En route home, Devenish held Santana to a steady canter. The wind was growing stronger and the big black, still full of energy, chose to be alarmed when leaves fluttered past, and to shy at a rabbit that scuttled across his path. Lost in thought, Devenish paid no heed to these frivolities. Lyon's declaration had not surprised him. For a long time it had been obvious that the boy was deeply smitten. And there was no doubt that Josie was fond of him. Striving to be objective, Devenish was forced to admit Lyon was not the mate he would have chosen for her. But to cling to the conviction that only a Prince of the blood would be worthy was to be unrealistic. If Lyon was as brilliant as Belmont claimed, and Lord knows that crusty old curmudgeon was not one to praise lightly, Lyon would become a great surgeon. Perhaps, even win himself a title someday. Josie would enjoy the good things of life. Devenish gazed unseeingly at the darkening clouds. If she chose him… He pulled back his sagging shoulders. She must choose someone, after all, and God knows it would be better that she choose Lyon than that bastard Fontaine! The murderous rage returned. By God, but if she'd not written by tomorrow, he'd post off to Sussex and remove her from that satyr's vicinity!
He touched his spurs to Santana's sides. The stallion's ears pricked up, he gave an eager snort, and they were away, racing along beside the curve of the river, but passed unexpectedly by a chestnut mare who shot from a grove of aspens, ears flat against her head and eyes rolling. Santana neighed indignation as Devenish reined him aside barely in time to avoid a collision. Uneasy, Devenish set the black in pursuit of the mare. She was riderless and panicked, but no match for the power of the stallion. Gradually they shortened the distance until they were level with her rump, then had passed the dainty sidesaddle and blowing mane. Devenish leaned perilously to grab at the trailing reins. On the second attempt he caught one and, adjusting Santana's stride to a nicety, began to pull the mare down, until he had brought her to a standstill.
Dismounting, he tethered the jealous stallion to a bush and approached the mare. She danced away, tossing her head up, her eyes big with fear. He spoke to her gently, stroked the foam-splashed neck, and as usual, his way with animals prevailed. In a few moments she was nuzzling against his shoulder, her shudders quite gone and her breathing normal. "You're a pretty creature," he told her. "But my large friend yonder is becoming apoplectic, and besides, we must find the lady who was riding you."
Accordingly, he mounted again and, leading the mare, turned southwards once more. When he came to the aspen grove, he rode cautiously in amongst the dappled shade of the trees. His calls won no response, but after a short while he was dismayed to discern the prone figure of a lady.
From the moment his broken engagement had become public knowledge seven years ago, he had been an object of considerable interest to the females of the south country. He was far from conceited, but would have been a fool not to know that he had the kind of male beauty that drew women of every age, style, and circumstance. He had also known for some years that fate had once again dealt him a bitter hand, and was resigned to the life of a bachelor. His affaires de coeur had been conducted with discretion and were for the most part of a fleeting nature, although one of his loves had proven constant. He was deeply fond of this lady, who was several years his senior, and they enjoyed a relationship of mutual affection and respect. Despite his elusive tactics with the marriageable ladies, however, and the fact that he chose to spend much of the year in the country, the lures continued to be thrown out. Unfailingly courteous, Devenish knew only scorn for the type of woman who fancied herself in love with him only because of his looks, while having not the least idea of his nature. On a few unhappy occasions he had been almost trapped by determined ladies, and had once been forced into a duel when a lovelorn creature had invaded his hotel room and been discovered there by her outraged spouse. It was, therefore, with no little apprehension that he dismounted and, tethering the horses, hastened towards the figure huddled face down amongst the ferns.
She was a statuesque female, and for a moment he was appalled by the suspicion that Isabella had once more levelled her guns in his direction. But he saw as he drew nearer that the tumbled curls were red instead of black. Much relieved, he knelt beside her. She did not move, but she was breathing. Her habit was very disordered. He could see a good deal of one shapely leg clad in a knee-length silk stocking, above which were the lacy frills of a pink chemise, and he bent instinctively to pull the rumpled habit over these embarrassments.
"What are you doing?"
He jumped guiltily. "I was—er, restoring your garments. Are you much hurt, ma'am?"
