A Duel With Destiny Read online

  ‘If I do what the Marquis wants,’ she thought, ‘I should be no better than poor little Bessie and I might easily finish up the same way.’

  She decided that the only thing she could do was never to see the Marquis again and she had no intention of saying goodbye to him.

  But when the moment came for him to leave he sent Johnson to find her.

  Rowena had hidden herself in Mark’s room, tidying his clothes, taking a variety of strange objects out of his trouser pockets and laying on the bed those clothes that needed mending.

  “Ah! Here you are, miss,” Johnson said from the door. “His Lordship would like to say goodbye to you.”

  Rowena drew in her breath.

  “The doctor is not at home?” she asked.

  Johnson shook his head.

  “No, miss. He drove off nearly an hour ago and said goodbye to his Lordship before he left.”

  Rowena longed to refuse to come downstairs and to send a message to say that she was too busy. But she felt that such rudeness would surprise Johnson and it would also be, the Marquis might think, a score in his favour.

  In the battle between them she would not yield an inch and she was certain that he would continue to fight her with every weapon at his command.

  She could still hear him saying,

  “I always get my own way.”

  In this instance he was going to be disappointed!

  And she wanted to make him aware of it.

  “I will come down at once,” she said to the valet and took a quick glance at her reflection in the mirror.

  She was looking very pale and there were lines under her eyes from the tears she had shed and the fact that she had been unable to sleep.

  Fiercely, because she would not give the Marquis the satisfaction of seeing how much he had upset her, she rubbed her cheeks until there was some colour in them.

  Then holding her chin high she swept downstairs, conscious as she did so that the Marquis was standing in the hall watching her.

  She did not look at him as she sank down in a deep curtsey, saying as she did so,

  “I am so glad that your Lordship has a nice day for your drive home. I am sure my father will have told you to rest on arrival. I am afraid, my Lord, that you will find it quite an ordeal having been incapacitated for so long.”

  Rowena thought with satisfaction that her voice sounded calm and impersonal.

  Only as she realised that Johnson had left the hall and they were alone together did she feel her heart flutter uncomfortably.

  “I have a great deal to thank you for, Rowena,” the Marquis said.

  “There is no need for you to say more than you have said already, my Lord,” she replied. “I am only glad that my father has been able to restore you to good health.”

  He took a step nearer to her.

  “Rowena!”

  She felt herself quiver at the depth in his voice, but turned hastily away to walk through the open front door and out onto the steps.

  She stared at his phaeton with its magnificent horses, at the groom holding the reins and a footman waiting to assist his Master before he sprang up onto the seat behind.

  “I want to talk to you,” she heard the Marquis say behind her in a voice that only she could hear.

  “Goodbye, my Lord! I wish you a very pleasant journey and good health in the future,” she responded firmly.

  “Au revoir, Rowena,” he replied quietly.

  Then because it was impossible for him to do otherwise he climbed into the phaeton.

  “Does your Lordship wish to drive?” Rowena heard the groom ask.

  “No, Sam, you tool them for the moment,” the Marquis replied.

  The groom saluted, the footman sprang up behind and the horses started off.

  The Marquis raised his hat, his eyes on Rowena’s face, but deliberately she did not look at him.

  Only when the phaeton was almost out of sight did she take a quick glance at his square shoulders and the arrogant carriage of his head and feel the tears come into her eyes.

  She walked into the house to slam the door violently behind her.

  “It’s finished! It’s over! That is the end!” she cried aloud and wondered why everything seemed so dark and without hope.

  *

  In the days that followed Rowena had forced herself to try to keep the Marquis from her mind and it was only at night that it was impossible not to remember the feelings he had evoked in her when he had held her in his arms and to dream that once again his lips were on hers.

  As she had suspected, it was not easy for the family to adjust itself to the normal routine they had known before the Marquis had come to stay.

  “I am fed up with this boring food,” Hermione had said crossly at luncheon that day.

  “It’s all we can afford,” Rowena retorted sharply, “and the sooner you realise it’s the truth the better!”

  Hermione groaned.

  “If only the Marquis would have another accident or Papa could find another wealthy patient.”

  “It’s all very well to fuss about food,” Mark said glumly, “I don’t suppose I shall ever have another chance of riding decent horses.”

  “Stop grumbling, both of you!” Rowena ordered. “And, Mark, if I have another bad report about your lessons from the Vicar, I shall speak to Papa. You know how upset he would be to think that you are wasting your time.”

  This was true and it also was the one effective threat that Rowena could hold over the children’s heads.

  They all loved their father and, because the doctor was never angry when they behaved badly but instead was deeply hurt and worried, it was in fact the greatest punishment they could be given.

  Mark had mumbled something as he left the dining room, while Hermione had stoically finished her plate of rice pudding before she said,

  “Mark is right. It’s horrible now the Marquis has gone and I believe you miss him too, even though you will not say so. You certainly look miserable enough!”

