He was quiet, studying her face, then stood back a pace, settling himself deliberately into a chair and indicating she should take the one next to it. “Black Jack MacRae can no longer harm you, or anyone. He was caught attempting to rob the gold wagons by the constabulary and did not survive the ensuing fracas.” He didn’t sound very upset and Geraldine felt a huge weight lift from her shoulders. She shot him a smile, relief freeing it of constraint.
“So we are safe?”
“Yes, my heart. Black Jack and his cronies will never bother you again.”
She blushed at the endearment but refrained from seeming to notice it. “How lucky it turned out so well, and that you did not have to face the man yourself.” Then she saw the glint in his eyes. “You were there!”
“As it happened,” he admitted. “Someone had to show the constables where they were hiding.”
“And how did you know that?”
“The gold wagons have been changing their routes and timetables lately, for fear of bushwhacking. I arranged that Black Jack should know of the plans for this shipment and had a man show him the best spot for an ambush.”
“So now you are a target for every disgruntled rogue on the Dunstan who wants to take revenge for your betrayal.”
“No. It’s well known why I took that action, and what will happen in future if anyone crosses me or mine. You have nothing to fear there, sweetheart,” he said, his mouth tensing in grim threat. Then he lightened. “Aside from which, I have sold up many of my interests on the goldfields, so it no longer matters as much. The rush is in full swing now, but cannot last much longer. I have made what I needed out of it. It was always a means to an end and what comes now is merely a bonus.”
She doubted that and said so.
“No one ever said you couldn’t enjoy yourself while making your fortune,” he chuckled, but then added quietly, “I find that my interests have changed these last months.” He was silent, looking down at his hands, as if considering some argument in his mind. Suddenly he looked up at her, his face more serious than she had ever seen it.
“I was not forced to come to this country, you know, however much my brother may have imagined he had the power to do so. But while there is little love between us, my brother bears the title that was my father’s; one he wore with honour and dignity for thirty years. I loved my father dearly and will not see the title that was his held up to public ridicule. Which is what would follow if I exposed my brother as the priggish, small-minded country esquire that he is at heart. Far better to have a black sheep in the family than an idiot head. So I did as he ordered and left England. Admittedly, not before forcing him to double the amount of my remittance, much to the disgust of his grasping wife, and I also planned my own, private revenge. I would return from the colonies one day, heaped with wealth and honours, and thrust my change in fortune down my dear brother’s overstuffed gullet. Then I would tell him the exact nature of every single dubious venture of mine, and know he would have to keep silence and treat me with honour, for fear of smirching the family name. It seemed a fair return at the time. It was what first drove me to the goldfields and why I chose to set up as a saloonkeeper. It seemed pleasingly disreputable.” There was a wry twist to his mouth and he took a deep breath, as if trying to find the right words.
“Now, I no longer find my planned revenge so attractive. I will still do it, if I find there is no future in this land. It is entirely up to you, sweetheart. Do I go alone, or stay here with you?”
She was stunned into silence, staring at him aghast. To have laid before her Paradise… Slowly she scanned his face, seeking the truth of his words. He was such an expert at subterfuge, especially now when he might feel driven to fulfil a pledge. But he had not said he loved her, and for his sake she dared not fool herself.
“You should not have come here,” she said finally, hurrying on before he could speak. “These people all know you now, have met you as my husband. In a colony this size, word travels quickly, even as far from these shores as England and perhaps your home. You said once yourself I would not fit in there, and in truth, I think you are right. But I do not want you caged by these shores forever, to be less than you should be. It is far too high a price to pay for a momentary fit of gallantry.”
His face was white. “Is that all you think you are to me?”
“I know it is,” she said. “God knows I love you, probably since those first days in the hills, and you have been kind enough to pretend a care for me, but you have done enough. More than would be expected of any man – I will not have you sacrifice your whole life for the sake of a passing desire, brought on, I doubt not, by the differences in our upbringing and the appeal of the unusual.” Her face felt whiter now than his and she stared back at him, daring him to deny her words.
