by Unknown
Supper over, the group repaired to the stableyard to enjoy the first and last half hour of leisure their long working day afforded. Rising before the dawn, working without respite until the dinner hour, they would all seek their pallets by sundown. Thus it was that the Earl of Lin ton, strolling with Lord Julian after an excellent meal and a claret that was all and more than the landlord had promised, came across a sight that filled him with a black rage.
Danielle de St. Varennes, granddaughter of the Due de St. Varennes and the Earl and Countess of March, was sitting astride a low wall alongside the well-kept stables, a foaming pewter tankard in her hand, regaling a laughing circle of louts in exaggeratedly broken English with some of the riper stories she had picked up in her wanderings.
The earl was beyond careful thought. Striding through the group who, one look at the dark face and blazing eyes, fell back hastily, he reached the startled figure of his ward. The tankard crashed to the ground, splashing its contents on all and sundry and the next minute Danielle was reeling on her perch, hands clapped to a pair of tingling ears.
"How dare you drink that!" her mentor hissed.
"But. . . but all the lads do," she protested in a shocked whisper.
The earl's face came very close to hers. "You, Danielle de St. Varennes, are not one of the lads, do you understand, me?"
She shrank away from the naked fury in those black eyesand the hard, narrow line of his lips, managing only a wordless nod as the tears filling her eyes threatened to spill in a hot flood down her cheeks.
A pair of large hands caught her under the arms and she was swung through the air to land with a jolt on the cobblestones.
"Get to bed!" The earl turned on the curt command and strode back to where Lord Julian was standing in amazed wonder at the scene he had just witnessed. He had never seen his cool, deceptively lazy cousin lose his temper, let alone strike a servant.
"Gad, Justin! What was all that about? The lad was doing no harm, 'pon my soul."
"He's far too young to be drinking ale and has an insolent tongue to boot," Justin spat, struggling with the extraordinary emotions shaking him—fury at Danielle for her lack of conduct, but more so at himself and a deep regret for his violent reaction.
Lord Julian shrugged and suggested peaceably that they sample Mine Host's excellent "port over a hand of piquet before retiring. My Lord concurred. He needed time to calm himself and for Danny to get to bed before he attempted to repair the damage. Lord Julian, however, found him an abstracted companion and achieved the unheard-of success of rising from the table a hundred guineas ahead.
"Lud, Justin, but you've windmills in your head tonight. You gave me that last hand, I swear."
"Probably, Julian, probably. I cannot imagine how else you should have succeeded in taking such a sum from me. You play as abominably as ever."
"That's the outside of enough, Linton. I take every hand from you and you insult my skill."
The earl laughed softly. "Come out of the boughs, Julian. You find me somewhat distracted tonight."
A sharp look crossed the heavy-lidded eyes as Julian refilled his glass. "Nothing to do with that lad of yours, coz, I suppose?"
"I cannot imagine why it should be," Linton murmured dismissively. "No, I must see Pitt tomorrow and the news I have of France will not please him."
The red herring worked as well as he had hoped and all thoughts of the strange waif his cousin had in tow left Lord Julian as he questioned with an intelligent eagerness belied by the slightly vacuous look he cultivated.
It was considerably later, when, his cousin's curiosity satisfied, My Lord took his candle and made his way to bed. A soft knock eliciting no response, he unlatched the door gently and entered the dark chamber. Danielle had extinguished all the tapers before retiring to her cot in the corner—a gesture that could have been interpreted as unfriendly had the earl not strongly suspected she required the cover of darkness in which to lick her wounds. He placed his own candle beside the bed and lit the tapers above the mantel before crossing to the cot and examining the diminutive mound under the covers. His urchin was definitely asleep, but the tear-streaked cheeks and sticky lashes bore witness to the outburst of emotion that had preceded sleep. Linton sighed, bending to pull the disarrayed cover over the slight shoulders before blowing out the candles on the mantel and making his own preparations by the single, dim, flickering light by the bed.
Chapter 5
The Earl of Linton woke to an empty chamber and a countryside shrouded in that fine English mizzle that made the seasons in this damp land so hard to differentiate. It was definitely not riding weather and he reconciled himself to completing the last leg of the journey to London by post chaise.
The parlor, in which a bright fire now glowed, was also empty of everything except his breakfast. He had not expected to find his cousin, for whom the matutinal hours before ten o'clock were supposed not to exist, but he had expected some indication of his urchin's whereabouts. An inquiry of the wench who served him his coffee produced the information that Danny had been seen by Mrs. Jarvis at around six o'clock but not since.
The earl frowned at his sirloin, wondering if Danny had thought better of her agreement to remain with him until London, but he dismissed the suspicion as unworthy. The child quite clearly had a very rigid code of honor and even if she were laboring under a sense of injustice would not break her word.
