Love Me Forever Read online

  Then she rose and went towards the Duke.

  “Please take me home, Monseigneur,” she said and now her face was white as the cloth on the table that held the cabalistic formulae.

  The Duke’s arm went round her shoulders and, as he led her to the door, pandemonium broke out.

  The Comte began to shout, the child woke from her trance and began to cry at the very top of her lungs, a woman in the party had screaming hysterics and everybody else began to talk at once. Only the Cardinal stayed silent, as quickly and yet without appearing to hurry the Duke and Amé reached the door and were followed by Isabella and Hugo,

  They descended the stairs in silence, their coach was called and they left the Cardinal’s Palace without speaking a word amongst themselves and without anyone coming after them. Only as the coach drove away did Amé draw a deep sigh and turn her face towards the Duke’s shoulder.

  She clung on to him for a moment and he knew that she was crying.

  “It is over,” he said. “It was a risk that you took and yet I think you were not discovered.”

  Amé said nothing, but her whole body seemed to be shaken by her sobs.

  Isabella bent forward to stroke her arm.

  “Don’t be miserable, my love,” she begged. “It was an ordeal, I grant you, but it is over now and I declare I would not go through it again for a thousand guineas. It has been too much for her,” she added to the Duke over Amé’s head.

  “I am all right. I am not crying because I am frightened or upset but because such wickedness should exist. And that the Cardinal should allow such things and should countenance such evil terrifies me.”

  “He is not the only Cardinal,” Isabella said soothingly. “Some of them are good, really good men, but he has always been a mountebank. Think of him as a man, child, and not as a Priest.”

  Amé’s sobs grew fainter. And, as they neared the Duke’s mansion, she took her head from off his shoulder and rubbed her eyes with her handkerchief.

  “I am sorry if ‒ I disgraced you, Your Grace,” she said at length in a broken little voice.

  “You did nothing of the sort,” the Duke said. “You were very brave and I am very proud of you. It is what we should all have done had we the guts.”

  “That is true enough,” Hugo agreed, “we are pretty spineless to put up with such things and let a childlike Amé show us the proper way to behave.”

  Amé gave a little watery smile.

  “You are both very kind to me. But what happens now?”

  “That is what we are all asking ourselves,” Isabella replied. “Ah, here we are at home. Thank goodness for that.”

  They entered the house and then with one accord went to the library, which seemed cosier than the formal salons. The Duke commanded a fire and ordered that champagne be brought. He insisted on Amé having a sip or two, although as a rule she would drink nothing.

  “You have been through a hard ordeal,” he said, “and I may add that it is an experience I have no wish to encounter again.”

  “Nor I,” Isabella agreed. “Those terrible incantations – and I swear something moved behind that table with the candlesticks beside it.”

  “You did not see it really,” the Duke replied. “The Comte was making you see it, they were things he imagined and forced upon your mind.”

  “There was something there all the same,” Isabella argued with a little shiver. “After this I will never make enquiries about the future. I will not even go to the fat old fortune-teller in Bond Street, who always assures me I am going to marry a Duke.”

  She laughed as she spoke, but Amé’s eyes turned towards the Duke.

  There was an enquiry in them and unexpectedly Hugo rose from his chair and drew Isabella to her feet.

  “Come into the garden,” he said, “it is quiet and beautiful out there. You can look at the goldfish and forget all the nonsensical junketings that you have been listening to tonight.”

  Isabella guessed that he was being tactful and allowed him to lead her to the French window that opened into the garden.

  Amé waited until they were gone and then impulsively she laid her hand on the Duke’s.

  “Your Grace, I beg of you to listen to me,” she said. “I have been thinking that perhaps it is best that I should go back to the Convent. I have caused so much trouble and made so many difficulties for you and Lady Isabella. If I go away I shall be forgotten very soon and then perhaps one day you will marry Lady Isabella and be happy.”

  The Duke’s fingers tightened over Amé’s.

