Authors: Barbara Cartland
“You will be my wife and we will face all the problems and difficulties together.”
He looked around the room as he said:
“I was thinking as I was coming back from the Church that at least for a little while we will not starve.” His eyes rested on the Boucher picture as he spoke and Grania gave a cry.
“You do not mean that you intend to sell that picture?”
“I shall get a good price for it from the Dutch on the other side of the island,” the
Comte
replied. “Being neutral, they have gained from the war rather than otherwise.”
“But you cannot sell your family treasures!”
“I have the only treasure which really matters to me now,” he answered.
His lips swept away any further protest that she might have made.
They went downstairs hand-in-hand, and Jean served them the delicious dinner that Henri had cooked and when it was finished and they were alone the
Comte
said: “I have arranged for the Housekeeper who looks after the Priest’s house to sleep here tonight so that you will be chaperoned. I would not want us to start our married life by shocking the French matrons of St. Martin whose tongues wag like those of women in every part of the world.”
“You will sleep in the ship?”
“In the bed in which you slept last night,” the
Comte
replied, “I will dream of you, and tomorrow my dreams will come true.”
“And I shall be dreaming too.”
“I love you!” he said. “I love you so much that every moment I think I have reached my fullest capability of love, suddenly I love you infinitely more. What have you done to me, my darling, that I should feel like a boy in love for the first time?”
“But you must have loved so many women,” Grania murmured.
The
Comte
smiled.
“I am French. I find women very attractive, but unlike most of my countrymen I resisted having an arranged marriage when I was young, and I have never, and this is the truth, found a woman until now with whom I would wish to share the rest of my life.”
“
Suppose I disappoint you?”
“You will never do that. I knew when I looked at what I thought was your portrait that you were everything I wanted in a woman, and when I actually saw you I knew that I had under-estimated both my need and what you can give me.”
“You are ... sure of that?” Grania enquired.
“Absolutely sure,” he replied. “It is not so much what you say or even what you think, my precious, but what you are. Your sweetness, which I recognised the first time I set my eyes on you, shines like a beacon and
envelops you with an aura of purity and goodness that could only come from God.”
Grania clasped her hands together.
“You say such wonderful things to me. I am only so desperately afraid that I will not be able to live up to what you expect of me then perhaps you will sail away and leave me.”
The
Comte
shook his head.
“You must know that I have now ceased to be a pirate. After we are married I will talk to my friends and we will think out some other ways that we can all make a living.”
He thought before he went on:
“As I have said, I will sell some of my possessions so that we will not starve, and because I know God will not fail us perhaps it will not be long before we can return to Martinique.”
The way he spoke seemed somehow inspired so that the tears came into Grania’s eyes and she put out her hands towards his.
“I shall pray and pray,” she said, “and darling, you must teach me to be good, so that my prayers are heard.”
“I know that you need no teaching in that respect,” the
Comte
replied, “but there are many other things that I intend to teach you, my adorable one, and I think you can guess what those lessons are.”
Grania blushed. Then she said:
“I only hope you will not be ... dissatisfied with your ... pupil.”
The
Comte
left the table and drawing Grania to her feet put his arms around her and they moved into the Sitting-Room.
It looked so lovely in the candle-light that Grania thought they might be in a Chateau in France, or one of the Palaces that she had read about in the books which her mother had bought to make her more proficient in the French language.
She wanted to say that she could not bear any of the things in the room to be sold, but she knew it would be a mistake to upset the
Comte
and make him realise even more fully than he did already the sacrifices he had to make.
“At least I have some money,” Grania thought.
She knew that English sovereigns when changed into French francs would amount to quite a considerable sum of money.
She smiled because she was glad she could contribute to their life together, and the
Comte
asked:
“What has made you smile, except happiness,
ma petite
?”
“I was thinking I am so glad that I have some money with me. Tomorrow it will be yours legally but, before you tell me you are too proud to take it, I suggest it could contribute to what you have to spend on your friends and the other members of the crew. After all, it is my fault that they can no longer continue to be pirates.”
T
he
Comte
put his cheek against hers.
“I adore you, my lovely one,” he said, “and I am not going to argue because, as you said, it is your fault that we shall have to settle down and behave like respectable Frenchmen. But before we sell the ship, which will undoubtedly fetch a very good price, you must sail back to Grenada to tell your father of the death of your cousin, and also to see that he himself is safe.”
“Can we do that?” Grania asked. “I am worried about Papa, especially when he is with Mr. Maigrin.”
“We will go together because it is the right thing to do. I also think your father should know that his daughter is married, although he will perhaps not be very pleased that it is to a Frenchman.”
Grania gave a little laugh.
“My father will not mind that. You must remember he is Irish, and the Irish have never liked the English.”
The
Comte
laughed too.
“I had forgotten that! So if your father will tolerate me as a son-in-law perhaps when things are better than they are at the moment he will be able to come and stay with us in St. Martin and you will be able to go and stay in Grenada.”
