A Marriage Made In Heaven Page 8

  The walk up the aisle seemed to take a long time, but suddenly she was beside him and she glanced up at him from under her veil and he seemed to fill the whole Church until there was nothing and nobody but him.

  *

  It was extremely hot in the ballroom, and the queue to shake hands with the Duke and Samala seemed endless.

  Their names were announced, but to Samala they were unknown and completely meaningless and the butler’s stentorian voice seemed to blend with the endless stream of congratulations until it became like the continuous roar of waves on the seashore.

  “Many congratulations, Buck, and I do hope you will be happy!”

  “It is lovely to meet you and we do hope that we shall see a lot of you and your husband!”

  “My very good wishes for your happiness!”

  “My husband and I hope to entertain you as soon as you come back from your honeymoon!”

  “Every possible good wish to you both!”

  On and on and Samala found her voice saying automatically over and over again, “thank you,” “thank you,” as she tried to focus her eyes on each person, but found it somehow impossible.

  Then at last, when she felt breathless with the heat after standing for nearly two hours in the same position, she was aware that the Duke was moving away from her and wondered if she was meant to follow him.

  Then the Marquis was beside her to put a glass of champagne into her hand, saying as he did so,

  “You must be tired, but you have been splendid and everybody is admiring you.”

  “Thank you,” Samala replied modestly.

  She wondered where the Duke had gone and looked through the sea of guests, thinking that because he was so tall she must see him.

  It had been impossible for them to speak to each other when they left the Church in the open carriage, for, as the horses moved off, there had been deafening cheers all the way to the house, while the children and the villagers threw flowers into the open carriage, little bunches of roses and daisies, ‘pinks’ from the cottage gardens, bouquets of honeysuckle and dog roses from the hedgerows.

  It was all so touching, Samala thought, and she tried to thank those who were cheering her by smiling and waving and she thought that the Duke was doing the same on his side of the carriage.

  Inside there were half-a-dozen servants waiting to escort them along the passage which led to the ballroom and Samala had only a quick impression of white flowers, paintings and flags and high painted ceilings, before there was the noise of voices.

  As they entered the ballroom, the Marchioness showed them where they were to stand by the door against a background of huge vases filled with white Madonna lilies.

  “You look lovely, dearest,” she said to Samala. “All the young women were crying because your gown is so beautiful, knowing they would never be able to have a lovelier one at their own wedding.”

  Samala gave a little laugh and glanced at the Duke to see if he was laughing too, but his head was turned away from her as he talked to the Marquis on his other side.

  Then the guests began to arrive and there was no chance to do anything but respond politely to their good wishes and now, as she searched in the crowd for the Duke, her father put his arm round her and Maureen kissed her.

  “It was such a lovely wedding,” she exclaimed, “and you looked just like a Princess in a Fairy story!”

  Samala smiled with delight because that was what she wanted to hear. Then Maureen added in a low voice,

  “I am praying, dearest, that you will be as happy as I am.”

  Early yesterday morning, the day before her own wedding, Samala had attended her father’s and Maureen’s wedding in the little Church where she had been christened.

  Unlike her own, it had been a very quiet private ceremony, because the Earl had thought it embarrassing that he should be marrying before his daughter, until Samala and Maureen had convinced him that it was the sensible thing to do.

  “Not only do I want to be at your wedding, Papa,” Samala said, “but you know that once I am gone, if you are not married, Maureen would have to go home and leave you alone and that would worry me. So please get married as quickly as you possibly can.”

  Spurred both by his own feelings and hers, the Earl had obtained a Special Licence, and the local Vicar, who was a friend, agreed to keep everything secret.

  Nobody noticed the three people slipping into the village Church at nine o’clock in the morning after the men had gone into the fields to work and the women were busy in their cottages.

  It had been a Service without music and yet, Samala thought, the angels were singing because her father would be happy and no one could have looked more radiant than his bride.

  When the Earl put the ring on Maureen’s finger, Samala saw the love in her step-mother’s eyes and knew that her father would be well looked after and the misery, poverty and privation of the last years would soon be forgotten.

  “I shall be very very tactful, dearest,” Maureen had said, “and try not to make your father aware that it is my money that is paying for everything. But I want him to take his rightful place in the County, for so many people have told me how much they regretted the way he had become almost a hermit instead of leading and guiding them as they wanted him to.”

  Samala gave a little cry of delight.

  “That is what I wanted you to say! Papa is so clever and his brain has been wasted on just fussing about the house falling down and not being able to farm the land.”

  “That is all going to be changed,” Maureen promised. “At the same time I could not bear him to think that I am pushing him into doing things he does not wish to do.”

  “He loves you,” Samala said, “so it will be easy for you to persuade him to do everything that is important.”

  Maureen kissed her.

  “You are very wise and very sensible,” she said, “and since I know that I owe all my happiness to you, I can only hope that one day you will be as happy as I am.”

