Lost Enchantment

Chapter 1 1803-2

Then, as her brother came into the room, she whispered so that only the Marquis could hear her,

“Come and talk to Father tomorrow. I shall be waiting for you.”

It was this last sentence that sent the Marquis blue-devilled to the country. It was too well planned, too obvious! It gave him a sense of being trapped and of being forced into a declaration before he had finally made up his mind.

Granted he had kissed Leone, but she had deliberately enticed him into doing so. She had seduced his kisses from him and then taken it for granted that he would say the words that he had never in his life said to any woman.

Reaching his house in Berkeley Square, the Marquis had ordered his fastest phaeton, changed his clothes and set off for Alton Park.

He had a sudden yearning to be free of London, to be away from the scented softness of women, to breathe instead the fresh air of the country, to smell the fresh fragrance of flowers and know that he was alone – alone and content with his own company.

By the time he reached Alton Park he was too angry to enjoy what he sought.

His brain was beginning to clear, and he knew it was wine that had undoubtedly blunted his better judgment.

It was all those damned toasts he had had to honour, ‘To Victory’ – ‘The annihilation of our enemies’ – ‘The downfall of Napoleon’– ‘The Navy – ‘The Army’ – ‘The Volunteers’.

There had been dozens of them and, because the Prince of Wales proposed each one of them, none of his guests could refuse to empty his glass.

The Marquis’s constitution was strong and when he woke in the morning his head did not ache, but he was still oppressed by the thought of Leone waiting for him in London, the Earl of Harlington calculating how large a marriage settlement he could extort and the knowing smiles on the faces of their friends who would assert it was exactly what they had expected from the very beginning.

‘Curse William Pitt! It’s all his fault!’ the Marquis tried to tell himself as he emerged from his bedchamber and slowly descended the magnificent carved staircase with its heraldic murals standing like sentinels at every turn.

However, he was fair-minded enough to admit that it was really no one’s fault but his own. No outsider, however important he might be, could coerce a man into marriage and no man, unless he was cork-brained, would allow himself to be coerced.

Leone was by no means the first woman who had aspired to snare him into making her an offer of marriage. Nevertheless he had been stupid enough to let her manoeuvre him into the very position he had tried to avoid.

He had been well aware that she was determined to capture him and that was why he had deliberately avoided being with her in any compromising circumstances.

Then yesterday he had dropped his guard and now she was waiting for him. There had been a look of satisfaction on Lord Thatford’s somewhat inane face when he had come into the salon and found them alone together.

From what the Marquis had heard, Thatford was well under the hatches and the thought of a wealthy brother-in-law would undoubtedly lift his depression.

The duns who were after him would be only too willing to give him time before they pressed their bills further once it was known that his sister was to marry one of the wealthiest Noblemen in England. If his brother-in-law did not cough up, Thatford would see that his sister did, the Marquis was convinced of that.

There was no doubt that Leone was beautiful and, from all he had heard, her whole family had been gambling on her beauty.

“Why was I such a fool?” the Marquis asked himself aloud and Westham, who was hovering at the back of his chair, enquired,

“You spoke, my Lord?”

“Only to myself,” the Marquis said disagreeably.

The old butler sighed. He had known the Marquis too long not to realise that a fit of the sullens that lasted all through the night must have arisen through some real problem. It was unlike Mister Justin, as he still thought of his Master. He could be mad as fire on occasions, but it invariably lasted but a short time.

As a boy he was noted for his sunny nature and as a man he had become difficult and at times overbearing. But one thing he had always been and that was just.

Old Westham knew that for the Marquis to be disagreeable for more than a few hours to those who served him meant that something untoward had occurred.

He was wise enough not to attempt to converse further with his Master, merely bringing food to the table, which was summarily waved away, and noting somewhat apprehensively that the Marquis drank a large brandy before walking through the open window out onto the terrace. It was not his Lordship’s habit to partake at breakfast.

‘Something must be wrong, very wrong indeed!’ old Westham told himself.

Bareheaded in the sunshine, the Marquis sauntered through the rose garden, not seeing the beds of flowers that had been planned so exquisitely by his mother some years before she died, not noticing the wide herbaceous borders with their budding promise of colour to come or the flaring flame of the azaleas against the mauve, purple and white of the fragrant lilacs.

The gardens at Alton Park were famous, but the Marquis walked through them with unseeing eyes, intent on his own thoughts, confused and apprehensive, and in a despondency that he had not known since going back to Eton at the end of the holidays.

“Damn! Damn! Damn!” he muttered to himself.

He timed his curses to the movement of his feet, yet found the oaths brought him little relief.

He walked on and on, deep in his thoughts, too intent to notice where he was going, until he was startled by a sudden cry.

Almost automatically he stood still to listen.

The cry came again and then, as he became aware that he had wandered far from the house and into the woods, a girl came running from between the trees.

“Help, help!” she was crying.

Then she saw him standing in the path and ran to him.

Surprised at the swiftness of her arrival, he became conscious of a small pointed face the tears running down it as they overflowed from two large frightened eyes.

