“Greetings to ye, my lady,” she said. “Chilly in here. Ought to light the fire, Annie.”
Daintry, knowing that turf for the fires had to be cut out on the moor and hauled to the house, said quickly, “That is not necessary, Mrs. Popple. We are not chilly, I assure you.”
“Bless ye, lass, ’twarn’t you I were thinking of. These old bones o’ mine need a fire to keep ’em warm.”
Annie smiled and said, “We can light the fire, Granny.”
Charley said, “May we go into the kitchen instead, Annie? I like your kitchen.” Looking at Daintry, she said, “Remember the last time we came here, when Annie gave us saffron cakes?”
Annie laughed and said, “Come you in, lassie. The kitchen is where we entertain our closest friends, after all.”
The kitchen, much larger and more comfortable than the parlor, was clearly the real living room of the house. Its ceiling was low with dark oak beams, and strips of wood had been nailed to them to make a sort of rack overhead where Annie’s herbs were stored along with all sorts of other odds’ and ends.
While Annie laid out a comfortable snack of saffron cakes and tea, Daintry explained the reason for their visit.
“Don’t know nothing about that old feud,” Granny said flatly. “His lordship’s pa weren’t a man to encourage idle chatter about his personal life, no more than his lordship be.”
“But surely you heard things.”
“We did, but nothing a body could sink her teeth into. We heard he and Lord Thomas had a falling-out over a lady in London, but didn’t nobody know the rights of it, not then nor after.”
Daintry persisted but discovered nothing more, and soon took her leave, though not before the men came in for their dinner at noon. Greeting Warleggan, she found herself looking his younger brother over carefully, trying unsuccessfully to imagine the slim, broody middle-aged man married to her Nance.
As they were riding away, Charley showed that her thoughts had followed the same track. “He is not my notion of a good man for Nance. He is too sullen. Nance laughs all the time.”
“Then Nance would be just the person to cheer him up.”
“Perhaps.” But Charley did not sound convinced. They rode in silence for a time before she spoke again. “Aunt Daintry, we have come at least eight miles today, have we not?”
“We have, but don’t get to thinking that means you can go alone to visit Melissa. Your Uncle Geoffrey would be most displeased, I think, if I were to let you do any such thing.”
The child was silent for a moment, then said rather abruptly, “I don’t like Uncle Geoffrey.”
“Good gracious, darling, why don’t you like him? He has been kind to you, and even brought you a present from London.”
“Oh, yes, and I know it is my duty to love him because he is family, but he is so sticky smooth. Being with him is rather like having a jar of honey spilled all over one. He likes such smothery hugs, and he tickles people who loathe to be tickled.”
“You?”
“And Melissa, too. I know she is required to love him; he is her papa, after all. But I do not think it is precisely mandatory for me to do so, is it?”
“No, darling, certainly not.” Daintry replied, chuckling at the phrasing as much as at the sentiment.
Charley sighed. “I do not want to displease Uncle Geoffrey, because he can get very angry, but I still don’t see that there can be any harm in my going by myself. If you don’t want me to ride over and back in one day, perhaps I could stay overnight.”
“That is something you must talk over with your parents, darling, not with me,” Daintry said, realizing that she ought to have pointed out that fact rather sooner.
“But Papa and Mama never listen to me. They just say no and go on about their business, or they tell me to run along to the schoolroom. At least you listen.”
“Nevertheless, now that your papa and mama are at home, you should not ask my permission to do things that they must approve. You must make them listen, and,” she added swiftly, “you will not do that by being impertinent. Make a plan of what you want to say, then go to them and say it.”
Charley would no doubt have continued the argument, but at that moment her attention was diverted, and she exclaimed, “Is that not his lordship riding toward us, Aunt Daintry? Oh, it is! I would know that stallion anywhere!”
