“I hate that man Farrow; not only because of what he tried to do to Aunt Nan, but because he is capable of the filthiest trickery. A woman in the village committed suicide last year, and … but you won’t want to hear about that. The truth of the matter is that Sir John knows no one else wants to buy the Hall, and that I must sell. He offered me a fair enough price at first, but he has dropped his price every time we discuss the matter, until it looks as if I shall be several hundred guineas out of pocket when I do get him to the point of signing. I don’t mind so much for myself, but I did want to leave Aunt Nan and Sophia with something when I go.”
“What is he offering at the moment?” Jasper told him. “I can double that, if you will sell to me.”
The boy flushed. “I was not begging.”
“I know you were not. It happens I have been looking for a place in this part of the country. You may ask Mr. Denbigh if that is not true. The Manor is hardly habitable, and I do not like its situation. The Hall would suit me very well.”
“I could not take advantage of your generosity,” began Jasper, only to be interrupted. The women had sent servants to clear the tables from the hall, in preparation for dancing. Chairs were moved to the sides, and the company staggered to its feet.
“Up and at ’em!” cried Sir John, being assisted to his feet by two equally drunken companions.
Jasper remembered his duties as host and hurried away. A group of musicians arrived and began to tune their instruments. Mr. Denbigh was happily arguing with a gentleman in a snuff-colored suit; his wig was awry and his face flushed.
Sir John caught Philip’s arm, and held on to it in order to keep himself upright.
“Straordinary likeness,” he said, squinting at Philip. “I know the Earl your kinsman well, you know. Poor relation, aren’t you? Born on wrong side of the blanket?” His two friends, standing close by, sniggered.
“No more than you were,” said Philip. He knew it was indiscreet of him to antagonize Sir John, but the words were out before he had time to think.
“Huh?” Sir John’s cheeks became purple as he registered the insult. “You impudent young … What do you mean by insulting your betters? I’ll thrash you till you …” One of his cronies whispered something in his ear about Miss Sophia. “What? Yes, there’s that, too. You keep out of Miss Sophia’s way, d’ye hear me? Seen you looking at her. Don’t care for it.”
“A cat may look at a queen.”
“Not while the King’s aroun’!” Sir John’s cronies fell about with laughter at this witticism. Gradually Sir John’s own face creased with mirth. He slapped his thigh, repeating the words. Philip walked away, lest he strike the man. Curious glances were being cast at him, but he ignored them. The reputation he had earned since his arrival would have made him a popular focus of attention, even among those who half believed that he was in league with the devil, but his manner forbade familiarity.
Miss Nan had ushered the women back into the hall, and was now seated between Mr. Denbigh and Mr. Carramine. The older women sat in clusters, the false curls on their foreheads nodding as they gossiped. The young men were making a lot of noise around Jasper, and the girls stood or sat by their mothers, waiting for the music to begin.
Sophia and Marjorie Bladen were in the group around Jasper. Sophia disengaged herself and glided across the room to Sir John. Philip was close enough to hear her ask him to partner her in the minuet which was to open the dancing. There was cream in her voice, and her manner was so uncharacteristically meek that a smile pulled at the corner of Philip’s mouth. Was this exhibition of maidenly manners put on for his benefit?
“My brother wants to dance the minuet with Marjorie, but she is too shy to go on the floor alone with him, and no one else is familiar with the steps. You will come, won’t you? To please me?” Her smile was sweetness itself. She had no word or glance for Philip, though she must have known he was nearby.
Sir John belched. “I’m not going to ape the French in those damned Court dances of yours. Get someone else to make a spectacle of himself with you, or better still, let’s go straight on to the good old English country dances—‘Strip the Willow,’ ‘Roger de Coverley’; I’ll partner you in those.”
Philip could see Sophia’s smile fade. Jasper and Marjorie were standing hand in hand in the middle of the floor, waiting for her. Philip did not blame the young couple for not wishing to open the dancing by themselves. Here and there, and especially at the public subscription balls in Bath, it was de rigueur for a couple to open the evening’s dancing together while everyone else looked on and criticized their performance. He had done it several times himself, and he knew what an ordeal it could be.
