The White Witch

  THE WHITE WITCH

  Copyright © 2006 by Cartland Promotions

  First published on the internet in August 2006 by Barbaracartland.com Ltd

  The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronically or mechanically, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval, without the prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  eBook conversion by M-Y Books

  THE WHITE WITCH

  “What can I do? What the Devil can I do?”

  The Marquis spoke the words aloud.

  As he said them, he knew that Locadi was thinking of him and willing him towards her. It was then that he was struck with a sudden idea.

  If Locadi was using black magic which was evil, the only antidote would be something good.

  For a moment he thought of riding over to see Flora and asking for her help, but then he told himself that was impossible.

  She must certainly not become involved in anything like his present situation. She is pure, good and, he suspected, very innocent.

  How could she understand women like Locadi who aroused passions in a man that were purely physical?

  And yet had nothing to do with the spiritual side of love.

  ‘Good and bad! Bad and good!’

  The words seemed to repeat themselves in his brain.

  THE BARBARA CARTLAND PINK COLLECTION

  Barbara Cartland was the most prolific bestselling author in the history of the world. She was frequently in the Guinness Book of Records for writing more books in a year than any other living author. In fact her most amazing literary feat was when her publishers asked for more Barbara Cartland romances, she doubled her output from 10 books a year to over 20 books a year, when she was 77.

  She went on writing continuously at this rate for 20 years and wrote her last book at the age of 97, thus completing 400 books between the ages of 77 and 97.

  Her publishers finally could not keep up with this phenomenal output, so at her death she left 160 unpublished manuscripts, something again that no other author has ever achieved.

  Now the exciting news is that these 160 original unpublished Barbara Cartland books are ready for publication and they will be published by Barbaracartland.com exclusively on the internet, as the web is the best possible way to reach so many Barbara Cartland readers around the world.

  The 160 books will be published monthly and will be numbered in sequence.

  The series is called the Pink Collection as a tribute to Barbara Cartland whose favourite colour was pink and it became very much her trademark over the years.

  The Barbara Cartland Pink Collection is published only on the internet. Log on to www.barbaracartland.com to find out how you can purchase the books monthly as they are published, and take out a subscription that will ensure that all subsequent editions are delivered to you by mail order to your home.

  If you do not have access to a computer you can write for information about the Pink Collection to the following address :

  Barbara Cartland.com Ltd.

  240 High Road,

  Harrow Weald,

  Harrow

  HA3 7BB

  United Kingdom.

  Telephone & fax: +44 (0)20 8863 2520

  Titles in this series

  1. The Cross of Love

  2. Love in the Highlands

  3. Love Finds the Way

  4. The Castle of Love

  5. Love is Triumphant

  6. Stars in the Sky

  7. The Ship of Love

  8. A Dangerous Disguise

  9. Love Became Theirs

  10. Love drives in

  11. Sailing to Love

  12. The Star of Love

  13. Music is the Soul of Love

  14. Love in the East

  15. Theirs to Eternity

  16. A Paradise on Earth

  17. Love Wins in Berlin

  18. In search of Love

  19. Love Rescues Rosanna

  20. A Heart in Heaven

  21. The House of Happiness

  22. Royalty Defeated by Love

  23. The White Witch

  THE LATE DAME BARBARA CARTLAND

  Barbara Cartland, who sadly died in May 2000 at the grand age of ninety eight, remains one of the world’s most famous romantic novelists. With worldwide sales of over one billion, her outstanding 723 books have been translated into thirty six different languages, to be enjoyed by readers of romance globally.

  Writing her first book ‘Jigsaw’ at the age of 21, Barbara became an immediate bestseller. Building upon this initial success, she wrote continuously throughout her life, producing bestsellers for an astonishing 76 years. In addition to Barbara Cartland’s legion of fans in the UK and across Europe, her books have always been immensely popular in the USA. In 1976 she achieved the unprecedented feat of having books at numbers 1 & 2 in the prestigious B. Dalton Bookseller bestsellers list.

  Although she is often referred to as the ‘Queen of Romance’, Barbara Cartland also wrote several historical biographies, six autobiographies and numerous theatrical plays as well as books on life, love, health and cookery. Becoming one of Britain's most popular media personalities and dressed in her trademark pink, Barbara spoke on radio and television about social and political issues, as well as making many public appearances.

  In 1991 she became a Dame of the Order of the British Empire for her contribution to literature and her work for humanitarian and charitable causes.

  Known for her glamour, style, and vitality Barbara Cartland became a legend in her own lifetime. Best remembered for her wonderful romantic novels and loved by millions of readers worldwide, her books remain treasured for their heroic heroes, plucky heroines and traditional values. But above all, it was Barbara Cartland’s overriding belief in the positive power of love to help, heal and improve the quality of life for everyone that made her truly unique.

