Sword to the Heart (Bantam Series No. 13) by Barbara Cartland

like an angel!’
    “ ‘That often happens with love-children,’ Papa told me.
    “ ‘But Jeremy was born in what everybody in the village calls “sin,” ’ I protested.
    “Papa looked across the lake before he answered and then he said:
    ‘When a man and a woman love each other with all their heart, their soul and their body, Natalia, their desire for each other can, I am sure, evoke the Divine Life-Force. It pours through them, and at the moment of conception, they beget a child that is in fact, as we should all be, in the image of God’ . ”
    Natalia’s voice died away. Then Lord Colwall said with a cynical smile:
    “That is hardly a part of orthodox Christian doctrine.”
    “But the Bible says that love is more important than anything else,” Natalia replied quickly.
    He attempted no further argument, and after a moment she went on:
    “Now I have another story to tell you.”
    “I am still listening,” he replied.
    “You will naturally understand that I often thought about little Jeremy. As he grew older, he had a sweet character which matched the beauty of his face. I do not think there was anyone in the village, however much they disapproved of his mother, who would have said a cruel or unkind word to Jeremy himself.”
    “I assure you, most bastards are treated very differently,” Lord Colwall said almost harshly.
    “I have heard that. Yet I have read much about them,” Natalia replied, “and there is no doubt that in history, when Kings and great noblemen have fathered illegitimate children, they have all been reported as being extremely handsome ... like the Duke of Monmouth, for example.”
    Lord Colwall had apparently no answer for this. Leaning back in his high-back chair, he looked amazingly elegant.
    He had not changed from the tight-fitting, long-tailed, cut-away coat he had worn for his wedding, and his frilled cravat was a master-piece of intricate design. A huge emerald tie-pin glittered in the firelight, and his clear-cut features were revealed with every movement of the leaping flames.
    “My other story,” Natalia went on, “is perhaps a little embarrassing for me to relate to you, but at the same time I want you to understand.”
    “Needless to say, I am trying to do so,” Lord Colwall told her.
    “There was another family in the village. The mother had been widowed when her husband was killed in an accident, and she had a daughter—a gypsy-like girl with dark eyes and dark hair.
    “Sarah must have been fifteen when her mother decided to marry again. She took for a husband a rough, uncouth man who worked in the gravel-pits and did not belong to the village. I think he was part-Irish, part-Tinker.”
    Natalia’s expression darkened.
    “No-one liked him! He drank and was too quick with his fists to make anything but enemies. Not surprisingly Sarah loathed her step-father!”
    Natalia glanced at Lord Colwall.
    “Everyone was sorry for the girl. Soon after he moved into the cottage her mother occupied, there were stormy scenes and tales that he was knocking her about when he had drunk more than usual! Then one morning the step-father was found dead in bed beside his wife.”
    “Dead?” Lord Colwall questioned.
    “They had both gone to bed the worse for drink,” Natalia answered, “and Sarah’s mother had heard nothing during the night! When she awoke she found her husband with a long, sharp kitchen knife through his stomach!”
    “Good Lord!” Lord Colwall exclaimed.
    “Sarah had disappeared,” Natalia continued. “There was of course a hue and cry to find her and a warrant out for her arrest. Then people spoke of hearing her scream in the woods the night before.”
    She made a little gesture with her hand.
    “No-one had gone to her rescue because they knew that it was the route her step-father returned home from the gravel-pits, and he was an unpleasant person to encounter at any time. But there was no doubt that Sarah had been screaming for help.”
    There was a