The Heart of love Read online

  Long minutes passed by whilst Verena considered what Arthur had said.

  ‘If I appeal to his good nature, then maybe all will be well,’ she told herself. ‘But I do not think I will be able to stand it should he dismiss me. The thought of never seeing him again tears me in two. Oh, how I love him!’

  Arthur waited patiently until finally Verena spoke,

  “I have come to a decision. I will tell the Marquis,” she announced. “Now, if you would kindly leave the cabin for ten minutes, I will change and make myself presentable. Would you please speak to Pete and ask him to keep quiet about me?”

  “I’ll try my best, my Lady. I may have to threaten him but rest assured, if I have to sew his mouth up myself, I will obtain his silence.”

  Arthur left the cabin and as Verena filled the small sink with water from the jug, she could hear him outside, talking to Pete in a low voice. It comforted her to know that she was being guarded.

  ‘I will do my utmost to make a good impression on the Marquis,’ she resolved, her heart in her mouth.

  She pulled her small suitcase and vanity case out from under the bunk. Opening the suitcase, the smells of home wafted out and made her feel quite homesick once again.

  She shook out her fine muslin dress and held it against her figure.

  ‘It is quite crumpled, but at this moment that is not important.’ She laid it on the bed and took a cake of soap from her vanity case. The packet was quite worn, but the soap still retained the smell of lavender.

  Moving over to the sink, Verena lathered up the soap. She then stripped down to her undergarments and washed.

  Pulling on her dress, she noticed that she had lost weight, as it had been quite tight the last time she had worn it. Now it fitted her perfectly.

  She gazed anxiously in the mirror as she vigorously scrubbed her face until her cheeks shone pink, but there was nothing she could do with her badly cut hair. It hung in hanks across her face and would not sit smoothly.

  Smoothing down her dress, she attempted to view her reflection in the tiny mirror.

  ‘It’s no use, I will have to go as I am to the Marquis and hope that the sight of me will not displease him too much.’

  Her heart was beating hard as she opened the door to the cabin. Pete and Arthur stood outside waiting for her.

  “Well, there’s a sight for sore eyes and make no mistake,” whistled Pete,

  “Mind your manners, boy,” admonished Arthur.

  Pete bobbed a curtsy.

  “Sorry, my Lady!”

  Verena smiled as the rascal winked at her. If she was to leave, she would be sorry to not see Pete again. He was such a lively fellow.

  “Arthur, let’s go and find the Marquis without further delay,” suggested Verena, her stomach churning at the mere thought of seeing him dressed as she was.

  “Right away, my Lady.”

  “Lord Mountjoy is in for a shock,” added Pete, mischievously.

  “Now hush, what did I tell you?” said Arthur, a stern look on his face.

  Arthur led the way along the corridor and up the stairs to the deck. Verena could scarcely breathe as they approached the Saloon.

  As agreed, Arthur was to knock, enter and announce her as Jean. She would then walk in and give herself up to her fate.

  Verena could hear the soft strains of Bach wafting out of the saloon door.

  Arthur paused before knocking and nodded at Verena.

  “Please proceed,” she said quietly her legs feeling quite unsteady under her muslin dress.

  He knocked and waited. After a few moments, the Marquis bid him enter.

  “Your Lordship – the chef.”

  “Ah, thank you, Arthur. Bring him in.”

  As Verena crept through the door, she saw that the Marquis had his back to her. He was taking a disc off the gramophone and polishing its surface with a cloth.

  Sensing her presence in the room, he turned around, the record still in his hand.

  When he caught sight of Verena standing there in her white muslin dress, her face shining with hope and her short dark hair so fetchingly caught up behind her ears, he could not conceal his shock and bewilderment.

  For a tense moment, he simply stood by the gramophone with a puzzled look on his face.

  Next he took a deep breath and spoke – the words came out hesitantly, “Well, for the first time in my life words desert me! Am I to understand that my chef is not a man but a woman? Arthur? Can you explain this apparent aberration?”

