The Duke Is Deceived Read online

  “I-I cannot – let you – do what – you want,” she whispered, “because – ”

  She was just about to say that she was not Penelope.

  Then she knew that she would be betraying her sister. That would be wrong and something she must never do.

  She gave a little sob before she said,

  “G-go away please – go away – there is – nothing I can – s-say – but just – leave me!”

  The Marquis gave a deep sigh.

  He took his arm from her and sat up on the side of the bed.

  As he looked at Ursa, he thought that it was impossible for any woman to look so lovely and at the same time so pitiful.

  There were tears on her cheeks and now her eyes were pleading with him.

  She was beseeching him in a way that he could not put a name to.

  He rose to his feet.

  “I will leave you because you ask me to,” he said, “but I don’t think that I have ever in the whole of my life been so disappointed or felt so frustrated.”

  “I-I am – s-sorry,” Ursa managed to whisper.

  The Marquis stood for a moment just looking down at her.

  Then he turned and went back the way he had come.

  Going through the communicating door he closed it quietly behind him.

  Ursa was very still.

  Then she turned and, burying her face in the pillows, burst into tears.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ursa cried for a long time.

  Then she blew out the candles and told herself that she must go to sleep.

  It was impossible, however, not to keep thinking of how wonderful the Marquis’s kiss had been.

  She knew that it was something she would never have again.

  Now she must persuade the Dowager to go back to Brackley Park tomorrow.

  ‘I will tell her,’ she thought, ‘that Arthur will be annoyed if I am not there when he returns.’

  At the same time every nerve in her body screamed at the idea of leaving Charnwood Court and the Marquis.

  “I love – him! I – love – him!” she told herself in the darkness.

  The tears flooded into her eyes.

  Again she knew that she must go to sleep, since otherwise she would not look herself in the morning.

  She tried to imagine what she would do or what she would say when she saw the Marquis again.

  She had a feeling that he would not refer to what had occurred.

  He would behave as if he was no longer interested in her.

  ‘And that is the truth,’ she thought. ‘Because I have – refused to do what – Penelope would have – done, he will have no further – use for me.’

  It was difficult not to start crying all over again.

  With a tremendous effort at self-control, she shut her eyes and said her prayers.

  She prayed frantically that the Marquis would not hate her and that he would be happy.

  ‘He will forget me,’ she thought, ‘but I will – never – never – forget him.’

  She must have eventually fallen asleep, because she was suddenly aware that the door had opened and somebody had come into the room.

  She opened her eyes.

  To her astonishment she saw a woman standing by the bed wearing dark glasses.

  Before she could realise that she was not dreaming and it was actually happening, a sharp voice said,

  “Wake up! Wake up, Ursa!”

  “Penelope!”

  The word came from between Ursa’s lips in a gasp.

  “Yes, it is me,” Penelope said. “Now, hurry! You have to leave at once!”

  “But – why? What has – happened?” Ursa asked in bewilderment.

  “Arthur is already on his way home,” Penelope said in a low voice, “and when he finds I am not at Brackley Park, he will come here.”

  As she spoke, she took off the dark glasses she was wearing and unfastened the chiffon scarf that she wore over her hat.

  It tied under her chin in a large bow, making her quite unrecognisable with the dark glasses.

  “Undo my gown!” Penelope ordered, “and put it on.”

  “I-I don’t – understand what is – happening,” Ursa stuttered.

  She was finding it difficult to think clearly and it was as if her head was full of cotton wool.

  “Oh, don’t be so stupid!” Penelope snapped. “All you have to do is to put on my clothes, get into the carriage that is waiting at the front door for you and be driven home.”

  Ursa did not speak and Penelope went on,

  “I cannot imagine why you came here in the first place and I am really very angry about it!”

  “I could not avoid it,” Ursa explained. “The Marquis asked his grandmother to help him and I – helped him too.”

  “What do you mean – you helped him?” Penelope demanded.

  She had taken off her gown.

  Now she was removing the voluminous lace-edged petticoat that went under it.

  “I am – afraid you will be – upset – when you hear what has – h-happened,” Ursa said hesitatingly.

  Penelope stood still.

  “What has happened?” she asked.

  Ursa for a moment found it difficult to speak.

  Then she said almost incoherently,

  “The Marquis had a – very important Greek gentleman coming to – see him – who wanted – him to – marry his daughter.”

  “What has that to do with you?” Penelope enquired.

  “To save him from – a wife he does – not want – I agreed to pretend to – be myself – and he told – the Greek that he was – engaged to me.”

  Penelope stared at her sister as if she could not believe what she was hearing.

  “So you see,” Ursa went on, “here at – Charnwood Court I am – supposed to be – Miss Ursa Hollington – and only the Marquis and his – grandmother think – that I am – really you.”

  “I have never heard of anything so muddle-headed in the whole of my life!” Penelope said furiously. “How could you become involved in anything so ridiculous when you were supposed to be me?”

