Born of Love
Barbara Cartland Ebooks Ltd
This edition © 2017
Copyright Cartland Promotions 1953
eBook conversion by M-Y Books
Barbara Cartland, who sadly died in May 2000 at the grand age of ninety eight, remains one of the world’s most famous romantic novelists. With worldwide sales of over one billion, her outstanding 723 books have been translated into thirty six different languages, to be enjoyed by readers of romance globally.
Writing her first book ‘Jigsaw’ at the age of 21, Barbara became an immediate bestseller. Building upon this initial success, she wrote continuously throughout her life, producing bestsellers for an astonishing 76 years. In addition to Barbara Cartland’s legion of fans in the UK and across Europe, her books have always been immensely popular in the USA. In 1976 she achieved the unprecedented feat of having books at numbers 1 & 2 in the prestigious B. Dalton Bookseller bestsellers list.
Although she is often referred to as the ‘Queen of Romance’, Barbara Cartland also wrote several historical biographies, six autobiographies and numerous theatrical plays as well as books on life, love, health and cookery. Becoming one of Britain’s most popular media personalities and dressed in her trademark pink, Barbara spoke on radio and television about social and political issues, as well as making many public appearances.
In 1991 she became a Dame of the Order of the British Empire for her contribution to literature and her work for humanitarian and charitable causes.
Known for her glamour, style, and vitality Barbara Cartland became a legend in her own lifetime. Best remembered for her wonderful romantic novels and loved by millions of readers worldwide, her books remain treasured for their heroic heroes, plucky heroines and traditional values. But above all, it was Barbara Cartland’s overriding belief in the positive power of love to help, heal and improve the quality of life for everyone that made her truly unique.
The Barbara Cartland Eternal Collection is the unique opportunity to collect as ebooks all five hundred of the timeless beautiful romantic novels written by the world’s most celebrated and enduring romantic author.
Named the Eternal Collection because Barbara’s inspiring stories of pure love, just the same as love itself, the books will be published on the internet at the rate of four titles per month until all five hundred are available.
The Eternal Collection, classic pure romance available worldwide for all time .
The caves of the Dordogne were there for thousands of years before they were discovered.
One of the most significant was found in 1868 and revealed, in addition to flints and carved bones of the Aurignacian Age, three skeletons of adults.
They were studied by Paul Broca, the surgeon and anthropologist who founded the School of Anthropology in France.
The discoveries in this cave, known as the Cro-Magnon, were of prime importance in prehistoric studies.
Some of the caves are exceptionally beautiful with stalactites and stalagmites.
In 1901 a cave was discovered which demonstrated the importance of the Magdalenian Age at a time when all the anthropologists were becoming sceptical about prehistoric studies.
A secondary passage with cave drawings was the stage on which prehistoric man acted out his life.
This can be seen from the traces of a domestic midden and the tools of the Magdalenian men, which have also been unearthed.
Later still, in 1940, the Lascaux Cave was held as one of the greatest prehistoric finds in Europe for the large number and life-like quality of the paintings on the walls.
This cave was discovered by four boys looking for their dog, which had disappeared down a hole.
The majority of the animals that appear on the walls are female and pregnant, symbolising fertility and some appear to be transfixed by arrows.
The gorges for which the Dordogne is famous are so enormous that there are very likely to be a great many more hidden, which have yet to be discovered.
The Duke was furious.
He knew exactly what was afoot the moment he saw Marcia enter the room with her father.
Because he was so perceptive he had been aware that there was something in the air as far as his aunt the Comtesse was concerned.
He had, however, not really expected that she would actually produce a prospective bride for him, even though she talked about it incessantly.
She had also, he thought, been discussing it with the other relations.
He had noticed, although it was nothing unusual, that as soon as he entered the room there was a sudden silence.
But that the Earl of Grateswoode should suddenly produce a daughter was something he had not expected.
The Duc was well aware that his refusal to marry was a topic that was talked over hour after hour, week after week, year after year.
His relatives tried in every possible way to convince him that he must do his duty to the family name and produce an heir.
There would be no difficulty whatever about it.
Just as when he was young every great family in France would be only too eager to ally themselves with the Roux.
And yet the whole idea of it made him shudder.
The ghost of Cecilia stood between him and any prospective bride.
Now the Comtesse had gone a step further and paraded one for him.
Because he had learnt to control himself ever since he was a child, he managed to hide his feelings.
He talked to the Marquise in his usual flirtatious manner with every other word having a double meaning.
She was witty and amusing where the subject of love was concerned and yet the Duc was already aware that on other subjects she was either palpably ignorant or uninterested.
For the moment, however, because he was so angry he made himself admire the beauty of her features and the blue lights in her hair.
The provocative invitation in her eyes was very alluring and that was something he was accustomed to.
The Comtesse was busily introducing the Earl and Marcia to the other guests.
Several more who were staying in the house came in after their arrival and the Comtesse sat at the tea table and poured out the tea.
