Parfit Knight

by Riley, Stella

  ‘He’s a rake and a liar – and worse,’ retorted Philip brutally. ‘Sit down!’

  The raised voices jerked Broody from his state of somnolence. He opened one eye and then the other. ‘Bugger,’ he said bitterly. ‘Bugger, bugger, bugger!’

  ‘Christ!’ Philip stormed across the room and threw a cloth over the cage. ‘I’ll kill that bloody bird one day. Rose … sit down.’

  And because her knees no longer felt very reliable, Rosalind sat.

  ‘Very well,’ she said shakily. ‘Convince me – if you can.’

  ‘Oh I can. You’ve wondered why there’s always been ill-feeling between us, haven’t you? Well, on the night I first met him, the noble Marquis was engaged in winning three thousand guineas from Robert Dacre at dice. Perhaps you don’t find that so very bad; but Robert is a callow boy in comparison to Amberley and – as his lordship was perfectly well aware – was too drunk to know what he was doing.’

  ‘It sounds as though Robert deserved what he got,’ replied Rosalind stonily. ‘Unless you’re saying the Marquis forced him to drink too much?’

  Philip made a gesture of impatience. ‘No. What I’m saying is that a gentleman with any pretensions to honour doesn’t care to win large sums of money under those kind of circumstances. Amberley should have left the table or passed his bank to another but he didn’t. He only stopped milking Robert when Rockliffe made him.’

  ‘I don’t believe that’s all there was to it. Rockliffe enjoys mischief for its own sake – and he’s Lord Amberley’s friend.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with it? And if you’re about to suggest that Amberley nobly declined to accept his winnings, you can forget it. Robert paid him with my money and I saw the returned vowels.’

  Rosalind gripped her hands together so that the knuckles glowed white.

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Isn’t it enough?’

  ‘No. Not for me. I know him better than that.’

  ‘You don’t know him at all!’ exclaimed Philip bitterly. He got up and walked restlessly across to the fireplace. Then, leaning his arms heavily on the mantel, he said, ‘Very well. I’d hoped it needn’t come to this – but it seems I’ve no choice. How much do you remember about the day of your accident?’

  The unexpectedness of it threw Rosalind off balance. ‘A – a little. Why do you ask?’

  ‘And have you ever spoken of it to Amberley?’

  ‘Yes. But I don’t understand why – ‘

  ‘You will.’ Philip’s hands dropped to his sides and he turned slowly to face her. ‘The man whose coach knocked you down that day was called Dominic Ballantyne. I don’t suppose you ever knew that … but I did. He told me his name when he sent me to fetch Uncle George and it isn’t the kind of name – or occasion – that one easily forgets.’

  ‘No,’ agreed Rosalind, dutiful but blank. ‘But I still don’t know why you’re telling me this now.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ Philip looked down at her with unutterable weariness. ‘It’s because Dominic Ballantyne and the Marquis of Amberley are one and the same.’

  Rosalind heard the words and suddenly realised that she’d known he was going to say them … but for a long time they echoed meaninglessly in the long corridor of her mind. And then, when they reached her, she dug her nails into the palms of her hands and said frozenly, ‘No. He can’t be. His name … his friends call him Nick.’

  ‘Presumably, from Dominic. My dear, it’s true and you have to face it.’

  To herself, Rosalind said, ‘Not this; not now. I can’t stand it.’ And then, aloud, ‘But he can’t know. If he knew, he’d have told me. And it doesn’t matter. The accident wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t driving, was he?’

  Philip remained silent. He stared at her white, miserable face and hated himself.

  ‘I don’t care,’ she said stubbornly. ‘It’s not important.’

  ‘Of course it’s important. It’s left you blind for twelve years.’

  ‘If it doesn’t matter to me, it need not matter to you,’ she said, her voice little more than a whisper. ‘It’s my decision, not yours. And if he asks me, I’ll marry him.’

  He dropped on one knee beside her chair and took her hands. They were cold as wax.

