Never Forget Love Read online

  “Then perhaps after all it would be a mistake to have a Festival of Flowers,” Delphine pouted.

  There was an outcry at this from all the other ladies.

  “How can you be so unkind, Delphine,” they all complained, “as to deprive us of what would be a glorious opportunity to dress up and look so different from the way we do now?”

  “Besides,” one of the ladies added, “I am sure our most generous host will present prizes to those he considers the most beautiful and colourful.”

  She gave a rather spiteful glance at Delphine as she spoke and the Duke suggested quickly,

  “I am perfectly prepared to give a prize, but the judging will be based entirely on a secret ballot that all the gentlemen will take part in.”

  There was a little shriek of excitement at this and one of the gentlemen declared,

  “I am glad that we boys come into this game somewhere. I was feeling rather afraid that we were to be left in the cold!”

  “Your votes will be very important,” the Duke assured him, “and I think we should all thank Marcus Stanley for giving us the idea of such an original entertainment.”

  Delphine, however, was still looking sulky.

  “I have dreamt of wearing your special orchids, Talbot,” she repeated, “and so I cannot believe that you would be so unkind as to spoil my dreams.”

  She spoke in a soft intimate manner that Nerissa thought was rather embarrassing.

  She therefore turned to her father to say,

  “It was a clever idea of yours, Papa, and now talking about it has broken a dream that I had the first night I came here.”

  “What was it?” Marcus Stanley asked her.

  “It was very vivid,” Nerissa answered, “but I forgot about it in the morning because I was so excited to be going riding.”

  She realised that her father was waiting to hear what she had to say and she went on,

  “I dreamt I was in one of the rooms here where there was a lovely young woman all dressed in white. She was crying bitterly as she took a wreath from her head, I think it was of flowers, and put it into a cabinet that was standing near her. It seemed to me a strange thing to do. Then, having shut the wreath away, she put her hands up to her face and, still crying, vanished!”

  As Nerissa finished speaking, she realised that everybody around her was listening to what she was saying.

  Then in a voice which sounded suddenly harsh and hard the Duke asked,

  “Who told you that story?”

  Startled Nerissa looked at him wide-eyed and then answered,

  “No one. It was only a dream.”

  “You may have dreamt it, but somebody must have told you about it first.”

  “No! No. Of course not!”

  “I find that hard to believe,” the Duke replied.

  Abruptly he then turned and walked away and out of the drawing room leaving Nerissa and other members of the house party staring after him.

  Nerissa looked at her father in consternation.

  “What have I said? What have ‒ I done wrong?” she asked.

  Marcus Stanley did not answer her and then everyone started talking at once no longer interested in the Duke’s reaction to Nerissa’s story but in the idea of dressing up as flowers.

  Only Delphine seemed to be disconcerted because the Duke had left so suddenly and, after a second or two’s indecision, she too left the drawing room.

  “I – do – not understand,” Nerissa murmured in a low voice.

  Then an elderly woman, Lady Wentworth, the Duke’s aunt, who had been acting the part of hostess at both the Horse Show and the house party, came to her side and, taking her by the hand, drew her to a sofa saying as she did so,

  “I can understand, Miss Stanley, your being so bewildered at my nephew’s behaviour.”

  “But – why should it be – wrong to speak about my – dream?” Nerissa asked unhappily. “I had actually forgotten about it until they were talking about – wreaths of flowers and then it came back to me.”

  “I understand,” Lady Wentworth said, “but my nephew, Talbot, is very sensitive about the family ghost.”

  “Ghost?” Nerissa exclaimed.

  “Most great houses have a ghost,” Lady Wentworth smiled, “but unfortunately ours is connected with a rather tiresome and alarming curse.”

  Nerissa’s eyes were on Lady Wentworth’s face as she went on,

  “In the reign of King Charles II the Duke of those days was a very gay and raffish man like his King. He fell in love with a very beautiful innocent girl and they were married at her home, which was somewhere near here and came to Lyn to begin their honeymoon.

  “The story goes, but of course, I expect it has been embellished over the ages, that when they arrived here one of the Duke’s past loves, a beautiful but jealous woman, was waiting for them.

  “She raged at the Duke for marrying someone other than herself and told his bride that she would do everything in her power to destroy their happiness.”

  Nerissa made a little murmur as it seemed to be so unkind, but she did not speak and then Lady Wentworth went on,

  “The bride rushed up the stairs leaving her husband to cope with his former love. Then, feeling her happiness had already gone, she took off her wreath, hid it somewhere and then threw herself from a top window onto the courtyard below.”

  Nerissa gave a little cry of horror.

  “How could she do such a thing?”

  “If she was totally broken-hearted, so was the Duke,” Lady Wentworth carried on, “and, although eventually he married again, he was never happy. From that moment on the Head of the Family has always been told that, until the wreath of the Duchess can be found, then the reigning Duke will never know real happiness.”

  “Surely that cannot be true?” Nerissa protested.

