Journey to Enchantment

by Patricia Veryan

  “To—what?” asked Hortense, hopefully.

  “Tae kiss me. F-fair on me bosom,” divulged Prudence, stammering.

  Scarves flew in all directions as Hortense sprang to her feet. “The wicked rascal! Oh—you’re making it all up! He never did. How could he?”

  “By pretending to swoon, and taking advantage when I stooped tae aid him. Laugh then, Aunty Mac. But the mon’s a viper, I warn ye!”

  Hortense’s funny bone had been tickled, however, and she went off into whoops while Prudence’s warnings and dire prophecies were to no avail until, infuriated, she stormed, “For why would ye think I say all this? D’ye really think I’d be sae daft as tae make it all up, then?”

  Wiping her eyes with one of her wisps, Hortense said, still chuckling, “Oh, my love, do you think me blind? I’ve seen the looks that pass between you. Prue, dear little Prue, be honest with yourself. You have fallen under the Captain’s spell no less than the rest of us. Perchance a good deal more. And because you feel shame for that tender emotion, you fight it with all your strength and seek to impugn him only to allay your own conscience. Dearest, will you not—”

  “Now may the guid Lord deliver us,” snarled Prudence and, for once losing all patience with this loved but infuriating lady, she rushed from the room and ran, raging, up the stairs.

  “They’re all daft,” she advised the door of her bedchamber as she slammed it shut. For some perverse reason, Kitty’s words returned to shock her into a moment of immobility. ‘… he’ll likely die on us, for the steel pierced his lung…’ Recovering, she snorted, “Haggis feathers! The mon’s no more dying than am I! He wasnae too ill tae hold me tight and…” And again, memory was her undoing. Once more she could see his pale, ardent face, the dizzying tenderness in those too beautiful dark eyes. She threw her hands to suddenly hot cheeks. “No, you don’t! Ye’ll no make me one o’ your victims!”

  “Are ye no feeling verra well, Miss Prue?” Kitty hurried in from the parlour, anxiety written large on her comely features.

  “Thank goodness you’re here. The very person I must warn. Oh, I do pray you’ve said nothing of Little Willie to Captain Delacourt?”

  “Of course not, miss.” The abigail grinned cheerily. “Nor was there the need tae speak o’ the business, thank the good Lord!”

  “What? Have you had news, then?”

  “From Willie’s brother, miss. He’s safe away! Can ye credit it? He was hiding, but the troopers were coming for them. Willie wouldnae believe it until Ligun Doone hisself came tae warn them aw, and somehow spirited ’em away. Och, but I’m that joyful, I could weep!”

  “Ligun Doone,” whispered Prudence. “Ye’ll no send his brave head tae the block, evil brute!”

  Transfixed, Kitty whimpered, “Miss! How could ye think sae horrid a thing o’ me?”

  “Not you. Captain Delacourt.”

  “Captain … but—he’s a helpless invalid, and can scarce leave his chair but what he falls doon.”

  “Stuff! He was well enough to ride oot on Lord Briley’s black mare on Wednesday!”

  Kitty stared, then burst into laughter. “Och, awie, I thought fer a minute ye meant it! As if the puir wee lad could—”

  “Go,” snarled Prudence, her teeth gnashing as she flung a dramatically dismissing hand in the general direction of the window.

  “Where, miss?” asked Kitty, looking, bewildered, to the open casement.

  “I do not care! Go! You silly, muling little besom! Get ye gone before I strangle you!”

  Kitty fled.

  V

  Prudence’s flashes of temper were never of long duration, and when Kitty crept in cautiously an hour later, she was hugged and her forgiveness begged. While the abigail readied her for the evening, however, Prudence was unwontedly quiet. Kitty smiled dreamily, attributing Miss Prue’s erratic behaviour to the pangs of love. She would have been shocked had she known her young mistress had wrenched her concentration from the abandoned behaviour of a certain blond hussy, and was now reviewing the first skirmishes in a grim if undeclared war.

  Her attempt to place Geoffrey Delacourt under surveillance by way of the acacia tree could only, thought Prudence, be relegated to the status of unmitigated disaster. There were other methods, however. A touch more chancy, but not to be ruled out because of that fact.

