Love Me For Ever

CHAPTER ONE ~ 1780-2

The Duke looked towards the road. The horses were ready, the postilion’s mount had been placed in the traces vacated by the leader, the lame horse was standing on the grass verge and one of the grooms was kneeling to extricate something from its hoof. He walked over the uneven ground which lay between him and the coach and, as he did so, noticed for the first time on the far side of the road there stood a great wall.

It lay back from the road and he had not perceived it in the darkness. Now a young moon was rising over the trees and by its light he could see the wall, grey and austere, silhouetted against the paler sky.

For a moment he wondered what it was and then above it he saw the roofs mounting one above the other surmounted by a tapering spire and he knew it to be a Convent or a Monastery.

“A shoe has worked loose, Your Grace,” the footman said at his elbow.

“That is what I thought,” the Duke replied.

“There is but five miles to Chantilly where we spend the night, Your Grace. If there is a blacksmith by the roadside, the groom will call him up.”

“Tell him to bring the animal along gently.”

“Very good, Your Grace.”

The Duke stepped into the coach.

“And tell the coachman to hurry.”

“Very good, Your Grace.”

The door was closed and the coach moved off. The Duke sank back against the padded seats. He was tired of travelling and he allowed himself to reflect that he was also hungry. He preferred riding to being driven, but he knew that the Parisians would expect him to arrive in style and it would be a mistake to disappoint their expectations.

He had already sent his cousin, Hugo Waltham, ahead to engage a mansion where he would stay while he was in Paris and to make every possible arrangement for his convenience.

Hugo would see to it that all Paris was apprised of the distinction of the man who was about to pay the City a visit.

The Duke smiled a little. Quiet and unobtrusive in many ways Hugo managed to get things done with an efficiency that was entirely commendable.

The Duke yawned suddenly, thank goodness he would be in Paris tomorrow night. He found that travelling by coach invariably tried his patience. He stretched out his legs and, as he did so, he had a curious feeling that he was not alone.

Some sixth sense, some intuition he could not entirely account for, made him suddenly on his guard.

He felt his muscles tighten and almost without his being aware of it his hand went towards the pocket of his velvet coat in which reposed a pistol. Then at that moment there came a sound, a sound hardly articulate, but strangled at its very birth and yet nevertheless a sound.

Incredulous the Duke looked round the coach. A candle, flickering in the silver lantern, showed him the satin-covered seats empty save for himself, but on the floor there was a pile of rugs. Far too hot for them to be necessary this evening, there were, however, times on every journey when the occupant of a coach was glad of them. The Duke looked closely.

There was no doubt of it, the rugs appeared bulkier than they had done earlier in the day.

He drew his pistol from his pocket. It was primed and so ready for use for the Duke knew of old that on journeys such as this highwaymen and robbers were likely to appear when least expected.

Holding the pistol in his right hand, the Duke bent forward and with a swift, almost savage, gesture drew the sable rug from the floor onto the seat. For a moment he thought he was mistaken and that there was no one there and then there was a movement.

Slowly a figure wearing a black cloak raised itself from the floor.

The Duke put out his hand. His grasp was strong and merciless and there was a sudden cry of pain.

“Who are you?” the Duke asked. “What are you doing here?”

In answer the figure on the floor, twisting a little beneath the hand that gripped so mercilessly, a small soft shoulder, threw back the hood that obscured her identity.

For a moment the Duke could only stare at what the light from the lantern revealed.

A small white face was turned towards him, two very large, rather frightened eyes looked up into his and, as the dark hood fell further from the wearer’s head, it revealed a mass of soft red-gold hair, which glittered and shone in the candlelight.

“Who are you?” The Duke asked the question again, but this time his voice was less peremptory.

“Pardon, monsieur. I am so sorry. I hoped you would not find me for I meant only to travel with you as far as Chantilly.”

“How did you know that is where I am going?” the Duke enquired.

“I heard your men say so and, while they were seeing to the lame horse, I slipped into the coach. The door was open and there was no one to stop me.”

Her voice was soft and low and she spoke, the Duke noticed, this strange young woman who had hidden herself beneath his rugs, in a very correct and educated manner.

Slowly the Duke took his hand from her shoulder and then he removed the rug from where he had tossed it and indicated the seat beside him.

“Will you sit down?” he invited her.

Nervously and yet with a grace that was not very easy in a moving swaying coach, the girl rose to her feet and sat herself on the seat beside him.

It was easier now to see her more clearly. She was very young and very lovely. There was too something aristocratic and well-bred about the exquisite outline of her features and the long slim fingers that clutched a little nervously at the front of her dark cloak.

