“Won’t do you a particle of good to stand up for the fellow, Davina. He hit my sister, and I’ve had my fill of him chasing after you, giving you presents—Oh, I could tell right enough, just by the way you were looking at him tonight, that he gave you that damned diamond brooch! I won’t have it, I tell you.”
Catching him by the arm, Davina said hastily, “That’s not true, Charles. I bought the spray myself. It’s a trifle, paste, I swear it! I did it to make you jealous. I thought you didn’t care a button for me, but oh, Charles, you do, don’t you?”
“Well, of course, I do,” he said, looking searchingly at her. “Look here, Davina, what about all those other fellows?”
There were tears in her eyes. “I kept trying to get a rise out of you, Charles, but you’d just go off and play cards and drink, or flirt with some other woman. How was I to know you cared? You never said a word, except when you would get angry about me spending too much money on a gown or some such thing. And when I borrowed the rouleaux from Alvanley, I didn’t know if you shouted at me out of jealousy or just because it was money.”
Charles suddenly became aware of his interested audience, and said, “Look here, Davina, this ain’t the place to chatter about this. We’ll go somewhere and have a good talk.”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “Oh, how I wish I had told you all this before. It would have been so much simpler if we had both just said what we really felt straight out, instead of each of us expecting the other to know what was in his mind.”
Susan, who had watched Gideon knock her husband to the floor without much change of expression, stepped from behind Penthorpe when Seacourt groaned and began to sit up, and said clearly, “Davina is right. One cannot expect things to change if one does not say one wants them to change. Geoffrey, if you please, since we will return to Cornwall when Mama and the others do, I want you to ask Catherine to make other arrangements. I am perfectly capable of running my household without her assistance, and I am certain that we shall get along a great deal better without her. Moreover, since Daintry will need help preparing for her wedding, Melissa and I will want to make frequent visits to Tuscombe Park to help her. Surely, you will not object to that, sir.”
Seacourt, still shaken, did not speak until he regained his feet, but then, casting a look around at his audience, including Charles and Davina, who had been halted in their steps by Susan’s Words, he turned a malevolent eye on his wife and said, “You seem to have forgotten your place, my dear, but you will soon be painfully reminded of it. As to visiting Tuscombe Park, you can forget about doing any such thing until you learn better manners. Moreover, you will go nowhere in Melissa’s company. I thought I had made that quite plain to you before now.” He looked around again, this time with a clear challenge in his eyes. “Does anyone here dare deny my right to command my own wife?”
No one did, and with a fulminating look at Gideon and a second at Penthorpe, he took his weeping wife out of the room.
Twenty
WITH TEARS IN HER eyes, Daintry watched Seacourt take Susan away, and knew the tears had nothing to do with the sting in her cheek. Daintry had bounced up at once after Seacourt had struck her and she had seen Deverill knock him down, and this time her emotions were unmixed. She felt only elation at seeing the bully brought to his knees, but what occurred afterward left her mind reeling, and when she saw Charles and Davina slip out behind Susan and Geoffrey, she got up at once to follow.
Deverill barred her way. “Don’t move so quickly,” he said. “That was quite a blow you took.”
“But Aunt Ophelia can stop Geoffrey!”
“You would never get to her in time,” he said patiently, “and you cannot go out there just now. Andy, go and fetch her a cup of punch, and get one for yourself.” He smiled wryly. “Something tells me you did not drink the one I gave you earlier. What the devil became of it?”
Penthorpe was still staring at the door through which the others had gone, and Daintry saw that his hands were clenched into fists. When Deverill spoke his name a second time, he turned toward him, visibly collecting himself. Relaxing his hands, he said impatiently, “The punch? Oh, I gave it to Lady Ophelia. She was feeling the heat and said if I did not want it, she would be glad of it. I didn’t, you know. Just took it because you were so dashed insistent.”
“Good God,” Deverill said, grimacing ruefully.
“What is it?” Daintry asked.
