The Dangerous Marriage E-Book

Barbara Cartland

• Herausgeber: Barbara Cartland Ebooks Ltd
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: The Eternal Collection
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

International intrigue. The terrifying threat of Russian invasion. A hurriedly arranged marriage, ordered by Queen Victoria, of a young British beauty to a Balkan Prince to prevent a Revolution orchestrated by the Russians. In a romantic adventure that resonates thrillingly today, lovely golden-haired Lady Gloria Winton is sent on a Battleship to a faraway land to marry a man she's never met and who, already, she hates intensely. But can her hate turn to love as together they flee the murderous Russians?

Leseprobe

Author’s Note

As I explained in this novel, from 1873 onwards, the Russians were influenced and excited and by the idea of a ‘Slavic Federation’ with Russia at its head and with its Capital in Constantinople’.

The Czarina, particularly, looked on it as a Religious Crusade, a chance to alleviate the lot of the oppressed Balkan Christians.

It was also a good chance to bring back the great Church of Santa Sophia to its rightful Orthodoxy and re-establish Constantinople as the greatest City in Christendom.

A revolt in the Turkish Province of Herzegovina in the summer of 1875 set the first sparks flying and a year later Serbia declared war on Turkey and scores of Russian volunteers poured into Belgrade.

Soon after the outbreak of the Serbian War, stories began to filter back into the European Press of an uprising in Bulgaria that had been put down by terrible Turkish reprisals.

It was said that sixty villages were destroyed and twelve thousand people slaughtered.

It was not until Queen Victoria had had her way and the presence of the British Navy alarmed Grand Duke Nicholas so that the Russians, who had advanced to within six miles of Constantinople, were forced to withdraw.

Chapter One ~ 1875

The door opened and a clerk formally announced,

“The Earl of Derby, Prime Minister.”

Mr. Disraeli then rose to his feet as the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs advanced towards him.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Well, thank you,” the Earl replied, “but I am sure that you have bad news or you would not have sent for me at this unearthly hour.”

The Prime Minister laughed.

Having a fine sense of humour himself, he always enjoyed the wit of his contemporaries.

Unfortunately some of them took life very seriously and seldom smiled let alone laughed at the difficulties that constantly confronted Parliament.

The Earl of Derby next sat down on a chair at the other side of the Prime Minister’s desk.

“What has gone wrong now?” he asked.

There was undoubtedly a wary note in his voice.

“I hate to tell you,” the Prime Minister answered, “but Her Majesty sent for me yesterday to say that she has received an urgent request from King Hadrian of Arginos.”

He paused and, seeing the expression in the eyes of the Foreign Secretary, he added,

“I think you may have guessed already what she requires.”

The Earl of Derby held up his hands.

“Not again,” he answered. “I just cannot bear it.”

“I knew you would feel like that,” Mr. Disraeli said, “but Her Majesty is the one person who seems to realise the seriousness of what is now happening in the Balkans. The King, not unnaturally, desires the support of Great Britain to prevent what he says is the infiltration of the Russians, who are making considerable trouble in that part of the world.”

“If he wants to marry off one of his children to a relative of Queen Victoria, I can tell you here and now that it is quite impossible,” the Earl declared firmly. “We have used up every one of her very many relatives until there literally is not a cousin, however distant, left unmarried.”

The irritated tone of his voice made the Prime Minister laugh again.

“It is no use,” he said, “you know what Her Majesty is like when she has made up her mind and, although she has twenty-two or twenty-three, I have forgotten which, relatives on the Thrones of Europe, she is determined to have one more. And you will have to find her!”

The Earl threw up his hands in a helpless gesture.

“I cannot manufacture this young woman out of thin air,” he complained, “and, while we are talking about it, I am trying to remember just where Arginos is.”

The Prime Minister then produced a map from a drawer in his desk.

