Love Alters Not

by Patricia Veryan

  “De Villars!” snorted Piers. “I’ve warned you death stalks his shadow, but you must—”

  “Oh, fiddle,” said Peregrine, irritated. “Treve’s a dashed good man.”

  “I’d be curst glad to have him at hand was I hunted, I grant you, but to cultivate his friendship is to bring yourself under the eye of the military. ’Tis only a matter of time before he’s arrested, you know that!”

  “I’ll own I like Trevelyan de Villars,” Miss Guild interjected in her sensible way, “and I admire his courage. But that does not help us decide what to do now.”

  Piers looked miserably at Glendenning’s motionless figure. “Tio is our only hope. God send he wakes soon.”

  Samuels asked, “Should we send word to the earl, Mr. Piers? He’s a hard man and would fly into a proper pucker if he knew Master Horatio was involved in this business. But—he is his father.”

  “If we tell old Bowers-Malden, the fur will fly,” muttered Peregrine dubiously. “He’ll have Tio out of here in a wink, and we’ll lose all chance to find out about Mitten.”

  “Is the earl likely to have missed his lordship, Samuels?” asked Piers.

  “I doubt it, sir. They don’t see eye to eye on most things. Lord Horatio has not met his father this month and more.”

  Piers nodded. “Then I fancy we’re not being wholly ruthless in keeping the old boy in the dark another few days. Perry—do you stay here and hope Tio awakens in a rational state. I’m going down to Gloucestershire.”

  “Why must I stay? I’m not helpless, you know.”

  “No,” grinned his brother. “Only hopeless! I’m going after Treve, you dolt! I fancy he’s at his uncle’s country seat. He’s the only man might know Mitten’s whereabouts.”

  Miss Guild sighed heavily. “Dear Mitten. I only pray her reputation is not quite ruined.”

  “You think some base villain would dare—” Peregrine’s face darkened. “Now God help any filthy swine who lays a hand on her!”

  VIII

  Despite her weariness, Dimity had not slept well, waking once in the grip of a nightmare in which the two mastiffs were chasing her while she hobbled in Mrs. Deene’s crippling slippers, and falling asleep again, only to wake once more and lie wide-eyed, reliving the moments in Anthony Farrar’s arms.

  She had not encountered him at breakfast for since they were to make an early start, a tray was brought to her room. Now, she slanted a look at the man riding beside her through the brilliance of the morning. She noted again that he rode very well, with a lazy, almost slouching grace that made him seem as one with the big grey. He looked stern and unyielding. She tried to picture him panicking in the face of a Scots charge. Her brothers had told her that the Scots were fierce and terrible fighters, but still she could not imagine anything causing this individual to panic and run. At once, she felt traitorous for harbouring such doubts. Perry and Piers despised Farrar, and they had been there. They had judged contemptible the man she now mentally defended; the man she had not only allowed to kiss her, but whom she was beginning—

  “Guilty conscience, ma’am?” he drawled, not looking her way.

  Her cheeks burned. “I should think you might be the one to harbour such sentiments,” she answered. Then, realizing the double entendre, she added, “I mean—about last night.”

  He turned a sardonic gaze on her. “You are sure that is what you mean?”

  She mumbled, “I—had never been kissed so … before.”

  “At least,” his lip curled, “not for a full five minutes.”

  “I tell you Ellsworth forced himself on me. He was horrid! I did not willingly—” And she thought, ‘Oh, heavens!’ and was silent.

  An iron hand was upon her reins. The horses came to a halt. It was very peaceful on the country lane with no other travellers in sight, the trees softly whispering overhead, and a lark singing gloriously somewhere. Farrar had not worn powder today, and the sunlight awoke a bright sheen on his fair hair and made his eyes an emerald glow in his bronzed face. Dimity concentrated on the lush slope of a nearby hill.

  He demanded softly, “Do you say you did willingly kiss me?”

  What nonsense. As if she would have done so disgraceful a thing! It would be to betray the brothers she loved and that she would never do! She drew a steadying breath. “How can you ask such a question? You know perfectly well that you seized me—like any bear!”

  His grin mocked her. “How odd that I’d the distinct impression you enjoyed it.”