“I am delighted,” the Duke said suavely, “if I can be of assistance to you, mademoiselle. If you wish to travel to Chantilly, my coach is at your disposal, but surely you need not put yourself to such discomfort? It cannot have been very pleasant beneath those hot rugs.”

His words brought a flush to her cheeks and then a faint smile to her lips.

“Merci, monsieur, you are very kind. But you must think me a little – well – unconventional.”

“It is not for me to question your method of travel,” the Duke replied, “although I admit I am somewhat curious.”

The stranger gave a little sigh and glanced out of the window. But there was little to see save trees and they were travelling rather swiftly.

“Perhaps I should explain,” she said softly. “I have run away from the Convent.”

As she spoke, the candle in the lantern flickered low and went out.

The Duke gave an exclamation of annoyance, but, as he moved to call for a footman, he felt a hand on his arm.

“Pray do not trouble about the light. It is best that you should not see me too closely, so that, if you are asked to describe me, you can truthfully say you don’t know what I am like.”

“You imagine then that they will come in pursuit of you?” the Duke quizzed her.

“I expect so,” was the calm reply.

“In which case it would be best for us to introduce ourselves. I, mam’selle, am the Duke of Melyncourt, at your service.”

“Enchantée, Monseigneur. And I am Amé.”

There was a pause.

“A pretty name,” the Duke said at length, “and an unusual one, but is that all you intend to tell me?”

“That is all I know.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said it is all I know. I was christened Amé, which means ‘soul’. I am called Amé because it is easy to pronounce. It is the only name I have. Voila tout!”

“I see.”

“You are puzzled, Monseigneur, but it is quite simple. I was left at the Convent when I was just a baby. My mother pinned a note on my robe. It read, my daughter is christened Amé, because in giving her to God, I give also my own soul and my last hope of Heaven.”

There was a throb in the girl’s voice as she spoke, a sound that somehow seemed to him to be strangely moving.

There was a sudden silence and then at length, almost as if he was embarrassed by it, the Duke said,

“And you have remained at the Convent ever since?”

“Mais oui. I have lived there all my life.”

“And you are not happy there?”

“I have been very happy, but something happened today that made me decide to run away.”

“I would like to ask what it was that drove you into taking such a desperate course. But if you would rather not tell me, I shall, of course, understand.”

“It is easy to tell you things, Monseigneur. I don’t know why, I have never been alone with a man before.”

“Never?”

“No, of course not. The only men we see at the Convent are the Priests and the fathers of the novices who come occasionally to visit them.”

“So there are other young girls at your Convent?”

“Oh, yes. They talk about taking the veil, but really they come to the Convent to be educated. There are six girls of my age there at the moment and, of course, there are many nuns. They are very kind and sweet and I love them very much.”

“And yet something has happened to make you run away?”

“Yes, something that made me angry – very very angry.”

There was a touch of impetuosity in the young voice now.

“Will you tell me what it was?” the Duke enquired.

“It is perhaps a great sin for me to be so angry,” was the reply, “and yet, even now, sitting here with you. Monseigneur, I think I am right. I will tell you about it and you must promise me to say whether you think I am right or wrong in what I have done. I am sure that most people would say I am wrong, but you – you are an Englishman.”

“How do you know that?” the Duke interrupted.

“I heard your servants talking. One of them said, ‘these Frenchies make me sick. Danged if I knows why ’is Nibs, don’t stay where ’e belongs.”

She spoke the last words in English with a note of laughter in her voice.

“So you speak my language?” the Duke exclaimed in the same tongue.

“Certainement! I can speak English,” Amé replied, “as well Italian, German and Spanish. The Reverend Mother was very particular that we should be fluent in all languages, but I found English the easiest to learn.”

“You speak it very well.”

“Merci bien, Monseigneur! The nun, who taught me, Sister Margaret, is English. More than once she said to me, ‘Amé, you must have English blood in you for no one could learn a language so quickly unless it came naturally to them.”

“And have you?” the Duke enquired. “No, that is a useless question, for you don’t know the answer.”

“I only know that I am Amé.”

“And you have still not told me why you are running away.”

“I was coming to that when you ‒ interrupted me.”

“I must apologise.” The Duke said with a faint smile.

“It does not matter,” she assured him quite seriously. “But I was about to tell you what happened. You must understand, Monseigneur, that I have lived at the Convent for over seventeen years. I have always known it to be my home. I have always been happy with the nuns. They have never made me feel I was any different from anyone else. Most of the other novices stay until they are educated, then they leave. There have been one or two who have decided that they had no desire to return to the world. They have asked that they might remain in the Convent and take the veil.”