"Nothing. But he knew I had seen. I was too shocked to say anything."
"Didn't he say anything? No kind of explanation, or—?"
"No." She winced a little, recalling how she had left him lying there, unable to bring herself to touch him again. "He just watched me go… and… and, when I once glanced back, he seemed to… to be smiling."
"Oh… hell!" swore Lord Whitthurst.
At the top of the rise, Lord Ridgley leaned forward, craning his neck for a first view of the visitors' carriage. He had ridden part of the way to meet them and, catching sight of the vehicle, waved his beaver and made a great halloo until they stopped and, after he'd told one of the outriders to bring in his mare, joined his friends in the carriage. Sophia was irked by his arrival, fearing he might mention the meeting and thus send Stephen into the boughs once more. In an effort to prevent such a contretemps, she chattered brightly about the luxurious vehicle that was conveying them so smoothly over the uneven surface of the road. As she exclaimed at some length over the white and gold exterior, the rich wood panels embellished with gold leaf adorning the interior, the powder blue and white velvet of the seat cushions and squabs, the hand-embroidered pulls of blue, white and gold, and the incredible ermine rugs, Sophia became aware that her brother viewed her aghast while Ridgley's brown eyes were alight with mirth. Unable to restrain herself she burst into laughter. "Oh… you dreadful men! You have no appreciation of beauty!"
"Spelled o-s-t-e-n-s-h—Gad! How do you spell it?" grinned Stephen.
"Ain't sure whether you mean—'stench' or 'ostentation'," quipped Ridgley. "Either one might suit!" Stephen having indicated the latter noun, Ridgley's sunny nature responded to the challenge, and they were soon all three embroiled in a spelling wrangle so that the miles passed very quickly.
Presently the Earl exclaimed, "Ah! Look, Sophia—you can see the Hall."
She looked, and gasped. Whitthurst said an awed, "By George!"
"Incredible," said Ridgley cheerfully, "ain't it?"
It was, thought Sophia, quite incredible.
Behind elaborately planted flower gardens in which every bloom was pink or white, Bodwin Hall towered to an impressive five storeys. The period was distinctly French, with lofty pitched roofs fringed by dormer windows and well supplied with tall, narrow chimneys. To the sides and back of the grey house, a high wall enclosed a private garden with many trees and shrubs and the two famous fountains, one on each side of an oblong pool. The stables were located behind the rear garden, while to the north, the spires of a tiny chapel peeped above the wall. And the whole was set in a small lush valley, rich with trees.
As the carriage swept down the drive and round the gardens, a mellow horn was sounded by the guard on the box, and at once the front doors swung open and an individual who was clearly the butler stepped out onto the wide terrace, followed by two splendid footmen.
The carriage came to a smooth halt. The grooms jumped down; the door was swung open, and the steps lowered. Trying not to look as awed as she felt, Sophia was handed down and greeted by the butler's respectful bow. Lord Bodwin hurried from the house to kiss her hand. "My dear Lady Drayton, what a very great pleasure!"
Ridgley introduced Whitthurst. Bodwin, his eyes very keen, was delighted to welcome the brother of so lovely a lady. The Viscount, his own eyes missing little of this elegant gentleman, took an immediate and intense dislike to him and therefore bowed with rare formality.
Once inside, Sophia was unable to conceal her amazement. The enormous central hall swept from front to back of the house. The floor was of white marble inset with rounds of sparkling green stone scattered haphazardly across the white expanse. To the right, a beautiful staircase spiralled upward, the delicate tracery of the iron railing, which was painted the same soft green as the round discs in the floor, rising through all the upper storeys to the roof. In the deep well hung a gigantic chandelier, the sunlight waking a thousand miniature rainbows from countless prisms. On each side of the front doors, windows soared to the ceiling and were so closely set in this central area that the wall was predominantly of glass. The far end of the room repeated the pattern, thereby preventing the huge area from becoming dark and forbidding. Looking up, Sophia discovered the ceiling to be magnificently carven, the center rising to a lovely dome intricately gilded and inset with superb oil paintings.
"My… heavens!" she gasped. "It is a palace!" And realizing the ghastly inadequacy of her present wardrobe, she could have sunk.