He did not answer at once, and Penthorpe said, “I’ll get that punch straightaway. Dreadful thing to have done to you, my dear. The man deserves to be flogged.”
Deverill said suddenly, “Take your time, Andy.”
“What’s that?” Penthorpe paused, and she saw them exchange a look before he shrugged and said, “I’ll see what’s o’clock.”
Staring after him in bewilderment, she said, “Well, of all the odd things! Do you know, Deverill, I think he has already forgotten he was to fetch me some punch.”
“Sit down,” he said. “I have something to tell you.”
“Why did you look so startled when he said he had given his punch to Aunt Ophelia?” she demanded.
The rueful look appeared again. “I had hoped to prevent just such a scene as the one that erupted here. He and Seacourt were clearly bound to collide, but I thought perhaps, if Andy got too sleepy …” He patted his waistcoat suggestively.
Understanding dawned quickly. “The powders? Deverill, don’t tell me you mixed your powders into the punch and Penthorpe gave it to Aunt Ophelia! Merciful heavens, we must go and find her at once.” She turned toward the door, but once more, before she had taken two steps, he caught her and pulled her back; and, once again she found herself much too close to him for comfort.
“You cannot go out there yet,” he said gently. “The mark on your cheek is too pronounced not to draw comment.” He touched it, and his hand felt cool but his eyes gleamed with sudden hot anger, and he said, “I did not hit him nearly hard enough.”
She said mildly, “I’m glad you knocked him down, sir. He deserved it. Indeed I should have liked to do it myself.”
“The last time I did it, you were angry.”
“Only because you did not give me time to deal with him on my own terms. This was different.”
He stroked her sore cheek again, and she looked up at him, aware of his nearness and remembering the last time he had kissed her. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he remembered it, too. He seemed to hesitate, but she waited, breathless, as nerve ends throughout her body came alive and her willpower evaporated. He bent nearer, and his lips touched hers, lightly, then again, harder, and then she was in his arms, and his kisses became more possessive. His hands moved over her back, caressing her. One moved to her waist, pulling her hard against him, and then slid up her side and around to her breast just as his tongue began to tease her lips, to part them, begging entry.
A sudden, quite unexpected wave of memory and fear swept over her, and involuntarily, she started and pulled away.
He let her go at once, looking both surprised and apologetic. “Did I hurt you? I forgot that you might have been bruised when you fell onto that sofa.”
“No, I am not hurt. It’s nothing, really.” She could not meet his gaze, certain he would see the lie in her eyes.
His hands were on her shoulders now, and she trembled, unable to stop the horrid reaction, which she knew perfectly well had nothing to do with anything that had just happened and everything to do with what had happened to her at Seacourt Head.
Deverill’s hands tightened, and he said, “You’re shaking. What is it? Did I frighten you?”
She couldn’t bear to tell him the truth. Even if she could somehow bring herself to put into words what Geoffrey had done, she had seen how angry Deverill could get, and if he were furious with Geoffrey, it would only make matters worse for everyone than they were already. So, instead, she said quietly, “I am pledged to Viscount Penthorpe, sir. This is very wrong. We must not.”
He was
silent, and she forced herself to meet his gaze. He did not look convinced, but after a moment, still holding her, he said gently, “I think your sister-in-law was right. The time has come for us to speak what is in our minds. Penthorpe, in case you have not yet noticed the fact, my pet, is more interested in your sister, Susan, than he is in you.”
She smiled a little sadly. “I am not a fool, Deverill. Did you expect me to be shocked or distressed? In point of fact, however, it changes nothing. I only wish it were possible for Penthorpe to steal Susan from Geoffrey and run away with her, so that she would be safe. Perhaps if he were cut from the same bolt of cloth as Lord Anglesey, he would try, but it would do no good, for Susan would not go with him if he did.”
“I was not suggesting any such thing, you know. Your sister would be far wiser simply to sort things out with her husband.”