  Arthur stepped forward from the side of the room and coughed, “I think my Lady can tell you better than I. May I beg to be excused?”

  The Marquis nodded, dazzled by the vision in white who stood before him.

  Such was the silence that Verena threw herself to her knees at the Marquis’s feet.

  “Please, I entreat you. Do not throw me off the ship. My life is in your hands, I am totally at your mercy. I beg of you, please do not hand me over to the authorities. I cannot go back to England! I cannot!”

  The Marquis, somewhat dazed, took Verena by the hand and pulled her to her feet.

  “Well, I must declare I had thought that there was something a trifle odd about you, but I had attributed that to your being unused to such surroundings.”

  He gestured around the room. In the late afternoon light, the room appeared no less rich and sumptuous than it had in the warm candle light of evening.

  “Now, please be seated and tell me your story. It must be an intriguing one indeed for you to pass yourself off as a boy when it is quite apparent now that you are a lady of fine breeding. Do you really think that I am about to throw such a divine cook off my ship?”

  He stared at Verena, his warm amber eyes searching deep within hers.

  “I don’t know – ” she started haltingly.

  “Of course not! I’d rather cut my stomach out first. Now pray continue. I want to hear what it was that drove you to such lengths.”

  Verena sank down into the proffered balloon-backed chair, feeling the prick of the red velvet through the thin muslin of her dress.

  “My father is the Earl of Rosslyn and I ran away from an arranged marriage. I tried to buy a passage to France, where I once lived, but the only ship leaving that day was yours. I saw the notice and was told that you would not stand for a woman being on board, so I disguised myself as a simple chef and was hired.”

  The Marquis poured a glass of brandy and sipped it, his eyes never leaving her face.

  “That accounts for the hair?”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “Please, my name is James. We are equals. You are no longer a servant in my eyes and have no need to pay me a servant’s respects. Please continue.”

  “That is all,” Verena replied, bowing her head.

  The Marquis leaned over to her and touched her lightly under the chin, bringing her face level with his.

  “No, there is more, I can see it in your eyes. But you are frightened of telling me.”

  She could not help herself. Hot tears sprang onto her cheeks. She was overcome to feel the touch of his hand on her skin. Waves of affection washed over her and she was forced to look away.

  “Please, I want to help you,” said the Marquis gently. “You must be in great peril for you to feel such fear.”

  Verena could not help herself. She broke into sobs, her body shaking with the force of them.

  “Lord Mountjoy attacked me and then held me prisoner in my own cabin. He is a friend of my stepmother and recognised me in spite of my disguise. He has threatened to send me back to England and a marriage I did not choose, if I do not comply with his demands.”

  “Which are?” enquired the Marquis, setting down his glass.

  “I cannot say,” whispered Verena, “they are too – too shocking.”

  “I am a man of the world. Nothing you can say would make me think less of you. If Lord Mountjoy has abused my hospitality, then I need to know of it.”

  The Marquis’s expression
was stern yet concerned.

  Verena’s voice was barely a whisper as she spoke, her eyes cast downwards in shame.

  “He gave me the choice – either become his mistress and leave France for a life together in sin or if I did not choose that way, he would inform you of my deception and you would have me thrown in jail. He gave me until six o’clock to make my decision either way.”

  The Marquis’s eyes glittered with anger. His mouth set into a hard thin line as he rose from the chair.

  He strode across the polished floor of the Saloon, his hands behind his back, his face an unreadable mask. Verena could not bring herself to look at him as he paced hither and thither. At last, the Marquis spoke, “I want you to wait here, I will not be long.”

  “Where are you going?” she asked nervously. “I will be just outside on deck. I intend to apprehend this fellow myself.” He strode purposefully towards the glass-etched door.

  *

  It was not long afterwards that Verena heard voices on the walkway outside. “Ah, just the person I want to see.” It was Lord Mountjoy. “Jamie, old boy, we have a cuckoo in the nest.”

