Parfit Knight

by Riley, Stella

  Amberley folded his arms and raised one quizzical brow. ‘And what’s your opinion?’

  ‘That he is right, my lord.’

  ‘I see. So we’re snowbound and I’m stuck here indefinitely. Doesn’t that worry you, Lawson?’

  Lawson’s stolidity did not waver by so much as a hair’s breadth. ‘No, my lord.’

  ‘Then it should.’ His lordship abandoned subtlety and faced the butler with a hint of grimness. ‘In the absence of her brother, it is up to you to protect both Mistress Vernon’s good name and her peace of mind. For aught you know to the contrary, I might be capable of either rape or seduction.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘Devil take it, man – is that all you can say?’

  A dry smile touched Lawson’s mouth. ‘No, my lord. It is not. Have I your lordship’s permission to be quite frank?’

  ‘Please do,’ invited the Marquis sardonically. ‘I should be glad of it.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord.’ He bowed. ‘The case is quite simple, sir. If I believed you in any way likely to cause distress to Mistress Rosalind, I should naturally contrive your speedy departure – no matter what the weather. As it is, I’m satisfied that your lordship’s honour is to be relied upon.’

  His lordship bowed ironically. ‘I thank you.’

  ‘No need for that, sir,’ demurred Lawson politely. ‘Allow me to inform you that - should you give me reason to revise my opinion - I shall have no compunction in ejecting you from the premises forthwith. Even, if necessary, by force.’

  Amberley grinned suddenly. ‘Oh – you think you could, do you?’

  ‘Yes, my lord. Though not, perhaps, without calling up reinforcements.’

  ‘Allow me to tell you that there’s no perhaps about it!’ retorted the Marquis, amused. ‘Very well. I’ll admit that your mistress is safe with me but the mere fact of my presence here is enough to compromise her – and I’ve no mind to it.’

  ‘My lord, what is not known can do no harm. That which keeps you here will keep others away and there is no one in this house who will gossip. We are all too much devoted to Mistress Rosalind’s interests.’ Lawson hesitated as though debating the wisdom of his next words and then said carefully, ‘And in truth, sir, I would be pleased to see you stay.’

  ‘Would you indeed!’ The Marquis was somewhat startled. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I like to hear Miss Rose laugh,’ replied the butler simply, ‘and, prior to your arrival here, I’d forgotten how rarely she does so. Not,’ he added quickly, ‘that she’s ever anything but cheerful, you understand – far from it. But seeing her last night I suddenly realised that for all her smiles and teasing, there has been something missing.’

  ‘And you think that I can supply it?’ asked Amberley sceptically.

  ‘My lord, I know you can for I’ve seen you do it.’

  The elegant shoulders lifted in a tiny, careless shrug. ‘What you’ve seen is no more than simple companionship.’

  Lawson permitted himself a small smile. ‘Yes, my lord. Just so.’ For a moment he looked steadily into the light, frowning gaze and then made a slight bow.

  ‘Good morning, my lord,’ said Rosalind from the curve of the stair. ‘You are very early. I had expected to be before you.’

  The Marquis flashed a quizzical glance at Lawson, then turned to confront a vision in cornflower quilted taffeta. Framing creamy skin, against which lay one long, glossy ringlet, the gown’s deep, square neckline was trimmed with tiny seed-pearls and its wide skirt was looped back to reveal a grey satin petticoat; lace foamed at her elbows, more pearls encircled her slender throat … and the glow in her eyes was breathtaking. For a second, Amberley was stunned afresh by how beautiful she was … and then he smiled because it wasn’t possible to do anything else.

  ‘Shall I apologise?’ he asked, strolling across the hall and taking the hand she offered him. ‘Or shall I simply plead the excuse of inspecting the weather?’

  She shook her head. ‘Neither. Just tell me if it’s true that the snow has covered the steps.’

  ‘Quite true.’

  ‘So the road may well be blocked?’

  ‘That is a distinct possibility,’ responded his lordship unhelpfully.

  ‘And a journey out of the question?’

  ‘A long one, certainly.’

  ‘A short one too, I should think.’