Two steps, and he was at Sophia’s side, bowing. “May I solicit the honor, Miss Tarrant?” She shrank back. He smiled down at her, ignoring Sir John’s grunt of rage. “Your brother and Miss Marjorie are waiting. See, everyone is looking at us.”
Her hand was cold in his, but rather than allow an ugly situation to develop into a brawl, she allowed Philip to lead her onto the floor.
“This will cause trouble,” she said, low down. Jasper signed to the musicians to start playing.
“You should not have avoided me,” he replied. “If I have to force an opportunity to speak to you. …”
“I shall miss my step. I know I shall. I have never danced the minuet in public before.” She faltered, he whispered a word of instruction, and she followed it. She was as graceful as a swan, the long curl over her bosom swinging as she pointed her toe this way and that, passed under his arm, around him, and curtseyed. He did not speak again. It was rare to have a partner who moved as one with him, her body an extension of his. It was extremely satisfying. He was sorry when the msuic stopped.
Jasper and Marjorie were flushed and laughing, each accusing the other of having forgotten the sequence of steps. Philip found he was still holding Sophia’s hand. She was looking at him without animosity, with a question in her eyes. … Sir John’s bulky figure interposed between them. He was holding a glass, half-full of wine. Did he intend to throw the contents of the glass in Philip’s face? No sooner had the possibility crossed Philip’s mind than Sophia acted, claiming Sir John as a partner in a country dance, and urging Marjorie to partner Philip. The Earl had to acknowledge that she had managed things adroitly. Marjorie was smiling up at him, confident of her welcome. He led her into the set which Jasper was arranging, and the music struck up again. Marjorie did not dance as gracefully as Sophia, but bounced around more or less in time with the music. He did not care. He had a fondess for her because she was courageous enough to show that she liked Jasper in the face of her father’s disapproval. It amused Philip to pay her compliments, to make her laugh, and to know that everyone was watching them … and watching Sophia. Poor Sophia! She had got her man on the floor, without his wineglass, but he was too far gone in drink to partner her properly. He slipped and fell amid laughter, not all of which was kindly. He was perspiring freely. Someone shouted to take care, as Sir John had turned a bad color. At once a space was cleared around him. “Quick! He’ll cast up his accounts on the floor!” “Take him out!” Mr. Carramine and Sophia bundled Sir John out of the room. The dance ended almost at once, and Philip slipped out after them. They had gone in the direction of the bedrooms, and he went that way, too. The staircase and landing were ill-lit. He heard footsteps, and slipped into the first bedroom. With his eyes to a crack in the door, he saw the bottle-green coat of Mr. Carramine pass by, returning to the ground floor.
On the landing once more, he heard Sophia ministering to Sir John, over unmistakable retching sounds. They were in the bedroom which the Earl had occupied during his stay at the Hall. Sophia came out of the room, saying that she would fetch Sir John a clean shirt, and that he might take a nap if he wished. She went across the landing into the room in which her brother slept. Philip went quietly along the landing behind her. He pulled the door shut of the room in which Sir John was recovering, and followed Sophia int
o her brother’s room. She was bending over a chest, searching for a shirt. He closed the door behind him, and leaned against it. She had brought a candle with her, and its flame fluttered in the draft as he closed the door. She turned sharply, and her hand went to her side.
“This is not wise,” she said.
“No one knows I am here. I closed the door of the room he is in.” She turned back to her search. “Sophia, you cannot mean to marry that caricature of a man?”
“What other course is open to me? Who else would be willing to pay our debts?”
“Why should you be sacrificed to pay your father’s debts? Surely you can find some other man willing to take you, even without a dowry?”
“I am a Tarrant, and I must keep faith with my family. Generation after generation, the Tarrant men go to the wars, while the women look after the land. I love this place, and I’ve no wish to leave it. By marrying Sir John, I help my brother, provide my aunt with a home, and remain mistress of Tarrant Hall. With God’s blessing, I shall one day have children to care for …”
“I have a child,” he said, “He is ten years of age, but not strong.”