  “Listen, child. What has happened tonight has made me more determined than ever that my protection is there for you just as long as you need it. As to marrying Lady Isabella, that is just a ridiculous idea and one to which you need not give so much as a passing thought. Isabella has always teased me by saying that she would make a lovely Duchess, as our family has not been over-endowed with beautiful women. It is just so much talk. She does not love me, nor I her and what is more, I have no intention of marrying anyone.”

  Amé’s expression, drawn and anxious, changed to one of sudden happiness.

  “Then you don’t wish me to go away? But, consider, Your Grace, tomorrow all of Paris will be talking of what happened tonight. I have only been in this world for a short time, but I have learned how much people gossip and how much they delight in talking of other people’s concerns. The Cardinal will be angry and he will, I am afraid, vent his anger on you.”

  “I am not afraid of the Cardinal or of anyone else,” the Duke replied. “I am an Englishman, Amé, and in a short time I shall return to my own country. Whatever the Cardinal, the Duc de Chartres or anyone else does in the meantime will not ultimately affect my life. Enemies are always tiresome, but I am beginning to believe that the compensation lies in having friends. If in meeting you I must quarrel with the Cardinal, then I say it in all sincerity, I have no regrets.”

  “Oh, Your Grace, Your Grace, when you say things like that I am so happy!”

  There were tears in Amé’s eyes as she looked up at him and her hands clasped themselves over his. Slowly the Duke rose to his feet and disengaged himself from her clinging fingers.

  “It is time you were in bed,” he said. “Tomorrow we must decide what it would be best to do. Personally I think we should visit our little house in the wood.”

  Ame gave a little cry of joy.

  “Do you mean that, Your Grace? Voyons! That would be wonderful above all things.”

  “Are you tired of Society already?” the Duke enquired. “You must remember that you were a very great success, my dear, and, if you leave Paris now, even for a short while, your place may well be taken by another debutante and you may come back to find yourself forgotten save, of course, by your enemies.”

  “Do you think I want to be remembered by anyone but you?” Amé asked softly.

  The Duke glanced at her and then turned away from the adoration in her eyes.

  “Isabella,” he called through the open window, “it is time for bed.”

  He stood with his back to the room watching Isabella and Hugo walk towards the house along the flagged path that bordered the goldfish pool and then, as he did so, he heard a very soft voice at his side say,

  “Bonne nuit, Your Grace I love you very much! More every day, I think.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Duke’s plan to go to the ‘house in the woods’ was, however, vetoed with something like horror by Lady Isabella the next day.

  “It would be running away!” she exclaimed. “Surely, Sebastian, you must realise that today all Paris will be talking of what happened last night. Those who dislike the Cardinal and are against him will be extolling Amé to the skies, the others, those who have already been converted to admiration of the magician or who think it politic to keep in with the Prince de Rohan, will be spreading the most hideous slanders and making us all out to be fiends incarnate. To disappear now would be to play right into their hands. Besides, have you forgotten t
he date?”

  “The date?” the Duke questioned. “What has the date to do with it?”

  “A great deal,” Isabella replied. “It is the 21st of June.”

  “I am sorry, but that means nothing to me,” the Duke muttered.

  “Really, Sebastian, I don’t believe you ever listen to a word I say,” Isabella replied and then laughed. “And that sounds like the sort of remark a wife makes to an absent-minded husband, but I did tell you two days ago what was happening tonight.”

  “I remember,” Amé exclaimed. “It is the party for the King of Sweden.”

  “Of course it is,” Isabella nodded, “and you know that the Queen has specially asked for us to be present. It is going to be a wonderful party, starting with an entertainment in Her Majesty’s own theatre and followed by a ball in the gardens of the Trianon.”

  “It sounds my idea of boredom,” the Duke replied. “Is it really necessary for us all to go?”

