The Unbreakable Spell Read online

  ‘I will not tell him anything tonight,’ she told herself, ‘for the simple reason that he is inhuman!’

  She knew Caroline would never have stood up to the demands of the journey as well as she had and the more she thought about the arbitrary way in which he had insisted on marrying in such a hurry, the more she considered it a total insult.

  Women were human beings and most of them would have expected that the Marquis should at least make a pretence of having some sort of affection for the woman who now bore his name.

  ‘It is inhuman of him to be so selfish and positively cruel,’ Rocana decided.

  She was determined that somehow she would make him aware of his shortcomings when he accused her of hers.

  But not tonight.

  That would be too much.

  They travelled through small twisting streets, then came to some wider ones which told Rocana they were nearing the centre of the City.

  The Marquis drove into the courtyard of what was the most impressive-looking house she had seen so far, drew a gold watch from his waistcoat pocket and said in a tone of satisfaction,

  “Eleven hours, ten minutes!”

  In a voice that did not sound like her own Rocana, because she was curious, managed to ask,

  “What is the French record?”

  “Twelve hours!”

  There was no doubt that he was delighted with himself, but, as Rocana stepped down onto the pavement, she found her legs were unsteady.

  In the hall a servant in resplendent livery, who she guessed was the Groom of the Chambers, welcomed her to Paris.

  He then led her up a magnificent carved gilt and ebony staircase along a passage hung with fine pictures to what she guessed was a State bedroom.

  “Is this the Marquis’s own house?” she asked.

  “His Lordship purchased it three years ago from the Duc de Greville, madame,” the Groom of the Chambers replied, “and now we are very honoured to have my Lord our Master.”

  The bedroom looked very romantic with a painted ceiling and white and gold walls inset with silk damask panels of Boucher blue.

  Rocana thought it was a perfect background for her fair hair.

  But she felt so tired that she knew she could sleep on a haystack just as well as in the huge gilt-carved and satin-draped bed that stood in an alcove.

  “This is your femme de chambre, madame,” the Groom of Chambers was saying.

  A young woman turned from the wardrobe where she had been hanging up Caroline’s gowns that had just been unpacked from one of her trunks, and curtsied.

  “Her name is Marie,” he continued, “and I hope she’ll give your Ladyship every satisfaction.”

  “I am sure she will,” Rocana replied, “and as I am very tired, Marie, I would like to retire to bed immediately.”

  She was speaking in French and Marie exclaimed,

  “My Lady speaks our language like a Parisian!”

  “Merci,”Rocana replied.

  She wanted to add that she was half-French, but thought it was a piece of information which if it reached the Marquis’s ears would certainly surprise him.

  Instead she turned to the Groom of the Chambers,

  “Please express to Monsieur le Marquis my regret that I am unable to dine with him tonight, but it has been a long journey and I am exceedingly fatigued!”

  “I am sure Monsieur le Marquis will understand,” the Groom of the Chambers replied.

  He left the room and, although it was exciting to be able to converse in her mother’s language in Paris, as she had always longed to do, Rocana let Marie undress her in silence and then climbed wearily into bed.

  She was asleep before the maid left the room and, although she had the idea that later some supper was brought, she just turned away and went on sleeping.

  It was, however, very different the next morning when Rocana awoke.

  She knew it would be expected of her to ring the bell for a maid instead of jumping out of bed and pulling back her own curtains.

  It was only a few minutes before Marie came into the room.

  When she opened the shutters, the sunshine came flooding in and in the daylight the room looked even more beautiful than it had at night.

  “You are rested, madame?” Marie enquired.

  “What is the time?” Rocana asked.

  “Nearly noon, madame.”

  Rocana gave a little laugh.

  “I have never slept so long in my life before!”

  She knew as she spoke that she had never been on such a gruelling journey before either.

  At the same time her exhaustion had been accentuated by her anxiety and apprehension over her marriage and there had also been the nerve-racking days before Caroline returned from London and her final agreement to Patrick’s crazy idea that she should marry the Marquis.

  It seemed incredible that everything had happened exactly as they planned.

  By now Caroline would be safely married and she herself was a wife of three days’ standing.

  Marie brought her some coffee and while she was sipping it Rocana asked a little tentatively,

  “Where is Monsieur?”

  “Monsieur le Marquis has gone out, madame, and he asked me to tell you that it will be impossible for him to return until late this afternoon.”

  Rocana was not surprised, but she did not say anything and Marie continued,

  “He hoped Madame would amuse herself, and there is a carriage available should one be needed.”

  Rocana lay back with a little sigh against the pillow.

  “I think I would just like to rest,” she said, “and also have something to read.”

  “I will fetch the newspapers, madame,” Marie said, “and there are books in the boudoir, if Madame would care to choose one.”

  As soon as Marie left the room, Rocana jumped out of bed and went through the communicating door which she was sure led into the boudoir.