Daintry, too, recognized horse and rider, and the rapid beating of her heart informed her that she had not yet managed to deal with her wayward passions. Only with great effort was she able to restrain the impulse to urge her mount to a faster pace to meet him. Had he perchance been on the lookout for them? She had not thought about the likelihood of meeting him—or at least she had not allowed her thoughts to dwell upon the possibility—but now, as she watched his approach, she could not fool herself into believing she was not very glad to see him.
Deverill looked tired, she thought, but he smiled and greeted them, saying politely when Charley told him where they had been, “I hope your visit was a pleasant one.”
“Aunt Daintry asked Granny Popple a lot of questions about that old feud between our families,” Charley said, “but Granny doesn’t know how it got started.”
Deverill looked at Daintry. “Nothing new?”
“No, and I’ve read Aunt Ophelia’s journals, too.”
“Well, I’ve spent the week searching, and I’ve asked anyone I can think of who might remember it, but I’ve done no better.”
She had been watching him carefully. “Is something amiss, Deverill? You look as if something had vexed you.”
He was silent for a moment, turning the stallion and falling in beside them. “I am confused rather than put out,” he said, then added with a wry smile, “No, in truth, I am very much put out, but since I do not know what lies at the root of the business, it seems more accurate to claim confusion.”
Charley, chuckling, said, “You must know what vexed you, sir. I always know.”
He looked at her, then at Daintry, and Daintry knew he was choosing his words with care. “I received payment of a wager,” he said, “from someone who is angry with me. And while I know that he has some cause to be angry, the contents of the letter he wrote have nothing to do with the matter that I recall.”
Daintry said, “I believe I understand, sir, if you mean—”
“I do,” he said quickly, with another glance at Charley. “He has warned me away.”
“But he has no right!” He spoke of Geoffrey, she was certain, but although the man was her brother-in-law, he had no business to be ordering Deverill to keep away from her. Her father had already done that. The thought brought another, more unwelcome one. “Do you think he has also written to Papa?”
Deverill shook his head. “You misunderstand me. He would have every right to protest if what he writes were true, and no reason to complain to your father.”
Daintry could stand it no longer. “Charley, ride on with Clemons. I must speak to his lordship in private.”
So abruptly did she speak that for once, though Charley had been listening with unconcealed curiosity to their exchange, she did not question the command but touched Victor at once with spur and whip. Calling to Clemons to catch up with her, she rode on.
The moment the child was beyond earshot, Daintry said, “What is it, sir? Of what has Geoffrey accused you?”
“Only of trifling with his wife,” Deverill said grimly, watching her with narrowed eyes. “I would not blame you in the least if you believe—”
“I don’t.” She tried to think of what he might have done to make Geoffrey suspect him of such a thing.
“Don’t be so quick off the mark, my dear,” he said dryly. “You once accused me of trifling yourself, and I confess, your accusations were not altogether undeserved.”
She waved his words away with a gesture. “Susan would not respond to such advances,” she said. When his eyebrows rose ludicrously, she laughed and said, “Does that prick your vanity, Deverill? Are you so certain
of your charms?”
“Certainly not.”
“It would not matter if you were, for Susan, as you have seen for yourself, is in love with her husband. Even if she were not, she likes protective men, the sort who like her to flutter her lashes and tell them how wonderfully strong they are.”
He reached out and caught Cloud’s bridle, pulling the silver dun to a halt, and Daintry suddenly found his face disturbingly near her own. “Do you think I don’t like such women?”
Her breath stopped in her throat, and all she could think of was that the last time he had been this close to her, he had kissed her. Determined not to allow her passions to betray her into unbecoming behavior a second time, and drawing upon every resource at her command to control her voice, she said, “Do you like them, Deverill? I should not have guessed it.”
“Why not?” His face was inches from her own.
Fighting an impulse to lean forward just enough to press her lips against his, she murmured, “In truth, I believe you are tempted by anyone with bosoms, sir, but I also think you would find a lot of fluttering and fawning downright bothersome.”