"It is, is it not?" beamed Lord Phineas, pleased by her perspicacity. "Though a palace lacking a Queen, I fear." His eyes dwelt upon her with a hunger that brought Whitthurst's brows sharply together. "I knew, my dear boy," Bodwin went on, taking the Viscount's arm as though he sensed his reaction, "that your beauteous sister would appreciate my home. Especially after that dismal Priory, eh, ma'am? Perhaps it was not kind in me to invite you here directly. But then, every man for himself! To the victor, eh, Captain? Being a—er—former military man, you can certainly appreciate that!" He led them toward the stairs, Whitthurst flashing a fulminating glance at Sophia as their host prattled on happily. "How pleased I am that you were able to come. When Damon sent me word, I could not wait until Ridgley left but sent the carriage especially for you both. And now I have the honour of entertaining the reigning toast and a hero of Waterloo!" The Viscount flushed, glanced back at Ridgley, and was treated to a low bow and a broad grin as that worthy sought entertainment elsewhere. "You shall have to tell me all about it, my lord," said Bodwin. "Never have had a firsthand report, and it must have been such a magnificent spectacle! Though they're saying now Wellington bungled, as usual, and it was more a defeat than a victory!"
Sophia cast an appalled look at her brother's suddenly pale features. Their well-meaning host could scarcely have managed so many wounding remarks had he tried.
Whitthurst stiffened, opened his mouth for a scathing comment, but was drowned in the tide as Bodwin rambled on, eventually apologizing for having chattered like a magpie and saying as they reached the top of the first flight, "You must rest, for I can see you are far from well, poor fellow. And you will both be wanting to view your rooms. There'll be no noise to disturb you here, of that I can assure you! Later, I shall insist upon showing off my home. I am vastly proud of it, for it's one of the finest in all England, I do believe. But you must stop me if I become verbose upon the subject!"
Whitthurst summoned a smile that Sophia was afraid might cause his rigid countenance to crack and, becoming very aristocratic—a demeanour that would have warned his friends—politely lied that he was not in the least tired and would enjoy to see the house now. Dismayed, she could do nothing but join in these sentiments, and Bodwin joyfully conducted them on a "brief tour.
An hour later, they had still not seen all of the mansion, and Sophia had exhausted her supply of superlatives. Bodwin, however, was as full of words as enthusiasm. He had lectured on many paintings, carvings, and objets d'art contained in a bewildering succession of drawing rooms, lounges, and salons. They had been conducted through an overpowering music room containing an ornately carven and gilded harpsichord, a harp, and numerous smaller instruments. They had viewed at least four dining rooms beside the breakfast room; a study; a huge library; weapons room; game room; gymnasium, and a long gallery containing his lordship's collection of the more precious works of art, together with a splendid array of antique jewelery. Shy-eyed, impeccably neat maids were everywhere, and there seemed to be an inordinate number of footmen standing about: tall, well-built men, splendid in livery of a dusty green satin that matched the stair railings.
Already, Sophia was slightly weary of such a surfeit of ostentation, and Whitthurst had become very pale, the dark shadows beneath his eyes bespeaking his fatigue. Bodwin, his attention equally divided between Sophia and his home, noted her anxiety and at once summoned the nearest hovering footman and desired him to show the Viscount to his room. Sophia managed to follow without too obviously betraying her c
oncern. Entering the magnificent bedchamber, she was less impressed by it than she was relieved to find Stephen attended by an elderly and apparently kindly gentleman at chambers who was, Bodwin assured her, to devote himself solely to Lord Whitthurst. A footman was summoned and instructed to assist Mr. Byrnes "should he need—ah— help with his lordship." This last kindly remark brought a painful flush to the Viscount's handsome features, and it was with considerable relief that Sophia watched Lord Bodwin beam his way from the room.
She stayed for only a few moments and, aware that her brother was seething with rage, adjured him to have a good nap, after which she was sure he would feel better. He cast her a darkling glance; she smiled lovingly and withdrew.
The housekeeper waited in the hall. She was impressively gowned and properly welcoming, yet lacking that spark called warmth.