  ‘That, Mistress Vernon would depend on the skill of the driver.’

  The dimple quivered and was gone. ‘You are trying to provoke me, sir.’

  ‘I, Madam?’ Somewhere in the affronted tone was a hint of the mischief dancing in his eyes. ‘Surely not!’

  ‘And now,’ she said sternly, ‘you are laughing and that is worse.’

  ‘You malign me.’

  ‘Do I? Really?’ The violet eyes gleamed a challenge. ‘It that’s so, then no doubt you’ll be happy to prove it?’

  The Marquis swept a flourishing bow and laid one hand over his heart.

  ‘In any way you choose,’ he announced dramatically. ‘You have but to name it.’

  ‘Then I shall do so. It is a very small thing,’ she said in a dulcet tone. ‘You may tell me – without further prevarication – whether you consider it safe to travel at all today.’

  ‘Eh bien.’ He shrugged resignedly. ‘No, Mistress Vernon. I do not consider it safe to travel today.’

  She was suddenly radiant. ‘Then you’ll stay?’

  His lordship bowed over her hand and raised it to his lips.

  ‘Please. If I may?’

  *

  During the course of the morning Rosalind made three attempts to lure the Marquis into disclosing the nature of his acquaintance with her brother. The first two he skilfully evaded and the third he met with open amusement.

  ‘Not again, Mistress Persistence! Why does it fascinate you so?’

  ‘Because you won’t tell me,’ came the truthful reply. ‘And if you aren’t going to explain, you shouldn’t have laughed like that.’

  He grinned. ‘That is indisputably true. Very well – but I’ll wager that you will be disappointed. I have met your brother just once and that was last Wednesday. The encounter wasn’t what you might call fortuitous and I rather suspect that Lord Philip may have taken a dislike to me.’

  Rosalind folded her hands and thought for a moment.

  ‘You mean that Phil’s particular demon prompted him to jump to conclusions – and yours prompted you to let him?’

  His lordship gave a choke of startled laughter.

  ‘Very shrewd! Though I feel it’s only fair to say that the circumstances rather conspired against us.’

  ‘And what do you think Philip would say?’

  The Marquis collapsed neatly into a chair. ‘That I’m an adventurer in search of a fortune. He thinks … ‘

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘That I’m more than half-way to the debtor’s ward at Newgate,’ he finished flippantly.

  ‘My goodness. And why would he think that?’ asked Rosalind, seizing an apparent advantage.

  ‘Oh no, my dear. It’s nice try but you’ll draw no more from me,’ he said pleasantly. ‘The rest of the story is neither mine nor Lord Philip’s and I’ve no taste for idle gossip. Instead, you may tell me if you are acquainted with Mistress Dacre and her family.’

  Rosalind gave a tiny sigh and capitulated with a good grace.

  ‘No. She’s never been here and I, of course, have never been to London. I had hoped that Philip would bring her with him when he came at Christmas – but I suppose it wouldn’t have been proper. And, as things turned out, it would probably have been more bother than it was worth because he was only able to stay three days himself.’

  The grey-green eyes narrowed and grew suddenly hard but Amberley’s voice remained levelly conversational as he said, ‘Do I detect an element of doubt over this betrothal?’

  ‘Just a little,’ she admitted. ‘You see, it was arranged between Viscount Linton and my uncle and I don’t t
hink Philip really knows Mistress Isabel very well. I daresay it’s foolish of me but I’d have preferred him to make a … a less bloodless alliance; and the very nature of this one makes me wonder if Isabel isn’t bloodless too. All Philip will say is that she’s quietly-behaved and pretty – which could mean practically anything.’

  Lord Amberley kept to himself the inevitable reflection that, since Lord Linton’s finances were well-known to be at a perpetually low ebb, his daughter might conceivably believe it her duty to accept any offer from a respectably wealthy quarter. It was unlikely, he thought wryly, that Rosalind would find this information comforting and he could scarcely ask outright if Philip was rich enough to qualify. He said mildly, ‘I appreciate your misgivings but such marriages are the custom, you know.’

  ‘That’s all very well,’ she objected, ‘but would you do it?’