  Womanlike, her first step in the new campaign was to make herself as attractive as possible. (Which had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that Miss Clandon had brought several bandboxes and a large portmanteau with her!) Prudence spent some considerable time making her selection and at length chose a gown of cream brocade, threaded with pink and worn over flattened panniers that were so wide she almost had to turn sideways when going through a doorway. She asked that Kitty be especially creative in dressing and powdering her hair, and was most pleased with the result. Her curls were drawn back from her face, piled high on her head, and held in place by pearl clasps. Little tendrils swooped beside her ears, and a pair of simple pearl earrings added just the right touch of elegance. She wore no other jewels, allowing her flawless skin and the soft swell of her breasts to speak for themselves. Kitty handed her a delicate fan with carven ivory sticks and she was off to collect her aunt.

  Hortense looked very well in a robe battante of sea-green taffeta worn over hoops rounded in the English style. Her thick auburn locks were only lightly sprinkled with silver, and tonight she did not wear powder but had a Spanish comb placed atop her high coiffure, the comb being a gift from the same gentleman who had presented her with Señorita. A fine veil of black lace was draped over the comb, and Prudence brought blushes to her aunt’s cheeks by remarking upon what a very handsome woman she was and asking how long she meant to keep Sir Matthew Garry and Mr. MacKie waiting before she favoured one of them with her hand. The truth was that although both gentlemen enjoyed flirting with the lady, neither had actually offered, nor was Hortense sure that she would like to exchange her placidly ordered life so as to take on the responsibilities that went with marriage. Nonetheless, she was pleased, and returned the compliment by exclaiming over her niece’s tiny waistline. “Good gracious, Prue. However shall you eat anything?” she asked.

  “I doubt I can,” Prudence admitted. “But I believe Lord Briley is to join us tonight, and I want to look my best.”

  Incredulous, Hortense asked, “Have you a tendre for the young man? La, but I never thought you would aspire to a title. Least of all an English title.”

  Prudence laughed, not at the idea of becoming a nobleman’s bride, but because that notion was so far from her actual intent.

  Miss Clandon was not ready when they stopped to call for her. The girl’s hair was charmingly dressed and already powdered, but she clutched a wrapper around her and mourned that her maid was still repairing a flounce on her gown that had been torn when it was carried from the coach. She refused their offer to wait, saying with her sunny smile that she would feel guilty did she delay them and if they permitted, she would find her way downstairs in a very short time.

  MacTavish was alone in the gold saloon, reading. Lord Briley had not yet put in an appearance and although Captain Delacourt meant to join them, he intended to rest until just before dinner as this time he was determined to last through the meal. MacTavish complimented the ladies upon their looks and poured them each a glass of ratafia. They were engaged in a low-voiced discussion regarding the escape of Little Willie Mayhew when the stiffly formal English butler startled them by announcing “Colonel Archibald Cunningham.”

  The Colonel came into the room with many professions of regret for disturbing their evening. He made his bow to the ladies and said that there were some “funny fellas” hanging about the town, and since he’d had business this way, he had stopped to warn them. “Shouldn’t wonder if they’re bounty hunters,” he said, accepting the glass of wine offered by his host. “Beastly lot. They can smell a rebel, and there’s been one sighted nearby. Might be wise for you ladies to have an armed escor
t when you drive out.”

  “For protection against the fugitive or the bounty hunters?” asked Prudence, opening her eyes in a blue, innocent stare and fluttering her fan.

  “Both, ma’am,” he replied without a second’s hesitation. “The rebel is like to show little mercy if he finds you’ve an English officer billeted here, and the bounty hunters, being several steps below your average animal, know of no such word as mercy.”

  Hortense uttered a nervous exclamation, and the Colonel went on to point out that Lakepoint was “devilish isolated” and to offer to post a guard about the estate.

  “Heaven forfend!” exclaimed MacTavish. “I can envision few things less appetizing than to dwell in the midst of an armed camp!”

  “And I can envision nothing worse than for my presence to cause these good people distress,” drawled Delacourt from the door.

  Prudence glanced around quickly. Lockerbie was wheeling the chair into the room. The Captain wore a coat of bottle-green velvet trimmed with paler green embroidery down the front openings and on the cuffs of the great sleeves. His dark hair was unpowdered and tied back with a green riband. He bowed gracefully to her, kissed her aunt’s hand, and shook hands with his superior officer.

