Secret Love Read online

  “I had no idea of that,” Robbie stammered.

  Even as he spoke he was aware that he had met the Duc and Duchesse de Mouchy when they were staying at Marlborough House and he had learnt then that they were extremely rich.

  Now he recognised that Josofine, being their only child, would inherit a huge fortune.

  Prince Frederick, who ruled a small Principality in North Germany, was doubtless looking for an heiress to share his throne.

  “So you ran away,” the Prince of Wales was saying. “I think you should have come to me immediately you set foot in London.”

  “It is just what I thought I might do, Your Royal Highness, and I knew that you would be kind and would understand why I ran away. At the same time, because you are such friends with my Papa and Mama, you might have insisted that I went back to them.”

  “How did you meet this young man?” he asked, looking at Robbie.

  “He came aboard the yacht I had travelled on when I was wondering where I might find a hotel. The man who had brought me across the Channel asked him to look after me which he has done very very kindly.”

  “I am not surprised,” the Prince of Wales said with a smile at Robbie, who now piped up,

  “What we want, sir, is to be married immediately, before Josofine’s father and mother decide that I am not good enough for her. I cannot offer her a throne, only this house, which in fact I cannot afford to keep up in the way Your Royal Highness is seeing it now.”

  He knew as he spoke that the Prince was listening and there was an expression on his face he recognised only too well. If there was one thing His Royal Highness really enjoyed it was being given a puzzle or a difficult problem to solve.

  It was what he had always wanted to do with the affairs of the nation, but the Queen resolutely refused to give him even the smallest part to play.

  “Please, mon Parrain, please,” Josafine was saying, “please help us or I will find myself married to that horrid German Prince and you know how gloomy those German Palaces can be.”

  Robbie knew this was true. He had visited two German Principalities with the Prince of Wales and found them appallingly dull. After the second one the Prince had said firmly he was not accepting another invitation there.

  Robbie well knew that the French, like the Duc de Mouchy, were very ambitious for their children and the Duc would be really delighted at the idea of his beautiful daughter becoming Her Royal Highness.

  Now Josofine was holding tightly onto the Prince of Wales’s hand and looking up at him pleadingly.

  “Help us, please help us,” she repeated.

  The Prince smiled.

  “I suppose, Robbie, you have a Chapel here.”

  “Actually it’s the Church in the Park, a very old one and badly in need of repair. I pay the Parson a stipend and he’s a charming old man who was very fond of both my parents.”

  “Excellent! Tell him you’ll be married on Sunday and I will be giving away the bride.”

  Josofine gave a cry of delight and she put her arms round the Prince’s neck and kissed him.

  “I knew you would help us! I knew you would! Oh, mon cher Parrain, could anyone else in the world have such a wonderful and generous Godfather?”

  Robbie did not speak for a moment and then he asked hesitantly,

  “There is only one point, sir, would it be legal if Josofine is a Catholic?”

  To his surprise the Prince of Wales laughed.

  “My dear boy, I am not as stupid as all that. Of course, if she was a Catholic she could not marry you as I am now arranging.”

  Robbie looked bewildered and the Prince of Wales went on,

  “She has not told you – indeed she may not have remembered the fact – she was born rather prematurely at Sandringham and, as there was some fear that she might not live, she was baptised by my Private Chaplain there, and I became her Godfather.”

  Robbie gave a gasp, but did not speak as the Prince added,

  “Afterwards when her family returned to France, she was, I understand, baptised again because her father is a Catholic.”

  Robbie gave a deep sigh of relief.

  “I will send someone down to the Vicarage now to tell the Vicar you wish to speak to him. I am sure Your Royal Highness will convince him better than I can that I do not need a Special Marriage Licence.”

  “Of course there will be no difficulty about that,” the Prince retorted.

  If Robbie had tried to arrange a special amusement to entertain the Prince, he could not have succeeded better than by giving him a problem to solve and a battle to fight.

  He was absolutely delighted at the idea of stealing a march on the Duc de Mouchy even though he was a friend.

  He knew that if he gave his blessing to the marriage between Lord Creswell and Josofine, who, as the daughter of a French Duc, had the rank of Comtesse, it would be impossible for her father to make any difficulties about it afterwards.

  “Everything will be fine, my boy,” the Prince said to Robbie, “and all we have to decide now is whether you, Josofine, or I should break the news to her parents.”

  “I know the answer to that, sir,” Robbie answered and the Prince of Wales chuckled.

  As the other guests arrived there was no question of Josofine being introduced as Madame Frazer.

  The Prince told the story of how she had run away and everyone found it very romantic and exciting.

  “It was incredibly brave of you,” the Duchess of Manchester sighed, “to arrive in London knowing no one and having nowhere to go.”

  “I just knew I would be welcome at my Godfather’s house, but I was so afraid he would think it right for me to marry the Prince because he had a throne.”

