A Battle for Love

by Barbara Cartland

“I suppose,” she asked a little tentatively, “there is no chance of our riding this evening?”

  The Marquis glanced at her and smiled.

  “That is what I am thinking of doing myself.”

  “Oh, please, may I come with you?” Serla pleaded.

  “Are you sure that you are not tired?” he asked.

  “Of course, I am not tired.”

  “So you had a good sleep.”

  The way he spoke told her that he was referring to what he had said about Lord Charlton and had been upset when she went upstairs to bed.

  She felt that he was waiting for an answer and after a moment she said in a low voice,

  “When I read what you pushed under the door, I was happy again and I went straight to sleep.”

  Because it was obviously what the Marquis wanted to know, he did not reply, but drove his horses a bit faster.

  Serla had heard so much about Darincourt Hall.

  It was indeed all she expected it to be, only a little bigger and better. It was a very old house, having been built in the reign of Queen Elizabeth and later generations had added to it.

  The red bricks had mellowed with age into a soft pink and it was so lovely that Serla felt that it was exactly the right background for the Marquis.

  As they drew up outside the front door, he said,

  “The brake should be here by now. It left before we did and was drawn by six horses.”

  “Six!” Serla exclaimed.

  “I thought that you would have no riding habit and there was no other way of getting it here on time.”

  Serla laughed.

  “It is so incredible how you always get your own way, and I think it is very clever of you.”

  “It is just a question of organisation,” he remarked and she laughed again.

  “I think the truth is that it is not the organisation but the organiser who is important.”

  “I will accept the compliment, but I don’t want to be kept waiting.”

  “I will change in record time,” Serla promised.

  She went up the beautiful wooden staircase to what she saw was one of the State rooms, where her riding habit had been unpacked and was there waiting for her.

  She thought that the Marquis’s forethought was just fantastic and no one else could have thought of everything or brought it off so cleverly.

  In the same way his campaign against Charlotte was so astute as no one could possibly suspect the truth.

  Also waiting in her bedroom were the flowers from Lord Charlton and she just gave them a fleeting look.

  At the moment she could not think of anything but that the Marquis was waiting and so were the horses.

  When she ran downstairs, the butler told her that he was at the stables and a footman would show her the way.

  If the house was old, the stables had certainly been brought up to date with every modern convenience.

  Serla walked into the cobbled yard and she saw the Marquis inspecting six horses being walked round him and one glance told Serla that he had not exaggerated when he had said that they were outstanding.

  She was sure that they all had Arab blood in them and each one looked as if it should be put into a picture by an artist such as her father had been.

  The Marquis told her a little about the horses and where they came from and then he had the one he had chosen for her saddled.

  As they rode out from the stable yard and into the paddock beyond it, Serla sighed,

  “This is the finest horse I have ever ridden. I am sure you can say the same of yours.”

  “I am certainly delighted to own it. Now let’s give them their heads and see how fast they can go.”

  They were on some flat ground which seemed to stretch out indefinitely.

  As the two horses sprang into a gallop, Serla felt it was one of the most exciting things she had ever done and they rode a long way before the Marquis drew in his horse.

  “That was wonderful! Wonderful!” she exclaimed.

  They had not said a word to each other since they had started their ride and Serla was sure that the Marquis was thinking the same.

  As they turned to go back, he quizzed her,

  “Are you sorry you are missing a ball tonight?”

  “I am thinking of how early I can ride tomorrow morning,” Serla replied, “and not in Rotten Row but on these marvellous level fields.”

  “I call this area ‘the gallops’. Tomorrow I will race you with two of the other horses.”

  “I would love that,” Serla answered. “But I am so enraptured with my present mount.”

  She bent forward as she spoke to pat the neck of the horse and the Marquis watched her before he said,

  “I was thinking last night that in the evening gown my grandmother chose for you, you outshone all the other women, but I am not certain I don’t admire you even more on a horse.”

  “I have a feeling, if that is true,” Serla replied, “that you are thinking more of the horse than of me!”

  The Marquis laughed.

  “That is the sort of remark I have heard you making at dinner parties, which always seems to amuse those who listen to you.”

  “What do you expect me to say?” Serla enquired.

  “I am content with you saying the unexpected,” he replied, “which makes you different from the other women, who invariably repeat and go on repeating themselves until one yawns from the sheer boredom of it!”

  “That is the most frightening thing you have ever said,” Serla replied. “I shall always wonder now when I am speaking whether it is something I have said before and then you are going to yawn.”

  The Marquis laughed again.

  He reflected, as they rode on, that Serla had a very unusual way of being amusing and, unlike so many other women, she did not sulk.

  He had been concerned, after what had happened last night that she would look at him reproachfully. Or to be so plaintive that he would be obliged to pity her.

  Instead she had seemed so completely natural and at her ease. Perhaps after all she was not as vulnerable as his grandmother had suggested.