“It is North of Greece,” he said, “and was at one time part of that country. It is now at the very end of Livadia, an Independent State that was most fortunately not swallowed up by the Ottoman Empire.”

“And what is the trouble?” the Earl enquired.

“Need you ask?” the Prime Minister replied. “Russia is determined to take over what she can of the Balkans. I am told as well that she has her eyes on Constantinople as well.”

“I have heard that,” the Earl responded sharply.

He spoke testily as if the Prime Minister was poaching on his particular preserve.

“I can only hope that it is not true,” Mr. Disraeli went on, “but a friend of mine who was in Russia only a week or so ago told me that in St. Petersburg they are all influenced by two books. One is a nineteen-page brochure written by a General Fadeyev, the son of a former Governor. The other one is a long treatise called Russia and Europe by Nicholas Danilevsky, a Civil Servant.”

“How does that concern any of the Politicians who bother to read them?” the Earl asked.

“The trouble is that both of the books glorify War and they hold up as a goal a Slavic Federation with Russia as its head.”

Mr. Disraeli paused.

Then he added in an impressive tone,

“And its Capital would be Constantinople.”

The Earl of Derby sat upright in his chair.

“I don’t believe it! The idea is dangerous and, of course, simply ridiculous.”

“The Russians certainly don’t think so,” the Prime Minister said quietly, “and it appeals to everybody, especially the Czarina.”

The Earl of Derby drew in his breath.

“The Empress?” he queried.

“She looks on it as if it is a religious Crusade,” the Prime Minister said, “and wishes to establish Constantinople as the greatest City in Christendom.”

“The whole idea is preposterous!” the Earl exclaimed.

“I wish it was,” the Prime Minister said, “but on this I agree with Her Majesty, that the situation in the Balkans is something that we must deeply consider in every aspect.”

He knew, as he spoke, that the Earl of Derby was not convinced.

Put forward it did sound an exaggerated idea and yet Russia was always unpredictable and sinister.

Both the Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary were aware that the Russians were stirring up as much trouble as they could in the Balkans.

This had resulted in the Balkans, wherever it was possible, wanting a close connection with Great Britain.

The easiest way to ensure that this was so was to marry their King or Crown Prince to one of Queen Victoria’s relations.

As the Earl had said, this source was beginning to dry up or, as he believed, was already exhausted.

Both men were silent for a moment.

Then the Prime Minister asked,

“There must be somebody to fill the bill and, although the situation may not be as serious as we might think, it could surely prevent Russia from infiltrating any further into the other countries South of Macedonia.”

“I am almost certain,” the Earl of Derby said, “that unless Her Majesty has someone ‘up her sleeve’ there are no more relatives and King Hadrian will have to look elsewhere.”

“Where can he look?” the Prime Minister queried beneath his breath.

Both men were aware that the only country for whom Russia had any respect was Great Britain.

With her enormous resources, Russia could in fact very easily overrun all the countries that bordered the Black Sea.

It would be exceedingly difficult for any European Power to even try to stop her.

At the same time the Czar of Russia, Alexander II, was a man who appreciated peace. He had no wish to go to war with anybody.

As if the Earl of Derby was following the Prime Minister’s thoughts, he next said,

“The Russian Army is not mobilised for war and I do not believe that the Czar will allow it.”

“I was talking to someone who has just been in Russia who told me that it is true,” the Prime Minister remarked, “but the Grand Duke Nicholas, who has the keen support of the Czarina, is eager to secure more territories for Russia and prove himself a National Hero.”

There was silence until the Prime Minister commented,

“I have no wish to return to Her Majesty the Queen and say we have failed to produce what she requires.”

“Surely there must be someone who can marry the King?” the Earl remarked.

“It is not the King,” Mr. Disraeli replied. “He already has a wife. No, it is not quite as bad as that. It is his second son, Prince Darius, who is free to take a bride. His elder brother is married.”

