"It was Roland whom—you married, I think?" Sophia prompted gently.
At once, that booming laugh rang out. "The quiet one, you're thinking! Married to a great, clumsy creature like me! No, no, child—never get into a taking! It's what everyone thought. Still, we loved one another. We had twenty wonderful years. And then—he was killed at Talavera. I grieved for him, but he died as he would have wished, fighting for the country he loved. A noble dying. If only we'd been blessed with children, it wouldn't be… quite so…" She broke off, shook her head, and said impatiently, "D'ye see how maudlin I get? And this isn't my story but Vaille's. I shall never forget the expression on his face when he met Ninon again. It had been almost five years since he'd saved her life in France. His first wife had died eighteen months previously, and we were all down at Hollow Hill for the week. Harland had many guests, and one day Ninon and her Mama walked in. I don't know what made me look at Vaille, but he was staring at Ninon as if he had glimpsed something… holy. The only trouble was, Ridgley had the same look!" A sad smile flickered over her face. "Trouble, trouble! They both courted her. Bets on which would win were laid at all the clubs, but I don't think Ted ever had the slightest chance."
"One would think, with such a love, there would have been few problems," Sophia interjected. "Yet you said the marriage was unhappy?"
"Not at first. Philip's life revolved round her and their child. And when Ninon became withdrawn and afraid of him, I think it broke his heart. To add to his sorrow, she would use any and every excuse to keep him away from Camille until the child himself became—and I think is to this day— afraid of his father. Even so, he worships the man. But will not acknowledge it. Which is what provokes me so that I wish I might strangle my arrogant, cold, top lofty, much too good looking, and altogether beloved nephew! That surprises you, I see. My dear, never doubt it. I am putty in those beautiful hands of his, and well he knows it, however I harp and rail at him! At all events, it was Ninon's fear of Vaille which caused the final rift between the cousins. Poor Ridgley, you see, was still completely in love with her, and to see her so unhappy was unbearable to him. It was wrong, of course. He should have gone away and left them to manage their troubles; and he would, I'm sure, had she been happy. As time passed, however, Philip and Ninon grew ever farther apart. When Camille was nine years old, there was, as I told you, a dreadful quarrel. For better than a year, Vaille had wanted the boy sent away to school, but Camille was frail, and Ninon dreaded to be parted from him."
"But this is our custom. Did she not realize British families send their boys to boarding school?"
"I'm sure she did. But she would not agree. Vaille was patient at first but became increasingly angry, especially since Ridgley stood firmly with Ninon in the matter. They were at the Priory for the summer when it all came to a head. Ted arrived to find Ninon in tears. He lost his temper and Vaille… well, he can be very cutting in a quiet way, but when he is really furious, the ice flies in all directions, I do assure you! From what I heard, they almost came to cuffs— at the very least! The next morning, Ninon—poor child—took Camille and ran away." Her lips quivered, and she stopped abruptly.
The large hands were tightly gripped, and Sophia realized how soft was the heart that hid beneath the bluff exterior. "How sad," she said gently. "It must have been a most ghastly thing."
"Yes… The chaise went off the highway and rolled down a bank. One of the horses broke free, but the other went down with the chaise. Mercifully, Camille was thrown clear. He was not badly hurt, but his arm was broken, and he was pinned beneath the animal's neck. He struggled bravely, dear child, but could not win free. He could see… his Mama but could not help her."
Horrified, Sophia whispered, "Dear God! How awful!"
"It was hours before they were found. The groom was unconscious and unable to help. The rain was very heavy, the chaise half concealed by shrubs...And that, my dear, is why Camille cannot abide horses. He can drive 'em and does exceeding well. But to touch one is more than he can bear."
There was a brief silence, each woman engrossed in her own thoughts. Then Sophia asked, "Feather, you said the Comtesse would not allow Damon to return to his Papa. Was she bitter about her daughter's death?"
