Love in the Moon Page 6

  He did not wait for Canèda’s answer, but started off over the jumps and there was no doubt that the horse he was riding was very superior to those they had watched before.

  He could easily have jumped fences several feet higher than those that were erected in the school and he had a style that Canèda recognised as exceptional.

  When the Duc came back to her, she said enthusiastically,

  “That was wonderful, monsieur, really wonderful! I would love to ride such a remarkable animal and feel as if I could jump over the moon!”

  There was a little pause while she knew that the Duc turned the idea over in his mind.

  Then he said,

  “I should be delighted, mademoiselle, for you to do so, but I think, as it is now luncheontime, we should allow the horses to take a well-earned rest before the afternoon’s programme.”

  Then he added,

  “I should be honoured if you would give me the pleasure of having luncheon with me.”

  “I should be delighted, monsieur, to accept your invitation,” Canèda replied.

  She felt a sudden surge of excitement, knowing that her hopes had materialised and her plan was working out. Whatever happened now, at least she had not failed ignominiously at the outset.

  Then Canèda was riding beside the Duc, with Ben following, out of the riding school and through several narrow streets before they reached the steep incline that led up the hill towards the Château.

  The hill was steeper than Canèda, looking up at it from below, had expected and as they reached the top she saw the moat that surrounded the Château.

  There was a bridge over it that had once been a drawbridge in time of siege, but which now led them into a large courtyard in the centre of the Château.

  Grooms came to take their horses and to look after Ben, while the Duc led Canèda through a large doorway embellished with the de Saumac Coat of Arms in stone. They climbed a stone staircase up to a large salon with high narrow windows looking out over the Loire Valley.

  Without speaking Canèda moved towards the nearest one and saw, as she expected, a view that was so breathtaking that she was for the moment speechless.

  The Loire Valley lay in front of her, the river winding through the flat green fields which swept away towards the misty horizon with many spires and castellated roofs peeping above the tops of the trees.

  It was so lovely in the golden sunshine that she exclaimed,

  “Now I feel as I have always wanted to do, that I am standing on ‘the corner of the moon’!”

  The Duc smiled.

  “Shakespeare!” he said. “And, I think, Macbeth.”

  “You are well read, monsieur.”

  “I like to think so,” he replied, “but I did not expect – ”

  He stopped and Canèda realised that he was suddenly aware of what he had been about to say and that it would have been rude to suggest that a woman from the circus, whether she was English or French, would not have read Shakespeare.

  She made no comment and he quickly pointed out the roof of a Château in the distance.

  “I expect you would like to wash before we eat,” he suggested, “and take off your hat. I would like to see your hair ”

  His tone was different from the way he had spoken before and for a moment Canèda was surprised.

  Then she remembered that she was not a lady who would resent such familiarity, but a circus performer, and doubtless in the Duc’s estimation she was a woman who was not particularly concerned over her morality or anybody else’s.

  With an effort she swept the surprise from her eyes and replied,

  “Thank you. I am flattered, monsieur.”

  Outside the salon a maidservant was waiting to take her to a large, beautifully furnished bedroom on the same floor.

  It was so impressive and so exquisitely decorated that Canèda guessed it was one of the State Rooms and wondered if it had been used by the famous Duchesses de Saumac.

  She wanted to ask the maid if her supposition was correct and then thought it would be a mistake.

  At the same time she was exceedingly intrigued that the Duc’s mother had been English.

  She wondered whether Madame de Goucourt had known this, but she supposed that because the Duchesse had been ill for years she had not become well known in the Social world of the time.

  Then there was the Duc’s wife.

  Had he loved her? Had he found her attractive, Canèda wondered, before she went mad?

  Perhaps she had slept in this room and looking out the window had not found the panoramic view attractive or felt as if she stood upon a corner of the moon, but instead had felt that she was in a prison, cut off from all human contact with those far away below her.

  As she washed her hands and took off her elegant riding hat to tidy her hair, Canèda felt that her imagination was running away with her, as her Nanny would have pointed out.

  This was all so exciting and yet in a way it was frightening, because she was doing what she had no right to do and Harry would have considered it reprehensible.

  She had never had luncheon or dined alone with a man before, as since she had arrived in London she had always been strictly chaperoned by one of the Lang aunts and she thought that, if nothing else, this would be an experience in itself.

  Then she remembered that she had a serious task ahead of her and that was to intrigue, captivate and fascinate the Duc.

  She looked at her reflection in the mirror.

  Canèda would have been very foolish if she had not been aware that she was very lovely with her straight classical features.

  Her sparkling blue eyes and a mischievous twist to her red lips constituted a snare for any man, unless he had locked away his heart behind steel doors, where no one could reach it.

  ‘Is that what happened to the Duc after his wife went mad?’ Canèda asked herself.

