The nun, her face studiedly enigmatic, was silent. Rachel shot a glance at her and went on, "Do not imagine I defend his behaviour. I know that what he did was inexcusable. But—I know also how bedevilled was the poor soul! It is equally wrong to judge someone until you also have had to sit at the bedside of a dear one who suffers unendingly; to know that help could be found, but lack the funds to command it."
"I would never presume to judge, my dear. But—"
"Well—they judged!" Rachel flared, cheeks bright with anger. "And they condemned not only Papa, but Justin. Justin! That gentle boy, wholly innocent of any wrongdoing! I was with him in Piccadilly one day when a 'friend' cut him dead, before heaven knows how many people!" Galled by that memory, she twisted a fold of her skirt into a tight knot. "Justin shrugged and told me it didn't signify. It did! He was white! I knew how deeply he was hurt! Odious creatures! I could have scratched every one!"
Inwardly in sympathy with the girl's passion, the nun persisted, "The more reason why you should allow no breath of scandal to touch you again. If you cavort about, unescorted, there are always eyes to see and tongues to wag."
"And shall it spread through countless servants' halls that I ventured alone to the bridge of a private yacht, ma'am?" Rachel asked, with a curl of the lip.
"Perhaps." The nun leaned back in her chair, elbows on the arms, and her several chins resting on the fingers of her folded hands. "And if they would gossip at that, think how much they could make of your being alone in a cabin with—"
"With a very sick man?"
"With a very handsome young man," Sister Maria Evangeline corrected. "Who is almost well." She saw Rachel's cheeks flame once again, and the angry eyes lower in sudden confusion. "You are betrothed, dear child. And must consider the feelings of the man you love."
The blue eyes, very wide, flashed to her.
"Claude," reminded the nun mildly.
"Oh." The fiery blush faded, leaving no colour in the girl's cheeks.
Sister Maria Evangeline lowered her hands and bent forward. "You do love him?"
Briefly, Rachel had the look of a fawn at bay before a pack of wolves. "I— He has been—so good. And—and—"
"And paid for Charity's surgeon, and all the examinations and medicines since then."
Rachel took a deep breath, and recovered her poise. "Yes," she said defiantly.
The nun settled back again, watching that proud young face with its uptilted little chin. "My dear—are you not confusing gratitude with the tender passion?"
"I do not know, ma'am," answered Rachel stiffly. "For I have never known the tender passion. Gratitude, I do know. And," she shrugged, "one must be realistic, after all. Who marries for love these days?"
Mr. Shotten's frieze coat, lurid but grease-spotted waistcoat, and dirty fingernails were decidedly out of place in the best parlour of "The Ship" in old Dover town. Wholly unabashed, however, he stuck a straw between his stained teeth, and, his eyes travelling Rachel's shapely figure, said, "All as I knows is Monseer Sanguinet says you was to wait here 'til he gets back. I'm a simple cove. I don't argify with the likes o' Monseer. If you feels like argifying with him, Miss, I 'spect as that's yer right, seein's England be a free country, and—"
A gloved hand, holding a gold-chased riding crop, flashed before Mr. Shotten's beefy features. The straw was slashed from his teeth, and his indignant, "Ey!" rose into a yowl as the leather cracked across his upraised knuckles.
"How do you dare so address the lady, foulness?" Guy Sanguinet, hazel eyes narrowed with wrath, guided Rachel gently to one side and, superbly indifferent to the awed faces of the maids that peered around the hall door, growled, "Your apologies make, and yourself remove! Vite!"
Shotten's beady eyes glittered with hatred, but he essayed a clumsy bow and said defiantly, "Sorry I am if I upset Monseer's—" The crop inched upward, Sanguinet's white teeth gleaming in a savage grin. Shotten stepped back and added with haste, "I mean—Miss Strand. But, Monseer says—"
"My brother, peasant, knows it is I who have escort Miss Strand and her sister. Oui?" Shotten merely glowering in a truculent silence, Sanguinet continued, "Then, assurement, he know also that the ladies they are safe in my care. You would not," his voice dropped silkily, "presume, this to deny?"