  “Odd, indeed!” But oh, why must her wretched heart flutter so? Frightened by her own reactions, she flared, “And quite at odds with both my moral standards and my reason for coming to The Palfreys.”

  The amusement faded from his eyes. Her words had hit hard. Stung, he retaliated with a contemptuous, “I’d have judged both to be deplorable.” Predictably, she whirled on him in a flame, but he only shrugged, “Did you feel so violated, Madam Purity, I wonder you did not scream.”

  Why had it not occurred to her to scream? She had to grope for a response. “I wish I may see myself so distressing your aunt!”

  “Aha,” he jeered. “So next time I may count myself safe, eh?”

  The knowledge that her feeble response had invited such vulgarity was no consolation. Outraged, she cried, “For shame! Whatever you think of me, I am a guest in your house, and—”

  “You are a guest in my home, ma’am, only because my gentle aunt pities you!” He saw her flinch but seized her arm and grated, “Admit the truth. You’re in this with my damnable cousin and his putrid friend!”

  “No!” she gasped, striving in vain to break free.

  His fingers tightened. “Then why did you creep out to cuddle with him? Having seen those passionate embraces, do you really expect me to believe that you are unacquainted with the creature?”

  He was flushed beneath his tan, his eyes glittering with a rage disproportionate to the disgust he might have felt for a vulgar adventuress. Under normal circumstances Dimity, well equipped with common sense, might have noted such odd behaviour. Now, her own emotions rioting, she said, “Much I care what you believe! You were not slow to indulge yourself with some passionate embraces, when you’d done with peeping from behind curtains like any sneaking spy!”

  “An I spied on you, ’twas because your behaviour had me off-stride. Yes, I admit that fact. Hating me one minute, helping me the next; your actions saying you were my enemy, your eyes saying something very different. Oh, never deny it! When I kissed you last night, your lips were as hot as mine own! Why, madam? To buy me with your favours, perchance? You’ll catch cold at that, and so I warn you!”

  “Oh!” gasped Dimity. “Oh!” Her hand flew up. His intercepted it. “Contrary to your beliefs, Captain Farrar,” she cried, “I am a very careful shopper and make it a practice never to buy a pig in a poke!”

  The angry colour faded from his face, leaving him rather white. Releasing her, he said, “Oh, very good. You’ve a quick tongue, ma’am. You’ll need it do you hope to oust me from my home.”

  Breathing hard and feeling vulgar and miserable, she took up the reins. “Your solicitor will doubtless inform you of my chances.”

  “Little fool,” he muttered. “Did it not occur to you that you’ve given your only proofs into my hands? Were I as evil as you think me, I’d have instructed Norris to destroy them. Simple enough. Where would you be then with your scheming?”

  She was stunned, but she must not let him see her dismay. It was quite possible that Carlton was an impostor, for his aunt did not seem quite respectable. But it was also possible that their claim was valid, and she must not be the one to ruin it for them. She was new to bitter quarrelling and felt increasingly weak and shaken, but managed a laugh. “La, but you take me for a ninny! My man of the law in London had all my documents copied and—and signed by a Notary Public long before I came here, I do promise you.”

  Watching her, Farrar thought that if she really had a “man of the law” in London, he
would have been the one to present her documents. But he did not confront her with that obvious fact. She was pale, and her hands trembled as she urged the mare to a trot, but however close they were, she did not give way to tears.

  Touching his spurs lightly to the stallion’s sides, Farrar’s lips quirked wryly. She mounted a good fight, did the wicked widow!

  An hour later, they were clattering over the bridge across the River Avon. The sun sparkled on the water, and the spire of the great cathedral rose proud and high against the azure skies. It was Dimity’s first sight of Salisbury Cathedral and she forgot anger and the aggravating ache of hurt. “Oh,” she murmured. “How beautiful! So tall and proud.”

  “The tallest in all England,” he agreed, as lost as she in admiration of the great building.

  “It must be the most beautiful in the world.”

  “No … in all honesty, there is a cathedral in Amiens I find even more beautiful.”

  She glanced at him. His face held a dreaming look. “Have you ever painted it?”

