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Updated: June 18, 2025
Bertie was not like the Royallieu race; he resembled his mother's family. She, a beautiful and fragile creature whom her second son had loved, for the first years of his life, as he would have thought it now impossible that he could love anyone, had married the Viscount with no affection toward him, while he had adored her with a fierce and jealous passion that her indifference only inflamed.
The flickering light and darkness, as the awning waved to and fro, made the lines move dizzily upward and downward as he read read the short paragraph touching the fortunes of the race that had disowned him: "The Royallieu Succession. We regret to learn that the Rt. Hon.
Bertie Cecil, second son of Viscount Royallieu, was never behind his fellows in anything; besides, he was one of the crack officers of the 1st Life Guards, and ladies sent him pretty things enough to fill the Palais Royal. Then Hon. Bertie was known generally in the brigade as "Beauty," and the appellative, gained at Eton, was in no way undeserved.
He who bore the title of Royallieu covered his face. "How have you lived?" he whispered hoarsely. "Honorably. Let that suffice. And you?" The other looked up at him with a piteous appeal the old, timorous, terrified appeal that had been so often seen on the boy's face, strangely returning on the gracious and mature beauty of the man. "In honor too, I swear! That was my first disgrace, and my last.
True, the Royallieu Peerage, one of the most ancient and almost one of the most impoverished in the kingdom, could ill afford to maintain its sons in the expensive career on which it had launched them, and the chief there was to spare usually went between the eldest son, a Secretary of Legation in that costly and charming City of Vienna, and the young one, Berkeley, through the old Viscount's partiality; so that, had Bertie ever gone so far as to study his actual position, he would have probably confessed that it was, to say the least, awkward; but then he never did this, certainly never did it thoroughly.
The French Marshal glanced his eye on the fragment, carelessly and coldly. As he saw the words, he started, and read on with wondering eagerness. "Royallieu!" he muttered "Royallieu!"
And having given the desired evidence in lazy little intervals of speech, he took some Rhenish. "Well yes; nothing could be more conclusive, certainly," assented the Baronet, resignedly convinced. "It was the best thing that could happen under the unfortunate circumstances; so Lord Royallieu thinks, I suppose.
Twelve years ago in England it was accepted that Bertie Cecil and his servant Rake had been killed in a railway accident in France. And the solitary corporal of chasseurs read in the "Galignani" of the death of his father, Viscount Royallieu, and of his elder brother. The title and estate that should have been his had gone to his younger brother. IV. From Death to Life
'Two only? that's not enough, I will lend you some of mine. Arrived at our beat 'Tire de Royallieu, we found a squadron of dismounted cavalry drawn up in line, ready to commence operations. They were in stable dress, with canvas trousers and spurs to their boots.
Had he had his old tact about him, he would have known how worse than useless it would be for him to seek his father in such a moment. Lord Royallieu was lying back exhausted as Cecil opened the door of his private apartments, heavily darkened and heavily perfumed; at the turn of the lock he started up eagerly. "What news of him?" "Good news, I hope," said Cecil gently, as he came forward.
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