"Perhaps. But, basically, she and her husband were kind people. She never forgot that Vaille had once saved her life. She wrote to him regularly—long letters with much detail of the boy. And she made Camille write, also. But each time Vaille tried to bring his son home, she outwitted him. The Comte had lost most of his wealth during "The Terror" but still wielded great influence throughout Europe. When Vaille finally became completely out of patience, the courts in Belgium would not support him. Eventually, Vaille took desperate measures and stormed to their chateau. He could not have chosen a worse moment. The Comte was critically ill and the Comtesse sick with fear that she would lose him. There was a bitter confrontation. Camille rejected Vaille and refused to return except by force. He was seventeen then, and I don't doubt was capable of being just as cutting as he often is now—beastly creature! Vaille came home alone. When his Grandmama died, Camille finally returned to England, but that was the hardest blow of all, I think. Because he would not live in the same house with his father. And now, alas, will not even share the same city."
"Does he perhaps lay his Mama's death at Vaille's door?"
Lady Branden frowned thoughtfully. "Perhaps. Or perhaps he knows something of their relationship that none of us suspected. The only one who knows for sure where Ninon was running that day is Camille. Would that he could remember!"
"And this is the reason why the Duke and Ridgley hate each other?"
"Reason and enough, Sophia. When Vaille came home and learned of the tragedy, he almost went out of his mind with grief. He sat for days and nights in the music room…just staring at the harpsichord Ninon had so loved to play. One night, he went to Town in search of Ted. He found him at a Ball at Lucinda Carden's house. Frightful! They went into another room. Nobody 'noticed' of course, but that cat Anne Hersh followed and watched. She told us that Philip accused Ridgley of coming between them and implied that Ninon had been running to him when the accident happened. Ridgley said something stupid—to the effect that he prayed to God that was truth!" Her eyes flashed, and she snorted an impatient "Men!"
"I'm amazed that Vaille didn't call him out—cousin or no!"
"Did. Roland and I, in a very desperate struggle, were able to stop that final disaster. But they've been on the brink of a duel a dozen times since. I… I wouldn't mind it so much, but…" Her twisted smile was woeful. "They are quite equally matched. Probably kill each other. And that I simply… could not… bear."
At first, Sophia thought the gallery empty, but looking around, she at last saw Lord Phineas contemplating a display case containing splendid antique jewellery. She called to him, and he hastened to join her and express his profound gratitude that she had interrupted her rest to come and talk with him. He expressed himself so profoundly, in fact, that she began to be bored by his gratitude and was quite relieved when he, at length, drew her to a sofa beneath a magnificent tapestry and asked her with a rather overdone humility if she would grant him just one small favour. Afraid that this might evolve into the offer she now dreaded to receive from him, she said cautiously that she would hope to be able to oblige any good friend were it in her power to do so. She was considerably surprised, however, when he enquired what she planned to wear to the ball. With the smallest of frowns, she replied that she would probably wear an ivory-lace gown, refusing to admit even to herself that she had no intention of doing so. The look of horror that flashed across his face was so ludicrous that she burst into laughter. "Good gracious, Phinny! Shall I spoil your evening?"
"Yes! Absolutely!" He possessed himself of her hand and, patting it, said, "I have planned a—small surprise. One of your maids was kind enough to tell me you own a truly magnificent blue gown. I was sure you would wear it."
Sophia removed her hand gently and said w
ith quiet emphasis that she preferred not to wear that particular gown. She was taken aback when Bodwin voiced an eloquent plea that she do so. "For the colour is perfect, and I vow I can scarce wait to see you in it."
"You… have seen it?"
"I must confess that I have and could not help but admire it."
Considerably annoyed by such flagrant presumption, she said stiffly, "How kind of you to plan a surprise for me."
He gave a sad little answering smile, and she was at once seized by remorse. The poor man was kind and well intentioned. He planned to honour her at his ball and had been a considerate host. All he asked in return was that she wear a gown which, in her heart, she longed to slip into. She smiled and capitulated. "Very well, Phinny. I will wear the blue gown."
His face lit up, and he clapped his white hands ecstatically. "Dear lady! You are so gracious! How may I reward such magnanimity? Ah, I have it!"
