The Unbreakable Spell Page 2

  As if she was following her thoughts, Nanny, standing behind Rocana, remarked,

  “You’re too pretty and that’s the truth! And I often find myself wondering since Her Grace never lets you meet anybody where you’ll find yourself a husband!”

  It was a dismal thought because, when she passed her eighteenth birthday, Rocana knew that she would like to be married, if only to escape from The Castle.

  Of course she dreamt of finding a Knight in shining armour or a Prince looking exactly like her father, who would fall in love with her at first sight and carry her away on his charger.

  But she had known ever since she had come to The Castle that the reason why she was unhappy there was not only that her aunt disliked her, but also that it was a house without love.

  When she lived with her father and mother in the small manor on the estate which the Duke had condescendingly given his brother, it had always been filled with sunshine and happiness.

  Her father and mother had given it a warmth which had nothing to do with the big log fires that burned in the open fireplaces.

  But in The Castle, even in the height of summer, Rocana always found herself shivering.

  When Caroline had gone to London this April, excited by the lovely gowns that had been given to her for the balls, and anticipating that she would be a success, Rocana, left behind, felt very lonely.

  Then she told herself it was no use crying for the moon. She must just be grateful for the few pleasures that were left to her.

  These consisted mainly of the horses she was allowed to ride, though that was often impossible when the Duchess found her a great deal of sewing to do and the books she could read.

  This usually had to be at night, often until the early hours of the morning, because she had been kept so busy in the daytime.

  She was never accompanied when she went riding because the Duke thought it was a waste of time to send a groom with either her or Caroline when they rode just around The Castle grounds.

  It was inevitable that Patrick Fairley was waiting for her, distraught in case when she reached London Caroline would forget him.

  “Do you think Caroline loves me, Rocana?” he would ask her over and over again. “I mean – really loves me? Or that she remembers she belongs to me?”

  Rocana tried to console him, for she was sure that Caroline loved him as much as she was capable of loving anybody.

  It was not that ecstatic, rapturous love that her mother had had for her father, but then she doubted if anybody as wholly English as Caroline would be able to feel like that.

  When Caroline returned to The Castle in the middle of June, when the Prince Regent had left London for Brighton and the Season was over, there was no doubt that she was delighted to see Patrick.

  Every morning she would ride with Rocana across the Park, through the woods in the direction of Patrick’s much smaller estate that marched with the Duke’s, and he would meet them halfway.

  Rocana would then tactfully ride off on her own and would leave them until it was time to return home.

  She would not have been human if sometimes she did not long for somebody to look at her with loving eyes as Patrick looked at Caroline, and to hear the deep note in his voice which was very different from when he spoke to her.

  ‘Perhaps I shall just grow old, never meeting anybody and never going anywhere,’ she thought sometimes despairingly.

  She tried to lose herself in her dreams and in the books that she took down one after another from the shelves of the library which otherwise remained undisturbed, year after year.

  She knew now, however, that whatever Caroline might say, however much she loved Patrick, she would be forced to marry the Marquis of Quorn, and perhaps she would find him, if nothing else, a very exciting husband.

  “What am I to do, Rocana?” Caroline was asking desperately. “I have to marry Patrick! You know I have to! Anyway, I could never cope with a man like the Marquis, even if I liked him!”

  Rocana thought that was undoubtedly true and she asked,

  “What is he like? Describe him to me.”

  “I suppose he is handsome,” Caroline said reluctantly, “but he is overpowering, overwhelming, and the other girls in London all whispered about him and his love affairs.”

  “And told you about them?” Rocana asked.

  “Of course they did,” Caroline replied. “Nobody in London talks of anything but love and they were always saying how some woman was weeping because the Marquis had left her or another was really crowing her head off because he had transferred his affections to her.”

  It was what Rocana had already heard from the servants and she enquired,

  “Why do you think he wants to be married?”

  “I know the answer to that.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, he is in a mess with some Diplomat’s wife and he is trying to escape from what might cause an international incident.”

  “Are you saying,” Rocana asked incredulously, “that that is why he is proposing to marry you?”

  Caroline sat down on the window seat.

  “When I arrived in London, everyone talked about the Marquis – they never seemed interested in anybody else. They said he was determined never to marry because to live with one woman would bore him in a week and he preferred having a whole pack of them like foxhounds!”

  “I think that sounds horrid!” Rocana exclaimed.

  “That is what I thought,” Caroline agreed, “but I was not really interested in him because I was thinking of Patrick.”

  “Yes, of course! Go on!”

  “Then they began to talk about this ‘Madame something or other’ – I cannot remember her name – and how beautiful she was with red hair and green eyes and they whispered and whispered as to what she and the Marquis were doing together.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I came home and today Papa has told me the Marquis is coming to stay and that when they met at Royal Ascot he had intimated that he might pay his addresses to me.”

  “Might?” Rocana questioned.