Having been silently conducted to the enormous bedchamber allotted to her, Sophia was again taken aback. In the center, a raised platform supported an incredible bed. The four posts were of carven ivory, and it must have required months of painstaking labour to complete the motifs worked in filigree from top to bottom and the bird that perched atop each post, wings widespread, its beak holding the edge of a delicate canopy of white silk edged with pale-pink tassels. The ruffles and curtains around the bed were also white silk, and the eiderdown was pink and white in a dainty floral pattern. The decor was pink, shading to reds, with white accents. In the lower area, three armchairs were charmingly grouped before the windows; there was a graceful escritoire, a dressing table and bench, several chests of drawers, and two presses. The windows were many and wide, opening onto the eastern side of the house, allowing a pleasant view of the tranquil countryside.
Two maids curtseyed as Sophia walked into the room, They were shy country girls: one, plump and giggly, was named Constance, and the other, very tall and lantern-jawed, was Louise. The housekeeper took her leave, having sternly admonished them that she'd best not hear anything to their discredit. Sophia assured the alarmed girls that she was delighted to have the benefit of their services, and they brightened gratefully. She also told them, however, that they would have few clothes to care for since most of her belongings had been returned to Kent, and she had only the few garments in the valise and bandbox she had brought with her from the Priory.
The maids exchanged surprised glances, then Connie threw open one of the presses. Sophia was dumbfounded. The rack was crowded with her own clothes, just as Hettie Adams might have packed them for an extended journey. She spread the garments and discovered a ball gown she'd never seen before. It was of dusty blue silk tinged with lilac. Rather décollette, the heartshaped neckline was edged around with tiny hand-embroidered flowers of a paler blue, centred by small sapphires that winked and sparkled even in the dim press. The gown might have been created especially for her, so perfect were both colour and style. Touching it admiringly, she felt paper rustle and found a note pinned inside. She frowned, recognizing that firm scrawl. "My regrets, niece, that I was unable to find a suitable travelling gown to replace the one you spread with mud." (She spread!) "I trust this poor substitute will prove satisfactory. Damon. P.S. You'd best try it on—it is probably a size too small." She choked back an indignant exclamation. Too small, indeed! The man simply did not know how to be gracious! And the gown would go unworn, of course! Lovely as it was. She sighed. It must have cost a fortune.
"Your other things is all unpacked, ma'am," said Constance, opening two of the drawers in a chest.
Sophia saw with delight that her toilet articles and under garments were, indeed, neatly disposed. So many of the small yet necessary items she had missed these past few days. "How very kind of Lord Bodwin!" she exclaimed.
Louise said, "The Marquis of Damon had your portmanteau brought from Kent, ma'am. His grooms drove all night to get here in time. This here"—she moved to open the connecting door—"is your parlour, milady."
Sophia followed, arguing fiercely with herself. She had no need to feel overset with guilt! The wretched Viper had merely returned articles he himself had most arrogantly snatched away from her.
The parlour was smaller than the bedchamber but no less splendid, though rather too full of ornaments for her taste. Among these, her attention was held by the rather insipid watercolour of a farmyard. She smiled at it sadly and could all but hear the Duke's well-modulated voice exclaiming, "I thought it was a still life." Again, staring wistfully at the painting, she sighed.
Thompson opened the front door and stood for a moment, speechless with astonishment. Impatient, Sophia stepped inside. Horatio was about to set forth on a second vociferous gallop round the Great Hall but, catching sight of her, checked so abruptly that he skidded and, having recovered himself, hissed his disapproval and made a mad dash for the kitchen.
"Lord Ridgley just come a bit ago—" stammered the butler. "He didn't say you was coming, ma'am. I dunno what—"
"He did not know," said Sophia coolly. "I have a message from Lord Whitthurst for the investors, though I told him the meeting had been postponed…" She searched his troubled eyes and, receiving no nod, asked, "It has—has it not?"
A distant roar of masculine voices raised in song, accompanied by the vibrant tones of the harpsichord, answered that question.
"Perhaps," said Thompson uneasily, "if your ladyship would wait in the—"
"That is perfectly all right." Sophia bestowed her bonnet and cloak upon the startled man. "I shall announce myself."
"But—it's a gentlemen's business meeting! You can't— you don't—"
"I can. And I do." She smiled and walked down the hall, her knees rubbery, her heart pounding like a hammer.