"My—dignity is, certainly." She had a low, musical voice, and striving to lift her head, said, "Oh, dear. I am so… dizzy.''
He watched her anxiously, sure he should be doing something. Brightening, he told her that he had just parted from a doctor friend, and would ride after him.
"Oh, no!" The titian curls stirred agitatedly. "Pray do not leave me!" One gloved hand was propped against the leafy ground, and she raised her head.
Devenish reached out to aid her, but hesitated. She gave a little sound of pain, and he abandoned timidity and lifted her, turning her carefully until she lay in his arms. She was very white, and a small cut high on her forehead had sent a trickle of blood down to her right eye. He saw with relief that she was no schoolroom miss, and that she seemed more dazed than hurt. She was quite lovely in a serene way, with long grey eyes, flawless skin, and regular if not remarkable features. He was considerably aghast when she blinked at him, and then said a weak but amused, "Oh! It's… you!"
"My apologies. I—er, cannot seem to recall…"
"I am Mrs. Bliss," she provided, her voice a little steadier. "I have seen you about your—estate. I had, in fact, planned to— to call upon your daughter." She blinked again and, scanning the finely chiselled features bent above her, said with a twinkle, "Oh, dear, but—she cannot be your daughter, can she?"
He grinned, warming to this forthright lady. "She is my ward, ma'am. And—alas, I am still bewildered. Which is of no importance. Pray tell me if you are hurt anywhere."
She moved tentatively, said that everything seemed workable, then added, "Oh, you have found my horse! She is very well mannered, but a quite big branch came down and knocked me from the saddle, and she ran off, I suppose."
"I wonder you were not killed! Where did it strike you?"
"Luckily, the main branch did not, but the smaller limbs and all the leaves caught me. I think I can stand now, if you would be so kind as to help, Mr. Devenish."
He did so, handling her with such care that she leaned on him without the least shyness. He supported her briefly until she could regain her sense of balance and, with her head against his neckcloth, she murmured, "You are very good, sir. I should tell you that I am—newly come into Gloucestershire. My husband was Major Percy Bliss, and fell at Waterloo."
A widow! He tensed and murmured polite regrets.
A low ripple of laughter sounded. Lifting her head, she looked him straight in the eye and said whimsically, "Have I alarmed you? Pray be easy. I have no designs on you. Oh, dear! Now I have shocked you. But you see, I have heard how you are—er, hunted." He flushed, but she saw the smile creep back into those incredibly blue eyes, and said candidly, "And you are too young for me. Besides which—I really did fall."
He could not restrain a chuckle, but made her sit on a convenient fallen treetrunk while he dabbed his handkerchief gently at her brow. "One is always supposed to have water available at such a moment," he said ruefully. "What a clodpole I am to have no least idea where there is any, closer than the river. May I ask where you are staying, Mrs. Bliss?"
"Not far out of your way,'' she replied. "I stay with my eldest brother, Sir William Little."
"Oh—begad!" gasped Devenish.
Chapter 4
"Welcome home, miss," quavered the butler, beaming at Josie's radiance.
"Thank you, Wolfe." Starry-eyed, she looked around the vast chamber of the ol
d wing that was again the Great Hall. "How lovely everything is, is it not, Pan?"
"We are weary," uttered Mrs. Grenfell austerely, and ascended the stairs, supported by the ever-attentive Klaus.
"Lady Godiva!" exclaimed Josie, bending to stroke the pig who had trotted through the assorted humans gathered around this pleasant girl, and was emitting piercing squeals as she butted her head against Josie's skirts.
"She's missed you," said Mrs. Robinson, her faded eyes bright.
"We all have," agreed Wolfe. "The master, especially."
Josie straightened. "Where is he?"
"Out, miss," put in Cornish, carrying in her dressing case and valise.
"I wanted to surprise him. Oh, never say he's gone to fetch me?"
"Just out riding, miss," said Wolfe, fixing the footman with a fierce eye.
"Santana," said the footman. "Shouldn't of."
"You may take Miss Storm's things upstairs, Cornish," said Wolfe awfully.
"Right, mate." Cornish made for the stairs.
Watching him, amused, Josie asked, "Is Santana not in good condition?"
"Fresh as a daisy," said Wolfe.