  “Eternal love – I have always believed that real true love lasts beyond this life and into the next.”

  Barbara Cartland

  CHAPTER ONE - 1866

  “Excuse me, my Lord, but I found this in your evening-coat.”

  The Marquis of Wynstanton looked down at the object his valet was holding in his hand. It was a strange-looking round stone with carvings on it and there were recesses cut in its surface which seemed somewhat like eyes.

  For a moment the Marquis was inclined to say that it was only rubbish and should be thrown away. But he took it from his valet asking,

  “You say this was in my evening-coat?”

  “Yes, my Lord, in one of the tails.”

  The Marquis looked surprised.

  He was aware, but did not say so, that it must have been pressed in through a gap in the stitching at the top or the side of a tail, as there was no obvious opening such as a pocket.

  Then because his valet was looking at him expectantly he said,

  “Put it down please and I will look at it later.” He finished dressing, taking trouble over his tie and making certain that everything about his attire was neat and correct.

  He was conscious of the fact that he was considered not only one of the most handsome men in London but one of the best dressed.

  It was indeed a compliment that he appreciated. When he was finally ready, he picked up the stone his valet had found and carrying it in his hand, he walked downstairs to his study.


  It was an attractively furnished room, as were all the rooms in his house in Grosvenor Square. The pictures on the walls were exceptionally fine and exquisitely painted.

  The Marquis was frowning as he sat down at his Regency desk with its flat top and polished brass feet.

  He placed the small stone on his blotting-pad and stared at it.

  He recognized instantly exactly what it was. On one of his travels and he had travelled a great deal around the world, he had visited Haiti. He was quite certain that what his valet had found in his coat tail was a charm or talisman from that particular country.

  When he thought it over he realized who had secreted it there and for what purpose.

  He had been pursued by Lady Marshall for a long time before he finally succumbed to her insistent entreaties and had become her lover.

  Her husband, Lord Marshall, was obsessed by the sport of fishing. He spent much of his time going from river to river in England and Scotland to catch salmon, trout or any other fish that was available.

  His very beautiful wife, being left alone in London, not surprisingly granted her favours to the many men who pursued her.

  She was certainly outstanding amongst the ‘professional’ beauties – as they were called – who were to be found at Marlborough House.

  The Prince of Wales had set the current fashion for gentlemen to pursue beautiful ladies of their own class, after he had met Lily Langtry.

  Until then, it was considered correct for gentlemen like the Marquis to keep a mistress, not of his own class, in a discreet little house in Regents Park or Chelsea.

  There was no question of the mistresses parading such affaires de coeur in the social world.

  Of course there were secret liaisons in Society, but they were in fact kept very secret. Even the gossips who pried into everything found it difficult to be certain of the scandals they were whispering about.

  Was it not true that the lovely Duchess of Manchester was having a love affair with Lord Harrington? Were two other acclaimed beauties actually being unfaithful to their husbands?

  The Marquis was certainly not the first lover Lady Marshall had taken since her marriage. As he was exceptionally fastidious, he did not wish to follow a certain Duke whom he thought had preceded him.

  Lady Marshall was however used to getting her own way. She had no intention whatever of being refused by any man on whom she had turned her strange green eyes. They were combined with brilliant dark hair with touches of blue.

  Her white skin was the envy of every other London beauty.

  Her slender, sinuous and exquisite figure made it difficult to believe that any man could refuse her.

  The Marquis however had remained aloof in his own particular way. He consistently ignored the very obvious invitations in her eyes.

  She had invited him on numerous occasions to dinner, all of which he had refused. He had however spent much time in her company at other parties.

  He was not absolutely sure when he found himself invariably sitting next to her at dinner, whether it was due to her contrivance or merely to chance.

  Lady Marshall had been forced to wait for nearly two months. Finally the Marquis had succumbed and accepted an invitation to what he was told was a dinner party.

  When he arrived he was not really surprised to be told that the other guests had either been taken ill or called to the country.

  He and his hostess were alone.

  The end to the evening was inevitable.

  He was forced to admit to himself when he returned home as dawn was breaking that he had not in his previous affairs encountered anyone so fiery, so insatiable or so extremely alluring.

  It was two days later that he learned that Lord Marshall had been smitten with a heart attack.

  He had been fishing in Scotland and, owing to the length of time it took before he could be seen by a doctor, had died.

  It was obvious when the funeral was over that Lady Marshall expected the Marquis to console her.

  He found her looking exceedingly beautiful. Undoubtedly the conventional black she was forced to wear accentuated the fineness of her skin and the elegance of her figure.

  She wept a little on the Marquis’s shoulder. There was only one obvious way to console her.