She had told Ridgley only that her brother was too exhausted to return for the meeting and had waved a goodbye to him, betraying no hint she intended to follow. Lord Bodwin had agreed reluctantly to her sudden departure. Unable to abandon his other guests, he had insisted she travel with a guard, two grooms and two outriders, in addition to the coachman, and she'd promised to return just as quickly as her message was conveyed to the Marquis. Now, reaching the music room, she paused and took a deep breath. How she was to brazen it through she dared not think, but she had done the damage, and if—as she feared—Damon had learned of her vengeance, she must be the one to face him; he must not be allowed to upset Stephen! She touched the small but heavy weight in her reticule for reassurance, then pushed the door a little wider.
Damon was seated at the harpsichord. He wore no jacket; his neckcloth was loosened and his shirt unbuttoned, allowing a glimpse of black hairs on his exposed chest. Ignoring this vulgarity, her eyes flashed to his face. Despite the cut mouth, his pipe was clamped between his teeth. The left side of his face seemed one large bruise, and a piece of tape was affixed to his right temple. He must, of course, have had a few hours rest before his guests arrived, yet it was remarkable, she thought, that he was able to play resoundingly, betraying no sign of discomfort, as the investors sang lustily.
Ridgley leaned against the mantle; two gentlemen, arms linked, stood beside him, tankards waving in time with the music. Another young man with tow hair and a pleasant, ruddy-complected face, lay on top of the harpsichord, his cheek propped on one hand, a goblet in the other. A fifth gentleman sprawled on the sofa was almost invisible, with only his Hessians sticking out the far end; and sprawled in one of the armchairs was a bald, heavyset man, eyes closed, smiling dreamily and crooning something that appeared to have nothing to do with either the words or music of their song.
"Second verse!" roared Damon. "Oh, the noble Duke of York, he had—"
At this point, the man atop the harpsichord caught sight of Sophia. His reaction was ludicrous. His jaw fell; his eyes goggled; he almost dropped his tankard and swung himself off the harpsichord so hurriedly that he fell and disappeared beneath it. Damon, observing this performance with amusement, followed his gaze, stopped playing, barely caught his pipe as it tumbled from between his teeth, and, starting up, winced, caught at
his side, and sat down again.
Bereft of their music, the singers, one by one, faded into silence. The last to cease his enthusiastic braying was the man on the sofa. Perceiving belatedly the frozen consternation of his brethren, he raised an untidy dark head above the back, cried an aghast "Sophia! Oh gad!" and, jumping up, grabbed for his jacket. There was a mad scramble of activity. Ridgley rushed to assist Damon in the obviously difficult process of putting on his jacket, hissing apparent denials of any knowledge of Sophia's intentions as he perpetrated a ghastly cravat upon him. The two gentlemen, who'd been standing arm in arm, hurried to bow and apologize for their "ha… hum… unpreparedness to greet so lovely a member of the fair sex." They ushered her into the room, all but trampling the man from the sofa, who claimed her hand and bowed over it, then dropped a kiss upon her upturned cheek, a surprised grin lighting his lean features.
"Hello, Harry." She smiled on this distant cousin. "How very nice to find you here."
Damon came over and said a formal "You honour us, my lady." But his eyes blazed at her as he bowed with considerably less grace than his friend.
Looking down at his dark hair, she suspected that he was extremely uncomfortable and guessed rightly from the way he moved that his ribs were badly bruised. She realized, also, that, far from the shame she would have hoped he would feel, he was infuriated by her presence. There was little doubt, however, that the others present reacted differently. She had selected her gown with care. It was of pale-pink silk, tightly fitted about her bosom and descending in a slim sheath over a gossamer petticoat. That the neck was a little lower than she usually affected appeared to offend no one; the gentlemen's eyes, in fact, positively glowed with admiration. Her golden curls were caught into clusters at each ear. The only jewellery she wore was a gold necklace her Papa had brought back from India: a heavy band wherefrom a cunningly wrought translucent red gem dangled, catching the light in such a way as to draw attention to her breasts. She had dressed for men, and with one exception she had them eating from her hand.
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 04] - Love's Duet Page 18