  ‘Rose – try to understand. His part in your accident matters – but less than the fact that he’s tried to hide it. And he must know; if you spoke to him about it, he couldn’t not! You say he will ask you to marry him … well, supposing he did? Would you ever be sure he hadn’t done so out of pity or guilt? And knowing that he had deceived you once, could you ever completely trust him? It won’t do – don’t you see? And I want something better for you than that.’

  ‘There is nothing better than that. I love him.’

  ‘Rosie, I know. And I’m so very, very sorry.’

  The violet eyes were bleak and drowning but she lifted her chin and said, ‘I won’t believe it unless he tells me so. It isn’t as you think and tomorrow you’ll find out how wrong you are – that he isn’t capable of any of it. It will be alright. All I have to do is wait.’

  ~ * * * ~

  FOURTEEN

  At just before nine on the following morning, the Marquis was about to sit down to breakfast when he was informed that Lord Philip Vernon had arrived to see him and was waiting in the library. For a long moment, Amberley said nothing but stared meditatively at his butler; and then, without any visible change in his expression, ‘Oh hell!’

  ‘My lord?’ queried Barrow, unaccustomed to this kind of reception.

  The Marquis got up.

  ‘I said “Oh hell”,’ he repeated kindly. ‘And it probably will be. There’s no need for you to return to the library – I’ll see his lordship now. And Barrow … ?’

  ‘Yes, my lord?’

  ‘I don’t wish to be disturbed unless I ring – in which case you will come yourself. Understand?’

  Barrow bowed. He had, of course, heard tales of drawing-room brawls but had never expected to receive such an order in this house. He drew a lugubrious sigh and wondered what the world was coming to.

  Lord Philip, sombre in black velvet, was standing at a window frowning down into the square but he turned as the doors opened and looked across into Amberley’s eyes. The Marquis met that stern gaze with one equally direct but expressionless and then, closing the doors behind him, walked unhurriedly towards his guest.

  ‘Good morning. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting for very long?’

  The calm courtesy of this overture made Philip suddenly aware of his perennial problems in dealing with Amberley and he reminded himself not to lose his temper.

  ‘Not at all,’ he replied curtly. ‘I imagine you know why I’m here?’

  An odd smile flickered in the grey-green eyes.

  ‘Well, no. In fact, I don’t. It is about last night, of course – but as yet I am not quite sure whether you’ve come to thank me or to … quarrel with me. But I’m forgetting my manners. Won’t you sit down?’

  ‘Thank you, no. And the answer is that it is neither – I hope. No doubt you acted with the best of intentions when you took my sister home,’ a decidedly dubious note crept in here, ‘but I should naturally have preferred it if you’d have seen fit to return her to me.’

  ‘Did you happen to see in exactly what state she arrived home?’ asked the Marquis interestedly.

  Philip stiffened. ‘I – well, no.’

  ‘I see. And I daresay you received some sort of explanation from Robert Dacre?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘An explanation which I doubt your sister confirmed.’ It was not a question.

  Philip found himself recalling in precise terms the unsatisfactory nature common to both conflicting accounts. ‘I really don’t see where this is getting us.’

  There was a pause and then Amberley shrugged.

  ‘Nowhere, perhaps. But I generally prefer fighting on solid ground. Very well – what is it you wished to say to me?’

  And Philip, who
had been up half the night rehearsing in detail what he intended to say, suddenly experienced the demoralising sensation that something was missing. He clasped his hands behind his back and said briefly, ‘I believe you planned to wait upon my sister this morning. I’ve come to save you the trouble.’

  This was several steps beyond what Amberley had been expecting and his eyes widened a little. He said slowly, ‘I don’t think I understand you. What I have to say to Mistress Vernon is – forgive me – a matter which is between her and myself and not something I propose to discuss with you. At least, not yet.’

  ‘Is it not?’ demanded his lordship. ‘It would seem the fact that Rosalind is in my care has escaped your attention.’

  ‘It certainly escaped yours last night,’ retorted Amberley dryly. ‘But perhaps you’re making up for lost time?’

  The hold that Philip had over his temper suffered a relapse.

  ‘What the devil do you mean by that?’