“Help me – oh, help me!” she begged breathlessly “My dog – he is caught in a trap and I cannot release him – please – please come!”

“Of course,” the Marquis agreed quickly.

He felt a very small hand slipped into his and found that she was compelling him to run through the trees quicker than he had ever attempted to move since he had left school.

“He is – here,” she panted, as they turned into a clearing and there was no need to say more.

A small black and white King Charles spaniel was caught by the leg in a rusty gin-trap. The dog was frenzied with fear, yelping and whining and tugging at his leg, which was bleeding profusely.

The girl ran towards the dog, but the Marquis, grasping her hand, restrained her.

“Don’t touch him,” he urged in a voice of authority. “He is frightened and may bite you. At this moment he cannot recognise friend or foe.”

“Release him – please set him – free,” the girl pleaded.

The Marquis, grasping the dog in an expert fashion, held him firmly and with his foot released the gin-trap so that the rusty iron teeth sprang open.

“Thank you – thank you,” the girl breathed and reached out her arms towards the dog.

The Marquis did not hand the little animal over, instead he carefully inspected the torn and bleeding leg. As if the dog had understood who had rescued him, he turned his head and tried to lick the hand that held him.

“Is his leg broken?” the girl asked.

“I am not certain,” the Marquis replied. “What we must do is take him at once to someone who is experienced in the care of animals. The wound must be washed because, as you can see, the trap is old and rusty.”

“How can people be so cruel – so wicked – as to put such things in the wood?” the girl asked. “No animal should be trapped in such a manner.”

“I don’t think that there are many traps in these woods,” the Marquis answered.

He remembered that he had given the order over five years ago that no traps were to be used on his land.

“I hope not,” the girl said. “I was so happy – and so was Columbus until this – happened.”

“Columbus?” the Marquis questioned, looking down at the little dog in his arms.

“I called him that because he was so curious,” his owner explained. “Now see to what a state his curiosity has – brought him.”

She gave a tiny sob as she spoke and, taking a handkerchief from the waist of her pale green dress, she started to wipe away the tears from her cheeks.

“Do you read Greek?” the Marquis asked in an amused voice. “Or did somebody tell you that Columbus meant curious?”

“I know a little Greek,” she answered simply, “but – how can I thank you, sir, for saving Columbus?”

“We have not saved him completely as yet,” the Marquis replied. “As I have said, he must be taken to someone who understands dogs, who will treat the wound.”

“Oh dear,” the girl exclaimed helplessly, “I wonder if there is someone like that in the village! I could – ask.”

“I have a better idea,” the Marquis answered. “A man I know who is really experienced lives not far from here. Shall we take Columbus to him?”

“I don’t like to inconvenience you, sir,” the girl answered. “You have been so kind already.”

“You will not inconvenience me,” the Marquis answered.

Looking down at her he realised how pretty she was in a strange kind of elfin way.

She had a little pointed face, huge eyes, which he now realised were unexpectedly green, and very fair hair curling in the most unfashionable manner over her tiny head.

She had a bonnet, but she had obviously thrown it to the ground in an effort to release her dog.

Now she picked it up and said,

“Can I carry Columbus?”

“I think he would be easier with me,” the Marquis answered. “See, he is no longer afraid, and perhaps in my arms he would be less jolted than in yours.”

“You are so kind,” she said. “If you had not been there – I don’t know what I would have done. I never expected there would be someone in the woods to help me.”

“You might have come across a keeper,” the Marquis said, “but he undoubtedly would have accused you of trespassing.”

Her eyes were wide with apprehension.

“Am I trespassing?” she asked. “I never thought of that. You see – when I used to walk with my father in the Vienna woods they were free to everyone. I forgot that in England woods would be in the possession of an autocratic owner.”

“Perhaps not always autocratic,” the Marquis demurred, “but in England every man’s home is his castle, and every man’s property is private.”

“If he is lucky enough to own a property,” she said.

“So you were happy in the woods until this happened?” the Marquis asked.

“So very, very happy,” she said with a little sigh. “You can have no idea what it is like for me to be among trees again and to forget – ” She paused and substituted, “ – to remember the stories my mother told me – when I was a little girl. Then the woods to me were peopled with nymphs, dragons and Knights Errant.”

She stopped as they moved along the woodland path.

“Of course, that is what you are,” she exclaimed, “a Knight Errant come to save me – or rather Columbus! How wonderful – it’s just like a story!”

“I am honoured that you should think so,” the Marquis said with a smile on his lips.

“But do you not understand?” she said. “It is indeed one of the tales my mother – used to tell me at bedtime. I have thought of them so often lately. I was desperately frightened for Columbus and then suddenly you were there! A Knight to the rescue, but you should have been on a horse!”

“I regret the omission,” the Marquis replied. “My horse is er – indisposed.”

“And being in search of fame and fortune you could not afford another one!” she sighed. “But you ran to the rescue – that would have been difficult in armour!”

“And indisputably noisy!” the Marquis remarked drily.

They were both laughing.