“Your wife—?”
“… is dead.”
“But you are marrying someone—?”
“My uncle is arranging a good match for me. If only you …”
“… had had a dowry, or been born into some influential family? I understand you very well, I believe.” She showed her teeth. “I must go. They will be looking for me.”
He continued to block the door. “No, don’t go. Sophia, I love you.” He had not meant to say that. He had not even known that he did love her until the words were out, but then he saw that it was so. She gave him one quick, uncertain glance, and turned her head away. She was breathing quickly. She put her hands over her cheeks as if to smooth away their sudden brilliance.
“I love you,” he repeated. “I loved you the moment I saw you, kneeling above me in the field … your eyes, your hair, your courage … I can’t let you go.”
She clasped her hands together and set them to her lips. He held out his arms. She shook her head. He took a step towards her, and she swayed back, just out of reach. Her eyes were on his face now, but there was some shift of thought mirrored in her expression which he did not understand.
“Feeling as I do about you, how can I let you go without having made an arrangement to see you again? I will be in Hanover this summer, but we could meet when I return. Oh, it is true that I must marry someone else, but that should not—must not—be allowed to interfere with what I feel for you. If you decide against marrying Sir John, I am sure that some complaisant gentleman of mature years can be found who would be willing to go through the ceremony of marriage with you for a consideration … these things can always be arranged.” His mind ranged over the possibilities; his retired steward was too old, but his lawyer had an elder brother who might be suitable. “You must arrange to visit Lady Midmain this summer. I will write to you there. Once you are married, I would make you an allowance, find you a house and servants, a carriage. I would be able to visit you several times a week, and …”
She made some sound from behind the shelter of her hands which he could not interpret. Turning her back, she walked to the window. He followed her, and put his hands on her shoulders. “Or, if you do decide to marry Sir John, I am sure you could so work on him that he would take you to London for the Season. Being an old man, he could not possibly object if his wife were to solace herself—discreetly—in the arms of another man …”
Again came that smothered sound. It was laughter, dry and cruel. She laughed until tears came, and still she shook with laughter. His hands dropped from her shoulders as she sought for a handkerchief.
“Oh,” she cried, blowing her nose. “I suppose it is better to laugh than to be angry. Such ardor! Such passion! Oh!” And she went off into another paroxysm of laughter. Philip shivered. Of such stuff were nightmares made.
“If only you could see yourself,” she said, and giggled. “So ridiculously stiff! So businesslike!” She tittered, and shook her head at his folly. “Men are so stupid! Dear me, how Aunt Nan will laugh when I tell her … what a pity you did not get down on your knees, for I must tell you, as a connoisseur, that it improves a gentleman’s performance out of reason if he goes down on his knees to a lady. Never mind; I daresay you did very well for a beginner, and if you take lessons you might make a conquest among the kitchenmaids next year. I really would not advise you to make the attempt with a lady’s maid or a milliner; your style is not likely to recommend you to them. Oh, dear!” She dabbed at her eyes. “Now, should I tell Sir John, I wonder?”
He felt as if he would faint if he did not escape from her. He bowed, and moved towards the door.
“Oh, are you going? Perhaps to consult Mr. Denbigh, who knows exactly how to turn a compliment—?”
“Madam, I …”
“Go, then, but carry this thought with you. You despise Sir John because his manners lack polish, yet he has always treated me with respect, and I shall be honored to marry him. As for you, sir; you are no gentleman, and if you dare to show your face here again, I will have Sir John take his horsewhip to you.”
Philip fled. He clung to the newel post at the head of the stairs, and let his head drop onto his hands. He heard the swift clop of her shoes as she crossed the landing behind him, and then her voice, comforting her betrothed. His brain began to work again. The numbness passed, to be succeeded by waves of pain as he remembered how she had looked … the words she had said … how could he ever have imagined he loved such a virago? Perhaps he had deserved to be rebuked for his offer, which could be construed as an insult to a virtuous woman, only need she have laughed at him, and said—what she had said? He had to admit that he had been clumsy in his approach. He had handled a dozen such affairs before and his proposals had always been gracefully phrased, and as gracefully accepted or declined. Only, none of those affairs—with the possible exception of the little milliner who had drowned herself—had gone deep with him, as this had done.