  “Faith, but you look better each time I see you,” said the Colonel heartily. “You’ll be rejoining your regiment at any day, I’ll wager.”

  “My fondest wish,” said the Captain with a sad smile. “Alas, my doctor continues to throw a rub in the way.”

  “As well he might,” interjected Hortense, throwing an indignant look at Cunningham. “’Tis to be hoped you do not mean the Captain to go on patrol in his wheelchair, sir!”

  The Colonel blinked; the Captain grinned behind his hand; and Prudence stared in astonishment at her frail aunt, suddenly become a bristling fury.

  “I beg leave to tell you, sir,” went on the irked lady, “that I could better advise the Captain when he might safely return to his military duties.” She turned to the delighted Delacourt and asked in a very different voice, “Only let me have your sign, sir.”

  He stared blankly. “My—sign?”

  MacTavish said with a furtive grin, “My sister means when is your birthday, Captain.”

  “Oh. August the fifth, Mrs. Hortense.”

  She said ecstatically, “A Leo! I knew it! We shall have a nice cose when you feel well enough, and I will make a chart for you. The stars will tell us when you can return to active duty.”

  “Ma’am,” said the Colonel, “if I thought the stars could be relied upon, be dashed if I wouldn’t appoint you consultant at my headquarters. You could look into the skies and work out your charts, and unearth me this traitorous dog called Ligun Doone!”

  There was a breathless hush. MacTavish, standing by the hearth, continued to swirl his wine gently in his glass, his face expressionless. His sister-in-law looked frightened. Prudence, her little face an accurate mirror of her emotions, flushed, her eyes flaming with rage.

  Watching her thoughtfully, the Captain murmured, “Have you learned nothing of the pest, sir? I’d fancied he’d be taken and sent to the block weeks since.”

  “Is—is that what you would … do, if you caught him?” quavered Hortense.

  “He would be hanged till he was almost dead, ma’am,” replied Cunningham with deliberate clarity, “then taken down and revived. His limbs would be severed one by one, his entrails cut out, and lastly, he would be beheaded.” His keen eyes raked the room. “Which fate should displease none here, for we are all loyal subjects of the Crown, I feel sure.”

  “You may be very sure I owe no allegiance to the Stuarts,” said MacTavish, and added tartly, “Nor, sir, do I appreciate having my ladies upset by a recital of the horrors of a traitor’s death.”

  “I feel sure Colonel Cunningham had no intent to—” Delacourt began.

  “Thank you, Captain, but Mr. MacTavish is quite correct.” The Colonel, who had seated himself in the chair next to Prudence, came to his feet and bowed to the silent women. “My apologies, mesdames. I’ve been too long in the barracks room, I fear. I shall take my hasty tongue from your home, sir.” He went over to pick up the whip and gloves he’d put on the credenza.

  Feeling sick and shaken, Prudence drew a breath of relief. It was checked as she intercepted a swift exchange of glances between her father and Delacourt. MacTavish hesitated. The Captain’s eyes were stern. To Prudence’s horror, her father, albeit with obvious reluctance, called, “No, no, Colonel. I hope we are not so nice as to send you off with dinner almost upon the board. Please join us.”

  Cunningham hesitated. “You are very kind, but—I should not, you know. Already some unsavoury fellows have been observed lurking about the vicinity of your estate, and—”

  “I thay now, Colonel! I take a dim view of that remark!” Thaddeus Briley came mincing in, quizzing glass upraised and a magnified and resentful eye fixed on the officer. A general laugh went up, easing the tensions of the moment. Briley, a vision in black and silver, an elaborate French peruke upon his head, advanced across the highly polished floor with a click of high red heels, still aggrievedly surveying the Colonel through his glass. “I may be unthavoury,” he admitted, “but I do not lurk, thir!”

  “I hope I have not kept you waiting,” called a soft voice tentatively.

  As MacTavish hastened to escort the Captain’s cousin into the room, Prudence stared at her without delight. Miss Clandon wore a billowing robe à la française of white damask, caught up here and there with tiny bows of gold cord, and opening at the front to reveal a white satin underdress embroidered at the lower edge with a single golden rose. Her powdered hair was dressed high and interwoven with a golden fillet, and she looked a creature from a fairy tale, all gold-and-white daintiness.