  “Oh?” replied the Marquis casually. Verena could only admire the cool and calm way in which he responded. It made her heart swell with love. “I should say! That chef of yours isn’t quite all he seems.”

  “Really?” said the Marquis coolly. “Come into the Saloon, we do not want the crew to hear now, do we?” Confidently Lord Mountjoy swaggered into the room. He had the air of a man who believed he had won the day.

  It wasn’t until he saw Verena seated there in her fine white dress that he stopped short. For a few seconds, he appeared flustered and confused and then with admirable composure, he recovered himself.

  “Ah, I see you have already apprehended our little impostor. Now, shall I go and fetch the gendarmes or will you send for the Steward?”

  “There will be no gendarmes of any kind on the Seahorse,” replied the Marquis coldly, as he closed the Saloon door. I think it is you who owes me an explanation, not Lady Verena.”

  Lord Mountjoy hesitated. His eyes darted from Verena to the Marquis and back again. She could see his mind whirling, attempting to come up with an explanation. She feared that he would talk himself out of trouble or that the Marquis would give in to him.

  “Albert, I am waiting –”

  The Marquis’s tone was quite threatening as he snipped the end off a cigar and glared in Lord Mountjoy’s direction.

  “Look, Jamie, I don’t know what this flibbertigibbet has told you, but it’s a pack of lies. I found the hussy sneaking around the back streets of Marseilles, dressed as a boy. What would you think, old chap? A bit rum, eh, what?”

  “I wonder what a spell in a Marseilles jail would do for your ability to tell the truth?” replied the Marquis, “if there is one thing I cannot abide, Albert, is a liar and a seducer. Add blackmail to the equation and it is not Lady Verena who is the wrongdoer here, but you.

  “We have been friends for over twenty years and in that time I have forgiven your indiscretions and not heeded idle gossip about your morals. However, I now find them lacking and distasteful. I do not welcome men of dubious moral character onto the Seahorse to partake of my hospitality. I suggest that you leave this instant whilst I am still feeling well disposed.

  “If you are still here by the time that dinner is served, I will indeed be sending the Steward out for the gendarmes, much as it would grieve me to do so, but it will not be to arrest Lady Verena. Do I make myself clear?”

  Lord Mountjoy cast an evil look towards Verena, spitting with rage as he spoke,

  “Do not think that I will fail to inform the Countess of your whereabouts the moment I return to the shore, madam. It will not be long before you are back in the bosom of your family.”

  The Marquis turned on him with a steely gaze.

  “Be warned that from now on, Lady Verena is under my protection. She will not be taken anywhere against her will –”

  Lord Mountjoy turned to leave the Saloon holding his head as high as he could, given that he was utterly defeated.

  “Bad blood, that’s what the Countess said. Hope you know what you’re taking on, old boy!”

  And with that, he departed.

  There was an audible sigh of relief from Verena as the sound of Lord Mountjoy’s footsteps retreated along the deck.

  The Marquis struck a match and lit his cigar, sending up great clouds of scented smoke into the Saloon.

  As he puffed, he fixed his stare on Verena. She trembled under the strength of his gaze, feeling that his eyes were penetrating her soul, reading her heart and her mind.

  “That will be the last we see of him, I’ll wager.”

  “But you have lost a friend and all on account of me.”

  The Marquis drew close to her, the smoke from his cigar wafting soft swirls upwards. Kneeling beside her chair, he gently pushed a lock of her hair away from her face.

  “And now, young lady, as for you –”

  Verena’s heart swelled as he looked deep into her eyes.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The clear, blue sky of the Mediterranean wheeled overhead as the Seahorse steamed on through turquoise waters on a voyage of discovery and exploration.

  On the bridge, Captain MacDonald steered the ship ever onwards, whilst below decks all was a hive of activity. It had just gone midday and in the galley preparations were well underway for luncheon.

  The news had spread around the crew like wildfire about Lord Mountjoy’s unceremonious departure from the vessel the previous evening. Some of the men had arrived back from an afternoon spent enjoying the delights of Marseilles in time to witness a dejected Lord Mountjoy hastily beating a retreat with his luggage thrown down the gangway after him.