“It is kind of you to think like that,” Grania said, “because I feel in a way I ought to look after Papa.”
She knew as she spoke it was only a day-dream, for as long as her father persisted in his friendship with Roderick Maigrin it was impossible for them to be together.
She was quite certain that if Maigrin learnt that she was married to a Frenchman he would try to destroy the
Comte
either by shooting him as an enemy, or having him pursued and persecuted by the English.
Yet she must have news of her father, and perhaps if he was still at Maigrin House she would on some pretext or other be able to inveigle him to Secret Harbour.
There she could at least say goodbye to him before she returned to live at St. Martin.
Then it flashed through her mind how fine the
Comte
was once again to anticipate her wishes almost before she had thought of them herself.
Because she wanted so desperately to kiss him she could only move closer into his arms and feel his lips seeking hers.
Grania was awake very early because she was so excited and also because she heard movements downstairs and knew that Jean or Henri were already up and about.
Then she thought of the room next door where the Priest’s Housekeeper, an elderly woman with a kind face, was sleeping.
She had arrived last night carrying a lantern to light her way through the rough land which lay just behind the house.
“I am delighted to meet you,
M’mselle
,”
she had said to Grania. “Father Francois sends you his blessing and is looking forward to marrying you to
Monsieur le Comte
at nine-thirty tomorrow morning.”
“
Merci, Madame,”
Grania replied, “and thank you too for coming here tonight to keep me company. It was very kind of you.”
“We all have to do what we can for those who have been stricken by the cruelties of war.”
The
Comte
said goodnight, as the Housekeeper was there, and kissed Grania’s hands before he returned to the ship.
When he had gone the Housekeeper said:
“That’s a fine man and a very good Catholic,
M’mselle.
You’re very fortunate to have such a man for your husband.”
“Very fortunate indeed,
Madame,”
Grania agreed, “and I am very grateful.”
“I shall pray for you both,” the Housekeeper said, “and I know
le Bon Dieu
will give you great happiness.”
Grania was certain that was true, and she lay awake in the beautiful bed with its gold corola thinking how wonderfully lucky she was and feeling that her mother knew of her happiness.
“How could I have known ... how could I have guessed that I would be ... saved at the ... last moment from that terrible Mr. Maigrin?” Grania asked.
Then once again she was praying disjointed prayers of gratitude, disjointed because even to pray about the
Comte
made her feel again the rapture and the ecstasy he evoked in her when he kissed her and made her aware of strange feelings that were different from anything she had ever known before.
Then finally when she fell asleep it was to feel that God was watching over her and making tomorrow come quickly.
As the sunshine filled the room Grania thought it was an omen of what her life would be like in the future.
Outside birds were singing and the vivid colours of the bougainvillaea in the garden vied with that of the
vine climbing over the verandah and the emerald of the sea against the horizon all seemed part of a dream.
But it is true ... really true!” Grania cried, and knew this was her wedding day.
She did not have a wedding-dress, but amongst the things her mother had bought for her there was a gown specially to wear when she was presented at Court.
It was white, which was correct for a Debutante, and it had been delivered after her mother had died.
Grania had in fact debated whether she should try to sell it back to the dressmaker because she felt she would never have a use for it.
Then she thought it would be humiliating to say that she not only would be unable to wear it, but could not really afford to pay for it. So she reluctantly handed over the money and had brought it out with her to Grenada.
As she drew it out from the trunk she knew that while it was a trifle over-elaborate it would be suitable for a bride, and perhaps would make her look beautiful for the
Comte.
She had no veil and when she explained this to the Housekeeper who had come into her room to help her dress, the woman had sent Jean hastily to the Priest’s house.
“We have a veil which we sometimes lend to young brides,” she said, “if they arrive at the Church with only a wreath on their heads and Father Francois does not consider that respectable enough in the House of God.”
“I should be very happy if I could borrow it,” Grania replied.
“It will be a pleasure!” the Housekeeper said. “And I will make you a wreath which will be far prettier than anything you could buy.”
She sent Henri hurrying into the garden and when he came back with a basket full of white flowers, she had sat in Grania’s bedroom arranging them skilfully in the form of a wreath.
When she had finished nothing could have been prettier than the fresh white flowers with their green leaves which were more becoming than any artificial wreath could ever have been.
The veil was of very fine lace and fell over Grania
’
s shoulders, giving her an ethereal appearance, and when the wreath was arranged over it the Housekeeper stood back to survey her work and said in awe-struck tones: “You make a very beautiful bride,
M’mselle.
No man could fail to appreciate such a lovely wife.”
“I hope you are right,” Grania said simply.
When she went downstairs to the Sitting-Room where the
Comte
was waiting she knew by the expression on his face that she was everything he had expected, and more.
He looked at her for a long moment before he said very quietly: