Her face was touched by the new-risen moon, so that it seemed to him to be encircled as by a halo. “The dearest … thing,” he breathed, never knowing how his heart was in his worshipful eyes.
But Stephanie saw and, mesmerized, clasped the rabbit to her bosom, gazing up at him. “Did you … want me?” she asked.
Did he want her!
Restored perhaps by the warmth of its tender cushion, the rabbit gave a sudden leap for freedom. It was a small rabbit, but it was frightened and, after the style of such creatures, had powerful hind legs. Wherefore, Stephanie gave a little cry and threw one hand to the torn lace at her bosom.
“Did he hurt you?” Buchanan dropped to his knees also and, drawing her hand away, saw a speck of blood on the white lace. “He cut you! Oh, my dear! We must take you to a doctor! You are—” And he froze, horrifiedly aware that he had pulled back the ripped lace, that he was holding his handkerchief against the scratches upon the sweet curve of her white breast. He whipped his hand away and drew back, head down. “Forgive me! Forgive me!” he groaned. “Whatever must you think? I did not mean … I … I only—”
Her soft hand was upon his lips, staying that shamed utterance, and he could no more have stopped himself from kissing those fingers than have halted the moon in its course. Her forgiving hands were seeking to raise his abased head, and, daring to look up, he saw the light in her eyes—a light that banished all sensations, save love.
“Silly boy,” whispered Stephanie yearningly. “Oh, my dearest, silly boy. Did you think I do not … know?”
She swayed to him, all eager submission. His arms slipped about her, and her face was uplifted for his kiss.
It was quiet and very cold in the deserted garden, but to the two upon their knees, lip to lip, heart to heart, it might have been balmy as a summer’s day, and the air filled with lilting music.
Only one living being viewed this strange behaviour, and he cared not—and proved it by departing the scene with the flash of a white puff of a tail.
ELEVEN
HAWKHURST placed one hand firmly on the latch of the drawing room door, drew a deep breath, and walked inside. His grandfather, head thrown back in a hearty laugh, the stub of a cigarillo in one hand, eyed him with something very like cordiality for a moment, before standing and putting out his hand. “I am glad you could spare the time to say hello, Hawkhurst.” His grip was firm and brief, as always. Withdrawing it, he said, “Cannot say your presence was missed, however. Was it, m’dear?”
The old gentleman levelled his guns swiftly, thought Euphemia. And scanning Hawkhurst with the eyes of love, found him pale, but fully in command of himself, his speech unslurred as he smiled, “And I cannot allow you to manoeuvre my guest into so tight a corner, sir. How very good to have you here. May we hope it will be a lengthy visit? If you could spend Christmas with us, it—”
“Quite impossible, I fear. I have already accepted an invitation to join Vaille and the Hilbys. I had intended to overnight with you and leave in the morning. However, now that I have met your most charming guest…” Wetherby took up his glass and raised it in a silent toast to Euphemia, his eyes as warm, when they alighted on her, as they were cold when turned upon his grandson.
“I perceive that I owe you a—” Hawkhurst’s gaze also turned to her, and his breath was snatched away. No wonder the Admiral was dazzled. She looked magnificent! “—a debt of gratitude, ma’am,” he finished with an effort.
Wetherby slanted a shrewd glance at him.
“Not at all,” Euphemia answered. “It was my very great pleasure. But if to have acted as your hostess indeed constituted a favour, it must be small indeed beside the debt we owe you, Mr. Hawkhurst.”
He bowed, told her she looked very lovely this evening, and moved to refill his grandfather’s glass. “Have you heard the news, sir? Another grand victory for Wellington!”
“I have. I was in Watier’s when the word came. Pandemonium! The Church bells are ringing in every town in England—as well they should! But I have had news from this delightful lady that pleases me also, Garret. You saved the life of her page, she tells me. How gratifying, when Fate gives us a chance to mend our fences. Is it not?”
Hawkhurst said nothing. Only the hand that replaced the stopper in the decanter paused for the space of a heartbeat before completing that small task.
Euphemia was relieved when Manners appeared to announce that dinner was served. The Admiral offered his arm at once, but, taking it, she reached for Hawkhurst’s arm also, saying laughingly that no lady would be content with one escort when she might have two.
The old gentleman proved a charming dinner companion, and Euphemia flirted with him outrageously, to his obvious gratification. Mrs. Henderson had managed very well, and, although her efforts merely added to the nausea of the master of the house, Euphemia was vastly relieved. Wetherby was certainly enjoying himself, and she began to hope his wrath might wear itself out before the meal was over. Twice, however, he slanted barbs at his grandson, the remarks so carefully worded they would have conveyed nothing to a guest unaware of the tragedy that lay between them. Euphemia, knowing more than either of them guessed, cringed at the acid behind the innocent-seeming words and could well imagine the havoc they wrought upon the apparently calm young man at the head of the table.
“I will tell you, my lord,” she said laughingly, when Wetherby commented upon the excellence of the food, “that it was very swiftly and cleverly prepared by Mrs. Henderson. I doubt the Vicar served any better fare.”
“We shall soon know,” murmured Hawkhurst. “Our partygoers should be returning shortly.”
“Oh, dear,” she sighed. “I shall be in dark disgrace, I fear.”
“In this house?” Wetherby gave a belittling shrug. “We do not even admit the existence of such words, dear lady.” His eyes flashed a murderous anger, as he added, “And speaking of words, I must have a few with you, Hawkhurst.”
“Whenever you will, sir.”
There was a note of strain in the deep voice now, and Euphemia saw a faint gleam beneath the dark hair at his temples. That the Admiral was a stern disciplinarian, she did not doubt. But, however dearly he had loved little Avery, or the grandchild of his lost love, however bitterly Hawk may have disillusioned him, four years was too long to nurse so bitter a rage as this. Wetherby had suffered a more recent provocation, and a major one, obviously. Well, they must not be permitted a long talk now, not with the Admiral marshalling all his forces against a half-disabled adversary. And therefore she sighed plaintively, “I beg you will not linger too long over your port, gentlemen, for I am never in my best voice after ten o’clock.”
Hawkhurst shot her a startled glance. The Admiral, turning to her eagerly, asked, “You sing, dear lady?”
“Indifferently well, I fear. But Caro Lamb taught me some little Spanish songs that might interest you.” She hesitated and, summoning all her courage, said with a twinkle, “So long as you promise never to tell my brother I sang them for you.”
“Capital!” Wetherby beamed. “A promise gladly given. I vow I never dreamed to spend so delightful an evening here. Entirely thanks to your lovely presence. Hawk, you are a blind fool, do you not join the ranks of Miss Buchanan’s admirers!”
“I fear those admirers are soon to be shattered,” drawled Hawkhurst. “For Miss Buchanan is recently betrothed, I believe.”
“Indeed?” The Admiral turned a disappointed gaze upon the girl. “Who is the lucky fellow who has won your heart, may I ask?”
“I rather doubt he is the gentleman your grandson has in mind, sir,” she answered demurely. And conscious of Hawkhurst’s start, went on, “Colonel Tristram Leith was here today, and—”
“Leith? Now, by heaven, that’s a splendid choice! A most valiant young fellow. Hear he’s just been appointed to Wellington’s staff. By gad, I’d be proud to have him for a grandson, I don’t mind telling you!”
You, sir, should be spanked! thought Euphemia. And, not looking
at Hawkhurst’s blank smile, she said, “Yes, I love Tristram dearly. He is a lifelong friend. But, alas, we would not suit.”
Wetherby looked positively thunderstruck. “Not … suit?” he gasped. “You rejected Leith?”
He made it sound as though she had kicked an Archbishop, and she replied mildly, “Oh, yes. And have done any time these two years. But he knows now that I shall never wed him, for what gentleman wants a lady whose heart is already given?”
From the corner of her eye she saw Hawkhurst’s fingers clamp convulsively over a fold of the tablecloth. Then she was standing. The Admiral fairly jumped to assist her. She told him archly, as he bowed her from the room, that she would go to prepare her music and left them alone.
As the doors closed behind her, she learned back against them with a sigh of relief. She had allowed them barely ten minutes. How she had found the effrontery to do so, she could not guess. Surely the old gentleman could not maul poor Hawk too badly in ten minutes…?
* * *
“WELL, SIR?” demanded Lord Wetherby curtly. “What have you to say to that?” He puffed at his cigarillo, glared at his grandson through the resultant cloud of smoke, and waved it away impatiently.
“I was … unlucky at the tables,” offered Hawkhurst slowly.
“Unlucky? Man, you were accursed! Twenty-five thousand pounds? In three months? My God! Are you run quite mad?” Hawkhurst remaining silent, he went on irascibly, “What is it? These endless women of yours? Oh, I heard you’d lured the Rexham girl here, shameless baggage! Her husband should take his whip to her sides—and his pistol to you, sir!”
“No woman comes here unwillingly, Grandfather.”
“And no woman stays, eh? Nor could anyone blame ’em!” Hawkhurst’s brows flickered slightly, and, hating this, Wetherby said a gruff, “I’m sorry. Whatever was between you and Blanche was your own affair. But … I just cannot—”
“Forgive me it? I understand that, sir. But, do you still believe I killed her?”
“How dare you ask such a thing?” The Admiral’s clenched fist slammed down onto the table, sending walnuts tumbling from the bowl, and wine splashing. “Of course I do not believe it! What the devil do you take me for? Not for one instant did I pay heed to such irresponsible scandal-mongering. And, if you cared for me one whit, you would know that!”
The emptiness was struck from his grandson’s eyes. His face twisted as his control broke, and in a rare display of emotion he leaned forward and said hoarsely, “Care for you? Sir, you know that I respect and … and love you, more than any man living! Do not … please—”
“If you loved me,” the Admiral interposed with low-voiced bitterness, “you’d not have driven her from you. That you contrived her death is a filthy lie. But that you were indirectly responsible, I know too well. She came to see me just days before she ran from you. Ah, you didn’t know that, I see! She showed me the—the bruises … the welts you dared to put on her. Lord! I could scarcely believe my own eyes. That sweet, heavenly child.” He waited, his eyes pleading for a denial, but the younger man’s head was sunk onto his chest, and he was silent. “For that,” said Wetherby huskily, “I never shall forgive you. However she may have met her death, you drove her to it. And in so doing also destroyed that … that very dear and innocent … little boy.” He turned away, his mouth quivering betrayingly. Hawkhurst’s head bowed lower, his teeth driving into his underlip as he fought to regain his control.
“Enough … for that,” the Admiral decreed. “The past cannot be undone, unfortunately. But the future may be guarded. Do you continue at this rate of reckless debauchery, squandering thousands on your women and at play, even your great inheritance must be gone within five years. Dominer, thank God, is entailed, so that weak-chinned whelp of Lottie’s will—”
“Coleridge has chin enough and to spare, sir!” Hawkhurst’s head flung upward, a resentful gleam lighting his eyes. “He has stood up to me and given me back as good as he got, I do—”
“Words! Pah! Has he ever bested you with the foils? Has he ever stood up under those famous fists of yours? He is a dandy, sir! An effeminate, dainty do-nothing who lacks the gumption to hie himself over to Spain, and—”
“No, sir! Colley is no coward. Young and striving to find himself, perhaps. A dandy, unfortunately, yes, though I do believe he will outgrow it. But he will not relinquish his plans, no matter how I hammer at him, and—”
“Oh, have done with interrupting me!” his lordship interrupted fiercely. “I came here not to be diverted by your championship of that nincompoop, but to tell you, flat out, I’ll not stand by and see you squander your fortune!”
Hawkhurst said in a quiet, controlled voice, “I am nine years past coming of age, sir. Your pardon, but what I do with my fortune is my own affair.”
“Why, you damned impertinent cub!” Pale with anger, Wetherby was on his feet, both hands flat on the table, as he rasped out, “Do you dare to imagine that, because your inheritance comes to you from your mother’s house, I’ve no say in the matter? Fortune or no, it is my name and title that will come to you someday! And, though the Hawkhurst fortune cannot compare with the Thorndyke, I take it very ill if you presume to tell me I count for nought in this family!”
“I had no such intent, sir! Truly, I—”
“You had best not have! I may be only an old ex-sea dog now, but I’ve still a name in this country that all your indiscretions cannot mar. I honour the Thorndyke name, and, however little it may mean to you, I’ll not see you strip both respect and fortune from the estate! God knows I’ve little use for that puppy, Bryce, but there may be hope for him, and I’ll not stand by and watch you reduce him to inheriting a great house he’ll not be able to afford to maintain!” Jabbing one finger at the silenced young man, he barked, “I give you six months, Garret. And that is five months longer than I should allow you!”
“And then, sir?”
“Do you continue with this insane folly, much as it would pain me, I shall have no alternative but to judge you … mentally incompetent.” He heard Hawkhurst’s gasp and clenched his fists, forcing himself to continue. “I shall take steps, therefore, to have Belmont certify you as such … and remove you from control.” Shattered by the stunned white face, the horrified disbelief in the eyes of this young man he could not stop loving in spite of everything, he went on, “These past three years you have frittered away more funds than most men see in a lifetime—but twenty-five thousand in three months? No, sir! That is too much to be dropped at the tables, or charmed from your pockets by your flashy ladybirds! Call an end to it! Or … be warned! I shall!”
He snatched up his cigarillo, shoved his chair clear, and, stamping to the door, grated, “Come. I have said what I came to say, and your lovely guest has sufficient backbone to carry out her threat and refuse to sing for us. Now, there’s the type of girl for you, Hawkhurst! Not that she’d give you a second look, of course, for she’s been properly bred up, I don’t doubt. Indeed, I wonder that fine brother of hers did not remove her from this notorious den of yours—page or no page!”
He flung the door wide and, having received no answer, glanced back. His grandson was still sprawled at the table, a hand across his eyes. For an instant the old gentleman’s shoulders sagged. For an instant his proud head was bowed also, and he submitted to the lash of heartbreak.
Hawkhurst pulled himself together somehow, started around, and saw that dejected figure. A slow, admiring smile curved his lips. It had hurt the dear old fellow to do this. That knowledge strengthened him immeasurably. He turned quickly away and, making quite a noisy procedure of pushing back his chair, faced his now recovered grandparent with his chin as high, his eyes as bored as ever. And, sauntering to his side, thought, “… now there’s the type of girl for you, Hawkhurst … Not that she’d give you a second look…”
* * *
“Now if you ask, what did he do
In such a situation?
Why, sirs, he did what you’d do
too.
And did it with … elation!”
Her heart pounding at such daring, Euphemia lifted her hands from the keys of the pianoforte and stole a glance at two astounded faces. They had both looked so strained when first they came in, but perhaps she had gone too far.
The Admiral slapped one hand on his thigh and gave vent to a howl of mirth. Hawkhurst, his brows raised, but laughter brightening his weary eyes, crossed to the piano and murmured, “You brave girl! How often have you sung that piece of naughtiness?”
“Never, I do assure you,” she said, looking up at him mischievously. “Buchanan would be most shocked. But, I thought … well, you seemed—”
“Yes. You’re an angel. It did wonderfully.”
His hand came out as if to touch her cheek. His eyes held that special tenderness that made her heart twist painfully, but then the Admiral came to join them, and Hawkhurst drew back.
“By George, ma’am, but you are one in a million!” laughed Wetherby. “Fear not, we shall keep your secret. Our Wellington would enjoy hearing that!”
“Oh, he has, sir. But, not rendered by me, I promise you.”
The door flew open, and cries of welcome rang out. As the family hurried in to greet the old gentleman, Euphemia detected love in Dora’s eyes, anxiety in those of her sister-in-law, and an affectionate respect on the face of young Coleridge. Stephanie, straightening her hair nervously, looked flushed and quite definitely pretty. And Simon … Dismay touched her, and she crossed to where he hesitated just inside the door. “Does your shoulder pain you, dear?”
“No, no. I feel perfectly fit, thank you. And do not seek to defend by way of attack, Mia. Where were you? I’ll have you know, my girl, that, had it been any but Leith, I’d have been after you with a loaded musket, to say the least of it!”
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