aware it was an act and a very good one at that.

  “I went to The Park,” Arthur was saying, “and found that you had come here. I cannot imagine why.”

  “That was my fault,” the Dowager said, “and it is delightful to see you, dear Arthur.”

  “How are you, Mama?” Lord Brackley asked, bending to kiss her cheek.

  Penelope was still clinging to him, her face lifted up to his.

  “I have missed you, darling,” she said. “I cannot tell you how lonely it has been without you.”

  “I find that difficult to believe,” Lord Brackley replied ponderously.

  He was looking at the Marquis as he spoke, who said,

  “We will tell you all about it over luncheon.”

  Arthur Brackley drew a gold watch from his waistcoat pocket and declared,

  “It will have to be a quick meal. I have to leave for London as soon as possible and take Penelope with me.”

  “I will have everything packed at once!” Penelope said eagerly. “It will be so marvellous to be back in London again, darling, and with you.”

  The Marquis found it hard not to applaud what appeared to be a note of complete sincerity in her voice.

  He was also impressed by the way that
she moved sensuously a little closer to her husband.

  To Lord Brackley he said,

  “I will give orders so that you will not be delayed for longer than is necessary.”

  He then left the room.

  A few minutes later the butler announced that luncheon was served.

  It was not yet two o’clock when, thanks to the Marquis’s excellent organisation, Lord Brackley and his wife drove off in the carriage he had arrived in.

  As soon as they were out of sight, the Marquis’s chaise, drawn by his team of four, came round from the stables.

  The Marquis was in the drawing room with his grandmother.

  “There is something I want to ask you, Grandmama,” he said.

  “What is it?” she enquired.

  “Where does Matthew Hollington live?”

  There was a smile on the Dowager’s lips as she replied,

  “In a little village called Letty Green. It is not far from here if you go direct and not the way we came via Brackley Park.”

  “Thank you,” the Marquis smiled.

  He was just about to kiss his grandmother goodbye when she asked,

  “I suppose you are going to find Ursa?”

  The Marquis was still.

  “So you knew?” he questioned.

  “I suspected from the first,” the Dowager admitted, “and then, when Penelope arrived this morning, I was absolutely sure!”

  The Marquis did not say anything and she went on,

  “To be honest, my dearest, I never cared for Penelope. I always thought that she might be beautiful outside, which of course, I could not see, but her beauty does not go very deep. In fact I am certain she is entirely superficial.”

  “And Ursa?”

  The Dowager smiled.

  “She is very different. There is something exquisitely lovely about her that I felt the moment she arrived.”

  Her voice softened as she went on,

  “When I heard her speaking Greek to your friends and reading Greek poetry to me not just with her eyes but with her heart, I knew that she was everything a ‘nymph of the sea’ should be.”

  The Marquis drew in his breath.

  Then he bent down and kissed his grandmother.

  “Thank you, Grandmama,” he said. “Please stay here for as long as you like and I know that everyone will look after you.”

  “I love being here,” the Dowager said, “and when you do come back, bring Ursa with you.”