And with that he wheeled his horse round and was off down the common at a gallop, leaving the other three to watch with something akin to resignation and the girl with admiration mixed liberally with disapproval.
‘G’bye! G’bye!’ shouted Tom, waving with all his might as they rode away. And then, ‘Those mens were nice, Crowie – ‘specially the one with hair like yours.’
She laughed. ‘Yes, petit. Very nice.’ But in her mind there lingered nothing but the image of a piece of brilliant horsemanship and a pair of worryingly compelling ice-blue eyes.
*
Much later that evening, Mr Deveril faced a very different lady across the meagre width of her hired parlour and listened whilst she spoke in tones of calm finality.
‘I’m sorry, Alex, really I am – but I’ve made up my mind and there’s nothing you can say that will make me change it.’
‘No? Well, let’s see if I understand you correctly,’ he replied with equal calm. ‘You’re saying that you intend to marry Graham Marsden – a man more than twice your age – purely in order to gain social and financial security. Is that it?’
Lady Sarah Courtenay eyed him sulkily. ‘Yes. But there’s no need to put it like that. It sounds horrid.’
‘Precisely.’
‘No! It isn’t at all horrid – it’s perfectly reasonable. David has been dead for two years now and, even though I like my life the way it is, it can’t go on. I haven’t any money at all – and I hate being poor. It’s all very well being a widow if one is a rich widow. As things are, I have no choice but to marry.’ She spread her hands and smiled with artistic witchery. ‘Surely you see my position. It’s much the same as your own, after all.’
He did not reply immediately but simply gazed at her in apparent meditation. Lady Sarah knew that she was worth looking at and was entirely aware that the new gown of Lyons silk was an excellent foil for her silver-gilt curls and the exact cornflower blue of her eyes but something in Alex’s face made her experience an unfamiliar moment of doubt.
‘Well?’ she demanded, tired of the silence. ‘It’s true, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ he said slowly, ‘it’s true. I, on the other hand, won’t be putting myself up for sale.’
‘Oh! I’m not!’ An angry flush stained her ladyship’s exquisite cheeks and her fingers toyed irritably with the sapphire pin at her breast.
‘Aren’t you? Then how would you describe it?’
‘As – as a marriage of convenience!’ she retorted defiantly.
He laughed. ‘Yes. I can see how convenient it would be for you. But what does Marsden get out of it?’
Her brows arched in astonishment. ‘Why - me. He adores me.’
‘I see. And you? Do you adore him?’
This was not quite how Lady Sarah had planned it but she rose to the occasion. The cornflower eyes misted and the soft mouth quivered. ‘You are unkind, Alex. You know how I feel.’
‘I thought so, certainly,’ came the deliberate reply. ‘But you’ve got to admit that it seems somewhat odd that you can marry Marsden, yet love me.’
Sarah’s brow cleared as if by magic. She crossed to his side and tucked a hand through his arm whilst bestowing a dazzling smile upon him.
‘My dear one – of course I love you. How can you doubt it? And if I were rich – or you were – why, there could be no question! But as things are … well, it isn’t as though you could possibly marry me yourself, is it?’ she asked reasonably.
‘Isn’t it?’ There was a faintly disquieting note in his voice but his face was unreadable. ‘And what if I were to ask you – now? If I offered you hand, heart and name, would you give up your fine plans to be with me?’
She sighed wistfully and shook her head.
‘Dearest, if only I could – but it isn’t possible. You must see that. One can’t live on air – and we both have expensive tastes. I like beautiful things and you – well, it can’t be denied that you like the card table. So there you have it. I need a rich husband - and you, my sweet, should get a wealthy wife.’
Without warning, he freed himself from her and dropped into a chair, his expression openly sardonic.
‘I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not … money more?’ he quipped. ‘If I had a fortune you’d love me forever - but since I don’t, I’m a luxury you can’t afford. Is that it?’
A shadow of annoyance crossed the lovely face and the equally lovely shoulders shrugged elegantly.
‘One must be practical. And provided we are careful, it need make little difference to us – unless you are determined to be difficult?’