  “It is imperative that we should do so,” Isabella replied. “To ignore the Queen’s special invitation would to start with be exceedingly rude. To disappear now to what you and Amé call the ‘house in the woods’ would be merely to invite malicious gossip.”

  “Then we must go to the party,” the Duke groaned.

  “Now, Sebastian, don’t sound so hipped,” Isabella said. “You will enjoy it when you get there. It is sure to be a wonderful spectacle for the Queen is anxious to impress a certain member of the King of Sweden’s suite, although she has no love for his Royal Master. You will remember that King Gustav antagonised her on his last visit when she was the Dauphine by making a gift of a fine diamond necklace to Madame du Barry’s dog.”

  “Why should the Queen want to impress someone in the King of Sweden’s suite?” Amé asked innocently.

  Isabella laughed.

  “Gossip relates that the Count Axel de Fersen is a very good-looking young man,” she said. “However, we shall see for ourselves tonight. And don’t forget that everyone has to be dressed in white.”

  “In white!” the Duke exclaimed. “So that we shall all look like ghosts, I suppose?”

  “Perhaps one day people will think of us like that,” Amé said pensively. “Perhaps years and years hence we shall seem like ghosts wandering among the beauties of The Palace, while other people live there or come to see where once we laughed and played.”

  Isabella shivered.

  “What a morbid thought! It is easy enough to think of the past but somehow horrid to remember that there will be a future in which we shall be the past.”

  “I don’t suppose anyone will ever remember me,” Amé said, “but they will remember you, Your Grace. Your great-great-great grandchildren will be brought up to be good and brave and strong and be worthy of your memory.”

  Isabella laughed a little mockingly.

  “Fiddle! They are more likely to speak of him as ‘the wicked Duke’. I cannot see him being extolled as ‘Sebastian the Good’!”

  The Duke turned away towards the window as if bored with the whole conversation, but Isabella found herself suddenly facing a very bright-eyed Amé.

  “Madame, I love you and I shall always be very grateful for the kindness you have shown me but you must not speak like that of Monseigneur. To me he has been always good and kind. I have seen him fight for me with a bravery that no other man could have equalled. I revere as well as love him.”

  For a minute there was a silence and then impulsively with one of her warm-hearted gestures, Isabella stepped forward and kissed Amé.

  “I apologise, my love,” she said. “It was tactless and unkind of me and I was but teasing, as Sebastian well knows. Whatever his faults in the past, he certainly has in you a champion who he should be very proud of.”

  “It is I who am proud of him,” Amé said and Isabella kissed her again.

  Then there is no more to be said,” she smiled. “Come, we will go and get ready for our drive.”

  The two ladies then left the room and the Duke went in search of Hugo who, as usual, was busy with his secretarial duties in the library. He told him that Isabella insisted on going to the Queen’s party that evening and Hugo agreed that Isabella was undoubtedly right in saying that neither the Duke nor Amé should leave Paris at this precise moment.

  “The Queen’s enemies will make the very most of what happened last night. It would be a mistake to play further into their hands.”

  “But why the Queen’s enemies?” the Duke questioned. “By them I assume you mean those who look to Chartres for leadership?”

  Hugo nodded.

  “Those who follow the Duc will be delighted,” he said. “The war between The Palace and the Palais Royal is fought daily, point by point. It is a very real and a very bitter war, you know, Sebastian.”

  “But I cannot exactly see how they can twist what occurred last night into being in any way a point in their favour,” the Duke said. “Everyone knows that the Queen will not speak to the Cardinal de Rohan however much he may protest his attachment to her.”

  “That is so,” Hugo agreed, “but the Princesse de Frémond is an accepted favourite, had you forgotten?”

  “Indeed I had,” the Duke expostulated. “Yes, I see now how the minds of those who will use any weapons to further their ends will work in this instance. Isabella was right. We must go to the party tonight and we must make it clear that Amé’s denouncement of the Cardinal and Cagliostro was a personal matter and had nothing to do with anyone else.”

