by Sheila Walsh
When Captain Bannion was admitted, she was standing by the window just where the sun filtered through the muslin curtains to make an aura of light about her silver blonde hair.
As they exchanged greetings, she saw at once why Hepworth had been faintly disparaging. The captain was a very physical man, not destined to shine in a lady’s drawing room; not more than thirty, she decided, and a little above medium height, he had the deeply bronzed look of a man more used to spending his time in the open air. Yet, for all that, his coat was well cut ‒ by Scott, perhaps, for it certainly did not bear Weston’s stamp ‒ though it was clear that he favoured comfort rather than elegance since it had been made so that he could shrug himself into it without assistance. And his buckskins displayed an excellent leg.
Also, he did have the most devastatingly blue, blue eyes, Verena decided as she gestured gracefully for him to be seated ‒ thickly lashed eyes with interesting creases at the corners and an intolerance in their depths that was echoed in the thrust of his jaw as he made his bow. Her interest was aroused.
‘Is your business with my husband of a confidential nature, Captain Bannion?’ she inquired huskily as he took the chair opposite her.
‘No, ma’am. I daresay it concerns you quite as much as his lordship. More so, perhaps.’ His voice was firm, crisp ‒ the voice of a man accustomed to giving orders and being obeyed without question. ‘I am here on behalf of Señor Vasquez. He is much vexed by his daughter’s continuing absence from home.’ His keen eyes challenged her. ‘I understand she was to have returned home several weeks since.’
‘That is true.’ She met his glance with limpid innocence. ‘But surely ‒ Consuelo wrote to her father to explain. My husband also. Has the good señor not received these letters?’
‘He has.’ The captain’s voice was curt. ‘It is as a direct result of receiving them that I am here now to escort Señorita Vasquez home without further delay. I must ask you, ma’am, to summon her ‒ and her duenna ‒ so that arrangements may be put in hand.’
Lady Covington raised her finely plucked brow in amused surprise. ‘Just like that, captain?’
‘My time is precious, ma’am. I have commitments ‒’
‘Maybe so. But, my dear sir, you cannot uproot a young girl at a moment’s notice, especially one of Consuelo’s temperament, without inviting severe repercussions!’ She shrugged. ‘I will not pretend that I have not expected something of this nature, though I had supposed Señor Vasquez would wish to deal with the matter personally.’
‘Had it been possible, he would have done so. Regrettably, the señor’s health at the present time precludes any undue exertion.’
‘I see. And so he sends you.’ She spoke as though the thought amused her.
It did not, however, amuse him. ‘No one sends me anywhere, Lady Covington. I agreed to lend Señor Vasquez my support in this affair because we have been acquainted for many years, because he was ill and distressed, and because the speedy return of his daughter is of paramount importance to him. It touches upon his honour.’
‘Well, then.’ She shrugged again. ‘You will have some form of authorization, I presume?’
‘I have.’ He didn’t offer to produce it and she was not really interested. She had no wish to involve herself with tiresome details. She rose unhurriedly.
Her silk skirts swished softly as she moved about the room, and Captain Bannion, coming to his feet also, watched her with a kind of cynical amusement, aware that she was aware that he watched.
‘Señor Vasquez will have told you, I suppose, that the child fancies herself in love?’
‘At seventeen?’ His mouth curled derisively. ‘Romantic twaddle, ma’am. In twelve months’ time, I doubt she will even recall the young man’s name.’
‘Oh, fie, sir!’ Verena whisked across the room, a subtle fragrance teasing his nostrils as she swayed perilously close to him, her beautiful green eyes lifted provocatively to his. ‘Have you no heart? Would you wrest so lovely and spirited a creature from the arms of her Adonis? For young Henry Linton is quite distractingly handsome, as well as being perfectly eligible. His father is the Earl of Gratton. Consuelo could do a lot worse!’
He was not in the least disconcerted by her nearness; rather, he seemed to be enjoying the experience. ‘It would make no difference. The girl’s future is already decided.’
‘The fat, elderly Spaniard?’ She wrinkled her nose in distaste. ‘I have heard of him.’ She sighed deeply, displaying a tantalizing glimpse of milk-white breasts. ‘Such a pity! But then, I know what it is to be married to an older man!’
Nick Bannion was no stranger to women and he knew well enough that he was being offered a none too subtle invitation. For a moment he even entertained the possibility of taking it up ‒ the lady was obviously much pampered ‒ and bored! Reluctantly he remembered his mission.
She sensed his withdrawal and flounced away, her lip caught vexatiously between even white teeth. It was perhaps fortunate, however, for almost immediately the door opened to admit a large genial man busily engaged in mopping his face with a large spotted handkerchief.