  Jack the cook had been more than astonished when he took his place in the galley later that evening to find that a comely young girl had replaced Jean. But still he did not soften his attitude towards her.

  As Verena bustled around the galley preparing luncheon, he continued to scrutinise her every move, making loud comments when he thought that she was making an error.

  “Don’t think I’ll be minding my language around you,” he commented, chewing on a pencil, “you’re in a man’s world now and you’ll just have to get used to it.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to behave in any other fashion,” she had answered with a smile.

  Verena cleaned and washed the salmon she had bought at the market the previous day and felt regret that she no longer had the big juicy scallops she had also purchased. In the scuffle with Lord Mountjoy, she had lost her basket containing most of her shopping.

  “I never did get to taste those little boats,” moaned Pete wistfully, as he entered the galley dragging a sack of salt behind him.

  “I would not even mention them, if I were you,” parried Verena sternly and then she began to laugh. Try as she might, she could not stay angry with the cheeky cabin boy for long.

  “So, my Lady, I reckon it’s all right for me to talk about what happened now?”

  “I would wager that the whole crew are aware that Jean the chef is no more and that a lady is in his place,” added Verena, as she poured olive oil into some egg yolks to make a special mayonnaise for the salmon.

  As she worked, she hummed an air from Beethoven’s ‘Ode to Joy’. It seemed a most suitable tune in the light of the previous evening’s happenings.

  Verena cast her mind back once more to the horrible moment when Lord Mountjoy had attempted to ruin her. It made her shudder to think that if the Marquis had not been such an honourable man and had been as much of a cad as his friend, she may well have found herself in a terrible situation.

  ‘I feel as if Mama is still watching over me,’ she thought as she stirred the mayonnaise one more time, ‘my prayers have been answered. I left Rosslyn Hall knowing that there was something missing in my life and now I have found it in sweet James, the Marquis of Hilchester!’

 
She recalled with pleasure, how after Lord Mountjoy had been forcibly ejected from the Seahorse, the Marquis had sat with her for the remainder of the evening – listening intently as she recounted her tale.

  He had produced many discs from the shelves of the Saloon and they had played every last one of them. Many were pieces that her mother used to play in happier times at Rosslyn Hall.

  So lost in the music were they that neither of them had realised that the sky was beginning to grow lighter. They had talked until dawn.

  With her heart full of hope, Verena had danced back to her cabin and snatched a few hours sleep before her day began in earnest.

  Upon waking, the first object she had set eyes upon was the photograph of her beloved mother.

  ‘Oh, Mama, the most wonderful thing has happened,’ she whispered to the picture, ‘I have fallen in love with the most dashing young gentleman. You would approve, he is the Marquis of Hilchester of a fine family with a country seat in Sussex and a house in Piccadilly. He is kind and brave, and oh, how I love him! He may not love me yet, but I intend to do everything in my power to make it so. Send me your blessing, Mama.’

  And so, some six hours later, she was still full of hope and optimism that the promise for the future would hold good.

  Arthur arrived in the galley ready to serve luncheon.

  “Good afternoon, my Lady.”

  “Good afternoon, Arthur, I trust you are well this fine day?” Verena was bursting with happiness, her eyes shone and her expression was one of joy.

  Arthur pointed at the pan containing the salmon.

  “My Lady, I think your fish is starting to become rather well done?”

  Verena rushed over the stove where the salmon was beginning to brown rapidly around the edges. She quickly folded a linen cloth into four and slid the pan off the heat.

  “Goodness, it was half raw a moment ago! What must I have been thinking of?”

  Arthur did not reply, he simply gave an enigmatic smile.

  He had heard the music playing late into the night and early morning and had guessed that Verena had been with the Marquis all that time. In his heart, he was pleased. The Marquis had been on his own for too long – not a natural state of affairs for a young man, he thought.