  “I am nothing of the sort!” Rowena snapped. “And if you don’t hurry to Miss Graham’s you will be late. You know as well as I do, Hermione, it’s a struggle to pay her fees, small though they are.”

  “I want to have drawing lessons,” Hermione pouted. “Miss Graham cannot even draw a straight line, let alone teach me.”

  Rowena did not answer and after a moment Hermione continued,

  “Not that I expect any sympathy from you. I believe you are jealous because the Marquis gave me such a marvellous present and gave you nothing.”

  “Hurry up, Hermione, you are going to be late.”

  Rowena tried to speak quietly and calmly, but perhaps something of what she was feeling showed in her voice or her face for quite suddenly Hermione flung her arms around her.

  “I am sorry, Rowena,” she cried. “I love you and it was horrid of the Marquis not to give you a present. I will save up and give you something you really want to make up for it.”

  “Thank you, dearest,” Rowena managed to say and then Hermione had gone.

  She felt guilty when she thought of the turquoise pendant hidden at the back of the drawer in her bedroom, but she could not speak of it nor could she bear to look at it again.

  She considered whether she would return it to the Marquis and then she felt that it would be undignified.

  They had often laughed as a family about people who broke off an engagement and sent back each other’s letters and presents.

  “Thomas Seaton spent a fortune courting Betty,” Hermione had related of one broken engagement in the village, “but it all went on chocolates! She can hardly give those back, can she?”

  ‘One day perhaps I will sell the pendant,’ Rowena reflected, ‘and buy something for Hermione or for Mark.’

  For the moment she could not open the box it reposed in and could not bear to look at the heart-shape of the turquoise which the Marquis had said was symbolic.

  But now he was here in the house and presum
ably waiting to see her.

  As she walked up the drive, her footsteps growing slower and slower as she neared the house, she tried to think what she should do.

  Living in such a small building she could not possibly avoid him for long and the last thing she wished to do was to arouse any suspicion in the minds of the family that she might have quarrelled with the Marquis.

  She knew Hermione and perhaps her father would ask innumerable questions if they thought that anything was wrong.

  There was nothing she could tell them, for it would be an intolerable agony to talk about what had happened.

  ‘I will behave normally,’ Rowena told herself. ‘He shall not have the satisfaction of driving me into hiding or even thinking that he has made me miserable.’

  That was a very inadequate word, she thought, to express what she felt.

  Despondency and despair were perhaps nearer the mark or perhaps the real truth was that he had smashed her ideals and destroyed her hope of happiness.

  ‘Any man who comes into my life in the future I am bound to compare with the Marquis,’ Rowena mused.

  She knew too that it would be impossible for any other man to arouse in her the same feelings of ecstasy and rapture that the Marquis had done.

  That, she was certain, could happen only once in a lifetime.

  Her mother had said once,

  “When the right man comes into your life, darling, when you fall in love as I fell in love with your father, you know that it is your destiny and nothing can alter or change it.”

  Mrs. Winsford had given a deep sigh.

  “Your father and I were meant for each other from the very beginning of time and when we met I knew it was written in the stars that we should love each other until we die.”

  ‘That is what I feel for the Marquis,’ Rowena told herself, ‘but, as he does not feel the same about me, his destiny can never include me.’

  She had reached the phaeton by this time and the groom at the horses’ heads raised his hat.

  She saw that it was Sam who had come quite a number of times to the house when the Marquis had been ill.

  “Good afternoon, Sam,” Rowena said. “That is a beautiful team you have there.”

  “’Is Lordship be real proud of ’em, miss,” Sam answered, “and they brought us ’ere quicker today than we’ve ever managed afore, but then ’is Lordship was a-drivin’.”

  The pride in his voice was unmistakable and Rowena smiled at him as she went up the steps and into the house.

  The Marquis’s tall hat was on a chair in the hall and she hesitated a moment wondering where he would be.

  Then to her relief she heard voices coming from her father’s study and knew that he was at home.

  She was just about to go upstairs and take off her bonnet when the door opened and her father said,

  “I thought I heard your voice, Rowena. We have a visitor!”

  “What a surprise!” Rowena exclaimed sarcastically.

  She walked into the study and saw the Marquis standing with his back to the fireplace.

  Although she told herself he now meant nothing to her, her heart turned over in a most alarming fashion and it was difficult to breathe.

  “Good afternoon, Rowena,” the Marquis said. “I was hoping that I should see you before I left.”

  “I must not detain your Lordship.”

  “I think, my Lord,” Dr. Winsford said, “we must tell Rowena of your generosity. I can hardly believe myself that there is so much kindness in the world.”

  Rowena glanced sharply at her father.

  “What has happened?”

  “His Lordship has said, my dear, that he wishes to be responsible for both Mark’s schooling and Hermione’s. He thinks that Mark is an outstanding boy, as I have always thought myself and, where Hermione is concerned, we will be able to ascertain whether she has any real talent for drawing or not.”

  “I personally think it’s just her imagination,” Rowena said stiffly.

  “We shall find out the truth because his Lordship intends to send her to a Finishing School in Florence where she will have the best teachers that Italy can provide.”