  Had he, in consequence, almost a dislike of women? She was somehow sure that was not true.

  There was something about him, autocratic though he might seem, which told her that he was very masculine.

  There was a smile on Canèda’s lips as, having thanked the maidservant, she walked back towards the salon.

  She knew that her riding habit did not make her look out of place, because it was of silk and was fashioned more like a gown than a habit.

  It fastened down the back and had a collar that was low round her neck with a soft bow in the front above the large pearl buttons and white braid.

  The Duc was waiting for her, standing in front of a large Medieval fireplace.

  He did not move as she entered the salon, but watched her walk towards him in the same way, Canèda thought, as he had watched the horses take their fences.

  As he did so, she had the feeling that he was trying to be critical and, although she thought it was an impertinence, it was still a move in the right direction.

  He waited until she was beside him before he said,

  “You walk with a grace that is surprising.”

  “Why surprising?” Canèda enquired.

  “Because most women who ride as well as you do not dance as well as they sit on a horse, but I would not mind waging a large sum that you are a remarkable dancer.”

  “I think I should allow you to judge that for yourself,” Canèda answered.

  “But of course, that is what I am hoping you will do,” the Duc replied.

  A footman approached with glasses of wine.

  “This is from my own vineyards and I hope it will please you,” the Duc said.

  The wine was cool and delicious and, because instantly her mind went to the vineyards belonging to her grandparents, Canèda said,

  “The vines here are in good heart?”

  “I have no complaints,” the Duc replied.

  “I had heard, and it must have been from someone in Angers, that there is an outbreak of phylloxera in the Dordogne region.”

  “It is very serious,” the Duc said quietly, “and we can onl
y pray that in the North we shall remain immune.”

  Canèda did not pursue the subject as she had found out what she wanted to know.

  Then, as they went into luncheon in a room almost as large as the salon and again with long narrow windows looking both North and East, she set out to amuse the Duc.

  She told him of the race meetings she had been to in England, of the horses that were for sale in Tattersalls sale rooms and of the successes on the turf gained by members of the Jockey Club.

  She drew freely on her imagination and also remembered many amusing things that Harry had told her of the Race Meetings that she had not attended personally but at which he had been present.

  The Duc laughed several times and a sideways glance from one of the footmen told her that it was a sound they did not often hear in the Château.

  Finally, when after a delectable meal, the coffee had been poured out and Canèda at the Duc’s insistence had accepted a small glass of liqueur made from strawberries, the servants withdrew and she said,

  “Now it is only fair for you to tell me about yourself.”

  ‘What do you want to know about me?” he parried. “And what induced you to come here and indeed approach me in such an unusual manner?”

  “It is quite simple,” Canèda replied. “I wanted to see your riding school and I was quite certain you would have a notice on the gate saying, ‘Women Keep Out!’.”

  The Duc smiled.

  “But you entered in a somewhat unconventional manner. I suppose you realise that it was a dangerous thing to do?”

  “Why? Ariel made light of it.”

  “You might not have landed on the sand and there might have been something in the way. It is a risk you must never take again.”

  “It is a risk I have no wish to take, if the gate is open to me.”

  “There is no need for me to tell you that you may ride in the school whenever you wish, but not during the hours when the Officers are having their lessons.”

  Canèda raised her eyebrows and he said,

  “You must be well aware, mademoiselle, that you would be, to put it mildly, a distraction.”

  Canèda gave a little laugh.

  “I am not certain whether you are flattering me or insulting me, monsieur, but let me promise you that I will not interfere with your lessons for long. I am only passing through this part of the country.”

  “To where?”

  She made a vague little gesture with her hands.

  “I am not quite certain. Shall I say I am exploring France?”

  “You sound as if this is the first time you have been here.”

  “It is!”

  “And yet your mother was French?”

  “We lived in England and she was very poor.”

  This was at least the truth and Canèda was determined to lie as little as possible, which was why she had not given herself a false name.

  She remembered her father saying to her a long time ago,

  “If one is going to lie, one should tell a really good one and as near to the truth as possible.”

  Her mother had given a cry of protest.

  “Really, Gerald, how can you say such things to the child? You know as well as I do she should not lie in any circumstances.”

  “You cannot go through life always telling the truth on every occasion,” Canèda’s father had replied. “Nothing is more uncomfortable or disagreeable than someone who tells the truth for what he calls ‘your own good’.”

  “You know that is not what I am talking about,” Mrs. Lang had said. “I loathe lies of all sorts and I want Canèda always to tell the truth and take the consequences.”

  “You are so good and I love you for it, my darling, but I think Canèda will find in life that it is sometimes easier to ‘trim one’s sails to the wind’.”

  “You are not to listen, Canèda,” her mother admonished her.

  At the same time she had smiled as she spoke and it was not really a rebuke.