He met her stare and gave it back, no trace of his usual light humour apparent. It was replaced by a grim tautness. Slowly and deliberately, he started to speak.
“I was no more forced to marry you than I was forced to come to this country. The reason for both was exactly the same. Just as I …”
Suddenly, the door opened and the breathless face of her step-mama appeared. “Ah, there you are. Our guests have been remarking on your sudden disappearance and I could give no reply that did not occasion mirth. I do think you have caused enough disruption for one night, Geraldine. Now, if you please, your father wishes to see both of you upstairs in his rooms. He is waiting.”
“We will come at once,” muttered Geraldine in relief. She almost ran for the door, followed closely by Sophie and them more slowly by Bas. She did not look back to see his reaction, but heard his heavy trod on the stairs after her.
Her father was waiting in the room that he had kept for his own sanctuary. Called his sitting room, it was home for his most private thoughts and interests. The bookcases overflowed with texts ranging from volumes of Elizabethan verse to the latest agricultural journals from England. Young James’ latest sketch of his favourite dog was pinned among a collection of notices and her own childish scrawls. Within the lid of his writing bureau, she knew, rested a portrait of her mother, done by a travelling explorer the year she died.
Few were ever allowed to invade this room and now, with a polite bow, he dismissed his second wife. This was the one place in the whole house barred from her fashionable over-embellishments.
“Thank you, my dear,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument, “if you would make our excuses to the company.”
No more did he say till Sophie left. Then he eyed his new son-in-law consideringly, beckoning them both to seat themselves in the chairs next to the large armchair that was his own.
Bas returned the look in full, equally courteous but showing little inclination to defer to the older man. He seated himself and deliberately stretched out his long legs in front of him. “You wished to speak to us?”
Geraldine eyed the two men nervously. The good opinion of few people mattered to her, but that of these two did. Right now, they looked to be about to open battle. She could understand her father’s hostility, faced with an unknown son-in-law, and she had expected Bas to bridle at any attempt to question his actions, but that did not explain the depth of anger in him.
Her father accepted the challenge with a short twist of his mouth. “My daughter has told me the story of her adventures since she met you. I am not sure whether to thank you for rescuing her or to demand satisfaction for putting her in such danger in the first place.”
“Somewhat of both,” acknowledged Bas.
“So now you are my daughter’s husband, and despite the tangled yarn she spun, there are a number of things a father would wish to know. I am a wealthy man and my daughter could be expected to inherit a portion of that. I understand that you married her to protect her name and person, and for that I thank you, but I do need to know if those were all your reasons.”
“Father!”
“Shh, sweetheart. He is your father and it’s only to be expected he would q
uestion my motives.” Bas glanced at her briefly, then slouched even more insolently into the chair.
“My reasons for the marriage are my own. I will say that money or fortune were not among them. My full name is The Honourable Sebastian Charles Frederick Deverill, younger son of the tenth Baron Basinstoke. I admit I was sent out to the colonies on a remittance from my esteemed half-brother, the current Lord Basinstoke, to ensure that my continued presence in England should not embarrass the family name, as he put it, but lack of fortune is not one of the defects I possess. My allowance is respectable as is my own fortune from my share of my father’s estate, and my businesses on the goldfields have prospered. If you wish, my agent can meet with yours to draw up a proper settlement to ensure my wife’s future security.”
Her father leaned forward, the palms of both hands pressed together and his chin rested thoughtfully on the interlocking fingers. Geraldine grew more nervous. There seemed to be an unspoken conversation going on between the two men that she was barred from.
“My daughter need have no fears for her future, Mr Deverill. I value both my children deeply and will ensure that they are well provided for. I admit it has not been easy for Geraldine since the loss of her mother.”
