Barbara Cartland: The Lovelight of Apollo

“I am sure that is true,” the Duchess agreed, “and I have sent a message to Mrs. Grandell telling her that you, ma’am, would call on her at about three o’clock this afternoon.”

“That is very kind of you,” the Princess smiled. “Do tell me, where does she come from in Greece?”

It seemed to her that the Duchess was suddenly at a loss for words.

She looked across the table at her husband, who said quickly,

“Mrs. Grandell is a very reserved woman and seldom talks to anyone about Greece or the time when she left the country.”

The Duke then went on to discuss with Prince Holden some new horses that he had just bought and how pleased he was with them.

The conversation about Mrs. Grandell thus came to an abrupt end.

Princess Marigold, who was very quick-witted, guessed that there was some secret and it was something that she was not meant to find out and she wondered what it could possibly be.

She managed, however, to be extremely interested in the garden, which she was shown around after luncheon.

But she was really counting the minutes until they could leave the Duke’s house.

As they drove down the drive with Lady Bedstone following them, the Princess heaved a deep sigh of relief.

“I have never known time pass so slowly,” she complained to Prince Holden.

“You must not be disappointed, my darling,” he told her, “if Mrs. Grandell will not agree to what you suggest and then we will have to try and find somebody else.”

“I cannot imagine that there are many others in the world who look exactly like me,” the Princess replied.

“Maybe I was mistaken,” Prince Holden said a little uncomfortably. “After all I only saw the girl in Church.”

“We will soon know whether you are right or wrong,” the Prince said as he drew up his chaise at the front door of the Vicarage.

The Princess had been sensible enough to tell Lady Bedstone that it would be a mistake for her to come into the Vicarage with them.

“The Duchess said,” she told her when they were alone for just a moment, “that Mrs. Grandell is very reserved. I am sure therefore that you will understand when I ask you to wait outside.”

“I would much rather do that, ma’am,” Lady Bedstone replied. “I find getting in and out of carriages very tiring. And it was so hot walking round the garden.”

“Then you must rest in the shade,” the Princess said in a comforting tone. “We will not be long.”

The Vicar, the Reverend Patrick Grandell, was waiting for them with the front door open when they climbed out of the chaise.

He gave a very correct bow to the Princess as to Royalty, moving only his head and not his shoulders and he did the same to the Prince, who shook him warmly by the hand.

“My wife is waiting for you, ma’am, in the drawing room,” he related to the Princess. “I thought perhaps that His Royal Highness would like to come and look at my bowling green, which I have just completed, and also a target I have just erected for an archery contest.”

“I would very much like to see them both,” the Prince agreed.

The Vicar led him away across a small hall and opened a door on the other side of it.

“Her Royal Highness is here, Lycia,” he called out.

His wife, who had been sitting sewing in the window, hastily rose to her feet.

The girl who was sitting beside her rose as well.

When Princess Marigold looked at her, she gave a little gasp.

There was no doubt that the Prince was right.

Although it seemed so extraordinary, the daughter of the Vicar and his wife were indeed very much like her.

She had the same fair hair, which was very understandable as the Vicar himself was fair-haired and blue-eyed.

But she had her mother’s dark Greek eyes that seemed to be almost too big for her small pointed face.

She was just so like the Princess that it was uncanny.

She was, however, two years younger and there was something about Avila’s beauty that the Princess did not have.

There was, Prince Holden thought, something essentially spiritual about her.

Something which made her seem not quite human, as if she belonged to a different world from that of other people.

As the Vicar’s wife curtseyed very gracefully, her daughter did the same.

Then the Vicar said in a jovial manner,

“His Royal Highness and I are going to leave you, Lycia. I was never a particularly good linguist where Greek is concerned and I rather suspect His Royal Highness finds it a difficult language to follow.”

“I am afraid it’s the truth,” Prince Holden agreed. “My French and Italian are far better.”

The Vicar laughed and then closed the door behind them

Mrs. Grandell then said politely in Greek,

“Would Your Royal Highness like to sit in the sunshine or would you find it cooler on the sofa?”

She indicated a sofa near the fireplace and the Princess moved towards it.

When she had sat down, she said in a low voice,

“I have come to ask you for your help, Mrs. Grandell, and please do help me, because it is very very important for me.”

Mrs. Grandell, who was, the Princess decided, a beautiful woman with an unmistakable dignity about her, responded in surprise,

“Of course! I should be delighted to help Your Royal Highness, if it is at all possible.”

As if she thought that she might be intruding, Avila began to walk towards the door.

“No, no, please stop,” Princess Marigold urged her. “I want you to hear what I have to say because it concerns you.”

Avila looked a little bewildered, but she sat down in a chair beside her mother’s.

Quickly, because she felt that she might not have too much time left before the Vicar returned, Princess Marigold then told Mrs. Grandell how she had fallen in love with Prince Holden.

She explained how on the very day that their engagement was to have been announced, they had been plunged into mourning.

“I will be frank with you,” she said, “and explain that I am terrified, because Her Majesty the Queen wants me to marry someone very important, that she will use any excuse to try to separate us.”

Mrs. Grandell was listening with an astonished expression in her eyes.

“But, surely ‒ ?” she began.

“Allow me to finish please,” the Princess interrupted. “You may have heard of Prince Eumenus of Malia, who has just died. He is to be buried in Athens and his body is being embalmed in order to give the prestigious people of Europe time to attend the Ceremony.”

Princess Marigold had been watching Mrs. Grandell as she spoke.

She thought that there was a flicker in her eyes which told her that she knew who Prince Eumenus was.

“Malia is, I believe, only a small island, but Queen Victoria has decided I must represent her at the funeral of this Prince.”

“Surely,” Mrs. Grandell said a little tentatively, “Her Majesty could find someone older than Your Royal Highness for what is inevitably a somewhat gloomy occasion?”

“She could, but she will not,” Princess Marigold replied, “simply because she wishes to separate me from Prince Holden.”

She clasped her hands together as she went on,

“But I have fallen in love. I love him so much, Mrs. Grandell, as only you who are Greek can understand. If we are separated, as Her Majesty is trying to do, I think it would kill me!”

She was speaking from her heart. Her voice seemed to vibrate across the small room.

“I understand what you are feeling,” Mrs. Grandell said quietly, “but I don’t know how I can help you.”

“What I am asking,” Princess Marigold said, “is if your daughter Avila will go to Athens for the funeral in my place.”

Mrs. Grandell stared at the Princess as if she could not believe what she was hearing.