  But there was no doubt that she had at the time been very upset.

  ‘At least I have taken her away from Charlton,’ the Marquis thought with some satisfaction. ‘I will not have him interfering when things are going so well.’

  When they returned to the house, they learned that the Dowager had arrived and had gone upstairs to bed.

  “I will go and see her,” Serla said to the Marquis, “and thank you a thousand times for the most wonderful ride I have ever had.”

  “I have the feeling that tomorrow morning will be even better,” he replied.

  She smiled at him and ran upstairs to the Dowager.

  When she entered the room, it was to find that she was already in bed and she was looking, as always, very beautiful with her hair arranged and everything about her elegant and attractive.

  “Oh, there you are, my child,” she exclaimed as Serla came through the door. “Have you had a nice ride?”

  “It was fantastic!” Serla replied.

  “I am very thankful I can go to bed,” the Dowager said, “and not to have to amuse anyone until tomorrow.”

  Serla laughed.

  “You certainly did all that could be asked of you last night, ma’am. It was such a marvellous party.”

  Serla saw that she was very tired and kissed her.

  “I am going to leave you now so that you can go to sleep. And what do you think? Clive said that I can call you ‘Grandmama’, as I would if we were married.”

  “I am very delighted for you to call me anything you like, my dear,” the Dowager replied.

  Serla kissed her again and said,

  “Goodnight, Grandmama. No girl could have one who was so kind and understanding.”

  The Dowager lay back against her pillows.

  ‘If they were married,’ she then said to herself and emphasising the first word, ‘I wonder – I just w
onder.’

  *

  The next day was even more exciting when Serla and the Marquis rode in the morning and the afternoon.

  The Dowager came down for luncheon but said that she was not having dinner with them. She was still tired and was not going to miss resting when she had the chance.

  “I call that most sensible of you, Grandmama,” the Marquis observed. “Since, of course, when we go back to London you will be expected to give another party in Ascot week, which will surpass the one you have already given.”

  “It will have to be quite different,” the Dowager said, “and I must start thinking about it now.”

  “I just cannot believe that any party could be more perfect than the one we have already had,” Serla said.

  “You will be much surprised,” the Marquis replied. “Grandmama’s parties have always been so original. Once she produced some dancers all the way from Africa, who gave the most amazing show ever seen in Mayfair.”

  His grandmother laughed.

  “That was a long time ago, my dear boy.”

  “Well, you could always repeat it,” he said. “And the new generation will be as excited as the last one was.”

  When she was later having dinner alone with the Marquis, Serla said,

  “It delights your grandmother that you want her to do so many things for you. She has told me how bored she became doing nothing and found the days very long.”

  “We will keep her occupied and she has always regretted having so few grandchildren. My sister has a family, but, as you know, she is in India with her husband who is the Viceroy and the children are with her.”

  Serla had not been aware of this, but did not say so.

  “My other sister,” the Marquis went on, “is married to a Scandinavian Prince and they visit England only very occasionally.”

  “So you are the only one here?”

  “That is exactly why she makes such a fuss of me,” the Marquis replied. “I try to please her, but I cannot do everything she wants.”

  The way he spoke told Serla without further words that he had no intention of getting married.

  Yet it was the one thing his grandmother really wanted for him, so tactfully she changed the conversation.

  But she thought she would be wise to keep up her ‘friendship’ if that was the right word, with Lord Charlton.

  *

  The next evening the Marquis said in an irritated voice,

  “I shall have to go to London tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh, but why?” Serla asked him, thinking that she would not be able to ride.

  “I have had a message that His Royal Highness particularly wants to see me. It was explained to him that I had gone to the country, but he still insists that I should go to Carlton House and so I cannot possibly refuse.”

  “Will you be away long?” Serla enquired.

  “I will be back, if at all possible, before dinner, but I find it extremely annoying.”

  He thought for a moment and then added,

  “I just cannot think why His Royal Highness cannot wait for my return. It’s a terrible bore to have to return just as I have arrived here.”

  Serla knew that he was thinking of the horses and there were still two that he had not ridden. He was very determined to try them all and decide which was the best.

  “Come back just as quickly as you can,” Serla said. “Perhaps if you are lucky it will be before it is dark.”

  “I know what you are thinking, but I am afraid we shall have to accept it as a wasted day and there is nothing we can do about it.”

  “I shall not waste it as I want to explore the house and you did promise me that you would show me the secret passages from the time when Queen Mary was persecuting the Protestants.”

  “You shall see them on my return,” he promised. “They are, I am told, the best examples in the country.”

  ”Then hurry back! Hurry! Hurry!” Serla repeated and he laughed.

  *

  The next day she did explore a great deal of the house before the Dowager came down to luncheon.

  Serla was extremely impressed with the library and it contained, so the Curator told her, five thousand books.