  Samala did not answer and there was an expression on her face that made Maureen apprehensive. When she was alone with the Earl, she said a little tentatively,

  “I am worried about Samala, because she is so very young and she knows so little of the world outside this magical, fairy-like house of yours.”

  “She will learn about life soon enough,” the Earl remarked.

  “That is what makes me anxious,” Maureen answered.

  Because she sensed that he too lived in a world that was very different from the one in which the Duke shone so brilliantly, she did not try to inflict on him her own misgivings over Samala’s future.

  Instead, she vowed to herself that The Priory would be as beautiful inside as it was on the outside and what Samala had found there in her fantasy-world she must never lose, because it was something too precious and too perfect to be spoilt by the cruelty and evil of reality.

  *

  While Samala had felt overcome by the heat and the endless handshaking and repetition of good wishes, the Duke had felt an anger rising up inside him to the point where he could no longer tolerate it.

  All he had ever said about his hatred of being married seemed to accelerate the throbbing in his head until it became a physical pain.

  He hated his relations, he hated his friends and he was quite certain that everything they said to him was a lot of rubbish just mouthed out because it was the conventional thing to do.

  He was also acutely conscious that the woman who stood by his side was now his wife.

  He had not looked at her in the Church because he had no wish to do so and, after they had signed their names in the Vestry, it was not he who had lifted her veil, as was traditional, but his sister Elizabeth and he had turned his back while she did so.

  He had not looked at Samala when she had taken his arm and, as they walked down the aisle to the sound of The Wedding March played on the organ, he thought he could hear the sniggers of the congregation and he told himself it was l
ike walking to the guillotine.

  He had surrendered his freedom simply to prevent Lottie from wearing a Duchess’s coronet and it was a heavy price to pay.

  Because he suddenly thought he could bear it no longer, when there was a gap before the next guest was announced, he left Samala’s side and walked out of the ballroom, intending to go upstairs to his own rooms.

  He met Mr. Dalton in the hall.

  “I was just coming to find you, Your Grace.”

  “What is it?” the Duke asked.

  “I thought you would like to know that the horse you bought at Tattersall’s three days ago has arrived.”

  “I was not expecting him until tomorrow,” the Duke exclaimed.

  Mr. Dalton smiled.

  “I think they were glad to get him here, Your Grace. From what I have learnt, he’s busy at the moment trying to break down his stall!”

  “I was told he was very wild,” the Duke replied. “In fact, in consequence I was the only person to bid for him.”

  “I hope he’s not dangerous!” Mr. Dalton added in a voice of alarm.

  “I hope he is!” the Duke retorted.

  He went out of the front door without saying any more and walked in the direction of the stables.

  Mr. Dalton watched him go and sighed.

  He knew better than anybody else what the Duke was feeling at this moment and he could understand how the wild horse appealed to him very much more than a quiet well-trained animal.

  At the same time he was well aware that the Duke should not be leaving his guests or, more importantly, his bride.

  As if he thought it was his duty, he hurried in the direction of the ballroom in case there was anything he could do to prevent the Duke’s disappearance from being noticed.

  *

  The Duke walked to the stables and, even as he reached them, he heard his new acquisition making a commotion in one of the stalls.

  The horse had quite an audience, consisting of a number of stable boys, his Head Groom and two or three strangers, who must have found the Duke’s horses more interesting than the presents that were laid out in the billiard room and the large five-tiered cake, which had not yet been cut.

  The Head Groom hurried to the Duke as soon as he appeared.

  “’E be a very fine beast, Your Grace. But I thinks we’re gonna ’ave a bit of trouble wiv ’im.”

  “I thought that myself,” the Duke said with satisfaction.

  He looked into the stall where the horse was doing his best to demolish the manger.

  “He should be too tired after the journey to behave like this,” he said.

  “’E’s not come far today, Your Grace. They ’ad such difficulty in gettin’ ’im yesterday to Winchpoole, where they stayed the night.”

  “What he needs now is exercise,” the Duke suggested. “Saddle him!”

  “Now, Your Grace?” the Head Groom asked, looking at the Duke’s wedding finery as if he could not believe the order he had just been given.

  “I will only take him a short distance in the Park,” the Duke said.

  It took the Head Groom, two second grooms and four stable boys to put a saddle on the horse, who was living up to his name, Wild Rufus.

  Only when with difficulty they led him to the bridle block and the Duke sprang into the saddle did Wild Rufus realise with a sense of satisfaction that he had a worthy opponent on his back.

  He instantly began to show his independence and resentment at being taken to a new stable.

  The Duke enjoyed every moment of it.

  For the first time for several days he felt his anger, which had been like a stone in his chest, moving away and he was concentrating, not on his own problems, but on an adversary who revealed a determination as strong as his own.

  It took him ten minutes to get Wild Rufus from the stable onto the drive and then to take him shying over the bridge that spanned the lake.

  Then, as if the horse thought he might as well enjoy himself, he started to move across the Park under the trees.

  On the other side of it there was an excellent gallop, which was a piece of flat land where the Duke knew he would be able to gallop the devil out of his mercurial new horse. The Duke was aware that it was dangerous to go at all fast in the Park where there were rabbit holes under the trees and the ground was rough.