‘Difficult, my beautiful one? I? But do go on. Exactly how is your marriage to make no difference?’
Sarah eyed him with irritable misgiving. There were times when Alex was as provoking as he was attractive; times when she half-regretted that she was not yet ready to dispense with his extremely satisfying attentions. She summoned the aid of her most seductive smile.
‘Surely you don’t need to ask? As long as we are … discreet … there’s no reason why you shouldn’t visit me from time to time,’ she explained delicately.
He did not speak for a moment and his face remained impassive.
Then, with something akin to interest, he asked, ‘Are you serious?’
‘Of course. Why not? It’s the perfect solution.’
‘You don’t think it’s a bit like eating your cake and having it?’
She laughed. ‘And if it is? I never saw anything wrong with that. All one needs is a little ingenuity.’
‘So it would seem.’
She looked searchingly at him in sudden doubt but before she could speak he went on, pleasantly contemptuous, ‘So. I don’t qualify as a husband but you’re willing to retain me as your lover; and Marsden, having no appeal for you apart from his money, is to be given horns. It’s a charming notion, my dear, and no doubt I should be flattered – but unfortunately, I’m not. In fact, the only certainty it arouses in me is the knowledge that you are a bigger whore than I thought. Not that I’ve anything against whores – quite the opposite! But, as a general rule, I prefer them honest.’
Eyes snapping with fury, Sarah leapt up stamping her foot.
‘How dare you! How dare you speak so to me!’
Alex looked her up and down, his face rather pale.
‘It’s not very difficult. My only surprise is that you duped me so thoroughly before – for I never really knew you, did I, Sarah? I never guessed what a selfish little bitch you really are.’
She controlled herself with a visible effort.
‘You’re just jealous. No one speaks to me that way, Alex. And by tomorrow, you’ll sorry for what you’ve said and be back here on your knees, apologising.’
His brows rose. ‘I wouldn’t bet on it, if I were you.’
‘You forget how well I know you. And you were quite content to be my lover before – so why not after? Why cut off your nose to spite your face? It isn’t as though Graham Marsden is a friend of yours, is it?’
He gave an odd little laugh. ‘You’re missing the point. Firstly, I find the thought of cuckolding anyone – friend or no – singularly repellent. And secondly, I expect you, if you love me at all, to love me exclusively and irrespective of material considerations. If I ask too much … let us kiss and part.’
Swallowing an angry sob, Lady Sarah said petulantly, ‘You are unreasonable! I thought you loved me!’
Quite without haste, Alex rose and, taking her hand, raised it to his lips.
‘Did you, my sweet?’ he asked dryly. ‘So did I.’
And turned and left.
~ * * * ~
TWO
The Acorn tavern was hot, noisy and crowded, but Mr Deveril seemed oblivious to its warm, cheery chatter. Pushing his way carelessly to the counter, he demanded a bottle of eau-de-vie and, when it came poured a glass and downed it in one.
‘Alex! Where have you been? We’ve been waiting for you.’
With unnec
essary force, Alex dislodged the hand clasping his shoulder and swung to face its owner.
‘Have you? Why? You must have other friends.’
His colour rising, Daniel Fawsley met the unpleasant blue gaze squarely.
‘We have,’ he replied tersely.
‘Then go and join them. You and Giles ought to be able to manage without me for one night. And I,’ announced Alex conversationally, ‘intend to get extremely drunk. Preferably, in blissful solitude.’
For a second Danny scrutinized him, his lips pressed tightly together. Then, ‘Hallelujah,’ he said, turning on his heel and walking away.
Throwing himself back into his chair, he stared at Giles Beckwith with unaccustomed gloom and, lifting his tankard, drained it before he spoke.
‘Next time,’ he said feelingly, ‘you go. He says he’s going to get drunk – which, if you ask me, will be a public service.’
‘Ah.’ Giles rested his fingers together and surveyed the shadowy corner where Alex sat alone with his bottle. ‘Then I think he would be better doing so at home. If he’s in one of his moods, he’ll look for someone to offend. And everyone doesn’t know him as we do.’