The Earl sat down beside her and said,
“It is very kind of you to remember that Marcia and I enjoyed our tea when I know that you don’t have it in France.”
“It is so delightful to have you here,” the Comtesse answered, “that I want you both to feel at home.”
She lowered her voice so that no one else could hear her,
“Your daughter is even lovelier than I thought possible. Everyone was talking about her in London, but her beauty is quite breathtaking.”
“That is what I think myself,” the Earl replied. “But then I am, of course, a proud father.”
“A very proud one I should imagine,” the Comtesse answered.
Marcia was talking to two of the Duc’s cousins and several men, who had just arrived, were obviously anxious to join in the conversation.
Occasionally she glanced across the room towards the Duc.
He was still in deep conversation with the same very attractive woman.
For a moment she thought it was strange that he was apparently ignoring her father whom he had been so anxious to see.
Then a knowing glance between two of the older relations revealed the truth.
Marcia could not help finding it amusing that the Duc was no less antagonistic than she was to the idea of an arranged marriage.
She guessed too that he had not been forewarned of her arrival and that would account for the strange expression in his eyes when he had looked at her.
‘I shall have to tell him that I feel exactly the same about the situation,’ she thought.
She even had a wild idea of announcing it to the family, now that they were all gathered together.
She wanted to tell them that she had been brought here against her wishes.
If they thought that she intended to marry their precious Duc, they were very much mistaken!
She could imagine how horrified their expressions would be at her being so outspoken.
Then she remembered that it would deeply hurt and embarrass her father.
It was therefore something that she could not do.
Because she was hungry she ate a good tea, enjoying the delicious pâtisseries that the chef had provided.
She refused the cucumber sandwiches that he had taken so much trouble over, but the Earl ate two.
When tea was over, the Comtesse said,
“I am sure, Lady Marcia, that you would like to see your room.”
“That would be delightful,” Marcia replied. “At the same time, as you were such a friend of Mama’s, I do hope you will call me, ‘Marcia’.”
The Comtesse put her hand on her arm.
“Of course I shall. But, as we have not met since you were a very small child, I did not wish you to think I was being too familiar.”
They both laughed and Marcia said,
“I am thrilled to see this entrancing château and I hope that I shall have time to see over it all before we return to England.”
“There will be plenty of time for you to do that,” the Comtesse promised. “And to see the horses.”
She had risen from the tea table.
As if she was aware that her nephew was behaving in a somewhat unfriendly manner, she turned to him, raising her voice a little,
“I was just talking to Marcia about your horses, Armond. I am sure that she is as anxious to see them as her father is.”
Reluctantly the Duc rose to his feet.
“The Earl has come to see my horses,” he said. “And, of course, they are available for anyone else who is interested in them.”
He spoke coldly.
As his eyes rested on Marcia, she was once again aware that he was looking at her as if he wanted to protest at her intrusion.
Because she wished to provoke him, a little she walked a few steps nearer and said,
“I have heard so much about your château, your horses and, of course, yourself, monsieur, that I feel now I am here that it cannot be real.”
She felt as she spoke that the Comtesse was pleased with her and was feeling like a conjuror.
She had produced a rabbit out of a hat at exactly the right moment.
The Duc, however, was not beguiled.
Almost rudely he walked passed Marcia to reach the Earl.
“I have a great deal to talk about to you, my Lord,” he said. “I suggest we go somewhere quiet where we will not be disturbed by the chatter of the ladies, lovely as they may be.”
The Earl smiled.
“I feel that they would soon be bored by the subject of our conversation.”
“That is what I thought,” the Duc agreed.
“The exception being,” the Earl went on, “my daughter, Marcia, who is as knowledgeable as I am on the breeding of champions and who is exceedingly interested in seeing your stud.”
The Duc did not answer.
He started moving towards the door and the Earl went with him.
It was quite obvious to Marcia that she was excluded.
She thought it would be a mistake if her father approached the Duc immediately and suggested that they should be married, as the Duc might resent it.
She went upstairs beside the Comtesse.
Then she reassured herself that there was nothing she could do about it and that her father was a very tactful man and would therefore, in his own words, not be inclined to jump the gun.
The bedroom she was shown into was magnificent.
The huge canopied bed had been there for generations and the Aubusson carpet seemed to be a reflection of the colours of the painted ceiling depicting Venus surrounded by Cupids.
“I felt sure you would enjoy this room,” the Comtesse was saying. “And the pictures by Fragonard make it very romantic.”
“It is exquisite,” Marcia exclaimed in all sincerity.
At the same time she felt as if she was walking into a trap.
A beautifully decorated, softly padded trap, but nevertheless a trap!
She wondered if she should tell the Comtesse frankly and without mincing her words why she was here.
She wanted to say that, although she had come with her father as the Comtesse had suggested, she had no intention of marrying the Duc.
However hard she and her father might try to push them to the altar, it was something that she would never do.
“It is so delightful to have you here,” the Comtesse was saying in her soft voice. “You are very like your mother, whom I loved and thought was the most beautiful person I had ever seen.”