In fact, the subject of his thoughts was making her damp way back across the fields after a sorely needed period of quiet reflection. She had awoken before the first bird song and making her way to the kitchen had found that hub of the hostelry already seething with life. She had been bidden to the breakfast table by the motherly Mrs. Jarvis but had accepted instead a meat pasty and an apple and set off on a long trudge across the surrounding countryside. Her reflections had been gloomy and the steady drizzle had done nothing to spark her usual optimism. Milord appeared to take his guardianship much more seriously than she had thought, as last evening's episode so clearly demonstrated. It seemed to encompass far more than a simple concern for her physical welfare. That being the case he would, without doubt, do his possible to prevent the furtherance of her plans once she reached Cornwall. She had hoped, she now realized naively, that once she had effected her escape from his protection that apparent careless lethargy of his would persuade him to put the entire episode out of mind. His fears for her safety, now she was
out of France, must surely be considerably allayed and he would know that a simple and relatively short journey across England would be easily accomplished by one who as a fugitive had made the infinitely longer and more hazardous trip from Languedoc to Paris. But he seemed to have some strange and most exasperating notions about the manner in which Danielle de St. Varennes should proceed both now and
in the future.
Pausing, she threw her apple core into a small stream, watching the circle of ripples widen on the rain-pitted surface of the sluggish brown water. She had ceased to think of herself as Danielle de St. Varennes since that February night, had concentrated only on a plan that required the identity of "Danny" to carry it through. But the Earl of Linton seemed only to acknowledge Danielle and his constant reminders of this person were disturbing, forcing her out of hiding in the deep recesses of the mind of Danny. Now she seemed to slip with bewildering rapidity from urchin to aristocrat and the only fact of which she was absolutely convinced was Linton's determination that she assume the latter role permanently, at the earliest possible moment.
Maybe her grandparents, whom she remembered as a gentle, kindly couple, would share Linton's view
of the matter and be much less amenable to persuasion than she had anticipated? But she could not
return to France without their help—or someone's at least—and return she must, albeit for as brief a
stay as possible. She had a task to complete and not all the Earls of Linton should stand in her way.
She had reached this rousing decision as
she attained the courtyard of the Red Lion
to come face to face with her protector who was about to sally forth in search of his errant ward.
"Good morning, Danny," His Lordship murmured courteously, stepping aside to allow her entrance into the inn.
"Morning." She made to brush past him, but a lazy hand took her wrist.
"You appear to be rather wet, brat."
"It's raining."
"Yes, I had noticed," he concurred silkily. "I think you had better change your clothes before we continue our journey."
"Why? I shall only get wet again." Danielle was painfully aware that she sounded like a sulky child but somehow could do nothing to alter her tone.
"Ah, but you see, you won't," the earl said gently, flipping open his silver snuff box and one-handedly taking a delicate pinch. "We shall travel today by post chaise."
Danny wrinkled her nose disgustedly. "But it's only twenty miles and a little rain hurt no one."
"It will hurt me, my child. I am sorry to inconvenience you, but I really must insist." The long fingers tightened for an instant around the fragile bones of her wrist. "I would like to leave within the quarter hour so you would oblige us both by making all speed todon somedry clothes. Of course," he added pleasantly, "should you find yourself in difficulties in this matter, I should be most happy to assist you."
Danielle twitched her wrist out of the immediately relaxed hold. "Your assistance, my lord, will not be necessary," she stated frigidly and went off with as much dignity as she could muster in the direction of their bedchamber.
Linton looked after her with quivering lip. She was definitely going to be more than the Earl of March and his countess could manage alone. His suspicion that the peaceful pattern of an existence ruled only by his own desires and comforts had been permanently destroyed on that sunny April afternoon in Paris was rapidly becoming a certainty.
The post chaise was light and well sprung—an infinite improvement on the heavy conveyance that had accommodated them through France—and they made the twenty-mile journey in three hours reaching
My Lord's town house in Grosvenor Square soon after the noon hour. Danielle forgot her aggrieved sullens as they clattered through the London streets. The sights, sounds, and smells of this seething metropolis entranced her. So different was the atmosphere here from the dreariness of Paris with its sense of brooding menace hanging in the narrow, fetid alleys. There was squalor and poverty here too, and the gutters ran malodorously with the soil of the city's inhabitants in the crowded houses rising alongside the cobbled streets, at times almost seeming to touch their opposite neighbor, forming an archway over the narrow lanes. But there was elegance too and Danielle gazed open-mouthed at the quiet squares with their tall mansions, the constant traffic of barouches, landaus, phaetons, curricles passing down the broader thoroughfares, their exquisite passengers bowing and smiling to acquaintances. She gazed longingly at the riders, briefly glimpsed behind the railings of Hyde Park, and for the first time in months felt an unaccountable urge to be rid of her boy's clothes. But, however did women manage to walk in those wide hooped skirts, those enormous panniers at the side? And the coiffures! Enormous powdered creations, adorned with waving ostrich plumes, stuffed birds, and even more exotic articles. The isolated life of Languedoc had not required the extravagances and fripperies of the fashionable city and indeed was many years behind in fashion—a fact which her mother had frequently lamented but had never repined over. Or if she had, Danielle frowned suddenly, had certainly kept it to herself.