“Don’t be nonsensical,” she retorted, annoyed. “The man is brutal, hard-hearted, and malicious. Why, I fear for her very life after what happened here tonight.”
“You need not, I think,” he said, his tone still gentle. “Just remember that to get out of the house he had to pass through that crowd out there, which is no mean feat, and then wait for his carriage. If my experience is any guide, people will stop them and chatter at them, and it will take time just to say their good-byes, especially since they will be forced to maintain an appearance of normalcy. Even without Lady Ophelia to intercede in person, the smallest respite ought to give him time to recall her will and the ease with which she can alter it.”
“Well, I hope you are right, but I still think Susan would be safer to run away with Penthorpe. She would never leave Melissa, though.” She brightened as another thought struck her. “Perhaps Penthorpe would take Melissa as well.”
“He could not,” Deverill said. “Even if your sister were to follow the lead of the Duchess of Argyll and secure a divorce in Scotland, no court in either country would award her custody of Seacourt’s daughter. She would be forced to give her back.”
“Then she would never go,” Daintry said.
“You know,” he said quietly, his hands still warm on her shoulders, “none of this has much to do with the point at hand.”
“Certainly it does. Penthorpe is going to marry me, caring more about my sister than he does for me. I should say that has a great deal to do with the point at hand.”
“Not when the point at hand, my pet, is us.”
“I am betrothed to Penthorpe, Deverill. He is certainly too much of a gentleman to cry off, and my father is determined to hold me to my word of honor. Would you have me disobey him?”
“No, of course not, but I think if you and Penthorpe talk to him, a way might be found for one of you at least to be happy.”
She stiffened. “Let me see if I understand you, Deverill. You want me and Penthorpe to tell my father that we agree mutually that we shall not suit. You do not mention which of us is to bring up the subject first, or how, but to do so would be pretty much the same as crying off in fact. But once I am free of Penthorpe, I am to cast myself into your arms. Is that it?”
His lips twitched. “I do not know that I would put it in such blatant terms as that, certainly, but if you were free of Penthorpe and could see your way clear—”
“You forget that my father would not under any circumstances permit me to marry a Deverill, sir.”
He grimaced. “I confess, I did forget about that; however, since he did not precisely throw me out of here tonight, per—”
“Perhaps it will just chance to fall out the way you want it to, is that it? Well, since we are being frank with each other, sir, let me tell you that I do not think I would marry you even in such a case as that. You need not look at me as if you mean to show me otherwise, either,” she added, stepping hastily away from him. “You seem to think that all you need do is sit back calmly and wait for fortune to smile upon you. I suppose, in school you were taught simply to do as you were told, or perhaps it comes of being a second son for all those years and knowing you need never take responsibility for anything, but—”
“Just a minute,” he interjected. “I have never shirked a responsibility in my life. I was, if you will recall, a brigade major serving under Wellington at Waterloo, with a good number of men dependent upon me to lead them. If that is not responsibility, I should like to know what is.”
“Pooh,” she replied recklessly, “what of it? As I understand the matter, it was Wellington who decided what to do and you simply followed his orders. And, at all events, that has nothing to do with the present, since you are no longer a brigade major. Right now, you seem to think being heir to a great title is sufficient, and that if every-one else will just do as you think he or she ought to do, you will not have to lift a finger to secure your own ends. There is a good deal more to putting things right than merely wishing people would do what you want them to, Deverill.”
“You don’t know what you are saying,” he retorted, his temper clearly on the rise.
“Oh, yes, I do. You say Susan would do better to learn to get along with her husband, because it is nothing to do with you, and you want me to talk my father and Penthorpe around because you have got it in your head that you want me. Notice that I say want, not love. If you loved me, you would at least have found a way to end the stupid feud. I’ve read every word of my aunt’s journals, although the most interesting things in them are her views on novels written by the women of the last century, but I did it without prating about being in love. You, on the other hand, dismiss the feud, calling it stupid and idiotic and generally hoping it will go away and not annoy you, but you stopped looking for answers after going through a few papers.”