  It was perhaps because of these undercurrents and because the Duke was not the only person to realise the importance of such trivialities that later that evening Amé found herself at the Queen’s side and being received with a graciousness that left her almost speechless.

  Marie Antoinette was looking particularly lovely tonight and the whole party appeared to be a background for her vivid grace and loveliness. A veritable Fairyland had been made of the gardens of the Trianon. Hidden lights at the foot of every flowering bush brought out in vivid relief the sublime colours of a thousand different blossoms. Behind the Greek Temple of Love, trenches had been filled up with enormous quantities of faggots, which, set afire, made the Temple appear as though it was miraculously suspended in a sea of flame.

  The Queen’s guests moved among the sparkling fountains and statues and found that the flickering lanterns gave to the Gods and Goddesses, nymphs and dragons an unfamiliar uncanny beauty. Indeed to many it seemed as if these mythical beings had for the evening become half-human and were also taking part in the festivities.

  There was, however, nothing ghostly about the supper. It was served at small tables. There were forty-eight entrées and sixty-five entremets. There were lambs’ ears à la Provençale, sturgeon, venison that had been shot by Louis XVI himself, pheasants, bullocks’ tongues and many other delicacies.

  Most of the guests ate heartily and only the King of Sweden was abstemious as was his wont, choosing a dish of fried red mullet and refusing everything else.

  Careless of the elaborate etiquette of Courts, King Gustav had already amazed his Royal hosts by arriving at Versailles without even announcing the time he might be expected. Louis had been hunting at Rambouillet and at the news of his guest’s arrival came hurrying back at full gallop. His courtiers, who found it easy to laugh at the simplicity of their King, were twittering at the story that he finally appeared before the King of Sweden wearing one gold buckled shoe with a red heel and one silver-buckled shoe with a black heel.

  King Gustav was, however, the last person to worry about Louis’s appearance. He himself was always shabbily dressed and refused on most occasions to keep up any state whatsoever.

  He was an ugly man with a long face, an aquiline nose, his forehead flattened on the left side in a strange manner and his complexion inflamed.

  As King Gustav found all formal conventions a bore, he had made little effort this evening to look amused at the splendours of the entertainment that Marie Antoinette had provided for him
.

  He yawned his way through the presentation of Marmontel’s Le Dormeur Eveillé and had nearly fallen asleep during the ballet that followed. The party in the garden, which was enchanting all the other guests, left him unmoved.

  Marie Antoinette, however, was not downcast by the lack of appreciation from her guest of honour. There was another guest present for whom she knew in her heart the whole fête had been planned and she was sure that he, if no one else, would appreciate the miracle she had achieved in arranging everything in five days.

  As the Queen moved from the supper tables into the flickering lights and shadows of the fragrant garden, a handsome young man was seen to move to her side.

  Tall and slender with a proud bearing and a noble head, the Count Axel de Fersen had the blond hair of his Northern race, but the warm expressive eyes of his mother’s Latin blood. His face was a perfect oval, his profile delicate and finely moulded but strong, dark and his virile eyebrows were his most noticeable feature. They were the keynote to his character, a clue to the strength of his emotions and the endurance of them.

  It was just impossible for the Queen and the Count to be able to speak together without being overheard. There were hundreds of eyes watching their movements, hundreds of ears pricked to hear what they said and as many mouths eager to repeat and distort every word, however commonplace. And yet it was something that they could move together over the soft, velvety grass, it was something that Marie Antoinette, who had known so much loneliness, should know for the moment at least that she was no longer alone.

  It was perhaps because she was happy that she turned instinctively to find someone young and happy too and seeing Amé at the Duke’s side, she stopped and smiled at her kindly as she rose from a deep curtsey.

  “Do you like my party, Miss Court?” she enquired.

  “I have never seen anything as beautiful as these gardens, madame,” Amé replied.

  “I thought of the decorations and the light behind the Temple all by myself,” Marie Antoinette said.