Perfection of Love , livre ebook

Author’s Note
As a background for this novel, I have described the building of Waddesdon Manor from 1874 to 1889 by Baron Ferdinand de Rothschild. He combined the beauty of the sixteenth century French Châteaux I have mentioned to create in England one of the most beautiful, exotic, Fairytale houses one can imagine.
The rooms and the furniture I have described can all be seen at Waddesdon which is open to the public with the exception of the picture of Venus, Mercury and Cupid by Louis Michel Van Loo.
Waddesdon has more treasures packed into its rooms than any other house I have ever visited and everyone who loves beautiful antiques, which are historic, should be grateful to James de Rothschild who on his death in 1957 bequeathed the house and its contents to the National Trust.
CHAPTER ONE ~ 1882
“I understand, Darcia, that your aunt wishes you to visit her tomorrow in Paris.”
“Yes, Reverend Mother.”
“You know that I disapprove of my pupils going to Paris or having anything to do there in the city?”
“Yes, Reverend Mother.”
“I should have thought that you might have explained this to your aunt and that instead she could have come to see you here in the Convent.”
“Perhaps, Reverend Mother, she would find the journey too arduous.”
There was silence as the Reverend Mother regarded the girl facing her on the other side of the desk with scrutinising eyes.
There was no doubt that Darcia, since she had been in her charge, had blossomed into a considerable beauty.
Perhaps it was this that had made her feel reluctant, very reluctant, although she could not explain why, to allow the English girl even strictly chaperoned to journey from the quiet cloistered atmosphere of the Convent School to what was spoken of all over Europe as ‘the gayest City in the world’.
Nevertheless the Reverend Mother had to admit that Darcia had proved a model pupil in every way.
She had worked hard, in fact there was no other girl in the school who had achieved such academic distinction and, although she was the only English pupil, she had been liked by all those of other nationalities and undoubtedly was a favourite with the teaching Nuns.
She thought that Darcia’s hair with red lights in it and her eyes of a strange hazel-green colour were unique even among the hundreds of girls who had passed through her hands over the years.
She liked the way Darcia sat waiting to hear if she could visit her aunt without pleading her case or showing any impatience at the delay, although she had received neither a refusal nor an acceptance.
The Reverend Mother then made up her mind.
“Very well, Darcia,” she said. “You may go to Paris and, as your aunt has said that she is sending a Courier for you, that will certainly save me providing you with an escort. But you must make it clear that this kind of arrangement is not entirely to my satisfaction.”
“I will indeed, Reverend Mother,” Darcia said quietly, “and thank you very much for saying I can accept my aunt’s invitation.”
“A messenger is waiting, so you must write a note immediately,” the Reverend Mother said.
“Thank you,” Darcia replied again and made a respectful curtsey before she went from the room.
Only as she closed the door of the study did she give a small skip for joy and ran with what the Mother Superior would have thought unseemly haste to her classroom, which for the moment was empty.
She then opened her desk, pulled out a leather-covered blotter in which there was some writing paper and a scribbled a few lines.
The Reverend Mother would in fact have been extremely surprised if she had read what Darcia had written,
“Dearest Dear Papa,
I cannot wait for tomorrow and I will be with you as quickly as your horses can travel.
My love and a thousand kisses,
Darcia.”
She sealed the envelope, then, moving demurely, carried the note to the hall where a Nun on duty took it from her to hand to the groom who was waiting for it outside.
He was riding, Darcia saw as she peeped through the half-open door, a well-bred and doubtless swift horse.
Then she ran upstairs to decide what she would wear tomorrow when she would visit Paris for the first time in two years.
*
The carriage that arrived for Darcia early the next morning was a very comfortable one, well-sprung but anonymous in that there was no crest or Coat of Arms painted on the panels of the doors nor did the silver harness on the four horses carry any insignia.
There was a coachman and a footman on duty on the box and the Courier who waited respectfully outside the door of the Convent was an elderly man with white hair who bowed to Darcia when she appeared.
She inclined her head, but did not speak as she stepped into the carriage.
The elderly man seated himself with his back to the horses and, as the carriage drove off, Darcia then bent forward to wave her hand to the Nun watching them drive away before she closed the Convent door.