* * *
Her companion, guessing fairly accurately at what was passing through his ward's mind, watched her open delight and wide-eyed wonder with amusement and a degree of pity. It had been an act of near criminal negligence to keep this enchanting scion of a noble family from her birthright, immured in the fastnesses of a wild, uncivilized backcountry.
The chaise drew up outside Linton House and instantly the enormous front door swung open. A liveried footman let down the steps, opened the door, and bowed his lordship and the disheveled scrap of humanity behind him onto the pavement. Danielle hung back, suddenly shy, but the earl took her hand in a warm, reassuring grip.
"You have nothing to fear. These are my people. Just say nothing and do exactly as you are bid."
For once that instruction provided comfort rather than irritation. She followed her guardian up the flight
of well-scrubbed steps into an enormous high-ceilinged hall with a wide curving flight of shallow stairs rising gracefully to the floors above.
"Welcome, my lord." A most elegant, black-clad figure moved sedately with measured tread across the gleaming tiled floor to greet them. His gaze flicked across Danielle but the shocked surprise in those calm gray eyes was instantly extinguished.
"Thank you, Bedford. I shall be in town only one night to transact some business. The lad is to have the Blue Room. Have it prepared and hot water for a bath sent up. I will also require Petersham in about fifteen minutes and if Mr. Haversham is in the house please ask him to wait on me in my bookroom in one hour. You may bring some Madeira into the library." Still holding Danielle's hand, the earl turned briskly and went through the door held by an impassive footman into the luxurious book-lined saloon on one side of the hall, facing the street.
Danielle looked around appraisingly. She was not awed by the magnificence of the Aubusson carpet, the delicate Sheraton and Chippendale furniture, the heavy brocaded curtains at the long windows. The de
St Varennes chateau, albeit in the wilds, had commanded all the elegancies of life. Neither was she intimidated by Milord's servants, although they carried themselves with a deal more consequence than would have been tolerated under the feudal regime operating in Languedoc. But she was very interested
in His Lordship's life-style. He was clearly a man of considerable wealth.
A discreet knock at the door was followed immediately by Bedford with a silver tray on which reposed a cut glass decanter and two crystal wineglasses. No one was to know the anguish that had wracked this austere gentleman as he wondered whether he was to provide a glass for His Lordship's extraordinary companion. To do so could be an unforgivable solecism but there was something about the way the earl had been holding the lad's hand, a sort of proprietorial possessive-ness that caused his butler to opine that a lack of courtesy to this unusual guest might be an even more unforgivable solecism. He was much relieved, therefore, when His Lordship made no comment on the contents of the tray.
"Would Your Lordship care for a nuncheon?" Bedford inquired.
"I think not, but you may have a tray sent up to the Blue Room." Linton poured the golden wine and handed his brat a glass, waiting until the butler had left the room before raising his own in a toast.
"Let us drink to the end of this masquerade, mon enfant. A few more days will see the finish. It is unfortunate that your grandparents have remained in the country for the Season, otherwise I could have restored you to them within the hour."
Danielle was not convinced that this was an unfortunate circumstance but kept her reflections to herself, merely sipping her wine appreciatively, surprising His Lordship with an informed comment on the vintage.
"You know wine, child?"
"My grandfather's cellar was renowned throughout France. I was interested, so he taught me," she said carelessly. "I am thought to have an excellent palate. Grandpere always trusted my judgment at the tastings."
Linton wondered how many more surprises this brat had up her sleeve. He strongly suspected that he had but glimpsed the tip of the iceberg.
"I am going to leave you for a few hours, Danielle." He held up his hand as she began a dismayed protest. "You will be quite safe. No one will disturb you, I promise. You may take a long bath, have some nuncheon, rest, read a book maybe?"
At his last words her eyes lit up. "I haven't seen a book since February. May I look now?"
"My library is at your disposal, infant."
Danielle
roamed the shelves in an absorbed silence, commenting only, "They are well catalogued, my lord."
"I have an excellent secretary." Her choice fascinated him—a copy of Pliny's essays and Montaigne for, he presumed, a little light relief.
"If you are sure you have enough to occupy you for an hour or so, perhaps you would like to go to your chamber." His voice shook slightly and Danny gave him a suspicious look.
"Does something amuse you, sir?"
"Not at all," he denied hastily. "But tell me, do you ever read novels?"
"They have rarely come my way," she replied simply.
My Lord preceded her up the stairs, wondering yet again at the effect this wine connoisseur and bluestocking was going to have on London society. Next Season was going to be most interesting, of that he was in no doubt.