" 'E's a 'orrid 'ack," supplied Cornish from the stairs. "And the guv's been a bit chin sunk."
"That—will—do!" decreed Wolfe, so emphatically that he rocked himself off balance and teetered back and forth.
Frightened, Josie said, "Mr. Devenish is not ill?"
"No, no, miss," soothed the housekeeper, walking to the stairs with her.
"Just a trifle out of temper," contributed Wolfe, more or less keeping pace on Josie's other side.
Cornish stuck his head around the corner of the first floor landing. "And 'e 'ad a bloomin' great row wiv Sir Willyum!"
"Oh, no! About the road, Wolfe?"
"I couldn't say, miss," piped the butler, his murderous gaze on the landing.
"I think it was on account of the master wouldn't have that poacher transported," said Mrs. Robinson. "Awful hard man is the Squire. Went out of here with his face so red as any lobster. Roaring, he was. And the master laughing at him."
"Oh dear, oh dear! I knew I should have come home sooner." Josie hurried up the stairs, but paused to call, "Do we set out extra covers tonight, Wolfe?"
"I think not, miss. Though the master said Colonel Leith might be coming to us very shortly."
"Oh, lovely." Josie hummed as she hurried on to the front suite two flights above the Great Hall which Devenish had caused to be remodelled for her birthday last year; a date she had fixed as May 20th, that having been the date in 1816 on which she had first entered his life, and when—to her way of thinking—her own life had begun.
It was a delightful suite, decorated in shades of pink with white and fuchsia accents. The parlour was spacious, there was a well-equipped dressing room, an adjoining bedchamber for her abigail, and a large and luxurious bedchamber. Josie proceeded to the latter room, which was dominated by a graceful canopied bed, its pink and white brocade curtains tied back with fuchsia satin ropes. It was a room of thick rugs, fine satinwood furniture, highly polished random-width plank floors, and tastefully hung small oils and watercolours. Above the marble mantelpiece was an exceptionally fine print of a badger, and the air carried the faint fragrance of Josie's favourite scent, Essence de Printemps. She closed her eyes for a second and breathed it in happily, then ran to her bedside table and took up the miniature she had so longed to have with her in Sussex.
Devenish had loathed every moment that he had sat for Coleridge Bryce to paint his portrait. The young peer was in great demand, the Top Ten Thousand having discovered to their delight that the talented artist was one of their own. He was also a wizard of the canvas and, looking down at her guardian's pictured face and the lurking smile Colley had captured so cleverly, Josie's eyes blurred. "Dev…" she whispered.
"Brought yer hot water, miss," said Fletcher, hurrying into the room with a large copper jug. The gaunt, middle-aged woman looked as though she would be more at home in a Billingsgate fish market than wearing the neat uniform of an abigail. Her husband had been killed in the Peterloo riots; her child had died of influenza and, driven to desperation, she had turned to prostitution until she had lost one eye in a tavern brawl. That disaster had ended her unhappy career and she had been arrested for stealing bread when Josie, one of the customers in the bakery, had interceded for her. Devenish had come nigh to fainting when he discovered that his ward intended to make the battered wreck of a woman her abigail, and had, in a rare display of anger, put his foot down and said a flat No! Josie had looked up at him, her schoolgirl face unwontedly grave. "But do you see, dearest Dev," she had said, "she is what I might have become, but for you." He had been appalled, but even so it had been one of their longer tussles before he had thrown up his hands and agreed to Maisie Fletcher being added to what he privately referred to as his menage bizarre.
Fletcher, who would cheerfully have done bloody murder for her young mistress, was quite aware of the reservations of the head of the house and kept well out of his way until the time that Josie had been stricken with diphtheria. Fletcher's devotion had won the terror-stricken man's heart, and when he had attempted to thank her, the weary voice whispering, "I'm dirt under her pretty feet, but—I do so love her, Mr. Devenish," had compelled him to say, "It is the best thing any of us can give her, m'dear. She had precious little of it in her childhood, Lord knows," and there had been no more suggestions that Fletcher obtain employment elsewhere.