‘Well now, m’dear ‒ Hepworth tells me we’ve a visitor.’ Lord Covington’s amiable glance shifted to Captain Bannion as his wife performed the introductions. ‘Servant, captain. Hepworth is on his way with some refreshment. You’ll take a glass of Madeira, eh?’
‘With pleasure, my lord.’
‘Stout fellow!’ His lordship ran the handkerchief round the back of his neck and stuffed it untidily into the pocket of his once elegant frock coat. ‘This heat ‒ quite insupportable, what? Now then, my dear sir ‒ sit down. Make yourself comfortable and tell me how I may serve you.’
Nick Bannion explained his mission yet again, as succinctly as possible, whilst very much aware of Lady Covington’s eyes resting on him. He wondered briefly what had made her marry a man who must surely exasperate her with every breath he drew.
‘D’ye mean you’re to take our little Consuelo away?’ Lord Covington wheezed, fumbling for his snuff box. ‘Oh, come now, sir!’
At this point Hepworth entered with a tray, and there was some little delay as the drinks were poured and served. As he left, Hepworth was instructed by her ladyship to ask Señorita Vasquez to step up to the drawing room the moment she returned from her ride.
‘She’ll not take it kindly, m’dear.’ Lord Covington cast a meaningful glance at his wife.
‘Oh, Captain Bannion knows all about Henry, do you not, sir?’
He inclined his head, refusing the snuff offered to him.
‘Bannion?’ mused his lordship. ‘You wouldn’t be the Bannion … the one involved with young Cochrane in that spot of bother in the Basque roads? 1809, wasn’t it?’
‘Best chance we ever had to blast the French fleet out of existence!’ Nick Bannion’s eyes sparked with anger, remembering.
‘By George! It was you!’
Lady Covington, her interest aroused, listened with veiled eyes as her husband waxed enthusiastic.
‘It was the damnedest thing I ever heard tell of, m’dear! Night as black as the devil, storm raging, and the French holed up safely under the protection of the shore batteries … or so they thought, what?’ He chuckled and continued, oblivious of the younger man’s discouraging expression.
‘But they’d reckoned without Lord Cochrane, and Bannion here … With a few chosen men they ran the best part of twenty fireships and explosion vessels inshore right under the noses of the enemy … wreaked havoc … set most of the French ships hopelessly adrift …’
‘We didn’t succeed as well as we’d hoped,’ said Nick, drawn reluctantly to intervene. ‘The weather was against us. But we could still have finished them off come daylight if that pious, psalm-singing purist, Gambier, hadn’t sat on the horizon with the Fleet, ignoring Cochrane’s signals that the French were at our mercy!’ Nick’s lips twisted. ‘Lord Gambier didn’t approve our brief, you see ‒ not quite the thing, attacking your enemy at night!
Also, he deeply resented Lord Cochrane’s being sent to supersede him! By the time we stung him into action by going it alone, it was almost too late. And soon after, the Admiral called off the action. Cochrane was so angry, he demanded a court martial!’
He had said much more than he’d meant to, and was very much aware of Lady Covington’s eyes resting on him with an amused, calculating expression. It threw him on to the defensive, the more so as Lord Covington continued jovially, ‘That’s right! And Gambier was cleared and everyone spoke of the action as a great victory … enemy ships destroyed and all that! Well, I never! And later, as I recall, you were put ashore somewhere around that area and spent some time in the mountains with a party of brigands.’ He blew his nose. ‘Well, now … we must talk more about this after dinner, what? You’ll be staying for dinner, of course?’ He looked to his wife.
She said smoothly, ‘Naturally, we should be delighted to have you stay, captain.’ Her voice lifted with faint irony. ‘I had no idea we were entertaining one of England’s heroes!’
‘Nothing of the kind, ma’am,’ said the captain stiffly. ‘As to dinner, I regret ‒’
There came an interruption in the form of a light rap on the door. It was flung open to admit a tiny glowing figure in rich brown velvet, a froth of lace at her throat, her dark eyes brilliant.
‘Dear Lady Covington, Hepworth said that you wished to see me. We have had a splendid ride …’ Consuelo’s voice trailed away as she saw that her ladyship was not alone. ‘Oh, forgive me, I did not know …’ Again the words dried up as a man rose from the chair opposite and turned ‒ broad shouldered, black-browed, to face her ‒ a man looking curiously out of place in the lovely white and gold drawing room. And surely something about him was familiar to her?
Lady Covington extended a graceful hand. ‘Come, child, and be introduced.’ She smiled encouragingly. ‘But then, perhaps no introduction will be necessary. Captain Bannion, my dear, is a friend of your father.’
Consuelo stared blankly as he bowed.
‘Good afternoon, Señorita Vasquez.’ His voice was dry. ‘I am sorry to break in upon your pleasures with such distressing abruptness, but I have come to take you home to your father.’
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