‘Oh Lord!’ Danny grimaced. ‘You’re not suggesting we try to get him home by force, are you?’
‘No. I’m not. It may have escaped your notice, but I am wearing my best coat.’
Danny raised one quizzical brow. It amused Giles to pose as a fop, but to Danny’s certain knowledge he was the only man who stood any chance of wrestling Mr Deveril and winning.
‘What I am suggesting,’ continued Giles placidly, ‘is that one of us should go for Matt.’
Danny leaned back and folded his arms.
‘What you’re suggesting is that I go for Matt.’
Giles smiled. ‘Unless you’d rather stay here and keep Alex out of trouble?’
‘Well I wouldn’t!’
‘No. I didn’t think you would.’
Danny was justifiably indignant. ‘Damn it, Giles – you know what he’s like. How many times has he made you want to hit him just by the way he looks at you?’
His friend laughed. ‘It’s a bit extreme perhaps – but I take your point.’ He paused as Danny got up. ‘So be a good fellow and make it quick, will you?’
When Danny left the tavern, Alexander Deveril was broaching his fourth shot of brandy. He leaned back, chin on chest, legs stretched out and ankles crossed. One hand was plunged deep in his pocket while the fingers of the other were loosely curled about the goblet. There was nothing in his attitude that spoke of danger and to the casual observer he merely appeared to have left sobriety behind him and be verging on sleep.
Mr Beckwith was not deceived. They had grown up together – in France and in many army camps and battlefields since then – and though the indulgence in drink was a fairly recent innovation, the wild moods were not. In recent years, when anything had really hurt him, Alex had developed a talent for finding and making the most unforgivable remark. With a faint sigh, Giles crossed the room to stand looking down at him from the other side of the table.
Alex did not move but the lowered lids lifted and the light, compelling gaze fell full on the other man.
‘Oh hell,’ he said. ‘Enter Sir Righteous, full of good intentions and dressed to kill. Danny-boy called up reinforcements.’
Giles sat down. ‘Do you want to talk?’
‘Why? Are you lonely?’
‘I was referring,’ said Giles patiently, ‘to whatever has occurred in the last four hours to induce this epic fit of sulks.’
Alex drained his goblet, filled it and drained it again.
‘If you enjoy catechisms and confessions,’ he said at length, ‘you should enter the priesthood. Alternatively, go and find somebody else to mother. I don’t need you.’
‘A fact for which I’m duly grateful,’ retorted Giles, signalling for the potboy to bring him more ale. The low-ceilinged room was hazy with pipe-smoke and the blast of icy air that came in with a small party of finely-dressed gentlemen was refreshingly welcome. He glanced back at Alex and noted that his cheeks held a betraying flush and that the bottle was more than half empty.
‘Do you suppose that one bottle will be enough?’ he asked casually. ‘Or is this the beginning of a crapulous week?’
‘For Christ’s sake!’ The pewter vessel cracked down on the table. ‘Haven’t you anything better to do? You are neither my brother nor my keeper and my moods and habits are not your business. So stick with Danny who has no nasty vices to offend you or go home to your embroidery – but leave me alone!’
The flush that sprang to Giles’ cheeks had nothing to do with drink.
‘My pleasure, I assure you. I doubt you’ll find you can drown your inadequacies in eau-de-vie – but if there’s any chance it will take the edge off your bitching tongue, I’ll buy you an anker.’ And he walked away before the infuriating boredom in Alex’s face drove him to violence.
Alex watched him go and then, delicately, he began to sing.
His serenade passed unnoticed. The trio of latecomers, having progressed by degrees from mannerly tipsiness, were fast approaching a state of cupshot roistering. Glasses were raised to the King, to each other, to a speedy return to London and to their respective ladies. At this last, a large gentleman, splendidly attired and equipped with swarthy good looks but marked by the ironic finger of Fate in a manner not instantly obvious, rose swimmingly to his feet.
‘To Sawah,’ he pronounced. ‘May she soon be wedded, bedded and bored.’
The younger of his companions frowned as he grappled with what he considered a vital point.