“You surely don’t believe that some ‘two-penny-half-penny’ Prince we have never heard of,” the Earl of Derby asked scornfully, “is going to deter the Russians from attempting to annexe Constantinople?”

“No, but it will prevent them from creating a Revolution in Arginos,” the Prime Minister said quietly, “which is what they have done in other parts of the Balkans. I do not know whether you are aware of the chaos they have caused in the North, but I feel we should try to do something to prevent their greed swallowing up these small independent States that are, because there are so many of them, a safeguard against complete Russian domination of the whole region.”

“I see your reasoning, Prime Minister,” the Earl answered, “but I still cannot produce a bride out of thin air if, quite simply, the girl does not exist.”

“I have to agree with you there,” the Prime Minister said. “I suppose you are prepared to give the bad news to Her Majesty?”

The Earl threw up his hands.

“God forbid! That is your job!”

“On the contrary,” Mr. Disraeli said with a twinkle in his eyes. “You are the Foreign Secretary!”

“Dammit all!” the Earl swore. “You ask too much.”

He spoke with ferocious exasperation.

Then, as he met the Prime Minister’s eyes, they both laughed.

“I know your methods only too well,” the Earl said. “You are making this a challenge so that I shall have to comb the country from North to South, rather than face Her Majesty with failure.”

They were both well aware how disagreeable the Queen could be if her orders were not fully carried out.

The Earl was thinking that the only person who could handle her was the Prime Minister himself.

He had a charming ingratiating manner, which inevitably delighted her.

It was well known by all the Ministries that she favoured Benjamin Disraeli and disliked, almost with a deep sense of naked hostility, Mr. Gladstone, the Leader of the Opposition in Parliament.

The Earl thought with horror how unpleasant the interview would be if he had to tell Her Majesty that there was no bride for Prince Darius.

Therefore the King of Arginos’s request for help must regrettably remain unanswered.

“I tell you what we will do,” the Prime Minister suggested unexpectedly. “We will ask Smithson, who is in charge of the Genealogy of Europe. There may perhaps be a daughter of one of the Queen’s relatives who is already on a Throne.”

“That is a good idea, Benjamin,” the Earl exclaimed, looking much more cheerful.

As the Prime Minister finished speaking, he rang a bell.

When the door opened, he ordered,

“Send Mr. Smithson to me at once.”

The door closed and the Earl said,

“I have never known you to be beaten by anything you undertook. I am only praying now that someone will turn up, although God knows who.”

“One never knows one’s luck,” the Prime Minister replied.

The door opened and George Smithson came in.

He was a middle-aged man whose hair was just beginning to turn grey.

He bowed politely both to the Prime Minister and then to the Earl of Derby.

“I sent for you, Smithson,” the Prime Minister said, “because we have a difficult problem we have to solve. Her Majesty the Queen has been requested by King Hadrian of Arginos to provide a suitable bride, who is also one of Her Majesty’s relatives, for his second son. The Foreign Secretary, the Earl of Derby, and I have found it completely impossible to think of anyone available.”

George Smithson was silent.

Both men were aware that for the last three years he had been working on the Genealogy of Europe.

Nobody else had such a vast knowledge of the various reigning Sovereigns, Princes and Grand Dukes who were of the ‘Blood Royal’.

They waited patiently, no one making a sound.

Both the Prime Minister and the Earl were aware that George Smithson was mentally looking back over pages upon pages of Family Trees, which filled the shelves in his office to capacity.

Finally the Earl began to fidget.

He was thinking that Smithson would only confirm what he and the Prime Minister knew already, that it was really impossible for Great Britain to provide a bride for Arginos.

Then George Smithson said slowly,

“There is, Prime Minister, just the one young lady available who is connected with Her Majesty the Queen.”

The Earl sat upright.

“There is one? Who?”

“She is, my Lord,” George Smithson replied, “Lady Gloria Winton, daughter of the Duke of Norwinton.”