  “Amiens? No, but—” He started. “I suppose Lady Helen told you that I dabble with oils.”

  “I would say you do more than dabble, sir. I should very much like to see more of your work.” He flushed scarlet and looked fixedly at his own hand on the reins. Amused, she thought, ‘How shy he is about his talent.’ But she had no wish to add to his embarrassment and said easily, “I expect you have been much about the world. Is France your favourite country?”

  “It is very lovely, certainly. Unhappily, much of my travelling was during a state of war which is not the best way to see a land. And at all events, to an Englishman there is only one favourite country, no? I fancy your brother—or is that plural? I forget—would agree.”

  She gave him a level look. To her surprise he said with a boyish grin, “I scored that time, eh ma’am?”

  She rode on, hiding a smile and rather absurdly grateful for this truce. They passed under an ancient arch and along narrow cobbled streets where boys darted about hoping to earn a groat by holding horses, where muffin men cried their wares, apprentices polished latticed windows or swept thresholds, farmers and fine gentlemen rubbed elbows in the kennels, elegant coaches vied for space with great country wains and waggons, and everywhere was noise and confusion.

  Lifting Dimity from the saddle, Farrar beckoned an eager street urchin and commissioned him to take the horses to the livery stable and see them watered and rubbed down. Then he offered Dimity his arm and led her along the busy street. “There is a popular emporium a little way—” He stopped, his face lighting up. “Hilary!” His hand went out. “Jove, but I’ve not seen you—”

  The young officer, dashing in his military scarlet, came up with an answering grin. Then, consternation dawned in the fine face. He flushed darkly, dropped his outstretched hand, and deliberately turned on his heel and crossed the street. Farrar drew back with an odd, shrinking movement, then stood motionless. Several passers-by stopped, gawking, and a youth giggled audibly. Dimity’s emotions ran the gamut from shock, to horror, to a painful and overwhelming pity. Scarcely daring to look at Farrar, she saw his face dead white and a stricken helplessness in his eyes that, though swiftly banished, made her toes curl. She took his arm again and began to move on. She felt him start, then he was keeping pace with her. She ignored the mocking laughter that followed them, managed somehow to find her voice, and chattered about something, heaven knows what, until he began to offer polite monosyllabic answers and she recovered her wits sufficiently to urge that he let her shop whilst he went to his surgeon.

  “I can scarce blame you for that, ma’am,” he muttered.

  She shot another glance at him. His eyes devoid of expression now, he said with his usual calm assurance, “But I could not permit you to go about unescorted.”

  Relieved by the return to normality, she argued, “Nor I permit you to suffer so. I know how gentlemen dislike to shop and I am no schoolroom miss, after all.”

  “I’ll own that.”

  “Wretch!”

  He smiled. “Still, it will not do.”

  “Why ever not? One might think I was not to be trusted!” She could have bitten her tongue the instant the words were said. It was the sort of flippant remark she might have thrown at her brothers without a second thought, but to have said it to Farrar in view of their unhappy relationship was absurd. She was not usually foolish, and realized her slip might well be attributed to the overwrought state of her nerves, but she was mortified and prayed he would overlook it.

  For a moment he was silent. Then he drawled, “I wonder why I should not do so? You seek to dispossess me of my home, fortune, and estates and, perhaps more dastardly, are attempting to foist off on me an obnoxious little hellion for my nephew.”

  She may have brought that on herself, but she had tried to help him over some very rocky ground, and this was the thanks she got! Vexed and hurt, she attempted to jerk her hand away, but it was seized and held in a grip that she knew better than to fight.

  “You charm my aunt,” he went on in that low, grim voice, “even as you provoke and perplex me. You appear a wanton jade at one moment, a lady of Quality the next.” They had come to the emporium, and he drew her to a halt and held her facing him in the curve of the bow window. “You came very bravely to my aid when I was confronted by savage dogs who would have reduced most ladies to hysterics and swooning. With shocking impropriety you crept out at night and I found you being made love to by that worthless cousin of—”

  “He—”

  Farrar put up a hand to stifle her indignant utterance, ignoring a large lady and two fat small girls who were staring at them through the emporium window. “You seek to poison a child’s mind, by telling him the bitter truth about me, yet defend me to a justifiably irate captain of dragoon guards. You make it clear that I am the most repellent of men one minute, and in the next stand by me through—through a confrontation that must have been a most ghastly and shameful embarrassment for you.”