‘Can’t say that,’ he objected. ‘She ain’t exactly a bawd, old fellow.’ He thought about it. ‘Ain’t exactly a rose of virtue neither – merry widow and all that. But you can’t call her a bawd.’
‘I don’t know why you don’t give it up, Gresh,’ said the other man. ‘Every time you visit her it costs you a fortune.’
The swarthy gallant waved a dismissive hand and subsided into his chair.
‘I can afford it. Gave her a sapphire pin only this morning and last week it was a pearl necklet. Twuth is that she’d not mawy Marsden if I were fwee.’
‘Roses out-red their lips and cheeks
Lilies their whiteness stain
What fool is he that shadows seeks
Who might the substance gain?’
sang Alex Deveril softly, his gaze fixed reflectively on a point some two feet above the swarthy gentleman’s head.
Gloom, meanwhile, had settled on the third member of the trio.
‘Damn war,’ he groaned. ‘Damn plague, too. Between the two of ‘em, my profit’s down by half this last year. Don’t know how you manage it, Gresh. You’re the only one who ain’t suffering.’
Lord George Gresham gave an immense hiccup that rocked the table.
‘I have good contacts and good information, Wobert. And a first-class Captain.’
‘Hm! Well, if we don’t beat the Dutch soon, I’ll be a ruined man. Can’t understand it. In Cromwell’s day our Navy was the best there was – and now look at it. All to pieces!’
‘The pwoblem,’ said Gresham derisively, ‘is that it’s being wun by Sandwich, who is a wogue and Wupert, who is a fool.’
Confused, the quiet young man looked hard at him.
‘Woo who?’
‘Wupert!’ repeated Gresham, irritated. ‘Wupert of the Whine. A man, Fwedewick, only fit to be a widing master.’
Robert nodded, but Frederick remained unconvinced.
‘Can’t say that,’ he recited. ‘He’s supposed to be pretty good with a sword too.’
Robert stared at him pityingly.
‘What good’s that? You can’t lead the fleet like a cavalry charge. He needs strategy.’
Gresham snorted. ‘Stwategy? Shouldn’t think Wu – that His Highness knows what it means. Look at how he lost the war with Cwomwell! Spent his time wushing about on fool’s ewands – he and those young
idiots who followed him calling themselves cavalwy. And wemember Bwistol? He suwendered it against the King’s expwess orders. Why, the fellow’s not even bwave! And now --’
He stopped abruptly as a hand closed like a vice on his shoulder and, jerking his head round, found himself impaled on a piercing, blue gaze.
‘Good evening, my lord,’ said Alex, his tone pleasant but his smile markedly less so. ‘You talk too much.’
Gresham spluttered. ‘Damn it, sir – who the hell do you think you are?’
‘Merely one of the ‘young idiots calling themselves cavalry’.’
His lordship’s face became rather red.
‘Weally?’ he asked, with what should have been freezing dignity.
‘Weally,’ echoed Alex unkindly.
Lord Gresham turned from red to puce.
‘You’re dwunk,’ he said furiously. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing.’
‘I’m drunk,’ agreed Alex, ‘but as for the rest – we’ll see.’ He crooked his fingers round one red velvet lapel and drew Gresham easily to his feet. ‘A not-particularly wild guess would suggest that while Prince Rupert was fighting for his King, you were sitting safe by your hearth; that later on you were quick to ingratiate yourself with your snuffling Puritan masters and that five years ago you performed the same volte-face in favour of Charles Stuart. And you … you are the snivelling little runt who calls Rupert a coward?’
His lordship closed his mouth and raised an arm only have it fall useless to his side from a swift, hard chop to the wrist. Then his collar was seized in strong, fine-boned fingers and savagely twisted.
‘If you are sensible,’ said the playful voice, ‘you will admit yourself mistaken about His Highness and then drink his health. You and your friends.’
‘A-and if I don’t?’
Dark brows rose over eyes filed with malicious invitation. ‘Do you really want to find out?’
‘I say!’ bleated Frederick with an attempt at bravery. ‘You can’t really --’
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