The following half-hour was devoted to ensuring that Mr. Devenish would be pleased by his daughter's appearance when he returned. When their efforts were completed, Josie surveyed her reflection in the standing mirror. She had chosen a gown of light blue taffeta, the bell-shaped skirts scalloped at the hem that was in the daring new ankle length. White embroidery lent elegance to the skirt and was repeated around the low neckline. Fletcher had pulled the corset laces very tight, with the result that Josie's waist was tiny, enhancing the rich curve of her ample bosom. Her gaze lifted to include her features. Care and love and good food had changed her immeasurably from the half-starved waif Devenish had rescued, but she knew she would never be a beauty, no matter what kind gentlemen like Lyon and Guy and John Drummond and Fontaine said to the contrary. Still—Dev had no cause to be ashamed of presenting her as his ward.
Fletcher added a small spray of white silken flowers to her curls, and draped a crocheted wool shawl about her shoulders. "It's a sight late in the season to wear such a light frock, miss," she scolded.
"I know, but I do so want to look my best tonight."
Josie hurried downstairs, her heart singing because she was home. When he came, she would make him laugh by telling him of the wrangling that had gone on between John and Lord Elliot, and he would tell her about all that had happened at Devencourt, and they would have such a lovely evening. She must go to the kitchen and see— She checked, hearing horses outside.
A lackey hastened across the Great Hall, his elegant self reflecting in the polished parquet floors that had been laid over the original flags. He swung the door open, the resultant inrush of cold air causing Josie to gather her shawl closer. Perhaps it was Dev. She ran lightly down two more steps, then stopped.
It was indeed her guardian. And, once again, he held a lovely woman in his arms, the lady protesting in a rich, amused voice that she was perfectly able to walk.
"Nonsense," said Devenish, smiling down at her. "You shall be sent home in a carriage, ma'am, and—" The grey eyes of the lady he carried shifted past him, their expression such that he turned to follow her gaze. "Josie!" he gasped, and set Mrs. Bliss on her feet, but kept his arm about her.
Having taken in the shocked disbelief of the girl who watched them, Mrs. Bliss glanced at her escort. Almost at once, his face reflected no more than a deep affection, but she had seen a brief, transforming glow, and her fine brows arched a trifle higher. She disengaged herself gently.
Scarcely noticing she had done so, Devenish s
trode to reach up and take his ward's outstretched hands. "You're home!" he said delightedly. "And—let me look at you—how lovely you are!"
Josie said nothing, but launched herself into his arms. He laughed and whirled her around, and she laughed up at him. Seething.
"You little rascal," said Devenish, eyes alight as he drank her in. "You should have let me know you were coming."
"So I see," she said, with a glance to the quiet bystander.
"Oh! Good Lord!" He turned about. "My deepest apologies, ma'am." He led Josie forward. "Mrs. Bliss, may I present my ward—Josephine Storm. Josie, this lady had an accident, so I—"
"Brought her home," Josie interpolated sweetly, as she dropped a small curtsy. "But of course. As usual."
An appreciative twinkle lit the stranger's quite horridly lovely eyes. Josie looked to Don Juan Devenish. His lips were compressed, his eyes empty, his brows slightly raised in the austere hauteur that meant she would hear about this later.
He said with cool aplomb, "Yes. For she is Sir William's sister. Perhaps you will be so good as to help her. She was hurt."
Horrified, Josie noted the cut over the white brow, and the creased and torn condition of the expensive riding habit. She felt her face flame, and ran to put her arm about their unexpected guest. "How dreadful for you, poor soul! You shall come up to my bedchamber and rest while we prepare the carriage. Dev— please have hot water sent up, and some lint and basillicum powder and—oh, Mrs. Robinson will know. Can you walk, ma'am?"
Assuring her that she could walk, Mrs. Bliss was nonetheless glad of the strong young arm about her. Nor did she demur when she was led into the pretty bedchamber and required to lie down. Later, when Josie had sent her abigail running for some hot tea and a little brandy, and the housekeeper had brought the required medical supplies and been sent off, Mrs. Bliss expressed her apologies for "being such a great nuisance."
"As if you are," said Josie, carefully bathing the small cut. Faith Bliss watched the rapt young face, and smiled because of the tip of the tongue that hovered upon her nurse's upper lip. "To think you are sister to Sir William," murmured Josie, concentrating. "Have you been for very long at the Manor?"
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 11] - Give All To Love Page 6