  ‘I mean that Robert Dacre isn’t a fit companion for any girl – let alone one with your sister’s difficulties. And especially in such a location as Vauxhall. I don’t know how much she told you of what happened – though I suspect consideration for Mistress Dacre caused it to be rather less than she told me and that was little enough – but when I found her she was alone, dishevelled and very frightened. I won’t bore you or abuse her confidence by relating details but this I will say; the prime cause of her distress was Robert Dacre and, if I’d known then what I know now, I would have done considerably more than just knock him down. I do you the credit to think that, had you been in my place, you would have felt exactly the same. But in case I’m wrong, I would like to point out that there had better not be any further instances of a similar nature. I trust I make myself quite clear?’

  ‘Perfectly!’ A tinge of angry colour began to burn high in Philip’s cheeks. ‘And I will do the same. For whatever service you rendered Rosalind last night, I give you her thanks – but beg leave to inform you that, since there is no future in any further communication between you, I should prefer there not to be any. In short, my lord Marquis, if you call in Jermyn Street, my butler will have instructions not to admit you.’

  Amberley went white and, for an instant, his eyes flared dangerously. Then, with a perceptible effort, he said evenly, ‘May I ask why?’

  ‘Certainly. Rosalind has already suffered enough at your hands and I am merely employing my right to protect her from your thoughtless and light-minded attentions.’

  ‘My what?’ The normally pleasant voice cut like a lash.

  Just for a minute, Philip entertained the enlivening hope that he was about to be served in the same manner as the unfortunate Mr Dacre. Then it passed and he said, ‘Are they not, then?’

  ‘No. They are not.’ The Marquis discovered that his hands were not quite steady. ‘And I think you’ll find that Mistress Vernon knows that.’

  ‘Mistress Vernon knows a number of things that might surprise you,’ came the sardonic reply. ‘But are you asking me to believe that you mean marriage?’

  ‘I’m not asking you to believe anything – yet.’

  His lordship gave a brief, unamused laugh. ‘Quite. And that answers my question, doesn’t it?’

  ‘No – damn you, it doesn’t!’ snapped the Marquis, driven at last to abandon his controlled reserve. ‘And I’ve had more than enough of your insulting insinuations. God knows where you obtained these peculiar notions of my character but it’s time, for the good of your sister, that you said goodbye to them. And if it will help you do so, I’m willing to request your permission to pay my addresses to her in form. Does that make you happy?’

  The stunned amazement in Lord Philip’s eyes was replaced by a look of blazing anger.

  ‘Happy?’ he echoed scornfully. ‘You must be insane. I’d rather see her dead at my feet than married to you!’

  Amberley blinked as though unable to believe he had heard aright.

  ‘But why? You can’t surely be simpleton enough to despise me solely on account of what you think I did to Robert Dacre – so what in hell’s name is it?’

  ‘It’s quite simple,’ replied Philip. ‘I want Rosalind to marry a man with some notion of honour and decency – not a liar, a libertine and a coward.’

  Green sparks flashed in a face that had no more colour to lose and the Marquis took a swift step forward, his hands clenched tight at his sides. Then he checked himself and, breathing hard, said with perilous softness, ‘You must be well aware that, as both a guest in my house and the brother of the lady I hope to make my wife, I cannot answer you as I should wish. But – ‘

  ‘Don’t,’ begged Philip, ‘allow that to stand in your way.’

  Amberley eyed him with icy contempt. ‘Try not to be a bigger fool than God made you. There is nothing you can say that will make me issue the challenge it seems you so badly want. And I see no point in continuing this conversation; for, though you have successfully made plain your opposition, you must know as well as I do that Rosalind will make her own decision. And I doubt if she agrees with you.’

  Something in the last sentence coupled with the cool assurance in the crisp tone sent Philip’s temperature soaring to boiling point and if he could have thought of any pretext, however slight, for calling Amberley out, he would not have hesitated. But since he could not, he said in a voice that shook, ‘Don’t count on it, Ballantyne. Life is full of small disappointments.’