  She was not mistaken and it was an extremely beautiful room decorated in the same elaborate manner as her bedroom, again with a painted ceiling and with pictures by famous artists.

  To her delight there was a bookcase of inlaid wood with glass doors that contained a great many works by French writers.

  Some were books she and her mother had heard of and discussed but were not obtainable in England. She hesitated as to which to read first and finally picked three volumes which she took back to bed.

  Marie brought her a luncheon that was far more delicious than anything she had ever eaten in England. She admitted her mother had been right in claiming that French food was the best in the world.

  At the same time, while she was eating she was reading and it was only quite late in the afternoon that she realised that, as a wife she should be up, dressed and ready to greet her husband when he returned.

  She was just about to ring for Marie when the maid came into the room to say,

  “A message from Monsieur le Marquis, madame, he has been unavoidably detained and will not be with you until dinner time. He asks your forgiveness and hopes that you will dine with him at half after seven.”

  ‘That solves one problem,’ Rocana thought.

  She would not have to change twice and, because she did not want to think about what lay ahead, she went back to reading her book.

  Marie, however, prepared a bath for her an hour before dinner was due and informed her at a quarter-to-seven that the Marquis had returned.

  Rocana wondered a little cynically if the lady who had prevented him from returning home was as alluring as the one with red hair and green eyes.

  Then she told herself that those were not the sort of thoughts a bride should have.

  ‘Bride or no bride,’ she said to herself, ‘this is a very unusual and certainly original honeymoon!’

  She wanted to laugh about it, but, even while she tried to tell herself it was all so amusing, she was conscious of something heavy like a stone in her breast that she knew was fear of what lay ahead.
r />   To give herself ‘Dutch Courage’ as her father would have said, she choose what she thought was one of the prettiest of the many gowns the Duchess had bought in London.

  It was white which she thought was very appropriate for a bride and embroidered all over with small diamante which glittered like dewdrops.

  It was also ornamented around the hem with lilies-of-the-valley and the same flowers encircled her bare shoulders.

  A very high waist, Rocana noticed, was still fashionable, but now the gowns were no longer straight and shapeless, but worn with a small corset which made her waist seem even tinier than it was naturally.

  Marie arranged her hair and insisted that she wore a little imitation diamond coronet on it that gave her a sparkle like a halo.

  Rocana remembered that Caroline had a real diamond coronet and she wondered if the Marquis would notice that hers was imitation.

  The one she had worn on her wedding day had belonged to the Duchess and of course had been left behind and she thought a little wistfully that with the exception of her wedding ring she owned nothing of value.

  If the Marquis in his fury at having been deceived turned her out, she would have not a penny of her own and nothing she could sell.

  Then she told herself it was something he was unlikely to do because it would cause a scandal.

  If, however, he should do so – and she was certain he could be ruthless when it suited him – she would have to find her mother’s family.

  Her mother had written to them after hostilities had ceased and had been planning that, when things had settled down and they could afford it, she and her father would go to Paris.

  Rocana had been so distraught by her mother’s death that the contents of her home had been put in store by the Duke and she had not taken with her to The Castle the addresses that she now knew would be useful.

  It now also seemed rather foolish that she had not written to her French relatives.

  One of the reasons was that the Duchess had forbidden her to communicate with what she still called ‘the enemy’, and any letters for France would undoubtedly, if seen, have been confiscated or destroyed.

  ‘They are somewhere in Paris,’ she told herself, ‘and, if the worst comes to the worst, I can try to find them.’

  As she walked very slowly down the stairs, she had a feeling that it might indeed be necessary, because ‘the worst’ was waiting for her.

  A flunkey dressed in the resplendent uniform she had noticed when she arrived escorted her across the hall, in which there was some very fine statuary and opened the door of what she anticipated would be the salon.

  There were two huge crystal chandeliers shimmering with light although the curtains over the windows were not yet drawn. The sun had set, but the sky was still aglow with colour.

  Then, as everything seemed to swim in front of her eyes, Rocana was conscious that standing at the far end of the salon, looking elegant in a way she had not seen before was her husband.

  If the Marquis was overpowering and magnificent in his riding clothes and the clothes he had worn when driving, he looked even more impressive in knee breeches, while his white frilled cravat made him seem even taller and more imperious than ever.

  Slowly, because she knew this must be the moment of revelation, Rocana walked towards him, holding her head high, her chin lifted a little.

  When she drew nearer to him, the Marquis said,

  “Good evening, Caroline! I feel I have a great number of apologies to make to you and I can only hope that now you are less exhausted and ready to hear them.”

  The manner in which he spoke was very pleasant and he turned towards the table on which there was a bottle of champagne in a silver ice cooler.

  “I think what we should do first,” the Marquis went on, not waiting for Rocana’s reply, “is to drink to our happiness – something we omitted to do on our wedding day.”

  He poured out two glasses of champagne as he spoke and picking up the first one handed it to Rocana.