“Now, wait just a—”
“No, Deverill, I am going to marry Penthorpe. I gave my word, and unless he asks me to break it, I will not.”
He clamped his lips together, visibly fighting his temper now, but the tense silence that fell between them was broken when the door opened suddenly and Penthorpe entered, saying, “Beg your pardon but I think you ought to know Lady Ophelia ain’t feeling quite the thing. Fact is, we can’t seem to wake her up.”
Daintry, reminded of the headache powders and Penthorpe’s own contribution to her great-aunt’s condition, felt a sudden, quite inappropriate, urge to laugh; but, seeing that Deverill did not share her amusement in the least, she said, “We will come at once, sir. She has been so tired of late, you know, what with all the preparations for the ball and having so many other social obligations as well, and she has suffered from insomnia since our arrival in London. I daresay it all caught up with her tonight.”
They reached Lady Ophelia to discover that she had dozed off in her chair with her head resting against a marble column, and had drawn quite a crowd of concerned persons around her, including St. Merryn, who had been summoned from the card room, and who was, as a result, in no pleasant temper.
“She’s asleep,” he told Daintry indignantly. “I’ve shaken her, but she only mutters at me to go away. Upon my word, what will the woman do next?” He paid no heed to Deverill’s presence other than to say to them all that something must be done, but it was Deverill who assumed direction of the proceedings, picking Lady Ophelia up in his arms and moving behind the row of columns in order to draw as little attention as possible as he made his way to the stair hall. Penthorpe stayed behind to explain to interested onlookers that her ladyship was suffering from no more than simple exhaustion, and Daintry went with Deverill to show him the way to her great-aunt’s bedchamber, and to ring for Alma to see her tucked into bed.
When they went back downstairs, Deverill stopped at the landing on the drawing-room level and said, “I’ll take my leave of you now, but I hope to see you again before you leave London.”
She gave him her hand. “G-good night, sir. I… I hope you are not too dreadfully vexed with me.”
“I have no cause,” he said grimly. With a bow, he turned and went quickly down the stairs to the hall.
The ball
seemed sadly flat after that, although a light supper was served soon after she returned and Penthorpe seemed determined to see to her every comfort. He seemed equally determined to be cheerful, and finally Daintry could stand it no more. Leaning across the small round table they shared, she said quietly, “Sir, if you are not happy with this arrangement, pray believe you have only to say so. I can quite understand that—”
“No, no,” he said, flushing to the roots of his hair and looking directly at her, “no such thing. Completely happy, I promise you. Happiest man on earth. Good God, how could I be otherwise? Pleasing your father, pleasing my uncle, and of course, pleasing myself most of all. Dashed sorry if I’ve put any other notions in your head, my dear. If I seem a trifle upset over what happened earlier, it’s because I cannot stomach cruelty, and if you’ll forgive a little plain-speaking, that’s just what it is, the way Seacourt treats your poor sister.”
“I agree, sir.” She said no more. If he was determined to plunge ahead with the wedding, she would not try to dissuade him. The Tarrant family had already provided grist enough for the rumor mills, since word of the brawl in the parlor would spread, if only because Susan had been unable to hide her tears when Seacourt took her away. And if by some miracle that whole tale did not come out, Lady Ophelia’s falling asleep in front of the entire company would give the gossips a good laugh at least. Daintry would not give them more by crying off from yet another betrothal even if her father could be persuaded to let her do so.
By the time she fell exhausted into bed that night, her thoughts were in a turmoil. She had, she decided, been perfectly horrid to Deverill, and though he had said he wanted to see her before the family left London, if he never spoke to her again, it would be no more than she deserved. Just to remember the way she had ripped up at him about never doing anything—and not ten minutes after he had sent Geoffrey crashing to the floor, too, which was a memory she would harbor fondly forever—made her ready to sink. How could she have been so idiotic as to fling such an accusation at him? He must think her utterly daft.
Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 03] Page 32