  MacTavish led her through the introductions. The Colonel bowed over her hand, his eyes frankly admiring. Lord Thaddeus, his own bow the epitome of grace, smiled, and Prudence almost thought he winked at the lovely Elizabeth.

  “By Jove, sir,” said the Colonel heartily, “I believe I will accept your kind invitation to dine.” He beamed at the three ladies. “Dashed if you ain’t the sly rogue, Delacourt, contriving to be billeted out here with all these beautiful creatures. Which reminds me, MacTavish, I’ve a replacement in today from England. Thinks he may have met your son down there. You did say he was visiting in Dorset, did you not?”

  Very aware that Delacourt’s eyes were fixed upon her absentminded scholar of a father, Prudence saw MacTavish’s brows pucker in confusion. She interjected swiftly, “Papa, your memory is playing you tricks, I do believe. My brother is visiting in Devonshire, Colonel.”

  “You’re right, by Jupiter!” said Cunningham with a snap of his fingers. “My memory is no better than yours, my dear MacTavish!”

  Providentially, Sidley appeared to advise that dinner was served, and they wandered down the hall to the dining room, his lordship squiring Hortense, the Colonel happily partnering Miss Clandon, and Prudence walking between her father and the Captain’s invalid chair.

  The chef had produced an excellent meal and although Prudence was tense and watchful, everything seemed to go along smoothly. The Colonel was clearly captivated by Miss Clandon, who flirted with him prettily; despite his lisp, Lord Thaddeus was a witty and amusing conversationalist and soon had Hortense giggling at his tales. Due to the uneven number of diners and the fact that Hortense was afraid of Colonel Cunningham, Prudence found herself with the Colonel to her left and Delacourt to her right. Her already depressed spirits were not enlivened by this arrangement, but she succeeded in behaving as though she had not a care in the world and responded politely to the Colonel’s occasional remarks. Captain Delacourt had little to say, but several times she glanced up to find his eyes on her.

  They were well into the second remove when Delacourt, in the midst of a casual comment regarding the beauty of the famous loch, suddenly gave an unmistakeable grimace of pain.

  The Colonel enquired, sotto voce,
“Are you all right, my dear chap?”

  “Oh, tol-erable,” Delacourt answered, with a sidelong glance at Prudence. “Thank you, sir. Nothing serious.”

  “Pray do not hesitate to retire if you would be more comfortable,” said Prudence solicitously. “We shall quite understand.”

  “I am very sure you would, Miss MacTavish,” he replied enigmatically. “You are kindness itself.”

  She scanned his face with suspicion, for she was very sure that he knew she suspected him. “There is, alas, too little of kindness in the world,” she said.

  “I’ll agree with that, ma’am,” the Colonel put in, his nasal voice ringing down the table. “One can but hope that now the recent tragic conflict is over, we’ll enjoy a time of peace and Christian tolerance.”

  “Is that what the Duke of Cumberland is about?” said Hortense. “Faith, but I’d never have guessed it.”

  Through the following tense hush, the Captain’s muffled “Ow!” was quite audible.

  Amazed by her aunt’s pluck, but dreading the consequences, Prudence glanced at him sharply and saw him jerk his hand from under the tablecloth.

  “What the deuce have you got there, Delacourt?” asked the Colonel, not sorry for the diversion. “That’s a nasty scratch on your hand.”

  “It’s the grey cat!” exclaimed Prudence, amused. “Captain!”

  Delacourt groaned. “Alas, I am betrayed.”

  “And should be thoroughly ashamed,” scolded Hortense, smiling broadly.

  “Let’s see the stowaway,” demanded the Colonel.

  Sighing, the Captain detached the cat from his lap, and held her up. She blinked at the laughing faces, her whiskers sticking out ferociously.

  “It is strictly against the house rules, Captain,” said Prudence, “to feed animals at table.”

  “Besides which, it is suicidal,” he said ruefully. “She grabbed my first offering, and the next time I put my hand down, she apparently mistook the matter and sank her claws into it.” He turned the cat to face him and said, “M’dear, I fancy you are hoist by your own petard. Never bite the hand that feeds you!” He dropped her to the floor, a grinning footman held down a used plate enticingly, and Señorita, her tail sticking straight up into the air, darted from the room with him.