  Canèda in fact hated lies as her mother hated them and only when it would be unkind or rude to be too frank did she ‘trim her sails to the wind.’

  Now she decided that she would be as truthful as possible while masquerading as somebody very different from herself.

  She took a sip of her liqueur and realised that the Duc was watching her.

  There was still not the glint of admiration that she had hoped for in his eyes, but at least she held his attention and she was almost sure that she intrigued him and he would want to know more about her.

  “Who is travelling with you on this trip?” he asked.

  “I am with a friend.”

  She spoke lightly before she realised what he might infer from the remark.

  “I am sure he is very charming,” he said with a twist of his lips.

  “As it happens, it is not a man but a woman. A Frenchwoman who was anxious to return to the country she came from to see her relatives and friends and so we came together.”

  “And she is with you now?”

  “She is not far from here.”

  There was a little pause and then the Duc said,

  “Supposing I invite you to stay with me while you learn what you wish to learn from my horses? Would I have to extend the invitation to her as well?”

  Canèda shook her head.

  “No. In fact I am quite certain that she would rather be with the people she loves.”

  “And whom do you love?” the Duc enquired.

  Canèda was astonished at the question and for a moment she felt that she could not have heard him aright.

  Then she told herself once again that, if he was over-familiar, it was because of the way she was dressed.

  “Why should you suspect that I love anybody?” she asked.

  “I cannot believe,” he replied, “that your horse, magnificent though he is, fills your life to the exclusion of everybody else and I suppose even Englishmen have eyes in their heads!”

  “They have,” Canèda agreed. “But for the moment I am curious about Frenchmen. You see, monsieur, they are not a species one meets very often in England and not in the places where I have been.”

  That again was true, Canèda thought. There were no Frenchmen living within fifty miles of the village and the only ones she knew were those who visited her father and mother when they came over from France.

  But the visitors were mostly women like Madame de Goucourt, whose husband was too occupied and too busy to come to the country.

  “There are plenty of Frenchmen at the riding school,” the Duc replied, “and they are, as you have seen, only too eager to make your acquaintance.”

  “For the moment I am content to talk to you,” Canèda said. “Do you live here in this enormous Château all by yourself?”

  “I am not always alone, but most of the time.”

  “What do you do – read?”

  “A great deal.”

  “But you must feel lonely.”

  “There is plenty of companionship if I need it.”

  “Do you mean the Officers in the school? You see them in the daytime?”

  There was a smile on his lips, as if he was aware what Canèda was trying to find out, and he said,

  “I am alone only when I wish to be.”

  The way he looked was more eloquent than words and it suddenly struck Canèda that, of course, he had a mistress.

  The books she had read had told her that Frenchmen were ardent lovers and that Kings like François I had wandered round the town at night, incognito, in search of attractive women.

  And Louis the XIV and Louis XV had had innumerable mistresses. She had read about Madame de Pompadour and Madame de Maintenon and some of the others.

  But it had never crossed her mind that while the Duc’s wife was locked away because she was mad, that would not preclude him from enjoying female companionship.

  Perhaps some of her thoughts revealed themselves in her eyes, for the Duc asked mockingly,

  “Sur
ely you did not expect anything else?”

  “I was just being curious about you – living here in the – corner of the moon, apparently – alone.”

  She did not know why, but it was disconcerting to find that the Duc had women to amuse him.

  She had somehow expected from what had been said about him that he was a monogamist and that because Fate had destroyed his married life, he would no longer be concerned with the female sex.

  “Even the moon has adjacent stars twinkling round it,” he said.

  Of course, Canèda told herself, there would be women in his life.

  He was far too attractive as a man and, of course, as a Duc and a rich one that women would flock to him like bees round a honeypot.

  “Of course,” she agreed aloud thought that her voice sounded a little bleak.

  For the first time things did not seem to be going so smoothly.

  She had somehow expected to walk in, beautiful and sensational, and take him by storm because he was cynical and embittered by the way he had been treated by Fate.

  It was disconcerting to find that he was obviously well content with his life as it was and was missing none of the comforts that only a woman could give him.

  Canèda put down her glass.

  “Perhaps we should get back to the riding school.”

  “There is no hurry,” the Duc replied. “Come and sit in a room where I think we will be more comfortable.”

  He rose as he spoke and, when they left the dining room, they did not return to the salon where they had been earlier.

  Instead the Duc took her along a passage and opened a door that led into one of the most intriguing rooms she had ever seen.

  It was small and round and she knew that it must be situated in one of the towers that stood at each of the four corners of the Château.

  There were windows looking in three directions and a large comfortable sofa covered with silk cushions, which the Duc indicated as a place for Canèda to sit.

  Instead she stood at the window, looking out once again on the amazing panorama and the silver river that seemed to grow longer and go farther every time she looked at it.

  She stood there for some time, aware without turning her head that the Duc was watching her.