  “I suppose he did not wish to commit himself in case his difficulty turned out to be not as awkward as he thought,” Caroline answered her bitterly.

  Because she seemed to have grasped the situation far more clearly than Rocana would have expected her to do, she merely stared at her cousin as she said,

  “I think the way he is behaving is insulting and your father should have refused.”

  “I think Papa would, if I asked him to do so,” Caroline replied. “But you know Mama would prevent him from doing anything but accept the Marquis with alacrity and she will never, never let me say ‘no’.”

  As this was the truth, Rocana did not argue.

  She merely said sympathetically,

  “Oh, Caroline, I am so sorry for you.”

  “What can I do, Rocana? I must tell Patrick and ask his advice.”

  “You will have to wait until tomorrow morning.”

  “I cannot! I cannot wait as long as that! I have to see him this evening! “

  She gave a little cry.

  “I can do that, as Mama and Papa are going to dinner with the High Sheriff and I have not been included in the invitation.”

  She turned to Rocana,

  “This is where you have to help me, dearest. You must ride over to The Grange and tell Patrick he is to meet me at our usual place. He had better not come here in case one of the servants tells Mama.”

  “No, of course not,” Rocana said, “but how shall we explain my absence if Aunt Sophie asks for me?”

  “Do you think she is likely to do that?”

  Rocana made a little gesture with her hands before she said,

  “She might easily suspect I am saying something to you about your wedding which I ought not to and so come in here to stop it.”

  Caroline knew this was just the way her mother would think and she rose and walked restlessly about the room.

  “I m
ust see Patrick, I must!” she repeated.

  “I will go and fetch him,” Rocana said, “but I had better wait until after five o’clock when your mother will be resting. You should go and sit with her and keep her talking about the Marquis.”

  Caroline made a little grimace, but she knew Rocana was talking sense and she agreed that it was the only way they could escape detection.

  They went on talking, with Caroline saying over and over again that she could not marry anybody but Patrick.

  Rocana was aware that her cousin knew she was fighting a losing battle.

  Unless a miracle occurred when the Marquis arrived the day after tomorrow, she would be forced to accept his proposal and there would be no escape.

  *

  As Rocana rode through the fields, enjoying, although she thought it was selfish of her, being able to get away from The Castle and the large amount of sewing she was forced to do, she was aware that she was going on an ill-fated errand.

  However much Patrick might love Caroline or she him, there was no possible way in which his offer of marriage could compare with that of the Marquis of Quorn.

  In fact she was quite certain that in the circumstances both the Duke and the Duchess would treat it as merely an impertinence.

  Knowing Caroline as well as she did, she was aware that while she would make Patrick an excellent wife and they would undoubtedly be very happy, she would never in a million years be able to find happiness with somebody like the Marquis.

  Because she had heard so much about him, to Rocana he was half-satyr and half-rake, and she thought that only the lady with the red hair and green eyes was likely to prove the type of wife he should have to keep him in order.

  Knowing so little of the Social world, she thought it was only love which would make a man like that happy, and keep him faithful to one woman.

  She was well aware that her father had had a great number of love affairs before he met her mother. It was in fact, inevitable when he was so attractive and enjoyed life so tremendously.

  Lord Leo did not envy his brother his vast wealth, his castle, his estates and his superlative horses.

  He just laughed at poverty as he laughed at everything else and made the best of what horses he had, riding them so superbly that it was he who won the race rather than the horse.

  Because he brought the joy of living to everybody with whom he came in contact, it was inevitable, as her mother had said jokingly, that women should follow him as if he was the ‘Pied Piper’.

  “When I met you, my darling,” her father had said, “they all vanished, just as the rats did, never to return!”

  Her mother had laughed.

  “Can I be sure of that?”

  “As you are a witch,” her father replied, “you know I am tied to you by a spell I cannot break and an enchantment that I could not bear to lose.”

  Thinking of how much they had meant to each other, Rocana thought perhaps that was what the Marquis needed, an enchantment from which he would find no way of escape nor have any wish to do so.

  She was aware that, sweet and gentle and kind though Caroline was, that was something she would be unable to give him.

  Rocana was certain that soon after they were married he would go back to the siren with the red hair and green eyes and Caroline would sit lonely at home.

  It was the sort of life she had heard so many wives of aristocrats were forced to live while their husbands had what was called ‘other interests’.

  They were whispered about in drawing rooms as well as in kitchens and stables, in fact everywhere where gossips congregated.

  “How can I save her?” Rocana asked, and knew there was no answer to that.

  *

  Rocana reached the boundary of the Duke’s estate where it marched with the Fairleys and began to look around her hoping perhaps she would see Patrick in the distance.

  He not only trained a number of horses for his father, but also supervised the workers on the estate, intending when he took over to manage it himself, rather than employ somebody to do it for him.

  It was the sort of thing her father would have enjoyed, Rocana knew, if he had only had enough money and enough acres of his own to farm.