“No? Deeply valued daughters do not usually run away to the dangers of the goldfields.” Bas sat up abruptly and refused to hear Geraldine’s shocked gasp.
“You cannot blame me for that as much as I blame myself,” said John MacKenny. “Believe it or no, I thought it was for the best to send her to her Aunt Shonagh. Geraldine and my second wife; well, it did not work out between them as well as I hoped.”
“What did you expect, sir. A pretty-enough woman faced with the emergence of a stepdaughter as startlingly beautiful as Geraldine…”
“I do hold my current wife in a great deal of regard, young man, and she is the mother of a very cherished son.” But there was little real reproof in the words, and Bas nodded his head in apology, the taut lines in his face easing imperceptibly.
“It seems we both find ourselves at fault this evening, sir,” he said. “Let us agree that my wife’s future wellbeing is the responsibility of both of us, though I do claim the principal part.”
“Agreed,” said the older man. “Which brings us to the other nub of this chat. What happens next? I presume that since you have returned to claim your rights as husband, you and my daughter will be taking up residence together?”
“Aahh.” Bas leaned back and this time he did look at Geraldine. “You would think so.”
“We were in the middle of discussing the matter when Sophie interrupted,” said Geraldine. Her back was very straight and her hands were clasped tightly in her lap. “Bas helped me out of a nasty situation, and for that I am grateful, but you have heard who he is. He has a place in England and should return to take it up. I do not wish to prevent that.”
Bas leaned forward, his mouth opening. She put up a hand, begging him not to say the words. He stared at her, the light in the eyes brightening to an intense steel blue. Then he broke off and flung himself back into his chair. His eyes never left her face for an instant.
“As you see, Mr MacKenny, it’s not so simple. Tell me, once your daughter has set her mind on a given point of view, has she ever been known to change it? Even in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary?”
John MacKenny’s voice was very quiet and sober. “No, Mr Deverill, hardly ever.”
“Then you have your answer,” came the bitter reply, and his head came up as the darkened eyes turned towards her father proudly.
The older man leaned back, his gaze chasing from one to the other of the young people before him. He was silent so long that finally Bas’s head dropped and he slumped back in to the chair, his eyes looking at neither but gazing beyond the older man at some far-distant image. It cannot have been a pleasant one. She saw her father note it, and the hint of a crooked grin catch his face. He sighed, and Bas’s gaze slowly returned to the immediate.
“You know, young man, you remind me of my wife in many ways.”
The head was up again. “Oh, and how is that, sir?”
“She was well-born like you. Her family was an old and proud one, who had done well in Ireland under English rule.” He named the family and Bas nodded.
“I know the name, though I haven’t heard of your late lady, sir,”
“No, you wouldn’t. Máire had a great deal of sympathy with those Irish men and women who were, shall we say, less than enamoured of the British Crown. Her family was forced to smuggle her out of the country.”
Bas gave a dry smile. “Much has been said of me, sir, but not that I have acted against my own country.”
“No, but I suspect your family were as glad to see you leave home as Máire’s were.”
Bas nodded agreement, the hint of a matching glint to the older man’s in his eye.
“It’s how we met, Geraldine’s Mama and I. It was my ship that was chartered to take her to the Americas. She had family there, it seemed, and my own family was not averse to aiding an Irish rebel. They had left Scotland after their own troubles in the ‘45.”
Bas looked puzzled.
“1745,” Geraldine supplied. “Our ancestors backed Charles Stewart in the uprising.”
“Oh.” Bas pulled himself upright, pride flashing in his eyes. “I will not deny my English blood, sir.”
“No, and nor should you,” replied John MacKenny. “Did I not say you reminded me of my first wife? Just so did Máire look when her Irish heritage was questioned. But I was telling of our meeting. It was a case with us as soon as we set eyes on each other, and halfway to Canada both of us knew our course was set. We called in at the first settlement, were married and set sail for the farthest port we knew of, where neither of our families could say us nay ever again.”