  Stark grey-green eyes met glitteringly hostile blue ones and the silence – heavy, profound and alarmingly total – seemed to stretch on to infinity. After the first eviscerating stab that marked recognition of Philip’s words, their significance came slowly, like something seen from a long way off and the Marquis turned gradually colder, his stomach coiling with cramp and his nerves vibrating like plucked wires. Then, with intense concentration, he laid his hands on the polished wood of his desk and said remotely, ‘I see. How long have you known?’

  ‘Since last night,’ replied Philip, unsurprised but sick with disgust at having his expectations so swiftly verified. He supposed he should be glad that the fellow had not troubled to dissemble but he wasn’t. He merely felt ill. ‘No doubt it’s amused you that it took me so long.’

  Amberley continued to stare down at his hands, their bloodless grace outlined against the dark wood. ‘No. In fact, it didn’t. I don’t believe I thought of it.’ He drew a long, unsteady breath. ‘And … Rosalind? You’ve told her?’

  ‘Of course. Someone had to, didn’t they?’

  ‘Yes.’ Very slowly the Marquis stood upright. A shaft of sunlight rested on his face, throwing its lines and planes into harsh relief. He looked suddenly very tired. ‘Are you saying that she doesn’t wish to receive me?’

  Philip wished he could bring himself to tell the one lie that would solve all his problems but he couldn’t quite do it. Instead, he said sarcastically, ‘What did you expect?’

  ‘I … nothing. But I hoped that perhaps she would allow me the chance to explain.’

  ‘You’ve had that chance since before you left Oakleigh. And explain how exactly? With more lies? God!’ said Lord Philip with wrathful incredulity. ‘It must be wonderful to be as sure of oneself as you are – to be able to believe yourself so irresistible that twelve years of blindness and four months of deceit don’t matter! You once called me insensitive but I don’t think you’ve the remotest conception of what she’s been through; the endless bloody treatments that made her sick or crippled her with pain; the fear and nightmares and the sheer, gruelling hard work that has made her what you see. And now you say you want to marry her – though God alone knows why. Don’t you think,’ he finished acidly, ‘that you’ve done enough?’

  Something not quite a smile touched Amberley’s mouth and his eyes were bleak. Then he made a small gesture of capitulation, more hopeless than resigned, and said quietly, ‘More than enough, it seems. But I promised to call today and therefore I shall do so – merely to tender my apologies. Y
ou will permit that, I presume?’

  ‘Hardly,’ came the cold reply. ‘Rosalind has no need of either you or your apologies and if you cause her any more distress by trying to force your way into her presence, I’ll take pleasure in kicking you down the steps myself. If you’ll only let her alone, she’ll be happily married by midsummer.’

  The Marquis was suddenly very still. ‘Who?’ was all he said.

  Philip picked up his elegant tricorne from where it lay on a side-table and gripped it in fingers that were stiff and tight.

  ‘The Duke of Rockliffe,’ he replied mockingly. ‘I’m surprised you hadn’t guessed.’

  *

  It was almost an hour before, out of the shattered remnants of Amberley’s self-command, came sufficient resolution to overcome his indifference and make him resume the painful business of thought and movement. Even then he didn’t touch on the question of Rosalind’s reaction. It lay like a raw, gaping wound on his mind – expected and understood, but too ugly to be looked at. So he thought, instead, of that other legacy that Philip had left behind him. And finally he roused himself to investigate it.

  Having risen rather later than usual, his Grace of Rockliffe was just finishing his breakfast when the Marquis strode unceremoniously in to rest his fingers on the table-edge and fix him with a grim, white-faced stare.

  Rockliffe looked back with an air of gentle bewilderment and said plaintively, ‘My dear Dominic – I am naturally delighted to see you at any hour but I really must beg you to sit down. I have the greatest aversion to being loomed over at breakfast. It affects my digestion.’

  Amberley ignored this speech and remained where he was. ‘Is it true that you’re on the point of offering for Rosalind Vernon?’ he asked in a voice curiously unlike his own.

  A gleam of interest crept into the saturnine eyes.

  ‘And if it is?’

  ‘Don’t play games, Rock – I’m not in the mood.’

  ‘Ah.’ With a rare, lightning smile and, for once, without his usual affectations, his Grace said hopefully, ‘Fight me for her, Nick?’