  As she took it from him, he looked down at her and she saw him stiffen.

  He stared at her until gradually a look of astonishment came into his eyes.

  Then, in a voice which was very different from the one he had been speaking to her before, he exclaimed,

  “You are not Caroline!”

  “No.”

  There was silence before the Marquis asked,

  “Then who are you and why are you here?”

  “I am – your wife.”

  The Marquis drew in his breath.

  Then before Rocana could reply he said,

  “You are the girl I met in the stables and who controlled Vulcan!”

  “Yes, I am – Rocana.”

  “And you say you are my wife?”

  “Y-yes.”

  The Marquis for the moment seemed bereft of all speech.

  Then like a pistol shot his voice rang out.

  “What the devil is going on? And what do you mean by being here in Caroline’s place?”

  Rocana’s fingers tightened on the glass of champagne she held and she managed to answer,

  “C-Caroline was – in love with – somebody else.”

  “Then why was I not told?”

  “Her mother and father – insisted that she should – m-marry you.”

  The Marquis looked away from Rocana for the first time and picked up his glass of champagne.

  He drank from it as if he needed its sustenance.

  Then he said,

  “I think, Rocana, you have a great deal of explaining to do!”

  “May I – sit down?”

  The Marquis made a gesture with his hand and Rocana seated herself on the sofa.

  Her legs were trembling and she felt that she was unable to stand.

  Her hands were trembling too and she clutched the glass very tightly as if clinging to a lifeline to save her from drowning.

  She realised that the Marquis was waiting and, after a moment, she said in a small, hesitating little voice,

  “Caroline – has – eloped with the man she – l-loves –and it was essential that they should have – time – to get away so I – took her place – ”

  “You took her place and married me!” the Marquis exclaimed. “I presume it is legal?”

  “I – think so.”

  “You made your vows as Mary – I remember that.”

  “I was christened ‘Mary Rocana’,”

  “You resemble Caroline, so I presume you are some relation?”

  “We are cousins.”

  “I recall now your telling me your name was Brunt. There appeared to be some mystery about you.”

  “The mystery,” Rocana replied, “was because the Duchess hated my father and my mother.”

  She saw as she spoke the Marquis look at her cynically and she knew he thought she was trying to make excuses for her behaviour.

  She therefore lapsed into silence and after a moment he said,

  “You are very plausible as to why you married me, but I suspect the real reason was that you wished to become a Marchioness.”

  Rocana’s chin went up proudly.

  “Actually that is not true. Patrick persuaded me it was the only way that he and Caroline could get away safely, since there was so little time between her return from London and the hour you wished the wedding to take place.”

  She thought the Marquis was not convinced and went on,

  “If it had not all been such a rush and Caroline had returned earlier in the week, she could have eloped on Friday or Saturday and there would have been no need for me to take her place.”

  The Marquis frowned as if he was following her train of thought before he said,

  “Nevertheless you were not reluctant to do so!”

  “For me it was a way of escape from being incarcerated like a prisoner in The Castle and forced to be nothing but a servant or rather a sewing-maid to my aunt!”

  “Do you expect me to believe that?”

&nb
sp; “Whether you do or do not, it is still the truth.”

  “In fact you are insinuating that I was the better of two evils!” the Marquis said sarcastically.

  “That was what I was about to say myself,” Rocana agreed. “I assure you, my Lord, I had no wish to marry you as a – man!”

  “Why not?”

  “I-I find you very – frightening – and also entirely self-centred.”

  “Self-centred?” the Marquis questioned.

  “Certainly! You decided to marry Caroline because it suited you for reasons of which she was well aware. But she was not consulted in the matter and you just assumed she would be as delighted as the Duchess was.”

  She knew as she spoke that she had scored in a way which the Marquis had not expected and after a moment he replied,

  “I suppose, now I think about it, it was somewhat arbitrary!”

  “It was quite unforgivable that Caroline should be treated as a chattel to be handed over to you by her parents without her having a chance to express her views about it.”

  She paused before she conceded,

  “Actually whatever you did, she would have disagreed, but that is beside the point.”

  “I have always understood that young girls’ marriages were arranged for them,” the Marquis observed, as if he must defend himself, “and that they were delighted to accept the highest bidder!”

  Because he sounded so surprised that he might have got it wrong, Rocana gave a little laugh before she answered,

  “Girls turn into women and I doubt if your Lordship would have treated any of the lovely ladies you have courted in London in such an inhuman manner.”

  The Marquis walked to the table to pour himself another glass of champagne.

  He glanced at Rocana’s glass as he did so and seeing that it was still three-quarters full he drank a little from his own glass before he asked,

  “Then what do you suggest we do about this mess?”

  “I suppose you will have to notify the Duke sooner or later that you – married the – wrong bride.”

  “Do you think he may not be aware of it already?”

  “They may be wondering at The Castle what has happened to me, but I doubt if it will occur to them that you are not married to Caroline.”