The Storms Of Love

CHAPTER ONE ~ 1875-2

‘He may be hurt that I am not staying with him,’ the Duke thought, ‘but I dare say he will guess the reason when he sees me with Fenella.’

He was well aware that it was almost impossible for him to hide his love affairs from the inquisitive world he moved in.

He often thought they knew whom he was making love to before it actually happened. But that was the penalty of stature and of being a bachelor.

At least he did not have to worry, he reflected, about a jealous wife or, what could be much more irksome, ‘keeping up appearances in public’.

He anticipated that he would have no trouble with Lord Newbury, although some of his charmers’ husbands had been inclined to become aggressive.

He had, in fact, fought three duels and most unjustly he had in each case been the winner of the contests.

“I suppose if there were any justice in life,” the Duke had once said to Mr. Greyshot, “I should have my arm in a sling today rather than poor Underwood who had definitely every reason to be aggrieved at my behaviour!”

Mr. Greyshot had laughed.

“I thought Lord Underwood was very brave in challenging Your Grace,” he said. “Most husbands are learning to turn a blind eye when you are about, as they don’t like being made to look a fool.”

As it happened the Duke often felt rather sorry for them.

He told himself that if he ever married, which he had no intention of doing for a great many years, he would never allow himself to be in the position of a cuckolded husband.

It would be poetic justice he thought, but knew confidently that it never would happen.

He was now nearing Goodwood and there was a touch of sea salt in the air.

Everywhere he looked there was that particular beauty that he associated with this part of England and which in consequence he enjoyed more and more every time he came here.

He found himself almost envying the Duke of Richmond that his estate was situated in this part of the country.

Then he knew that it would be very hard for anything to equal the magnificence of Wyde, his family house in Buckinghamshire.

From it there was a magnificent view and against its background of woods it glowed like a jewel, a very large and precious jewel, at which everybody seeing it for the first time gasped in sheer amazement.

Thinking of his home made the Duke remember that only a week ago, when he had entertained a house party there, his grandmother had acted as hostess.

Once a great beauty she was still at seventy an extremely impressive and lovely woman.

But she had a sharp tongue and never hesitated to express her opinions with a forthrightness that many people found intimidating.

She had taken her grandson to task as nobody else would have dared to do and informed him bluntly that it was time he settled down and took a wife.

“You need not try to bully me, Grandmama,” the Duke said. “I have no intention of being married until I am too old to enjoy myself as I do now, and that will be when I have one foot in the grave!”

“You have to have an heir!” the Dowager had snapped.

“Of course,” the Duke agreed, “and I shall make sure, as my father omitted to do, that I do not have one son, but several.”

He knew that this was a slightly unsporting reply, in fact what was known as ‘hitting below the belt’, for it had been a great disappointment to his grandmother that her only son, the Duke’s father, had also produced only him and not a number of brothers to make sure of the succession.

“Then my advice is to get on with it!” The Dowager said, quite unabashed.

“I understand your feelings, Grandmama, but I am more concerned with my own.”

“A wife need not interfere very noticeably with your pleasures,” the Dowager said reflectively. “You would always behave with propriety towards her and doubtless the poor thing will fall head over heels in love with you, as all those other foolish women contrive to do!”

The Duke laughed.

“You are not very complimentary, Grandmama!”

“Oh, I know you fancy yourself,” the Dowager said, “strutting about like a peacock with a dozen little peahens scurrying after you! But I want to hold your son in my arms before I die!”

“That gives me at least twenty years!” the Duke remarked. “Our families are renowned for their longevity.”

“Compliments will not prevent me from telling you that you are wasting your time, your energy and your brains!” she said firmly.

“It is a matter of opinion. My time is my own and so is my energy,” the Duke replied. “As for my brain, I devote quite a lot of it to the bills that come before the House of Lords and, although you may not wish to believe it, the Prime Minister often asks my advice.”

“I should hope so!” the Dowager retorted. “At the same time you should be setting up a family and thinking of the future rather than overindulging in the present!”

The Duke laughed again.

“When I find a young woman who will grace the position that you held and wear the family jewels as you did, then I will certainly consider asking her to be my wife.”

“A very evasive reply!” the Dowager scoffed. “You know as well as I do that you never meet unmarried girls. In fact I was going to suggest that I should bring two or three to the next party we have at Wyde for your inspection.”

The Duke gave a cry of horror.

“I have never heard of such a monstrous suggestion!” he exclaimed. “If you dare, Grandmama, to bring one unfledged chick through my front door, I shall leave immediately and you can entertain her on your own!”

His grandmother made a helpless, but graceful gesture of her hand.