  He therefore held Wild Rufus on a tight rein, aware that without spurs and a whip he was at a slight disadvantage.

  At the same time he knew that with his brilliant equine expertise, it was only a question of time before Wild Rufus acknowledged him to be his Master and they would declare a tentative truce for today at any rate.

  Because he had broken in so many horses and because to do so gave him more satisfaction than any other sport in which he was regularly engaged, the Duke was enjoying himself.

  He kept Wild Rufus under control by sheer force as they moved nearer and nearer to where he could give the horse his head and let him gallop until he was too exhausted to fight any longer.

  Then, as he passed under almost the last large oak tree in that part of the Park, from a bush at the foot of it a speckled deer rose suddenly almost at the horse’s feet and flashed past him.

  Immediately the horse reared up, snorting with terror and, because he was a very large stallion, the Duke, as he was thrown backwards, crashed his head against the lowest branch of the oak tree.

  The impact of it forced him for the moment to loosen his pressure on the reins and Wild Rufus, with a convulsive movement, flung the Duke from his back and lashed out with his hind legs, catching the prone man on the chest.

  At the impact the Duke felt the darkness rise up towards him and, as he hit the ground, he lay still.

  Chapter 5

  The Duke came back to consciousness through a long dark tunnel.

  His brain would not function and he could not think where he was or what was happening. He knew only that everything was dark.

  Then, as he tried to move, there was a sharp, agonising pain in his chest and the darkness covered him again.

  *

  It may have been a century or an hour later when the Duke became aware of himself and that something had happened, although he could not think what it was.

  He stirred, and instantly somebody was beside him and he felt a cool hand on his forehead and thought it was comforting.

  “I – am – thirsty – ”

  He was not certain if he said the words or thought them, but there was a movement beside him, an arm was slipped behind his head and there was a glass at his lips.

  He drank, realising that his mouth was very dry and what he was drinking was cool, soothing and sweet.

  He felt it slip down his throat. Then a low voice said softly,

  “Go to sleep. Everything is all right. You will feel better in the morning.”

  He wanted to ask what had happened, but he was too tired. Again he felt the cool hand on his forehead, stroking it mesmerisingly, until, as if hypnotised by the movement, he fell asleep.

  *

  The Duke awoke to find, as he opened his eyes, that the sun was too bright and almost as if he had said so, somebody in the room lowered the blind.

  Then he was aware that there was a man standing beside him and as he reached forward to take hold of his wrist, the Duke realised that he must be a doctor.

  “What – has – happened?” he asked, and thought to himself that his voice sounded weak and raw.

  “You’ve had an accident, Your Grace,” the doctor replied, “but there’s nothing seriously wrong with you, except concussion and a very bad bruise where your horse kicked you.”

  As he spoke, the Duke remembered what had happened and how Wild Rufus had reared up.

  “I hit – my – head,” he said almost as if he spoke to himself.

  “You not only hit it, you also fell on it,” the doctor said, “and, as the horse kicked you, your chest will be painful. But I know Your Grace will be glad to know that there are no bones broken
and all you have to do is to rest until you’re better.”

  The Duke wanted to argue that the last thing he wanted to do was to stay in bed, but it was too much effort.

  He closed his eyes and was aware that the doctor was giving instructions, but he did not listen to what was being said.

  *

  Much later the Duke awoke and there was only one candle burning by the bedside and he thought that he was alone until he saw that there was somebody asleep in the corner of the room on a sofa that matched the hangings on the bed.

  For a moment he thought he must be imagining things, for it was so improbable that anybody would be sleeping in his bedroom.

  Then in the light from the candles he could see that a head with very pale fair hair was resting against the satin cushions.

  He was puzzling over it when, as if the fact that he was awake communicated itself to the person on the sofa, who stirred, sat up and looked across the room at him.

  He gave an exclamation as a young woman rose and came towards him.

  When he could see her clearly, he thought for one moment that she was only a child. Then he saw two enquiring blue eyes looking into his and, as she smiled, there was a dimple on either side of her mouth.

  “You are awake!” she said softly. “Shall I give you a drink?”

  “Who – are – you?” the Duke asked, trying to understand what was happening.

  Again there was that dimpled smile before Samala replied quietly,

  “I expect you are finding it difficult to remember, but I do happen to be your wife!”

  Wife? Now the Duke thought that he really must have been dreaming. Then, as if the darkness was moving away from his mind, everything that had happened came back to him.

  The wedding, his anger, the heat of the Reception, the moment when he could stand it no longer and had left to go to the stables to ride Wild Rufus.

  As his memory stopped there, he asked,

  “The horse – he is – all right?”

  “Perfectly!” Samala answered. “Except that everybody is afraid of him and he knows it! I have told him that he will have to behave better when you ride him again.”

  As she spoke, she lifted the Duke’s hand and raised the glass to his lips. Again he was drinking something smooth and sweet that slipped down his throat and took away the dryness.