  “It does unfortunately appear to be so. We have all tried to believe it is just coincidence, but something has always occurred to destroy happiness between the Dukes and Duchesses of Lynchester.”

  She paused for a moment as if she was looking back before she added,

  “For instance, my father, Talbot’s grandfather, appeared to be exceedingly happy until quite unexpectedly his wife ran away with one of his best friends. There was, as you can well imagine, a terrible scandal but it was hushed up and she died abroad.”

  Nerissa was listening intently with her hands clasped tightly together as Lady Wentworth went on,

  “Talbot’s father and mother were, so we all believed, ideally happy although it was an arranged marriage. Then, as he grew older, the Duke became infatuated with a young woman who lived on the estate. He spent his entire time with her refusing to have anything to do with his wife and family. You can see how much his behaviour scandalised not only his relatives but the whole neighbourhood.”

  “Has no one tried to find the wreath I saw being placed in a cabinet?” Nerissa asked her.

  “Of course they have, but do I think if you are wise, my dear, you will not speak of this again. I was always afraid that Talbot felt very deeply about his father’s behaviour and, although I am sure that he is far too sensible to credit that the story of the ghost is true, it is something he would not wish to discuss.”

  “No – of course not,” Nerissa agreed, “and I am sorry so – very sorry – that I should have mentioned unwittingly anything so upsetting.”

  “You could not know about it, my dear, and we must just pretend when Talbot returns that nothing untoward has occurred.”

  “Yes – of course, ma’am.”

  At the same time she was extremely worried that she should have inadvertently awoken such unpleasant memories.

  The whole story seemed inexplicable and far-fetched and yet she knew from her research for her father that stories about ghosts were handed down from generation to generation and certainly there were numerous and well attested reports of how, at least by some amazing coincidence, what they predicted had come true.

  As Lady Wentwor
th had advised, when the Duke returned and dinner was announced, neither Nerissa nor anyone else mentioned the ghost again and the conversation was all about the Festival of Flowers, enlivened by sparkling witticisms exchanged between one gentleman and another.

  Looking at the Duke sitting majestically at the end of the table, Nerissa thought that there was a slight cloud over his face and she wondered if anybody else had noticed it.

  Delphine, who was sitting next to him, was certainly making every effort to make him forget that anything had gone wrong before dinner.

  She was at her sparkling best and everybody at that end of the table was laughing at what she said. She seemed, Nerissa thought, to glow like a light.

  After dinner the ladies retired to the drawing room to discuss what flowers they should wear.

  Nerissa, listening to them, realised that there was going to be a strong contest over who would represent the more popular lilies, roses, carnations and other spectacular flowers.

  Delphine was rather quiet and Nerissa soon realised from the look in her eyes that she was planning something very subtle that she was sure would shatter everyone’s ambitions.

  Because no one was taking any notice of her, Nerissa slipped out of the drawing room and along the passage.

  Thinking that she might look into some of the rooms that she had not already visited in the hope of recognising the cabinet that she had seen in her dream and which would contain the lost wreath.

  She could still see it quite clearly in her mind’s eye.

  It was not unlike a large number of cabinets she had noticed already at Lyn, although she had not yet had the chance of inspecting many rooms except those that the house party was using.

  ‘The Grand Tour’, as she thought of it in her mind, was to come tomorrow when the Duke had promised her father that he would see the older parts of Lyn, especially the rooms that had not been altered at all down the centuries.

  One thing Nerissa had learned since her arrival was that in the evening the candles were lit in every room so that there was no question of groping one’s way in the dark.

  Mary had told her this when she was dressing her and Nerissa had exclaimed,

  “It seems very extravagant.”

  “It is, miss, candles bein’ as costly as they are, but then His Grace is a very rich man.”

  Walking down the corridor, Nerissa then peeped into first one room, then another and, although there were lacquered cabinets, French ones, some of marquetry, others inlaid with ivory and precious stones, they were none of them exactly the same as the cabinet that she had seen in her dream.

  Then she told herself that, of course, the furniture must have been moved from room to room over the ages and the unhappy bride would have gone upstairs to her bedroom after the scene with the Duke’s previous love, which must have taken place downstairs.

  Nerissa therefore climbed a secondary staircase and found herself on the floor where she knew that this was where the State bedrooms were situated and also the Picture Gallery.

  She had already heard how beautiful this was and her father had remarked several times during the day when they were looking at horses how much he was looking forward to seeing the Duke’s pictures.

  The Picture Gallery was long with crystal chandeliers running the whole length of it and also silver sconces on the walls that held lit candles.

  Fascinated, Nerissa admired several magnificent Van Dycks before she came to some portraits of beautiful women painted by Sir Peter Lely at what she knew was the time of King Charles II.

  This, she thought, was where she might see the face of the unhappy bride of her dream.

  Then she wondered whether, since she had only just become the Duchess of Lynchester, there would have been time for her portrait to be painted.

  She then stood in front of one picture trying to see any resemblance to the weeping bride whom she had watched taking her wreath from her hair.