  His lordship smiled and yielded to temptation. ‘How do you know that I haven’t?’

  The violet eyes widened. ‘I don’t. I must say that it never occurred to me. Have you?’

  ‘Have I what? Made a marriage of convenience – or any marriage at all?’

  ‘Both.’

  He laughed. ‘No. And the truth is that Lord Philip’s way would not be mine.’

  ‘Nor mine either,’ she replied thoughtfully. ‘Not, of course, that it’s at all likely to be asked of me.’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Amberley, his manner deceptively casual. ‘Or will your brother permit you to make your own choice?’

  Rosalind looked faintly surprised. ‘Well, I daresay he would but – since it’s doubtful that the matter will ever arise – we’ve never spoken of it.’ She paused and then went on with dry reproof, ‘You can’t have considered, sir. Away from this house I should have to be constantly accompanied and watched – a thing which I should dislike quite as much as the person whose duty it was. That makes me something of a liability and I can’t imagine any man in full possession of his faculties desiring such a poor bargain. As for the remote possibility of some gallant gentleman becoming so besotted that he’d be willing to put up with the inconvenience – I’m unlikely ever to meet him.’

  The stark truth of this succinct and dispassionately-stated evaluation seemed unanswerable and for a moment the Marquis stared silently across as her, his mouth grim. Finally, he said curtly, ‘Have you never been away from here?’

  ‘Not since … ‘ She stopped abruptly and began again. ‘Not for a long time. After Papa died, we lived at my uncle’s home in Surrey for a while to make it easier for Mama to accustom herself.’ She paused and when she spoke again her voice held a hint of strain. ‘That was when I was nine. The year the portrait was painted.’

  Amberley raised his eyes to encompass the vital, glowing face in the frame and made a sudden discovery – a discovery so mind-blowingly obvious that he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t seen it straight away. The child in the picture could see.

  He looked sharply back at Rosalind and said lightly, ‘And then you came back here?’

  ‘Yes.’ The word was curiously flat.

  But by then you were blind. He knew as surely as if he’d been told. What he didn’t know was how it had happened; but that must wait, for she was clearly not ready to talk of it yet – and might never be. He said gently, ‘And your mother?’

  Rosalind’s hands lay tightly gripped in her lap but her voice was still perfectly controlled. ‘She died when I was sixteen. Philip was twenty and already in the army so Uncle George continued to administer the land and I took over the running of the house. That was six years ago.’ She managed a tight little smile. ‘And from that quite unnecessary piece of information, you’ll have gathered that I’m all of twenty-two years old.’

  The effort behind that smile brought an unfamiliar ache to his lordship’s throat and, for a moment, the urge to take her hands was almost overwhelming. What held him back was the knowledge that, to her, this emotion he could not quite identify would appear to be the thing she most dreaded – pity; and he had no right to break the rigidly maintained composure which was her only defence. Consequently, because there seemed to be nothing else left, he took refuge in levity.

  ‘Before you go any further,’ he said, ‘I feel that it is in my own interests to point out that I am all of four-and thirty. And I absolutely refuse to be classed as a dotard!’

  The tension vanished as if by magic.

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ she assured him. And then, comfortingly, ‘Besides – you must be very well-preserved for your age because Nurse only put you at turned thirty. And no one could accuse her of flattery.’

  The grey-green eyes dwelt on her appreciatively.

  ‘No – nor you either. But don’t stop there. I feel sure there’s more.’

  ‘No. Truly there isn’t. I didn’t ask, you see.’

  The Marquis winced. ‘Well, I asked for that one, didn’t I?’

  This produced a ripple of laughter. ‘I’m sorry. It wasn’t intended as a snub. I merely meant that it didn’t seem important.’

  ‘Worse and worse!’

  ‘Oh you’re impossible!’ Her attempt at severity was a hopeless failure and she turned away in desperation. ‘I don’t need to ask. You’d probably be astounded by how much I know without it.’

  ‘Go on then,’ he invited cordially. ‘Astound me.’