He minced over to the display case he had been inspecting when she arrived. Without looking around, he snapped his fingers, and a gorgeous footman at once floated into the room, unlocked the glass door of the cabinet, and drifted soundlessly away.
Bodwin removed a flat jewel case and carried it to Sophia. "This is very old," he said, placing it in her hands. "You would honour me by wearing it this evening, dear lady."
She knew that she should simply hand it back with a polite refusal but was unable to resist a peek at what lay inside. A magnificent necklace of sapphires and diamonds that must have been worth a fortune winked and sparkled at her. Worn with a very plain gown, it would still have been ornate; worn on the gown Damon had sent, it would be downright vulgar. "It is perfectly lovely." She closed the case and held it out to him. "But I cannot wear it."
"Nonsense," he smiled, waving the case aside. "It will not put you in the shade, my dear."
She stood despite the fact that he did not step back, and she was obliged to come closer to him than she would have wished. "You are very good, Phinny," she said quietly. "I shall wear the blue gown but not the necklace."
She prepared to walk past, but he tossed the case down, the lid falling open and the jewels spilling onto the gleaming floor. As she paused, shocked by this careless gesture, Bodwin gave a groan and, to her horror, dropped to his knees and pressed her hand to his lips. "I have offended you! Sooner would I die! Ah, my most beautiful Sophia, when you consent to become my bride, I shall be the proudest man in all England!"
"Phinny!" She struggled to free herself. "This is most improper! You should have spoken to Whitthurst before you so addressed me!"
"Why? The boy's ill. You are a mature woman and can reach your own decisions. From the moment we met, we have been more than friends! Though I doubt you'd expected to bring a strong man to his knees."
Such a speech should have enraged her, but she had to fight a wicked impulse to giggle, an impulse strengthened by having caught a glimpse of the footman's impassive features transformed into a gigantic grin before they were whisked from sight. She could scarce blame him—Bodwin looked so utterly ridiculous, kneeling there in all his finery, the necklace sparkling beside him. "Do get up, Phinny! I am truly sensible of the great honour you pay me, but—I wouldn't really suit you at all."
She was impressed by the agility with which he regained his feet, springing up in a way that many a younger man would have envied. "You must have more confidence in yourself, my dear," he said with tolerant condescension. "You are lovely now and will grow in grace and beauty under my guidance. Your family is quite presentable, and your lack of an inheritance is of little moment with me. With you here, presiding over all the pretty little feminine functions that have gone unattended for so long, my house will be complete!"
Torn between irritation and amusement, she thought, 'He doesn't want a wife, he wants another object to display!' And she said aloud, "It is much too soon, my lord. I scarcely know you, and—"
"And there is someone else, perhaps?" It was softly said, yet his gaze became fixed and oddly brilliant.
'…there is someone else, perhaps?' The words seemed to echo in her ears. "I have received other offers, sir," she evaded, lowering her lashes, "but never one I have considered accepting."
"Then can it be because there is some slight discrepancy in our ages? I assure you, my dear, you will not find me wanting in virility. You are not just out of the schoolroom, and I am considered quite a prize in the matrimonial stakes, you know. Many a lovely girl has dropped her handkerchief for me; many a trap has been set by a hopeful Mama—but in vain. Always I have waited for the perfect partner."
He was all but preening himself. Sophia, having been made to feel quite matronly, was less vexed than amused. Unable to resist the temptation, she said demurely, "But— alas, I am not perfect."
"I shall make you perfect!" he vowed, striking a pose. "I shall take your natural beauty and refine it! The greatest couturiers in the world shall clothe you! I shall import skilled cosmeticians to enhance your loveliness. There are those, dear Sophia, who know just how to make a mouth…"—he tapped the side of her cheek gently—"just a teensy shade… less wide. Or to bring a nose to perfect scale! Your father's recklessness, your brother's wildness, are not necessarily traits you must pass on to your children. You shall never know worry again. Money, Sophia, is the softest cushion the world offers, and you shall be one of the richest women in England. Your word will be law absolute—second only to my own—in all my vast possessions and estates. You shall have…"
She had gone from incredulity to anger to mirth during this speech. Now, as he went on at great length, she found laughter bubbling up inside her and thought, 'Oh, Camille! If only you could hear this!' She realized that he had finished his oration at last and was watching her, probably expecting her to fall at his feet! He was an insufferable bag of conceit! And not once, in all the puffing off of his consequence, had he said the one thing that might have disposed her more kindly toward him. Not once had he claimed to feel the tender emotion. But just the same, he was her host, and in his own pathetic fashion he had paid her the greatest compliment a man may pay a woman, and she would not hurt him for the world. Therefore, she lowered her eyes and stood in meek silence, striving to think of something she might say without giggling. Fortunately, she was spared the effort.