  But her instinct rather than her eye told her that the pictured face was not the same.

  Then, as she moved to the next picture, she heard footsteps coming down the Picture Gallery towards her.

  She turned with a startled leap of her heart to see that it was the Duke.

  Feeling rather like a child who had been caught in some misdemeanour, Nerissa waited, her hands clasped together, her heart beating frantically in her breast.

  As he came nearer to her, the Duke was looking grave and, when he reached her, he did not speak but stood looking down at her frightened eyes raised to him.

  After a moment she stammered,

  “I-I am sorry – very sorry.”

  “For being here?” he questioned. “You need not apologise.”

  “No – no not that – but because – I upset you – I did not mean to do so.”

  “I know that.”

  There was a pause while they stood and just looked at each other.

  Then he said,

  “Do you really swear by everything you hold Holy that nobody had told you the story of my ancestor’s bride or what occurred on their Wedding Day?”

  “I swear it, Your Grace. It was – just a dream – and I did not think it had any particular significance.”

  “And now you have come to see if you can find the picture of the woman you saw in your dream.”

  “Perhaps it is something I should not have done if it makes you – angry.”

  “I am not in the least angry,” the Duke replied, “only intrigued and, of course, I want to know if you have yet found the face you are seeking.”

  Nerissa shook her head.

  “Not so far and actually I was thinking that it is unlikely she would have been painted before she became the Duchess.”

  “I thought that myself.”

  “But it worth making certain that she is not here amongst the other beautiful Duchesses of Lynchester.”

  There was a pause before he replied almost as if he was reluctant to say the words,

  “I suppose in that case we should look for the cabinet. But the wreath has been searched for by, I expect, every generation of my family and they have always been disappointed.”

  Nerissa looked away from him.

  Then after a minute she said,

  “You may perhaps – think it impertinent of me – perhaps I am – intruding on something that does not concern me – but I cannot help feeling that there must be a – reason why I had that dream.”

  “Do you think a poor little ghost from the past was trying to get in touch with you?”

  There was a sarcastic note in the Duke’s voice that told Nerissa only too clearly that he did not think that there was the remotest possibility of that happening.

  “Will you tell me something, Your Grace,?” she asked. “Do the stories relate exactly what happened when the Duke realised that his bride had killed herself?”

  “There are various versions of what took place,” the Duke replied. “One is that he was so utterly and completely distraught that he never came back here again. Another is that, feeling that he could not live without the woman he loved, he killed himself as well.”

  There was silence while Nerissa thought over what he had told her.

  Then slowly and quietly she suggested,

  “Do you think perhaps the Duchess regretted the curse that her action put on the family, which was quite unjustified because the Duke ‒ truly loved her? Would she not try to make reparation by telling somebody to find her ‒ wreath?”

  She was working it out for herself and the Duke replied,

  “In that case she has certainly not come to me, Nerissa, but to you. So it is obvious that the only person who can remove the curse, if that is what it is, is you!”

  Nerissa drew in her breath.

  “That is a very frightening thought if I am – unable to – find it.”

  She sounded so perturbed that the Duke said in a different tone of voice,

  “I think you must be sensible about this. I cannot believe that after all t
hese years the wreath has not crumbled away to dust if it was made of real flowers or been stolen or even inadvertently thrown away. A dozen things might have happened to it.”

  Nerissa did not answer and after a moment he said,

  “Forget ghosts and all spooky things which I am certain exist only in the imagination of those who have nothing else to think about. So come back to the party, who are intent on playing charades that will amuse those who act in them more than those who watch.”

  “You must go back, Your Grace, but I would like, with your permission, to look into the State Rooms that I know are on this floor.”

  “If that is what you want, then I will come with you,” the Duke proposed.

  They walked down the Picture Gallery and into the corridor and the Duke opened one of the tall doors saying as he did so,

  “This is known as ‘The King’s Room’ because King Charles II slept here and I think, although, I am not sure, that it is very much the same mow as it was in those days.”

  It was certainly a very impressive room with an exquisitely painted ceiling, a bed draped in silk curtains and with furniture that Nerissa might have expected to find at Lyn.

  There were two portraits on the wall, but neither depicted the face that she wanted to see.

  The Duke with a faintly cynical smile, as if he thought that the whole idea of finding anything quite absurd, opened the communicating door into the room that adjoined it.

  “This one is the Duchess Room,” he said, “which has been used by every Duchess of Lynchester. However, I really must tell you that it has been altered considerably first by my grandmother and then by my mother and I am quite certain that not one piece of the original furnishings is to be found here.”

  It was in fact the most beautiful room that Nerissa had ever seen and the brocade on the walls echoed the bright blue sky behind the Goddess Aphrodite on the ceiling where she was portrayed surrounded by cupids and doves.

  There were also cupids on the blue canopied bed and cupids used as sconces on the walls.

  It flashed through her mind that this was a room made for love.

  Then, as she felt a little shy at thinking of such a thing, she looked towards the Duke and, realising that he was watching her, felt the blood rise in her cheeks.