He swore. Swearing helped to ease his pain. And damn Sophia, and damn all the Tarrants!
Rage pushed back humiliation. How dare she speak to him like that! If she had known who he really was … he would be revenged on her. He would drop his disguise, so that she should understand exactly whom it was she had insulted. More, he would buy Tarrant Hall. He had always wanted it, and the boy would not suffer, nor Miss Tarrant, for he would pay a better price than Sir John. As for Sophia, perhaps she would not be so cold to him, once she had had a taste of marriage to Sir John. Perhaps she might even regret her cruelty, seeing her home pass into the hands of a stranger. When next he visited Tarrant Hall—and he intended to do so frequently—he would call on her and …
The devil! He could wait, and in the meantime there was much to be done. He sent a passing servant for Chivers, who would be waiting below with a portmanteau containing all that was necessary to transform his master once more into a gentleman of fashion. He had told Chivers to bring his things on the off chance, but now he was glad that he had done so. Jasper appeared below. He wanted to know if Sir John were all right. The Earl beckoned him to mount the stairs.
“Jasper, my boy—a word with you?”
“The Earl is here!” The rumor seeped into the hall, no one knew how. Miss Nan looked round for Mr. Denbigh, but he had disappeared, as had Mr. Carramine. Sophia had been hovering over a somewhat deflated Sir John, but now came to sit with her aunt. Her color was high, and her manner bright. Too bright, thought Miss Tarrant.
“What did you say to him, Sophia?”
Sophia’s eyes changed direction. “I? To whom? To the Earl? Oh, I have not been privileged to meet him. It seems Jasper brought him in by the side door and took him straight to the parlor. What should we do, Aunt? The food will be quite cold by now.”
“He has eaten already. Child, I saw him follow you from the room, and he has not been back since. What d
id you say to him?”
“You mean Mr. Rich? He insulted me, and I gave him a set-down.” Miss Tarrant moaned. “Why, dearest—what is the matter? Do you feel faint?”
“It is all to come true, then. The tears, the Hall standing deserted …” She struggled to her feet, holding on to her niece’s arm, as Jasper and Mr. Carramine entered the room. Behind them came a tall, shimmering figure, clad in cloth of silver. His peruke was snowy white, as was the fall of lace at his throat. The paint and patches on his face emphasized the aquiline nature of his good looks, and his height was enhanced by diamond-buckled, red-heeled shoes. The black-clad figures of Mr. Denbigh and Chivers followed.
“The Earl of Rame!”
The Tarrant ladies advanced to meet their guest, and sank into billowing curtseys. Sophia’s eyes were on the Earl’s face, and her expression was one of incredulity. “Why, he is as magnificent as a prince, or as …” Her whisper died away.
“As Philip Rich?” said her aunt.
The Earl bent and took Miss Tarrant’s hand, raising her from the floor. “Do not look so alarmed, Miss Tarrant. I told you, I mean you no harm.”
Miss Tarrant’s hands clung to the Earl’s. “Even now, it is not too late! I beg of you leave us in peace!”
“You cannot put the clock back,” said Jasper, impatiently taking the Earl’s arm. He swung him round to face the rest of the room. “The Earl wishes you all to be introduced to him later, but first I must tell you that he is to buy Tarrant Hall from me.”
“No!” cried Sophia. The color had left her face. Her knees gave, and her head dropped. The Earl was near enough to grasp at her elbow and pull her upright. He was smiling down at her. Sophia opened her mouth to scream, and checked herself. She began to tremble. There was a tumult of voices in the hall. Her agitation passed unnoticed, except by her aunt and the Earl. She took one deep breath, and then another. She stepped away from the Earl, to her aunt’s side, moving as if she were blind.
The Tarrant Rose Page 10
