one side and regarded him affectionately. So handsome. Such an accomplished lover. Well, this time he had indeed met his match.
‘These French nobles … they are so proud,’ she reminded him.
‘I understand that. I would not have her other than she is … but what can I do ?’
‘You might offer settlements. They are very poor. The father’s prospects are alarming … unless one of his daughters – or both of them – make wealthy marriages.’
‘If it is a matter of money …’
‘Compared with them, my dear lord Duke, you are very wealthy and you would give a great deal to win my dear little Eléonore. But it may be that money is not enough. But we can try.’
‘You will talk to her?’
‘I would do a great deal to make you happy,’ she answered.
The Marquis d’Olbreuse smiled at his beautiful daughter.
‘It is for you to decide, my child,’ he said.
‘But how could I accept such … dishonour. Have you not always said that our pride is all that is left to us now?’
‘I have and I mean it. But it is not easy to make a good marriage when there is no dowry. I have nothing to offer you … neither you nor Angelique. How different it would be if we had not been driven from our home!’
‘You are not suggesting that I should accept him?’
‘I would not suggest that you did anything you do not want to do.’
‘But father, he is asking me to become his mistress!’
‘It is true. But he has talked of settlements … and a man does not usually offer that to a casual mistress. I believe if it were possible, he would marry you.’
‘But, mon père , it is not possible.’
Angelique had come into the room. She was a very pretty girl but lacked Eléonore’s outstanding beauty.
The Marquis looked from one to another of his daughters and sighed.
Two lovely girls and he had not the means to set them up in life. That, he believed, was his greatest tragedy of all. Life did not become easier as the years passed. He visualized an old age of poverty, of living on the bounty of others. It was not a pleasant vista for a proud old man.
And if Eléonore accepted the offer of the Duke of Brunswick-Lüneberg? He was rich; he was a Prince – albeit a German oneof a small principality. He was not the head of his house because he had an elder brother living and had signed away his own rights – but …
Even so, he would not persuade her that here was a chance to make her family’s future secure. In France a Prince’s mistress was a power in the land – often more so than his wife. Eléonore was French enough, proud enough, beautiful and intelligent enough, to play the rôle made famous by so many women of her own country. In her small way she might become a Diane de Poitiers. Little pride was lost and honours were gained in such a role.
But the man was a German, of course; and they had not the same refinements of taste as the French nor the same ideas of gallantry.
It must be for her to choose. But if she accepted, if she played her rôle as he was sure it could be played, what good she could bring to her family!
Eléonore, who knew him so well, guessed the thoughts which were passing through his mind. She was a little shocked; and yet she understood so well.
When she retired to her room Angelique followed her there.
‘You are the talk of Breda,’ said Angelique. ‘How I envy you!’
‘Then you are foolish. My position is far from enviable.’
‘They say that Duke George William is madly in love with you. I think he is most attractive. I don’t know how you can refuse him.’
‘Then it is a pity he does not transfer his affections to you.’
‘Now Eléonore, don’t be touchy. Mon dieu! So it is true then?’
‘What?’
‘You’re in love with him.’
Eléonore turned away angrily.
Was she? She was not sure. But Angelique had noticed something in her demeanour, some change.
If he despaired and went away, she would be quite desolate. Was that being in love?
If he had offered
‘These French nobles … they are so proud,’ she reminded him.
‘I understand that. I would not have her other than she is … but what can I do ?’
‘You might offer settlements. They are very poor. The father’s prospects are alarming … unless one of his daughters – or both of them – make wealthy marriages.’
‘If it is a matter of money …’
‘Compared with them, my dear lord Duke, you are very wealthy and you would give a great deal to win my dear little Eléonore. But it may be that money is not enough. But we can try.’
‘You will talk to her?’
‘I would do a great deal to make you happy,’ she answered.
The Marquis d’Olbreuse smiled at his beautiful daughter.
‘It is for you to decide, my child,’ he said.
‘But how could I accept such … dishonour. Have you not always said that our pride is all that is left to us now?’
‘I have and I mean it. But it is not easy to make a good marriage when there is no dowry. I have nothing to offer you … neither you nor Angelique. How different it would be if we had not been driven from our home!’
‘You are not suggesting that I should accept him?’
‘I would not suggest that you did anything you do not want to do.’
‘But father, he is asking me to become his mistress!’
‘It is true. But he has talked of settlements … and a man does not usually offer that to a casual mistress. I believe if it were possible, he would marry you.’
‘But, mon père , it is not possible.’
Angelique had come into the room. She was a very pretty girl but lacked Eléonore’s outstanding beauty.
The Marquis looked from one to another of his daughters and sighed.
Two lovely girls and he had not the means to set them up in life. That, he believed, was his greatest tragedy of all. Life did not become easier as the years passed. He visualized an old age of poverty, of living on the bounty of others. It was not a pleasant vista for a proud old man.
And if Eléonore accepted the offer of the Duke of Brunswick-Lüneberg? He was rich; he was a Prince – albeit a German oneof a small principality. He was not the head of his house because he had an elder brother living and had signed away his own rights – but …
Even so, he would not persuade her that here was a chance to make her family’s future secure. In France a Prince’s mistress was a power in the land – often more so than his wife. Eléonore was French enough, proud enough, beautiful and intelligent enough, to play the rôle made famous by so many women of her own country. In her small way she might become a Diane de Poitiers. Little pride was lost and honours were gained in such a role.
But the man was a German, of course; and they had not the same refinements of taste as the French nor the same ideas of gallantry.
It must be for her to choose. But if she accepted, if she played her rôle as he was sure it could be played, what good she could bring to her family!
Eléonore, who knew him so well, guessed the thoughts which were passing through his mind. She was a little shocked; and yet she understood so well.
When she retired to her room Angelique followed her there.
‘You are the talk of Breda,’ said Angelique. ‘How I envy you!’
‘Then you are foolish. My position is far from enviable.’
‘They say that Duke George William is madly in love with you. I think he is most attractive. I don’t know how you can refuse him.’
‘Then it is a pity he does not transfer his affections to you.’
‘Now Eléonore, don’t be touchy. Mon dieu! So it is true then?’
‘What?’
‘You’re in love with him.’
Eléonore turned away angrily.
Was she? She was not sure. But Angelique had noticed something in her demeanour, some change.
If he despaired and went away, she would be quite desolate. Was that being in love?
If he had offered
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