“Very well, Ingram,” she said, “go your own way, but I warn you, you are letting down the whole family and ignoring the responsibility you were born to hold.”

“Nonsense!” the Duke said firmly.

He had kissed her cheek, but when he left her the Dowager sat with a worried expression in her old eyes.

She was wondering how she could convince him that to provide a son to inherit the Kingdom over which he ruled was an urgent necessity.

The Duke, as he had told his grandmother, had no intention of marrying.

Why should he saddle himself with a wife who would doubtless be a bore from the very moment he was married to her and, unlike the other women who bored him, could not be paid off and dispensed with.

He could image the horror of listening to the same banal remarks at breakfast, luncheon, tea and dinner for the next thirty or forty years.

He could imagine how frustrating it would be to have to disguise his love affairs a great deal more skilfully than he had to do at the moment.

A wife would also certainly put paid to the very amusing parties he gave at Wyde, to which his grandmother was not invited.

And the even better ones that he gave in London and to which his men friends looked forward eagerly and were constantly pressing him to hold another.

‘No, a wife would definitely be an encumbrance and a headache that I refuse to inflict upon myself,’ the Duke thought firmly.

Then once again he was thinking of Fenella and the obvious invitation in her eyes that would welcome him when he arrived at Berkhampton House.

He was almost prepared to wager too that Lord Newbury, who was very much older than his wife and was not really interested in racing, would not be present.

He preferred shooting and the Duke had already made a mental note that he should invite him to the shoots at Wyde, accompanied, of course, by the delectable Fenella.

It might not be so easy to have her alone on these occasions, but he was a past-master at finding an excuse for taking the woman he was interested in round the Picture Gallery alone or, when the weather was fine, showing her the view from the roof.

Better still, he would find a convenient moment to visit her when she was resting in her boudoir while the men were all playing cards or billiards before dinner.

Then after the shooting season, the Duke thought, there would be the Hunt Ball. But that was planning too far ahead.

He suddenly had the uncomfortable feeling, which he quickly dismissed from his mind, that by that time Fenella’s place might have been taken by somebody else!

*

It was not quite five o’clock when the Duke turned his horses in through the fine and impressive gates of Berkhampton House.

The third Marquis of Berkhampton had died some years ago and, as the present Marquis was still at Eton, he was not likely to be playing host at the party taking place in his house for the races.

But the Duke, who had frequently been a guest of the Marchioness in London, knew that she was a most efficient hostess.

Immensely rich, the Berkhamptons entertained on a very grand scale and before the Prince Consort’s death in 1861 the Queen was a frequent visitor and a close friend of the Marchioness.

The Marchioness was in fact, not only an Hereditary Lady of the Bed Chamber but a personage at Court who was admired and respected not only by the Courtiers but by Ambassadors and the representatives of every foreign country who visited England.

In fact, it was said that they were always jokingly advised,

“Make yourself pleasant to the Queen, but whatever happens keep in with the Marchioness of Berkhampton!”

The Duke found her witty and amusing and enjoyed being in her company.

He was sure that he would have no regrets in having turned down Goodwood House and, as he passed through the gates, he thought once again that he was definitely going to enjoy himself.

There was a mile long drive bordered by ancient oak trees and the horses were moving along it at a good pace when suddenly the Duke saw ahead somebody standing in the way.

As he drew nearer, he expected whoever it was to step to one side.

Then he saw to his surprise that there was a barrier of branches from the trees lying across the drive and in the centre of them there was a woman.

He brought his horses to a standstill expecting the woman to come and tell him why the road was blocked, but she did not move.

After a moment he said to his groom, who was seated beside him,

“Find out what is wrong, Jim, or clear the path!”

There was a slight hesitation before the groom replied,

“I thinks, Your Grace, that be a young lady standing there!”

The Duke looked a little more closely and saw that his groom was right.

What he had thought to be a woman from the village, placed there to inform passers-by that they had to make a diversion, was in fact a woman dressed in a gown with a small bustle, which was obviously a dress that would have been worn only by a lady.

The woman made no effort to move, but waited and, because the Duke thought that it was undignified to shout, he handed his reins to his groom and, stepping down from his phaeton, walked towards the figure in the centre of the road.

He wondered as he did so, if it was perhaps some childish prank or a joke being played on him by one of the more obstreperous members of the house party.

Then, as he reached the woman who had still not moved, he saw to his astonishment that she had the figure of a slim young girl, but she was making the most hideous face he had ever seen in his whole life.

Her eyes were turned inward so that they crossed and with the fingers of both hands she had contorted her mouth so that it was grotesque, like that of a clown, stretching across her face almost from ear to ear.

He stood looking at her and, as she did not move, he could not be certain because her eyes were crossed whether she was looking at him or not.