“New Zealand was a wild country in those days, I am told.”
“Yes, but a good one. We were happy in the years granted us.”
Bas sat back slowly, staring long and hard at Geraldine. She shuffled under his gaze, then finally could not stop herself. She lifted her head and met his eyes. There was sadness there and, for an instant, despair. Then he withdrew deep within and she met only the politely indifferent eyes of a stranger. He rose suddenly, giving her a brief nod and bowed politely to her father.
“Thank you for the story, sir. You are not quite right, though. I am not like your first wife. She lost her heart to a man and he believed in her enough to accept it. I also lost my heart, but the lady does not believe in me.”
It was all he said, but abruptly he was gone and the door was closing after him. The sound was like the door closing on the rest of her life. Transfixed, Geraldine stared after him. She rose slowly, her face bleached in shock.
“Oh, Da.”
“Is there something you need to be doing, lassie?”
“I’ve been so blind.”
“If not completely daft,” agreed her father. “Off with you, now.”
And suddenly she was moving, snatching open the door and running pell mell down the stairs to the horrified gaze of their ball guests. In her full skirts, she tore open the front door, just in time to see a horse canter down the drive.
“John, whose horse is that you’re holding?” she called to the groomsman in the driveway.
“Master Steffert’s from down the road, Miss.”
“He won’t mind me borrowing it. A leg up? Hurry!”
“Not in that thing, Miss,” he said, pointing at her billowing crinoline. Then he stared in horror as she looked down impatiently, before quickly whipping up her skirts to untie the frame of the petticoat. Geraldine paid no attention, grabbing the reins of the bay and hoisting herself into the saddle. Seconds later, she was thundering down the driveway after Bas, her pale skirts flying in a cloud behind her.
Chapter 15
“Wait, Bas. Wait up there!”
Geraldine dug her heels into her horse’s flanks. Ahead there was only the thundering sou
nd of a horse’s hooves. Bas had kicked his mount into a wild gallop almost before the drive had taken him out of sight of the house. Now, he pulled ever farther and farther away from her.
“Please stop,” she whispered, unaware of the trace of tears marring her cheeks. She must catch him, tonight. His words had been so final. But even as she called out to him, the sound of hooves drew ever away, fading inexorably into the stillness of the night.
His horse was too fast for her, the big bay gelding more than a match for the plodding workhorse she rode. Frantically, her mind chased over the ground ahead, seeking something to give her some hope. Where would he go? Not back to his friend’s place. No, not after tonight. Too many questions to answer on the morrow. To the town then. To Christchurch, to see a lawyer and arrange his affairs. Then it was the east road she needed. Her mind flew swiftly across the land, seeing trees and streams, rises and hollows. Yes, if she struck off now to her right. The road turned back soon after this to avoid a patch of rough, broken ground, but she knew that bit of country well and, by skirting its other margin, could cut straight through to the town road.
Her horse was turning with the road even as the plan tumbled in her mind. Ruthlessly, she held his head to the straight course, urging him forward into the stony hollows ahead. Soon, they were twisting through a thicket of matagouris, now splashing through the waters of a small creek, then plunging down into a hollow of treacherous shadows between two rocky outcrops. Her horse thought to jibe, but a swift kick drove him on and perhaps her own confidence in the path reassured him. Whatever it was, half an hour’s treacherous riding found them approaching the rutted tracks of the main westward road. And on it she heard a longed-for sound; the hooves of a horse now cantering along. He had slackened his pace, but still she knew she would barely catch him.
“Come on, boy. Just once more, I beg you.” As if sensing her need, the tiring horse lifted his head and snorted, then kicked into a fast gallop. They were racing across the grass now, the soft turf cushioning the noise of her horse, and ahead Bas was still unaware of her. Still he kept pushing away from her. “Come on, oh please, my brave horse,” she gasped, leaning low and forward over his neck as she urged him ever faster.
Swift Runs The Heart Page 21