  “Lady Brackley had – no idea that the – Marquis was coming to – see her – and as she is so – fond of him of course she – wanted to help him.”

  “So you are now here as yourself,” Penelope said slowly, as if she was trying to understand.

  “Yes – that is – right,” Ursa said, “but the Greek visitors leave – early this morning – so I will – not see them – again.”

  “You mean I will not see them!” Penelope corrected, “and my mother-in-law will not be able to see any difference.”

  “B-but – suppose the – Marquis does?” Ursa asked.

  A faint smile appeared on Penelope’s lips.

  “I have heard a great deal about Guy Charn,” she said. “In fact I am looking forward to meeting him.”

  “But – suppose he – realises you are not me?”

  “Don’t worry about the Marquis,” Penelope said in a confident tone. “I will deal with him! ‘Birds of a feather flock together’!”

  Ursa recalled what had happened last night.

  If Penelope had been in her place, she would not have sent the Marquis away.

  At the thought of it, she felt as if a dagger had been stabbed into her heart.

  Then, because there was nothing else she could do, she began to dress.

  She put on the lace-edged petticoat and over it the extremely elaborate travelling gown that Penelope had been wearing.

  Penelope had already put on the nightgown that Ursa had been wearing.

  She was loosening her hair so that it fell over her shoulders.

  It was not as long as her sister’s and yet she certainly looked very attractive as she looked at herself in the mirror.

  Then she glanced at the clock.

  As she did so, Ursa looked at it too and saw that the hands had not yet reached six o’clock.

  She knew that there would be no one
about except for a few of the servants.

  If they had seen a lady wearing dark spectacles coming in, they would not be surprised to see her leaving.

  Almost as if she had asked the question, Penelope said,

  “I told the footman at the door that I was calling to see you with very important news that could not wait. But there was no need to disturb the rest of the household.”

  “That was clever of you,” Ursa said.

  “There is nothing clever about the mess you have made of everything!” Penelope retorted sharply.

  She buttoned up Ursa’s gown at the back, which she was trying to do herself.

  Then she watched while her sister put on the very elaborate feather-trimmed hat that she had been wearing.

  The chiffon veil was of pale green, the colour of the gown.

  It made Ursa’s skin look very white and translucent, but it completed her disguise.

  As she looked for her handbag, Penelope said,

  “I suppose you had better take mine. There is some money in it and you should tip the coachman.”

  “Is he your coachman?” Ursa asked, thinking perhaps he might reveal something to Arthur Brackley.

  “No, of course not!” Penelope replied. “He belongs to Lord Vernon Winter. He has been in his service for a long time and is very discreet.”

  Ursa thought this at least was a relief.

  Equally she could not help asking,

  “How did you find out that Arthur is on his way to Brackley Park?”

  “He is trying to catch me out!” Penelope explained. “It was stupid of me not to realise that was what he was doing but, if he has his spies, I have mine! I intended him to find his loving wife waiting for him with his mother, but, of course, you had to go and mess everything up!”

  “It was – not my fault – it really was – not!” Ursa protested.

  Even as she spoke she knew that was not true.

  It was she who had thought of the scheme to help the Marquis – she who had agreed to play the part of his ‘fiancée’.

  Before her sister could speak she said,

  “I am – sorry, Penelope – I am very – very sorry if I have – upset you.”

  “Fortunately I have brains enough to get out of this pickle,” Penelope said. “Now, for goodness sake, leave and don’t speak to anybody until you are home!”

  “N-no – of course – not,” Ursa nodded.

  She did not ask her sister if she was going to see her again, knowing what the answer would be.

  As she moved towards the door, Penelope climbed into bed.

  “At least this is comfortable,” she said, “and actually I am very tired with all this rushing about.”

  She sank back against the pillows.

  “Oh, Ursa, do get on with it!” she groaned. “Why are you standing there gawping? Go home, and stay home! And another time try not to alter my plans.”

  “I-I am sorry, Penelope,” Ursa said again humbly.

  “Now that I am here,” Penelope declared, “I am delighted to be able to see Charnwood Court and, of course, meet its owner!”

  She spoke in a soft seductive voice.

  Without another word, Ursa opened the door.

  Outside in the corridor she could hear the servants moving about in the hall.

  It was with the greatest difficulty that she forced herself to walk slowly and with dignity down the stairs.

  A footman in his shirtsleeves who was brushing a rug hastily opened the front door for her.

  At the bottom of the steps she could see a smart closed carriage drawn by four horses.

  There was a coachman and a footman on the box.

  She stepped into it and, as the door was shut, the horses moved off.

  She had a last glimpse of the house before they turned towards the bridge over the lake.

  The swans were gliding smoothly over the still water.

  Ursa knew, although she could not see it, that the Marquis’s flag was still flying over the centre tower.

  He would be asleep in the Master bedroom in which generations of his ancestors had slept.

  ‘Will he guess,’ she wondered, ‘that Penelope is not me?’

  She could see again the little smile on her sister’s lips and the glint of interest in her eyes as she had said,

  ‘Birds of a feather flock together’.