  But the Duke had only given him the manor and a few surrounding fields and he had often found time heavy on his hands.

  This had tempted him and her mother to go off to London and spend money they could not afford enjoying themselves.

  ‘I suppose it is important to everybody to be kept busy, to keep them out of mischief,’ Rocana thought philosophically.

  Then she remembered with a little sigh how much work the Duchess had given her to do which at the moment was lying neglected in The Castle.

  She had almost reached the Grange, which though not a great house was quite imposing and attractive with its mellow red brick, when with a feeling of relief she saw Patrick come out of the wood to her right and knew that he was going home.

  She spurred her horse and, as she galloped towards him, he recognised her and came to meet her.

  As their horses drew alongside each other, he exclaimed,

  “Rocana! What are you doing here?”

  “I have come to tell you,” Rocana replied breathlessly, “that Caroline wants to see you immediately and it is very very important! “

  “What has happened?”

  Rocana knew that Patrick was quick-witted and she saw the concern in his eyes, which told her he was already anticipating what was wrong.

  “I think Caroline would rather tell you herself.”

  She turned her horse back in the direction she had come and Patrick rode beside her.

  “Please tell me, Rocana,” he pleaded. “If it is what I fear, it will give me time to think out what I should say.”

  Rocana realised he was talking sense.

  “Caroline is distraught and miserable,” she said, “because the Duke has told her that the Marquis of Quorn is coming to stay and intends to ask her to marry him.”

  She heard Patrick give a gasp.

  Then he said,

  “The Marquis of Quorn? It cannot be true!”

  “It is!”

  “How can she possibly marry a man – ?”

  He stopped.

  Then in a different tone of voice he said more quietly,

  “This is what I feared might happen if she went to London, but I never anticipated her marrying the Marquis – of all people!”

  “I feel the same,” Rocana replied, “but you know it is the sort of marriage the Duchess will want for her.”

  “Of course,” Patrick said, “although doubtless Her Grace would have preferred the Prince Regent, if he was not already married!”

  Patrick’s tone was very bitter and Rocana said quickly,

  “Try not to make Caroline more distressed than she is already. You know she loves you.”

  “And I love her!” Patrick said. “But I have as much chance of marrying her as flying to the moon!”

  There was silence and they rode for a little way before Rocana remarked,

  “I think perhaps you are rather faint-hearted to give up so easily!”

  Patrick looked at her sharply.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “In fairy stories the Prince climbs the highest mountain and dives down into the sea or kills the dragon to save the woman he loves.”

  “That is, as you say, in fairy stories.”

  Then in a different tone Patrick asked,

  “You said ‘save’. Are you implying that I ought to save Caroline?”

  “You can answer that question for yourself,” Rocana replied. “From all I have heard of the Marquis of Quorn, I should have thought nobody could be a more unsuitable husband for her!”

  “You are right! Of course you are right!” Patrick said. “But what can I do? How can I save her?”

  Rocana smiled.

  Then she said,

  “That is something you must decide yourself. You know my father
married my mother against the wishes of the Duke, the Duchess and the entire Bruntwick family.”

  She paused before she went on,

  “Mama’s own father, the Ambassador, who I always suspected disliked the English as much as the rest of his compatriots did, did everything he could to prevent it.”

  She saw there was a different expression in Patrick’s eyes than there had been before and he replied,

  “Thank you, Rocana, and I shall certainly think over what you have said. Where am I to meet Caroline this evening?”

  “In the usual place about half after seven,” Rocana said, “and now I must hurry back or I shall get into trouble.”

  “Thank you for coming,” Patrick said.

  But Rocana was already galloping as quickly as she could towards The Castle.

  Only as she hurried up the back stairs to her bedroom, praying the Duchess might not learn that she had been out riding or see her in her habit, did she wonder if she had made a mistake.

  ‘Perhaps I ought to have advised him to accept the inevitable,’ she reflected to herself.

  Then she thought she could hear her father’s laughter and his voice saying,

  “One has never lost the race until another horse has passed the winning post!”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Caroline rode as quickly as she could away from the stables.

  She avoided the front of the house in case some of the servants were looking out of the windows and kept in the shadows of the trees until she was on flat ground where she could gallop her horse.

  The old groom who had taught her to ride was, she knew, so devoted that he would never tell her parents anything she did not wish them to know.

  “Ye’re ridin’ late, my Lady,” he had said when she came into the stables.

  “I feel I need some fresh air,” Caroline replied, “but please do not tell Mama or I know she will be cross with me.”

  “I don’t tell ’er Ladyship nothin’,” the old groom replied. “She ain’t interested in me ’orses.”

  That Caroline knew was a cardinal offence in his eyes, but it meant too that she would be safe.

  Rocana had made her wait until her father and mother had left the house, but luckily people dined early in the country and, before they had gone dinner on Rocana’s instructions had come upstairs to the schoolroom.