  There was no doubt that night despite the fact that, although the other ladies were great beauties in their own right, Josofine was the star.

  There was no need for her to wear any sparkling jewellery or an elaborate gown as her eyes were shining.

  She was so happy and thrilled that everyone else felt themselves elated too.

  They drank her and Robbie’s health at dinner and no one was surprised when as the long and delicious meal came to an end Robbie and Josofine disappeared.

  They sat talking in the drawing room too intrigued by what had happened even to look at the bridge tables.

  It was the Duchess who sighed rather wistfully,

  “They are both so young and so happy it makes me feel as if I too was eighteen again!

  “That is exactly what you look now,” the Prince flattered her. “And I am sure you are more beautiful now than you were when you first emerged upon the Social world.”

  Because the Duchess was a German by birth, they were careful not to be too rude about Prince Frederick and Robbie learned that not only the Prince of Wales had no liking for him, but neither had any of the other gentlemen.

  When Robbie took Josofine away, he asked her,

  “Why did you not trust me? Why did you not tell me?”

  “Because after you had been so kind to me the first night and let me stay in your flat,” she answered, “I was afraid of losing you.”

  “Losing me!” Robbie exclaimed.

  “I thought at first I would tell you about the Prince and ask you if I would be wise to go to see my Godfather – then it was just so wonderful being with you.”

  She said the last words shyly and Robbie put his arms round her.

  “I loved you and adored you from the first moment I set eyes on you. Now I cannot believe it is real we are to be married and you will be mine for ever.”

  “And we will live here in this beautiful house and everyone I know will envy us. Not because we have all those magnificent pictures, but because we are so happy.

  There was nothing Robbie could say in words.

  He could only draw her close into his arms and kiss her until they both felt they were flying into the sky.

  “I love you, Josefine. I adore you,” he repeated over and over.

  Event
ually some time later he then forced himself to take Josofine back so that he could look after his guests.

  As they went into the drawing room, the happiness on their faces made everyone there a little envious.

  The two of them seemed to light up the room with their love.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Wenda had taken a great deal of trouble with Mrs. Banks over the dinner. She had some difficulty in making the dishes which Robbie had told her the Prince of Wales really enjoyed,

  “He loves caviar and ortolans,” he had said.

  Wenda had made a hopeless gesture with her hands.

  “We are not likely to find them down here in the country!”

  “No, I know, but you might be able to find some oysters. His Royal Highness always says his ideal supper dish is grilled oysters.”

  “I will try,” Wenda promised, but she was not very optimistic.

  She had remembered that Robbie said his favourite way of cooking pheasant was to have it served stuffed with a woodcock which in its turn was stuffed with truffles.

  It was the wrong time of year for pheasant, but she thought a peahen with a teal inside and served on a golden platter would be almost as good. She and Mrs. Banks had added truffles and the delicious sauce her father had loved.

  She felt sure that His Royal Highness would not be disappointed.

  They had also made him a very special pudding of fresh strawberries and ice-cream in a meringue basket.

  Wenda had decorated every dish either with fruit or herbs and they looked very pretty when they were carried into the dining room.

  She was feeling quite exhausted when dinner at last was coming to an end.

  Very quietly she opened the door that led up to the large minstrels’ gallery overlooking the dining room and standing still at the back, she knew that no one would hear or see her.

  The table was decorated with flowers and Banks had fished out of the safe the finest silver ornaments that Wenda had not seen since she was a child. The George III candlesticks were on the table and the whole room was gleaming.

  But what really interested her were the guests.

  As she had not been allowed to meet them, she had to guess who each one was.

  The Prince of Wales was exactly as he looked in the portraits she had seen in magazines and newspapers. It would have been impossible to think he was anyone else.

  The ladies were all looking exceedingly glamorous especially as all but one of them were wearing diamonds in their hair – not the large tiaras which Wenda knew they would wear on formal occasions, but small delicate ones.

  On one lady, who Wenda felt must be the Duchess of Manchester, it was made of small diamond flowers with green leaves which she supposed were emeralds.

  She had tried to remember while writing out their names what they had looked like in the portraits she had seen in magazines.

  Wenda was wondering who was on the Prince of Wales’s left and she supposed she must be Madame Frazer, who Robbie had brought as his guest.

  She was certainly extremely pretty but did not look entirely English and she was much younger than the other ladies.

  Robbie was sitting beside her and they kept looking at each other in what seemed a very intimate manner.

  It then suddenly struck her with unease that Robbie might fall in love and want to marry someone.

  He had never hinted at it in the past, but it would perhaps mean she would have to leave The Court and find somewhere else to live – then she told herself he could not afford a wife and there was no need for her to worry about that eventuality.

  Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves and the Prince of Wales was laughing heartily at some of the jokes although she could not hear them.

  Finally tired because she had been working so hard, she walked wearily upstairs.

  Wenda’s was the only room without a name on the door and she went in thinking how quiet and peaceful it was after all the hurly-burly in the kitchen.