  However the Marquis thought it would be a great mistake for him to allow his name to be linked with anyone so beautiful the moment she had been widowed.

  He therefore set off on one of his trips abroad as there were still a few parts of the world he had not yet explored.

  *

  The Marquis enjoyed travelling and was even amused by the difficulties and hardships it often entailed.

  This time he visited Nepal.

  He found it an extremely interesting country even if the journey involved him in much effort.

  Some of the accommodation where he had to stay was very primitive.

  Nevertheless he felt the experience had given him new ideas and the treasures he brought back with him would certainly add to his collection at Wyn Castle, his country house.

  He intended to take the ancient manuscripts, the carvings and the pictures he had collected to the country as soon as he returned to England.

  But he found Lady Marshall was waiting for him in London.

  Locadi, which was her unusual Christian name, made certain that having returned the Marquis could not escape her again. He was not entirely reluctant to comply, having spent so many months abroad without any female company.

  There was no doubt that Locadi made their love affair exciting. She was different in so many ways from anyone the Marquis had encountered before.

  Because he found anything new and unusual so attractive, he had stayed in London instead of going to Wyn Castle as he should have done.

  London at that moment was particularly alluring. The golden daffodils and crimson tulips make huge patches of colour in Hyde Park. Rotten Row was filled every morning with the smartest horses that money could buy and the prettiest women to admire him whenever he appeared.

  As the Season had begun there were luncheons, receptions and balls every day.

  The Prince of Wales had made it quite clear, now that the Marquis had returned, that he required him as a frequent guest at Marlborough House.

  Apart from the residents at the British Embassies where he stayed because they were more comfortable than hotels, the Marquis had talked only with the inhabitants of Nepal.

  He had, it was true, spent a night or two with Maharajahs, as he had passed through India.

  Otherwise he had been alone on his travels. He had stayed with the Viceroy in Calcutta for his last night before returning home.

  His Excellency had said to him,

  “I cannot imagine, Wynstanton, why you need to punish yourself by undertaking such a hazardous and uncomfortable journey.”

  “I have enjoyed it enormously,” the Marquis replied and the Viceroy had laughed.

  “One man’s pleasure is another man’s pain,” he declared. “All I can say is I am thankful I was not travelling with you!”

  The Marquis had to admit, now he was home, that he had almost forgotten how comfortable his bed was at Grosvenor Square or how delicious were the meals his French chef served him.

  It was also a joy to ride one of his spirited and well-bred horses every morning. As a means of transport they were very different from the reluctant mules which so often in Nepal had been the only animals available, or the uncomfortably lumpy trains which had carried him across India.

  It was therefore not surprising that he enjoyed the softness of Locadi’s body, the exotic fragrance of the scent she always used, and the words of love she murmured against his lips.

  It was an enchantment he had forgone for too long.

  *

  Yet now the Marquis was decidedly frowning at the object his valet had found.

  Being extremely astute he had learned in his travels a great deal about witchcraft.

  He therefore realised that what the valet h
ad found in his coat was indeed a magic talisman. It was used in Haiti to evoke love in those who carried it.

  It only confirmed his suspicions that Locadi Marshall wanted to marry him.

  Now he thought about it, he had noticed that when he dined with her since his return from Nepal, she had always placed an orchid in his buttonhole.

  He had thought it rather touching that she should take so much trouble.

  When he left her presence however he always removed the orchid. He did not really care to appear with a buttonhole, whatever flower it might be.

  He remembered that because of the formation of the tubers and flowers of the orchid it was frequently used in aphrodisiac love potions. The flower was regarded as a symbol of sex in many works of art.

  Quite simply Locadi was using magic to attract him. He had no idea how much she might know about the subject nor had it ever occurred to him in his wildest dreams that anyone would try to arouse his love by witchcraft.

  Thinking it over he became even more suspicious.

  It was not only the way that Locadi behaved when they were making love. It was not just the talisman he held in his hand.

  It was, he realised, as if she was attempting to intrude into his mind.

  When he was with her he had found himself occasionally, when he least expected it, thinking of marriage.

  He had however, some time before he had met Locadi, when his family had begged and pleaded with him, made up his mind.

  He would not marry for a long time.

  Firstly because it would inevitably curtail his travelling, which he enjoyed above all else and secondly because he had no wish to be faithful to one woman when he could choose from so many.

  He would have been stupid, which he was not, if he had not been aware of his value. With his social position, his wealth and his good looks, he was an extremely desirable partner for any woman.

  He fully appreciated that it was his duty eventually to produce a son and heir and he was quite prepared to do so – but later in life.

  What he desired most at the moment was to be free to go to Nepal or any other part of the world which attracted him without the need to worry that he was neglecting a wife.