Only then did Darcia lean back at her ease and say to the Courier opposite her,
“How are you, Briggy?”
“All the better for seeing you, Miss Darcia,” was the reply. “You’ve grown and changed so much in the last two years that it’s doubtful if the Master’ll recognise you.”
“I am longing to see him!” Darcia said in a soft voice. “It has been a very very long two years without him.”
“I thought you’d feel that. Miss Darcia,” Mr. Briggs replied to her. “But the Master was determined you should be well educated.”
“I am so stuffed with knowledge,” Darcia replied, “that I feel sometimes as if I was a pot of pâté de foie gras .”
They both laughed and she asked,
“And how is Papa?”
“He’s well,” Mr. Briggs replied, “but I don’t have to tell you, Miss Darcia, he’s still burning the candle at both ends.”
“Could he do anything else?” Darcia enquired. “It would be strange if he did.”
“Strange indeed.”
“Where are you staying? I thought our house in Paris had been closed up.”
“We’ve opened it, Miss Darcia, especially so that the Master can meet you there and I was to tell you that no one’s to see you or know you’re visiting him and that’s important.”
Darcia looked surprised, but before she could speak, Mr. Briggs went on,
“The Master told me to give you this veil to put over your bonnet as you walk from the carriage into the house. He doesn’t want the servants to know where you’ve come from and the coachman’s been sworn to secrecy. As he’s been with us for a long time, he’s not likely to talk.”
Darcia gave a little laugh of sheer amusement.
“This all sounds very like Papa, but why? What is the reason for such secrecy and the need for me to be invisible?”
“You’ll certainly not be that, Miss Darcia,” Mr. Briggs replied, “and, if you’ll not think it impertinent of me to say so, you’ve grown ever so beautiful that the Master will be in for a big surprise.”
“I hope so, I hope so very much,” Darcia said. “I have always known ever since I was a child that Papa only liked pretty women and I used to pray every night that when I grew up I would be pretty enough to please him.”
“Your prayers have certainly been answered, Miss Darcia.”
“Thank you, Briggy, that is exactly what I wanted to hear.”
Darcia had spoken truly when she had said that she had known all her life that her father liked pretty women and they liked or rather the right word was ‘ loved ’ him.
The only trouble was that they came and went with such rapidity that she had no sooner got used to some alluring charmer living in the house and obviously enjoying a very intimate relationship with her father than her place was taken by another and then yet another.
Looking back she often found it hard to remember all their names or to distinguish their features one from another.
One thing they all had in common was that, because they wished to ingratiate themselves with the dashing handsome raffish Lord Rowley, they went out of their way to pet and spoil his only child.
Curiously this had no effect on Darcia’s character.
Even when she was very young she realised that so much they said to her was insincere and that the affection they showed her was an act performed to impress her father.
She could understand their feelings because to her there was no one more attractive or more fascinating, perhaps the right word was ‘ mesmeric ’, than the man who was described by the world as the greatest roué of his time.
As she grew older, Darcia realised with an intelligence beyond her years that her father had been born into the wrong period of time.
In the wildly raffish Georgian days he would have been in his element, a leader of the bucks and beaux who circled around ‘The Prince of Pleasure’, the Prince Regent, who was afterwards King George IV.
Instead, in the very stifling propriety and respectability of Queen Victoria’s Court, Lord Rowley was considered an eccentric who went too far in his eccentricities and in fact became one of the black sheep in a hypocritical Society.
Not to be found out was the motto of those who managed to enjoy themselves without incurring the displeasure of ‘The Widow of Windsor’.
This meant using a certain amount of caution, but Lord Rowley had never known what it was to be cautious. He flouted the conventions until England became too hot for him and he moved abroad, taking with him as a parting gesture one of the Queen’s favourite Ladies-in-Waiting, who believed foolishly and erroneously that the Social world was well lost for love.
It was the uproar that followed which made Lord Rowley feel that he must do something about his daughter.
A month before her sixteenth birthday Darcia was sent to the Convent de Sacré Coeur after an extensive search on her father’s part to find a school where first there would be no other English girls and secondly the standard of education was exceptionally high.
Darcia did not question his decision, having learned over the years that it was a hopeless waste of time, but she was rather surprised when he told her that she had been admitted to the School under the name of ‘Darci