  Ursa clenched her fingers together so tightly that they hurt.

  ‘Now he will be with Penelope,’ she told herself, ‘and even if he knows she is not me, he will certainly not miss me!’

  She wanted to cry, but she forced herself to keep back the tears.

  As they passed through the great ornamental gates with lodges on each side of them, she took off her dark spectacles.

  She wanted to see for the last time the pretty thatched cottages with their flower-filled gardens.

  Then the wall that surrounded the Marquis’s estate was left behind and she knew that the drama was now over.

  Like Cinderella, she was going back into obscurity and the Marquis would never think of her again.

  “I love – him! I – love – him!” she whispered.

  The carriage wheels seemed to be repeating the words over and over again.

  But they carried her further and further away from him.

  *

  The horses were travelling swiftly and it did not take as long as Ursa had expected to reach her home.

  As they drove down the small drive, she felt as if she had been away for years.

  Surprisingly everything looked the same as it had when she left.

  So much had happened in the short time that she had been away.

  She knew that she herself was different from the nervous girl who had left to take part in her sister’s charade.

  ‘I have fallen in love and I have been – kissed,’ Ursa thought, ‘so I suppose in some ways I have – grown up.’

  Because her father had always taught her to analyse her thoughts and feelings, she realised that she was now different.

  However hard she might try, she could never step back, alter or forget what had happened.

  At the sound of the carriage wheels, old Dawson came hurrying to the door.

  “You’re back, Miss Ursa!” he exclaimed. “And it’s glad we are to see you! It don’t seem the same when you’re not here.”

  “Thank you, Dawson,” Ursa tried to smile.

  She turned and pressed the money that was in Penelope’s bag into the hand of the footman who had opened the carriage door for her.

  Now, as she was talking to Dawson, the coachman turned the horses and they were moving away.

  Dawson looked astonished and asked in surprise,

  “Ain’t they stoppin' for a cup of tea, Miss Ursa?”

  “No, Dawson,” she answered. “They are in a hurry to go back to where they came from.”

  “And what’s happened to your luggage?” he asked.

  “It’s arriving later,” Ursa explained.

  It was in fact the first time that she had thought about it.

  Now she realised that Penelope had arrived with nothing and would therefore want what she had given Ursa to take with her.

  Besides, of course, being glad to have Marie looking after her again.

  Aloud Ursa said,

  “I will go upstairs and change, Dawson.”

  “Yes, indeed, Miss Ursa. You look real smart and it’d be a pity to spoil that pretty gown.”

  She had started up the stairs when Dawson gave a cry.

  “Oh, Miss Ursa, I nearly forgot – ”

  “What is it?” she asked stopping to turn on the stairs.

  “There be a letter here for you. It comes about an hour ago. Very urgent I was told it were.”

  “A letter?” Ursa said. “I wonder who it is from?”

  Because she knew that it hurt Dawson’s arthritic legs to climb the stairs, she ran down them again.

  He handed her the letter, which was lying on one of the
side tables in the hall.

  One glance at it told Ursa it was from her father.

  “Oh, it is from Papa, Dawson!” she exclaimed. “How lovely! I do hope he is coming home soon.”

  “I hopes so too, Miss Ursa,” Dawson agreed. “It be lonely here for you when the Master ain’t with us.”

  Ursa did not answer because she was climbing the stairs again.

  When she reached her bedroom, she pulled off her hat and threw it with the gloves and handbag onto the bed.

  She sat down at the dressing table and opened the letter.

  She suspected, as it had arrived so quickly after he had gone away, that he had sent it through the Dutch Embassy.

  This was something he had often done in the past.

  His distinctive handwriting was very familiar and, as she drew out the sheets of writing paper, she felt a warmth within her.

  Even hearing from him made it seem as if he was near her.

  Slowly, so as not to miss a word, she read,

  “My dearest beloved daughter,

  I know this will come as a great surprise to you, but, by the time you receive this letter, I will be married.

  I have known Theresa van Bergen for many years because, as I am sure you will remember, I have been in constant touch with her husband, when we have exchanged books and manuscripts.

  Theresa, who is English, was very much younger than her husband and, when he died nine months ago, I hoped and prayed that one day she might turn to me for comfort.

  When she did so, I was able to reveal that I loved her.

  Now we can be together and, as she is as interested in my work as I am, it should be a very advantageous and happy companionship.

  I am confident, my dearest Ursa, that when you meet Theresa you will love her as I do and I have told her so much about you that she says she feels as if she knows and loves you already.

  I know you will understand that having just married, we want to spend some time alone together before we come back to England.

  We are going first to Rome, where there are some manuscripts we both want to see and then down to the South of Italy.

  I have put two addresses at the end of this letter where you can write to me and I hope, my dearest, you will not feel that the happiness we have known together has come to an end, but believe as I do that it will be increased through having Theresa with us.

  Take care of yourself and send me your good wishes, because I shall be waiting to receive them.