  ‘Florence?” Rowena exclaimed.

  The word seemed to echo round the study as her eyes met the Marquis’s defiantly.

  She was well aware of what he was trying to do.

  He was trying to manipulate her family into accepting him as she had refused to do.

  He was binding them to him, not with bands of steel, but with something far more subtle and far more indefinable.

  “I have made enquiries,” he said, “and I find that the best Seminary for young ladies of Hermione’s age is in Florence. In fact one of my nieces will be a pupil there next year and, if Hermione starts this September, she will be able to look after her.”

  “Have you agreed to this – Papa?” Rowena asked in a voice that shook.

  “I was at first reluctant to impose on my ex-patient’s good nature,” Dr. Winsford replied. “But he has in fact convinced me that I must not stand in the way of my children’s future.”

  “I am sure that he was very persuasive,” Rowena remarked.

  “I have, of course, worried for a long time about Mark’s schooling,” the doctor confessed. “The Vicar tells me that he has an exceptionally quick mind. In fact everybody who has taught him up to date has said that he is very advanced for his age. If, as the Marquis suggests, he goes to Eton, he will have a chance in life that I could never provide for him.”

  “Eton?” Rowena quizzed.

  Because she felt that she needed some air she took off her bonnet and walked to the window.

  The sun seemed to halo her head with gold, but she looked out with blind eyes into the garden.

  She was thinking frantically of what she could say, how she could prevent her father from being inveigled into the Marquis’s clutches, for that was what it amounted to.

  ‘He is like an octopus,’ she thought, ‘encircling us all until we will find it impossible to escape.’

  “I quite understand that this is somewhat of a shock to you, Rowena,” Dr. Winsford said. “You have looked after the family so splendidly since your mother’s death and I cannot think what I could have done without you.”

  He put his hand on her shoulder.

  “But at the same time, my dear, both Hermione and Mark can now receive an education which I could not even dream of giving them.”

  “Yes – Papa.”

  Rowena found it hard to say the words, but she managed to utter them and Dr. Winsford looked relieved, as if he had been afraid that she might protest against his decision.

  He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece.

  “If your Lordship will excuse me,” he said, “I am already late and I have a large number of calls to make.”

  “Of course!” the Marquis replied courteously. “I have spoken, doctor, of the splendid manner in which you looked after me to a number of my friends in the County. I think you will find in the future that there will be many more calls on your time even than you have at the moment.”

  “It is extremely kind of you, my Lord.”

  The two men shook hands.

  “You certainly look in perfect health,” the doctor said, “but don’t do too much too quickly. Remember you had a lucky escape with regard to internal injuries and a body does not heal itself after that sort of accident within a few days or weeks.”

  “I promise you that I am being as careful as you advised me to be.”

  “I am glad of that.”

  “I will return either tomorrow or the next day with the papers we talked about,” the Marquis said.

  “I shall look forward to seeing you,” the doctor replied.

  He went from the room looking happier than he had for a long time and Rowena knew that the Marquis had lifted a heavy burden of worry from his shoulders. Equally only she knew the explanation for it.

  She waited until she heard her father leave the house, th
en shut the door of the study and turned to face the Marquis.

  “Why can you not leave us alone?” she asked fiercely.

  “I have the welfare of your family at heart.”

  “That is nonsense and you know it!” Rowena said. “They mean nothing to you – and you would never have thought of them again if it had not been – ”

  She paused finding it difficult to put what she wanted to say into words.

  “ – if it had not been for what we feel about each other,” the Marquis finished for her. “I love you, Rowena, and I cannot tell you how much I have missed you these last few days.”

  “I do not wish to hear it, my Lord. There is no point in discussing either your feelings or mine. I can only beg you to reconsider the offer you have made regarding Hermione and Mark.”

  “Are you so selfish as to deprive them for purely personal motives?” the Marquis enquired.

  “You are trying to get your own way by underhand and despicable methods,” Rowena said accusingly, “but you are wasting your time.”

  “Am I?”

  “You certainly are!”

  “I find you irresistible when your eyes flash at me,” he said, “and you know, Rowena, although you are raging at me, what I want is to hold you in my arms and kiss you again.”

  She felt a thrill run through her and was furious because she could not prevent it.

  “Please go!” she ordered. “You will gain nothing by coming here and talking to me like this. If you gave the family the Bank of England and decorated the house with diamonds, I still would not do what you ask of me! What is more, I hate you for trying to blackmail me, because that is what it amounts to.”

  The Marquis took a step towards her.

  “Look at me, Rowena!”

  She wanted to refuse, but it was impossible.

  Her eyes were drawn irresistibly to his and when their eyes met it was hard to look away.

  “I love you!” the Marquis said softly. “I love you, my darling, and you are more beautiful even than I remember. How can you fight against what we feel for each other?”

  “What you feel for me,” Rowena said, “and what I feel for you are two very different things.”

  “Are they so very different?” the Marquis enquired.