  She was delighted with the music room and would have sat there playing the piano if she had not wanted to see the Picture Gallery. It was, the Dowager told her, an exceptional collection to be owned by any one family.

  “Are you not frightened that they might be stolen?” Serla asked.

  “Clive has thought of that and I believe that they were not very well protected by my husband. But he has had the grooms taught to shoot as well as the footmen.”

  She paused before she added,

  “If that is known locally, which of course it is, any burglar will be afraid to risk it even for a fine painting.”

  “The Marquis thinks of everything,” Serla said.

  She found that the garden was almost as interesting as the house.

  There was an ancient sun dial in the Rose Garden, which was very lovely and there was a huge fountain on the green lawn behind the house, which she was told had been put there in Queen Elizabeth’s time. And there was a Herb Garden, which had been created in the reign of King Charles II.

  There was so much to see and so much to admire, that the day passed very quickly even though she was alone most of the time.

  It was getting dusk and the sun was now beginning to sink a little.

  It was still not far off dinnertime when she realised that there was still no sign of the Marquis.

  “I do hope,” she said to the Dowager, “that Clive will not be kept in London for another day. I am so looking forward to riding with him tomorrow morning.”

  “He will return here if it is humanly possible, but you know exactly what Royalty are like. When they want something, they will never think of other people’s feelings, only their own requirements.”

  However there was still no sign of him when dinner was ready and Serla ate it alone because the Dowager had retired to bed.

  The food was really delicious and the butler, who had been in the family for forty years, talked to her while he served the dishes.

  He told her just how proud everyone was that the Marquis had been so brave in the War and the anxiety that the family had been through in case he was killed. And there would then be no direct heir to carry on the title.

  “That’s why, miss, we’re all ever so delighted that you’re going to marry his Lordship,” the butler added.

  Serla felt it was wrong that she should be deceiving these people, who believed in a way that they too were part of the family.

  There was nothing that she could say except that she hoped the Marquis would be happy.

  By the time she left the dining room it was getting dark. In fact the last rays of the sun were sinking behind the great oak trees in the Park.

  As Serla went into the hall, she glanced through the open front door.

  She was hoping that she would see the Marquis’s phaeton coming up the drive, but there was no sign of him.

  She went into one of the beautiful sitting rooms where the windows looked out over the garden.

  She had just picked up a book when one of the footmen came in to say,

  “There be a woman at the front door, miss, who’s askin’ if you’ll help her.”

  “A woman!” Serla exclaimed. “Who is she?”

  She felt that it must be someone from the village and yet she could not imagine why they should have asked for her rather than the Dowager.

  But, of course, she could think that, as she was to marry the Marquis, she was one of the family.

  She rose from the sofa where she was sitting and put down her book.

  “I will come and speak to her.”

  There was only one footman on duty in the hall as now her dinner was finished the others were having theirs.

  The woman was outside the front door, a little way from it, as if she was too shy to come closer.

 
; Serla stepped out towards her.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “It’s me dog, miss,” the woman said. “’E’s bin ’urt and I think lovin’ animals you’d do somethin’ for ’im.”

  “Yes, of course,” Serla agreed. “Where is he?”

  “’E be down there by that tree,” the woman replied, pointing to one of the oaks that lined the driveway.

  “I will come and see what I can do.”

  Serla felt that she should take something with her, but, if the dog was not large, she could either carry it back to the house or take it to the stables.

  She walked to the courtyard and down the drive.

  As she did so, she glanced at the woman beside her and realised that she was a Romany gypsy. There was no mistaking the darkness of her skin and the black Romany hair showed beneath the coloured kerchief on her head.

  Slowly, as she did not want to seem rude, she said,

  “I think perhaps you are a Romany.”

  “That’s right, miss,” the gypsy replied. “We be just passin’ through, but I thinks you’d be kinder to my dog than the villagers who’re often afraid of us gypsies.”

  Serla knew this to be true.

  Although her father and mother had often talked to the gypsies and so had she, the local villagers would have nothing to do with them, except occasionally when the girls wanted their fortune told.

  When the gypsies appeared, as they did at the hop-picking time, the villagers ostentatiously used to lock away their cocks and hens. If anything was missing ii the time the gypsies were in the vicinity, they were always accused of stealing.

  Serla reached the first oak tree in the Park which was where she expected to find the dog.

  However the gypsy woman moved on.

  “It be a little further,” she said, “by yon tree there.”

  She pointed ahead to where there was a very large oak and, as it was now dusk, it was difficult to see clearly beneath it because of the thickness of the branches.

  They reached the oak and Serla looked down on the ground expecting to see the dog lying on the far side of it.

  Then, as she did so, a heavy cloth was thrown over her head.

  She tried to scream and struggled as a man picked her up in his arms.

  There was nothing she could do and the weight of the cloth over her head made it impossible to even breathe.