Shotten whistled through his teeth in a soft hissing that betrayed his early years as an ostler. His hatred was very obvious, but after a minute's cogitation, he said, "I 'spect as you'll tell Monseer that I tried awful 'ard to do wot he asked of me to do? I 'spect as you'll tell 'im you put yerself above Monseer."
"Do you know what I expect, Shotten?" purred Sanguinet. "I expect that in just ten of the second you will be unable my brother to tell one of your ugly words. Now," he stepped closer, smiling into the sullen features before him. "Miss Strand's gentle eyes, you shall cease to offend with the view of your unfortunate carcass. You would wish me to help you in this, perhaps?"
Her "gentle eyes" dancing with delight, Rachel walked to the window and glanced out at the spacious garden. How glad she was that Guy had been beside her when La Hautemant at last was granted permission to enter the Tidal Basin and tie up at the dock. Shotten had been waiting, and angry. The man made her skin creep, and only the knowledge that he feared Claude more than anyone living sustained her when she was occasionally obliged to endure his escort. He was leaving now, slouching towards the open door, and mumbling to himself under his breath. With one hand on the doorknob, he turned back.
"P'raps you can tell Monseer," he leered slyly, "why Miss brung that there soldier on Monseer's boat. And why that there soldier looks at Miss like—"
Sanguinet took a long stride forward, and Shotten fled.
Sanguinet slammed the door to, scowled darkly at it for a moment, then faced the girl who stood nervously fidgeting with the lace at her throat.
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "How I dislike that man! Why on earth does Claude employ such a horrid creature?"
Guy shrugged. "Occasionally, only. He belongs to my brother, Parnell." His riding whip tapped at his gleaming topboot, and with a slow frown he said, "His is the type of mind to hold evil thoughts of everyone. Nor is he alone in this." He slanted an oblique glance at her. "Speaking of which—what has become of our heroic Capitaine?"
The implication caused Rachel's heart to jump. "Sister Maria Evangeline took him under her wing, I believe," she replied, with a nonchalance that betrayed no hint of her awareness that the soldier occupied a room in this very inn.
Wandering to the fireplace, Sanguinet stared in silence at the empty grate. Rachel watched him uneasily, wondering if by right of their close friendship he was about to censure her, or if he was worried that his having allowed the soldier to accompany them would anger Claude. She had seldom seen the brothers together, but it was obvious that Claude was very much the head of his house, especially where Guy was concerned. Never, by the faintest inference, had Guy implied that a rift existed between them. Rachel had been quick to notice, however, that if she chanced to mention him, a gleam of amusement would come into Claude's eyes; a sardonic amusement. There was no doubt but that Parnell was his favourite, and she sensed that for Guy he held a barely concealed scorn; an impression she found disquieting.
Her knowledge of her betrothed was relatively slight, although she had been acquainted with him since childhood. She had never been quite sure of the way in which her father was linked to Sanguinet's financial enterprises, but that Strand was in some way of service to the younger man, she knew. They shared political persuasions, she'd gathered, and both found horse racing, gambling and beautiful women irresistible. Papa had often been a guest at the Sanguinet estate in Kent, and occasionally Parnell, the middle brother, had visited Strand Hall. When Rachel had left the schoolroom, Papa had made no secret of the fact that he cherished hopes for a marriage between her and Parnell, but try as she would, she had been unable to develop a liking for the Frenchman, and Charity was downright afraid of him. Handsome in a dark, gaunt fashion, he had
strangely light eyes and an odd intensity of manner—like a leashed panther, said Charity. When Guy had put in an appearance, however, both sisters had warmed to him at once. They had soon learned that his heart was totally and hopelessly given to Parnell's ward, but he affected no die-away airs, and Rachel liked him as much for his droll humour and quiet, courtly manners, as for his unfailing gentleness with Charity. He spent much time in England on his brother's affairs, but after Rupert Strand's death, his visits to Strand Hall diminished, whereas Claude's became more frequent. Claude was older than Guy, by about ten years. He had never mentioned his age, but Rachel guessed him to be in the neighbourhood of forty. She knew that he was extremely wealthy, a power in international politics and finance, and possessed of a shocking reputation as a rake. But to the daughters of his old friend, he was the soul of sympathy and understanding. Accustomed to command, and surrounded by a small army of efficient servants, he had solved many of Rachel's hitherto insoluble problems with, as it seemed, the merest snap of his fingers. He was poised, elegant, gentle, knowledgeable, and an unfailing source of kindness and support. Cut by Society, and beset on every side by tradesmen, unpaid servants, staggering expenses, and her sister's deteriorating health, Rachel had come to rely more and more heavily on his advice. It was wrong, she knew, to allow him to do so much, but whenever she protested, he had some logical reason for offering assistance. "Am I not a trusted friend of the family?" he would say, rather wistfully. Or, with a shrug of impeccably clad shoulders and a kindly smile warming his light brown eyes, he would sigh, "I—the funds have; you, the children of my dearest friend, the need have. What would you?" When he had suddenly proclaimed that he'd searched Europe and believed he had discovered a man who might help her sister, Rachel had been overwhelmed. And when the surgeon had operated and Charity had been so wonderfully improved, she had gone down on her knees and thanked God for sending Claude Sanguinet to them.