"Ah"—Bodwin smiled indulgently—"I have overwhelmed you, have I not? I am too sudden, too masterful! It was ever thus with the men of my house. Take your time, my dear. Become accustomed to this palace of mine and allow yourself to think of it as… ours!"
Chapter 19
"Like dark pools…" sighed the Viscount, a hand behind his head on the pillow, his eyes smiling up at the canopy above him. "And that delicious upper lip…" He turned a look of complete idiocy upon his amused sister. "Did you remark that, Chicky? Have you ever in your life seen such a delightful little mouth? Reminds me—"
"Of a little rabbit." She nodded. "You told me." His bright-eyed happiness caused her to bless Genevieve's absent head. He loved her all right! How wonderful to be so sure. To have pride and joy and love. And no doubts. And how could she spoil this bliss by confessing her own sins? How could she admit that she had brought shame upon him, fouled his given word, had so little faith in his judgment that she had—
"Chicky?" Anxiety clouded Whitthurst's eyes. "Nothing wrong, is there? You do like her? I mean—" He looked very shy suddenly. "I mean—just supposing she should honour me—Not that I think she would. But—you wouldn't—er— Oh, dash it all! You know what I'm trying to say, you ninny-hammer!"
"Of course I do. And I love Genevieve already. I did, in fact, before I knew you two had met. It's just…" But the eagerness with which he waited was her undoing. She could not tell him! Not now. He deserved this new found joy, bless his dear soul. She forced her own misery to the back of her mind and stammered, "Well dear, we're not exactly plump in the pockets. If Genevieve—"
"Needs a rich husband?" he grinned. '"Fraid the shoe's on the other foot. She may not be the wealthiest
heiress in Europe, but she's never going to have to worry about the price of tea! I shall feel positively guilty about offering for the sweet girl, in fact." A shadow crossed his face. "Everything considered."
"Speaking of offering…" said Sophia with a twinkle.
Whitthurst looked at her sharply. "You'd best give me the office, Chicky. He's liable to come asking permission to address you, and I should—"
"He already has."
He sprang up in bed, his eyes flashing. "He—what?"
"He offered to—er—bestow upon me one of the oldest names in England. And"—she tossed both arms wide and said dramatically—"all this!"
"By God!" cried Whitthurst, her humour escaping him. "How dared he approach you without first asking me? Fellow's uncouth, Sophia!"
She stared at him and thought of Phineas and the condescending proposal he had made her. "Uncouth?" she gurgled. "Oh! How that would enrage him, Steve!"
"I'll enrage him!" he muttered wrathfully. "What the devil did he say?"
"Well, he first showed me the most magnificent diamond and sapphire necklace I have ever—"
"I'll break his filthy neck!" cried the Viscount, tossing back the bedclothes and exposing a very hairy leg.
"Please do not," she said with amused affection. "Though I thank you for the impulse. It was not a gift. I suppose even Phinny would not be that gauche. He wanted me to wear it to the ball tonight. But I refused."
"So I should hope!" growled Whitthurst, settling back.
"And I refused him, dear. Though he was willing to overlook a great deal." She went to the dressing table and leaned closer to the mirror. "Do you think cosmetics could help my poor mouth?"
"Help it? What humdudgeon are you talking? Ain't hurt— is it?"
"No. But he was right, I do believe. It is a shade too wide."
She turned and found him gaping at her. "He never did!" A little light began to dance in his eyes. "You're making it up!"
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 04] - Love's Duet Page 22