Both men stared at him until the Prime Minister exclaimed,

“Of course! The Duchess was the Princess Caroline of Lichenberg.”

“But she renounced the title when she married the Duke,” the Earl added.

“She may have done,” the Prime Minister agreed, “but Smithson is right. Lady Gloria, through her mother, is, of course, slightly related to Her Majesty. No one can deny that.”

There was silence before the Earl of Derby said,

“And you really think that King Hadrian will accept Lady Gloria?”

“It is a question of his taking what he is offered or going without,” the Prime Minister said. “And Smithson can very easily make out a Family Tree that will be impressive enough for Arginos.”

“I as well think, my Lord,” George Smithson said, “there must be some Royal relatives, however distant, in the Duke’s lineage.”

“Well, make them just as impressive as you can,” the Prime Minister said. “Of course the Duchess’s claim as a relation of the Queen, albeit very distant, is totally valid.”

“Of course, Prime Minister, that is very true,” George Smithson said. “I will get to work immediately.”

He bowed politely and went from the room.

As the door closed behind him, the Earl sighed,

“He is a genius. I had completely forgotten that the Duchess of Norwinton could claim any relationship to the Queen.”

“So had I,” the Prime Minister admitted. “After all, you do not see them at Court very often. The Duke prefers to be on his estate in the North and I have no idea what the girl actually looks like.”

“Whatever she is like,” the Earl said firmly, “she is exactly what the King has asked for and, even if she is as plain as a pikestaff, Prince Darius will have to welcome her with open arms.”

He rose as he spoke.

“Tell Her Majesty,” he said, “that I will get in touch with the Ambassador of Arginos immediately. I would suppose that the bride will want a Battleship to take her to Arginos for the Wedding.”

“You go too fast,” the Prime Minister said. “We can only speculate that there will be a Wedding. Unless Her Majesty is determined to raise the Union Jack in the Russians’ faces before they take a step further.”

“I expect that is just what she does intend,” the Earl said, “but I leave it to you, Prime Minister, to find out. You are far better at it than I am.”

He rose as he spoke and then said,

“I think, having solved one of the knottiest problems I have had for some time, we might have a drink on it. There is some champagne in my office, or a glass of brandy, which you might even enjoy more.”

“Very well,” the Prime Minister said, “I will join you and I think, very frankly, that we deserve it.”

*

The Duke of Norwinter’s estate was a very large one in the Southern part of the County of Yorkshire.

His Castle, which was magnificent, had been built over four centuries earlier and added to by every succeeding generation of the family.

The Duke had often thought, with his great rolling acres of excellent land, that he was a King in a small Kingdom all of his own.

The fact that he had married a Royal Princess added to the Duke’s fantasy.

The Duke was an extremely handsome man.

He had fallen in love with Princess Caroline of Lichenberg when he was travelling in her father’s country.

She was exceptionally beautiful and was already being pursued by several Princes from neighbouring countries.

However, once she had seen the Duke, then the Earl of Winton, she lost her heart and no other man ever existed.

But they had had to fight desperately to be allowed to marry.

They might, in point of fact, have been refused permission had the Earl not come into the Dukedom.

Also, the Princess’s father suddenly became extremely ill.

It was therefore easier to give in to her pleadings that she might marry an Englishman.

She would rather renounce her title than continue to moon about The Palace in tears.

She was, however, helped by the fact that she had three older brothers.

Then there were her two older sisters, who had both suitably married other Rulers of Principalities, but tragically the two girls had been exceedingly unhappy.

This made the Queen decide that the youngest and least important of her children should be allowed to marry the man she loved.

“I love Richard, I love him, I love him, Mama!” the Princess had cried desperately. “If you will not let me marry him, I swear I will go into a Convent or kill myself!”

“Don’t be so theatrical,” the Queen corrected her sharply.

At the same time she deeply sympathised with her daughter.

She herself had not been particularly happy in her arranged marriage.