“I love to hear you say that,” Marcia answered. “And it is a nice change for Papa to come to France. He has been so miserable and unhappy since Mama died that I feel it is good for him to get away from home where everything reminds him of what he has lost.”
“I can understand,” the Comtesse said sympathetically, “and your father is a very remarkable and very clever man.”
“You must try and cheer him up,” Marcia suggested. “As he likes being with you and, of course seeing, the Duc’s horses, I am sure he will be happy.”
She thought as she spoke that this might take the pressure off herself.
She knew that the Comtesse was listening intently to what she had said.
“I promise you, dearest child,” the Comtesse replied, “That I will do everything in my power to try and make your father happy and, of course, I want to make you happy too.”
Marcia realised that she might go on to say something intimate.
Quickly, so as to prevent it, she said,
“I am happy, happy to be here and to see France for the first time. I only wish that I could stay for a time in Paris, having heard so much about the amusements there. I am really quite envious of those who have had the chance to enjoy them.”
“I think, my dear,” the Comtesse replied, “that you are thinking of the amusements that men find in Paris, but are not for us women. Except, of course, we have Frederick Worth and all the greatest couturiers to attract us.”
“Have you many gowns made by Worth?” Marcia asked. “Do please let me see them. I have always been told that they are the most original that any woman can buy.”
She felt that she had changed the subject very skilfully.
And a moment later the housekeeper knocked on the door and came in with the maid who was to look after her.
“I did not bring my lady’s maid with me,” Marcia explained to the Comtesse, “for the simple reason that I thought she would feel out of her depth in not being able to speak a word of French. Papa, however, has brought his valet, who speaks it very well with a Cockney accent.”
The Comtesse laughed at this.
Marcia in her perfect Parisian French talked to the housekeeper and to the maid.
It was the one thing in the strange education that her father had planned for her that her mother had been most insistent on.
“I always think it is terrible that we are so insular in England,” her mother had said. “So learn the languages of other countries. I am grateful that I started to learn French when I was quite a small child and Marcia must do the same.”
She then added,
“I think it would also be wise for her to know Spanish and Italian as those are countries she will enjoy when she travels.”
Because, with her boy’s education. Marcia was learning Greek and Latin, she found all languages easy.
She prided herself on being able to read all the books in the library, which her ancestors had collected on their journeys round the world.
When Marcia had taken off the small hat that she had travelled in, the Comtesse showed her the boudoir.
It opened out of her bedroom and contained some beautiful pictures and a ceiling on which the central figure was again that of Venus.
Marcia realised that everything around her was designed to create an impression of love and she thought it rather sad that the Comtesse’s clearly thought-out plan would fail.
While the stage-setting was right, the two principal characters, the hero and the heroine, were antagonistic to the theme of the play itself.
The Comtesse then showed Marcia some of the other State rooms and finally took her into the Duc’s suite, which, naturally, was the most important in the whole château.
It occupied the whole end of the building with windows looking East, West and South.
He had therefore a bird’s eye view of the valley sweeping below him down to the vineyards and through the centre of it flowed a silver river while the cliffs rose on the far side to complete the picture.
The great gorges were magnificent but at the same time awe-inspiring.
Marcia felt that she could understand the Duc’s satisfaction in being the owner of such a fantastic estate.
There were, in fact, she decided no words to describe what she could see now.
She could only stand at the window thinking the panoramic view, if nothing else, was something that she would never forget.
The Duc’s rooms themselves were almost as impressive as his estate.
The huge bed reaching to the ceiling was like the throne of the Pope hung with crimson velvet curtains and the Coat of Arms of the de Roux family was embroidered at the head.
On the low posts at the foot of the bed there were two exquisitely carved figures of kneeling angels.
‘No wonder he thinks himself so important,’ Marcia murmured to herself.
She did not miss what was almost a note of awe in the Comtesse’s voice as she explained how everything had been collected down the ages. She implied that they were almost sanctified by being in the possession of the Duc de Roux.
As they came out of the Duc’s suite into the corridor, Marcia was aware that there was a young man walking towards them.
He appeared rather good-looking and, as he approached the Comtesse, she exclaimed,
“Sardos, where have you been? We missed you at tea.”
“I have been riding,” he said briefly. “Alone, because I wanted to think.”
“You missed the arrival of the Earl of Grateswoode,” the Comtesse said. “So let me present you to his daughter.”
She turned to Marcia.
“This is our host’s nephew, Sardos de Thiviers.”
Marcia put out her hand and Sardos took it in his.
As he did so, she had the unmistakable feeling that there was something sinister about this young man.
She wondered why she should feel like that and told herself that she must be mistaken.
“I was told by my friends who have seen you in London how beautiful you are,” Sardos said in his most honeyed voice, “but they were obviously not able to find words to describe you adequately.”
It was all very prettily said.
Yet even as he spoke Marcia felt that there was something hostile behind his words.
The expression in his eyes certainly denied the smile on his lips.