  ‘I will.’ Rosalind tilted her head pensively and began a brisk and faintly teasing appraisal. ‘You have a good voice. It’s light and crisp and it – it laughs. And it’s distinctive; I’d know it anywhere. Your hands are cool and you have long fingers. At a guess, I’d say they’re a good deal stronger than they look. You are quite tall but not heavily built because you move too quietly. Except, of course, when you cross the hall flag-stones in heeled shoes,’ she added wickedly. ‘Am I right so far?’

  A curious smile lurked in Amberley’s eyes but he said merely, ‘Quite right. Is there more?’

  ‘A little. Since your voice is rarely serious, I imagine your eyes are probably the same. You don’t use paint – if you did, I’d be able to smell it; but something about you carries a mild scent of ambergris … I should think it’s your handkerchief. You like wearing velvet and choose the best quality – which is also true of the lace at your wrists – and if you wear any rings, they must be on your left hand.’ She paused for a moment, thinking, and then added triumphantly, ‘Oh yes – I nearly forgot. You wear your own hair without powder.’

  There was a long pause and then, ‘You’re sure it’s not a wig?’

  ‘Positive.’ She sent him a slanting, provocative smile. ‘Well? Are you impressed?’

  ‘Impressed – and terrified,’ was the laughing reply. ‘I had no idea that you were a cross between a bloodhound and – and a ferret.’

  Rosalind choked. ‘You say the nicest things to me.’

  ‘Don’t I though?’ He paused meditatively. ‘I feel like a Chinese puzzle in urgent need of re-assembly … and I hardly dare move for fear of what you’ll deduce next. Not that there seems to be anything left.’

  ‘Oh there is – quite a lot, really. I haven’t a clue about your colouring or the cast of your features. And, of course, I don’t know if you’re considered handsome or not. But I don’t suppose you’ll tell me that, will you?’

  Amberley gave a tiny gasp and his shoulders began to shake. He said, ‘Not a chance! I’ll tell you that my hair is fair and my eyes a sort of grey. But beyond that … beyond that, you’ll just have to ask Nurse!’

  ~ * * * ~

  FIVE

  All that day and far into the next the snow continued to fall, whirling down from a leaden sky in large, soft flakes until the manor was marooned in a silent and deserted wilderness of white. Hour by hour, the outside world receded further into the realm of things forgotten and unregretted while time itself seemed to hang motionless in the frosty air; and the Marquis, strangely content to let it be so, spoke no more of departure.

  Indeed, for him as much as for Rosalind, the da
ys of effortless conversation and small, shared pleasures were of the stuff that fills the golden treasure house of memory; but while his lordship unconsciously recognised their implicit transience, Rosalind lived only for the moment and gave no thought for the morrow.

  Experiencing for the first time a companionship in which her blindness existed only as a minor obstacle to be largely ignored and occasionally overcome, she developed an almost dizzying sense of freedom. But after twelve years of captivity, release can be a frightening thing and courage is as easily forgotten as lost; so there were times when, with the best will in the world, she found herself imprisoned by her own doubts – or would have done so had she been left alone.

  But it seemed that the Marquis, having turned the key, had no mind to leave the door closed and Rosalind’s regretful, ‘I can’t’, invariably met with a coolly challenging, ‘Why not?’ that effectively turned acquiescence into the line of least resistance.

  The first major instance occurred when the snow finally stopped. His lordship discerned a few pale rays of wintry sunshine, saw that a team of grooms and gardeners were busily clearing paths around the house and calmly announced that it was high time Mistress Vernon went out for some air.

  Not unnaturally, Mistress Vernon, for whom present conditions made every step a hazard, responded with an instinctive denial; Amberley demanded reasons and, when she reluctantly provided them, proceeded to demolish them by means of laughter and wilful incomprehension. Ten minutes later they were outside.

  And with his lordship’s arm to guide her, Rosalind made the intoxicating discovery that it was not hazardous at all – merely exhilarating; that, amazingly enough, it was possible not only to walk with him but alone; that by listening to the sound of his voice she could indulge in the childish pastime of snowballing and even – on one intoxicating occasion – hit him. They were outside for over an hour, at the end of which it was Amberley who insisted that they return to the house and Rosalind who did not want to go.