  The trio in the window had been augmented by a sales clerk who was markedly disapproving. Her cheeks very pink, Dimity asked, “Are you quite finished, sir?”

  “Almost. Mrs. Deene—if you seek to confuse me—by God, but you’ve succeeded! And I do not trust that which confuses me!”

  “No,” she said, “but you kiss it willingly enough!” And she put her nose in the air and swept into the bustling interior.

  Farrar drew level with the fat lady and her two goggling children and, removing his tricorne, bowed deeply.

  “Luvaduck!” gasped the fat lady, drawing her children closer.

  “A commendable sentiment, ma’am,” drawled Farrar, and followed Dimity.

  She was inspecting a shelf of slippers. She took up a quite fashionable pair made of cream kid, with tortoiseshell buckles, high heels, and pointed toes. Farrar’s hand closed over hers. She glanced up at him questioningly. His eyes grave, he shook his head. “Those will never do.”

  A shop assistant, a short, rather timid individual, had made his way to them and looked at the tall gentleman curiously. A nob, beyond all doubt, but why was he interfering? The young lady had made a wise choice.

  Farrar selected a pair of scarlet satin slippers with very high Spanish heels and a quantity of jet beadwork set off by glittering paste buckles. “Now these,” he murmured, “would look so well with that lovely blue gown.”

  Dimity had to bite her lip, but managed to preserve her countenance and with dignity tell the astonished clerk that she would like to try on the cream pair.

  She was led to a curtained alcove at the far side of the emporium. Directing a scolding glance at Farrar, she saw him talking to a young woman with bright yellow curls who looked up at him with undisguised admiration. ‘Shameless hussy,’ thought Dimity in disgust, and told the assistant to kindly be quick with the fitting because her “brother” had an appointment with his doctor.

  “A fine looking gentleman, if you’ll forgive me saying so, miss,” r
emarked the clerk, kneeling and removing her riding boots with discretion. “I trust he is not ill?”

  Dimity stared at the top of his balding head. “Hallucinations,” she said.

  “Good gracious me! Does he suffer seizures, then?”

  She wondered if the brassy-haired baggage was also managing to confuse the captain, and snapped, “Violent seizures. And one never knows when they may take him. The last time he was afflicted was during Holy Communion in the Cathedral. He fancied himself King Henry the Eighth, and stood up and commanded that the bishop and all the choir be taken out and burned at the stake.” She gave a smug little smile, picturing such a scene, and then became aware that the kneeling clerk was staring at her, open-mouthed. Recovering herself, she added, “So you’d best hasten. He’s not been feeling just the thing this morning.”

  The clerk’s hands fairly flew. The shoes were judged a perfect fit. Dimity bent forward and whispered, “Have you any fichus?”

  Replacing her boots, he nodded, his eyes very round.

  “Could you please slip two of your best white ones, lace trimmed if possible, in with the shoes? Don’t let my brother see, though. He does not approve.”

  “Of—of fichus?” he whispered.

  She nodded solemnly. “Says they are works of the devil.”

  He gulped and shot from the alcove, clutching the shoes. Unwilling to miss ensuing developments, Dimity hurried in his wake.

  The yellow-haired girl and Farrar were deep in discussion, apparently over the merits of a bolt of pink cloth. The assistant fairly tiptoed past, his apprehensive gaze glued to Farrar. Dimity came up and coughed slightly.

  Farrar turned, raising a surprised eyebrow. “Can I believe it? Finished, so soon?”

  The yellow-haired girl cast a glance of loathing at Dimity, who smiled sweetly at her and laid a hand on Farrar’s sleeve. “I could not bear to think of you being bored,” she cooed.

  The yellow curls tossed and the girl flounced off.

  Farrar’s eyes narrowed. “What are you about now? I vow you look so saintly we could put a surplice on you and you might sing with the choirboys!”