“Do you?” He held her gaze for a moment longer, and she fancied he was somehow both amused and a little shaken. But then he straightened, released her bridle, and added in a more natural tone, “We have drifted from the point, however, which is that your brother-in-law accuses me of trifling with his wife, and insists he has his information from an unimpeachable source.”
“But that must be nonsense.” She wished he had not released her bridle. She did not want to talk about Susan or Geoffrey.
“It is nonsense, but I am not altogether certain what I can do about it, though I doubt he’ll make the accusation public.”
“No, for that would damage Susan’s reputation and his own, too. But you may be wrong about his not telling Papa. He might do so just to add fuel to the feud, and it would, you know.”
He said, “Your niece is waving. If you don’t want her riding back here, I suggest you smile and wave back. Whatever Seacourt does, I must tell you I do not like this cocksure attitude of his very much, and I’d like nothing better than to have a private chat with him to tell him so.”
Smiling and waving at Charley, she said nonetheless firmly, “You must not, for it would only make matters worse. Let me see what I can discover first. Charley has been begging me to let her visit Melissa, and while I have refused to let her go alone, perhaps if I go with her, I can learn more about this matter and put in a good word for you at the same time.”
“Much obliged to you,” he said dryly.
She grinned at him saucily. “At least you must agree, sir, that doing it my way is less likely to result in all-out war.”
“I agree to nothing of the sort.”
They caught up with Charley a few moments later, and not long afterward he left them, saying it was not advisable for him to ride too near Tuscombe Park. Daintry, listening to Charley’s chatter with only half an ear, spent the remaining time trying to think of how she could discover what had led Geoffrey to believe the worst of his own wife. She said nothing to Charley about the intended visit to Seacourt Head, which was just as well, for as they rode up to the house, a chaise drew up before the front entrance, and two figures descended. Charley recognized them first, shouting, “Melissa! It’s Melissa and Aunt Susan!”
Daintry recognized Melissa, but she was still not certain that the veiled figure who emerged from the chaise after the child was her sister. Jumping down from her horse and throwing the reins to Clemons, she cried, “Susan, is that you? Why on earth are you wearing that veil? Did someone die?”
“Go inside with Charlotte, Melissa. We will be right behind you.” The voice was Susan’s, but she was clearly not herself, for she held her arm tight against her waist and moved with unaccustomed stiffness. “Take in our things,” she said to Jago when the young footman came down the steps to meet them.
“You are staying a while then,” Daintry said, surprised.
“Don’t chatter. Just come with me,” Susan said, looking down the drive as though she expected to see someone approaching.
Her curiosity nearly overwhelming her, Daintry followed her sister into the house and up to her own bedchamber. Only when that door had been shut did Susan raise her veil.
Daintry gasped with shock. Her sister’s beautiful face was a mass of livid bruises.
Twelve
DAINTRY STARED AT SUSAN in disbelief. “Who did this to you? Here, sit down,” she added quickly when her sister swayed. Taking her by the arm, she led her to the dressing chair and pushed her down upon it. “Tell me now. How did this happen?”
Susan opened her mouth, then closed it, squeezing her eyes shut at the same time. When she opened them again, tears glistened on her lashes and spilled down her cheeks. “I thought it would be easy to tell you,” she whispered, “but it isn’t.”
Sudden, unwelcome suspicion leapt to Daintry’s mind. “But surely it is not true that you and Deverill—”
“Oh, no! Never!”
“But he received a letter from Geoffrey that said—”
“I know. I had received a letter, too, unsigned but saying Deverill cared for me and wanted to look after me. Geoffrey read it before ever I saw it, of course. He reads all my letters.” A wracking sob shook her body. “H-he was f-furious with me.”
“He did this—beat you like this—and accused Deverill of trifling, all because someone told you Deverill wanted to look after you? But how could he believe you were a party to such a thing? He must know you are the most dutiful of wives.”
“Oh, yes,” Susan said, looking away. “I am dutiful, and obedient, and submissive to all of Geoffrey’s wishes.” Her tone was exceedingly bitter.