It was not surprising, considering she had been only eighteen when she had married the King of Lichenberg.

He was nearly fifty and had been married before to a woman who had provided him with only daughters but no sons.

Finally, Princess Caroline’s marriage was allowed on condition that she renounces her title.

After that she was no longer considered Royal.

It did not matter one iota to the Princess.

All she wanted was to be the wife of the man she had given her heart to.

She would have felt the same about him whether he was a Duke or a chimney-sweep.

They were blissfully happy together.

The Duchess had, however, always stipulated that no child of hers should be forced to marry for Political reasons.

She could never forget just how miserable her poor sisters had been.

When she had gone to England, she had, to all intents and purposes, lost touch with her family.

She did hear about them from time to time.

Yet, as she and the Duke were just so happy, they seldom went to Court and any news of Lichenberg came mostly from the newspapers.

After her father and mother were both dead, the Princess altogether lost touch with her relatives.

Her elder brother, now King, had married a fat German Princess.

She would, the Duchess knew, despise anyone who could give up their Royal status to become a commoner.

“Why should we want to be with anyone but ourselves, Richard?” the Duchess asked not once but a thousand times.

The Duke invariably agreed with her.

When they had a family of their own, he had no wish to go to London or anywhere else.

He knew that people would make a fuss of his wife simply because they were impressed by her Royal blood.

Instead they travelled to Scotland and visited many different parts of Europe.

Their first child was a girl.

Because she had a head of golden hair and was beautiful, even as a baby, they called her ‘Gloria’.

After Gloria came two sons, which naturally thrilled the Duke. They were also adored by their mother.

It was an incredibly happy family that lived at Winton Castle, delightfully content to be by themselves, rather than surrounded by people.

The Duke soon realised, as his daughter grew older, that she was very intelligent.

He had an extremely astute brain himself and he therefore greatly enjoyed teaching her the Classics and often other subjects that she did not learn from her Governesses.

As the boys grew older, the Duke decided that they must have a highly qualified Tutor.

Because it made things easier, the Tutor also taught Gloria and this meant that she was given a boy’s education.

At the same time she learnt a great deal from her mother that was not obtainable from books.

The Duchess decided that she would present Gloria to Queen Victoria at her Court just before her eighteenth birthday.

Unfortunately, the Duke’s mother, who had been in ill health for quite some years, died and they were therefore plunged into deep mourning.

So Gloria’s visit to London and the Season had to be cancelled.

She remained at The Castle in Yorkshire.

“I am sorry, my darling. You must have been looking forward to it,” the Duchess tried to console her.

“To tell the truth, Mama, I would much rather be here,” Gloria replied to her. “It was unbearable for me to think of leaving our wonderful horses.”

The Duchess had laughed.

She knew that her husband and her daughter were happiest when they were in the saddle and the same applied to the two boys.

She herself liked riding, but she was not obsessed by it.

Yet, as she told her husband,

“If it makes you happy always to be riding on a horse, then I must join you or be left behind.”

Gloria had to miss the balls, Receptions and Assemblies that she was to have attended in London as a debutante.

But she never missed a meeting of the hounds and she loved watching her father’s horses run on the more notable Racecourses in the North.

She was the winner at every Point-to-Point in which ladies were permitted to compete.

It was when their long year of mourning ended that the Duchess again began to plan a visit to London.

“I wonder if I will enjoy it as much as you think I will, Mama,” Gloria said wistfully. “The money you are expending on my clothes could buy us three or four superb new horses.”

“Your father can see to all that,” the Duchess replied. “I am determined that you and I will be properly dressed, even if they do look upon us as ‘Country Bumpkins’!”

Gloria laughed.

Her mother was so lovely and so charming that no one could possibly describe her as a ‘Country Bumpkin’.

She had no idea that she herself was exquisite.

The gentlemen who saw her out hunting or riding thought that they must be dreaming when they saw her