  She undressed, climbed into bed and blew out the oil lamp on the table.

  Then she realised she was not as tired as she had thought. She had brought with her from the library a book on all the Kings and Queens of England that she found fascinating.

  ‘I will read for a little while,’ she decided. ‘They will make a noise when they come upstairs and wake me anyway.’

  She lit three candles near her bed in an attractive holder consisting of four cupids. She had been given it by her parents for her birthday when she was sixteen.

  She propped up her pillows and opening the history book began to read, wondering if Robbie would come and say goodnight to her before he went to his room.

  It would be so disappointing if she was fast asleep and he could not tell her how much the guests had enjoyed the dinner.

  In the drawing room the Prince of Wales played one rubber of bridge and then he said he was going to bed.

  “I find it hard to concentrate when there is so much excitement going on,” he sighed. “Robbie has told me that tomorrow we are going to take our horses over the new jumps and some of them are very high. So I do think we should not be too late tonight.”

  He realised as he was speaking that the ladies were giving the men they had arrived with inviting looks from under their eyelashes and the Prince himself was always finding the Duchess most alluring.

  They walked upstairs talking loudly and laughing as they went to their own rooms.

  No one had noticed, except the Prince, that instead of following them, Robbie and Josofine had disappeared again.

  He had whispered to her that he wanted her to see the moonlight in the garden and they slipped away without anyone realising they were doing so until they had gone.

  At the end of the garden there was a little Wendy House, where Robbie and Wenda had played as children. There was an old and rather dilapidated sofa in it, but it was still quite comfortable.

  They passed the pretty fountain which to Robbie’s surprise was playing and the moonlight caught the droplets of water as they were flung up into the sky.

  The fountain made the garden seem much more enchanted than it had ever been.

  As they went into the Wendy House Robbie took Josofine in his arms and his lips found hers and then they could only think of each other.

  *

  Wenda had only read a little of her book when she heard the guests coming up the stairs. They all seemed to be laughing and talking at the same time.

  But she did not miss the Prince’s deep voice and the musical laughter of the ladies.

  She thought how smart and elegant they had looked in the dining room and she wondered if the day would ever come when she would be hostess as her mother had been, sitting at the end of the table with the most distinguished male guests on either side of her and Robbie at the top.

  Then she told herself she was only dreaming.

  It was very unlikely that anything as glamorous as tonight would ever happen again at The Court.

  She felt sure that Robbie would be tempted to sell more of the pictures after this weekend, but it was too dangerous and somehow, though she was not quite certain how, she must dissuade him from doing so.

  In the passage outside she heard the doors closing one after another and she was surprised that they did not linger longer.

  ‘Perhaps Robbie will come and see me now,’ she mused.

  She still had no idea why the party was so secret or why each gentleman brought a special lady guest with him.

  She just believed it was another way of amusing the Prince of Wales or allowing him to enjoy himself without being so Royal and always surrounded by equerries and obsequious courtiers.

  Of course wherever he went, if it became known, there would be a large crowd of people gathered to catch a glimpse of him.

  ‘For tonight at any rate,’ Wenda told herself, ‘only the people in this house know he is here.’

  Robbie had put all the gentlemen on the opposite side of the corridor and without saying an
ything to Wenda, he had put the ladies of their choice as nearly opposite each of them as possible. Therefore they only had to cross the corridor.

  He had been on their parties before and he knew that the gentlemen taking part waited until everything was quiet before venturing out of their own room.

  *

  That certainly applied to the Marquis of Mildenhall.

  He never hurried himself if he could help it.

  At twenty-nine he had remained unmarried despite every effort on the part of his relatives to force him to take a wife.

  As had been pointed out to him a thousand times he owned one of the finest houses in England with an estate that gave him better shooting than even Sandringham.

  He also possessed a large and impressive house in London and he was one of the fortunate owners of a house designed by Nash in Regents Park.

  “What are you waiting for?” his grandmother had asked him for the hundredth time only a week ago.

  “I might seem a little old-fashioned these days,” the Marquis replied, “but I am waiting to fall in love.”

  “Good Heavens, Victor, you must have done that a dozen times already!” the Dowager exclaimed.

  The Marquis had smiled before he countered,

  “Not exactly to my satisfaction.”

  “If you get much older, they will be saying you are too old to marry a young girl. Then you will be left with those improper married women I disapprove of.”

  She spoke with a particular lilt in her voice and a light in her eyes that told him she understood that he much preferred to ‘play the field’.

  “All I want,” she said, “is for you to have an heir, perhaps two or three sons to carry on the name. And to appreciate the Mildenhall horses that in your grandfather’s day won every classic race.”

  The Marquis had laughed.

  “It is what I intend to do myself, Grandmama, and you must say I have been quite successful so far.”

  “So far is not good enough. Perhaps a bride would make you more ambitious and more determined to win.”