“But then how could he believe—”
“Geoffrey believes what he chooses to believe.”
“But to have done this, he must have gone quite mad.”
“He was certainly enraged,” Susan said wearily, swallowing another sob. “He is frequently enraged.”
Daintry stared at her. “What can you mean? He has never been so angry as to beat you before.”
Susan was silent. Her shoulders slumped. She stared bleakly at the carpet.
“Has he?” Daintry touched her shoulder, meaning to make her turn and look up at her so that she could see her expression more easily. When Susan winced and jerked away, she exclaimed, “Good God, what else has he done to you?”
“No more than it is his legal right to do,” Susan muttered. “I displeased him. I frequently displease him, though God knows I try very hard not to do so. Even when he brought his mistress home and informed me that she was going to remain as our guest, I tried my best to be the perfect wife.”
“His mistress! Lady Catherine?”
“Oh, yes, dear Catherine. It is done in the best families, you know. Duchess Georgiana put up with Devonshire’s mistress for years before his death, and Lady Chelsea has put up with Caro What-not these past ten years and more. At least Catherine can be pleasant when she wishes to be. She is practical, too,” Susan added with a grimace. “She made it perfectly clear—to me, at least—that it is because she has so little money of her own and dislikes Yorkshire that she finds it convenient to live with us.”
“But…” Daintry remembered her suspicions and how easy it had been to dismiss them. “But I don’t understand. Your marriage always seemed so happy. You always seemed so happy.”
“Did I? Perhaps that is because I was terrified to seem otherwise.” Susan looked directly at her for the first time. “Remember when Geoffrey interrupted our tête à tête at Mount Edgcumbe, how solicitous he was about brushing my hair? He even asked you to hand him that dreadful hairbrush.” She shuddered. “H-he was displeased that after being forced to take second place to his mistress at home, and then in the coach all day, I had dared to behave in such a manner as to draw attention to myself.”
“He hit you when I left?” Daintry felt a fury rising within her
unlike any she could remember feeling before. “I am more sorry than I can say if I said or did anything to cause him to hurt you,” she said, struggling to keep her voice under control.
“It was not your fault. It was mine. It is always mine. I should not have come here.” She looked around the room much, Daintry thought, like an animal in a trap. “He will come after me, and when he does …” Her face grew white.
Daintry moved to pull the bell, and when Susan protested, said, “I am sending for Nance to sit with you while I find Aunt Ophelia. She will know what to do. I don’t, but I promise, I will do everything in my power to see that Geoffrey never hurts you like this again.”
When Nance entered and gasped at the sight of Susan’s face, Daintry said crisply, “Take care of her, and say nothing to anyone about her condition. She will stay here in my room until I can talk with Lady Ophelia. And, Nance, I mean not one word about this below stairs. Do you understand me?”
“I do,” Nance said grimly, still staring in shock at Susan, “but you are mistaken if you think you can interfere in this business, Miss Daintry. If those bruises mean what I suspect they do, Sir Geoffrey will be hard upon her heels. How is it he did not catch you up on the road, Miss Susan?”
“He went riding with his cousin,” Susan whispered. “They did not mean to return until late afternoon.”
Daintry, not waiting to hear more, left them and went in search of Lady Ophelia, whom she found in the drawing room with Lady St. Merryn and Miss Davies.
Before she could think of a tactful way to draw her great-aunt away from the others, her mother said, “Jago tells me Susan and Melissa have arrived, but if that is the case, where are they, my dear? Surely Susan must know that I want to see her.”
“She is … she is ill, Mama,” Daintry said, inventing swiftly and casting a beseeching glance at Lady Ophelia. “I came down to ask Aunt Ophelia if she would recommend one of her remedies that might be of some help.”
Miss Davies said brightly, “Oh, I’ll go up to her at once, shall I, Letitia dear? I am sure I will know precisely what to do for her. Perhaps a hot brick to her feet, or a soothing tisane. I concoct a very fine tisane, you know.”
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