Now, she sat on a sofa and took up a copy of Ladies Magazine. She turned the pages idly, her gaze drifting often to the quiet figure of the Frenchman and at last, setting the periodical aside having seen none of it, she said in a pleading voice, "I beg you will not think ill of me, Guy!"
He swung around at once, to view her with undisguised astonishment. "Why should I do this?"
She gave a sigh of relief. "You were so silent. And—I thought perhaps you too, would think I had been—er, that is to say—I swear to you—the soldier has never once uttered a single word to me that was improper!"
"Tres bien!" He smiled. "He is another such as my brothers, eh? 'Integer vitae scelerisque purus.'"
The quotation eluded Rachel, but she assumed it to be complimentary, and agreed, "Yes. Claude has been splendid. The best friend we have ever known."
Guy regarded her steadily. "So good a—friend—that you will his wife become."
An odd and unfamiliar acceleration of the pulse caused Rachel's breathing to become hurried. She tightened her fingers a little upon a fold in her gown and promised, "I will try to be a good wife to him."
He did not comment, but his brooding gaze remained fixed upon her. How solemn he was today. Curious, she asked with her sometimes startling frankness, "Guy—what disturbs you? Do you fancy me beneath his touch?"
He gave a shout of laughter and lapsing into French, said, "Never that! Only—I would think it an advantage was a lady—ah, fond of the man she married."
Sister Maria Evangeline's words echoed in Rachel's mind. "… Are you not confusing gratitude with the tender passion?" Defiantly, she asserted, "Well, I am! Very fond!"
Far from appearing pleased by so positive a reply, his eyes became sombre and after a moment he asked, "Have you never heard gossip about us, Rachel? Has no friend spoken with you of your betrothal?"
"I have few friends now. Oh, I've heard a few silly rumours, of course. Your brother is a man of large fortune, and always there are those who envy the rich. But, do not worry—I pay no heed to such gabble mongering."
He hesitated, then started towards her, the whip gripped very tightly in his hand. "Rachel—you are so very—" He halted, his head jerking around in irritation as a sharp knock preceded the opening of the door.
Shotten stepped inside and bowed much too low. "A cove's come from Dinan," he announced in his coarse fashion. "I'm orf ! Got a job of work't'do."
"By whose orders?" Sanguinet demanded haughtily.
"The one wot pays me wages. Yer brother."
The insolence in the beady eyes was unmistakable. Ignoring it, Guy said, "The one from Dinan—he tell you this?"
"Yus. And he brung a littel word fer you as well. Sir. He's waiting dahnstairs." He leered from one to the other, and was gone.
"Animal!" grated Guy. He turned to Rachel. "I shall see what is this 'littel word.' Meanwhile, what must I do? Escort you both back to Strand Hall? Or shall you wait here as Claude have… command."
She looked keenly at him, but his face was bland. "Charity should be taken home as soon as possible. She is very pulled from the long journey and always does so much better in Sussex. I mean to wait for Claude, if you will be so kind as to escort her."
"I am yours to command," he grinned, sweeping her a graceful bow. "So soon as may be, I shall return to your side until my 'splendid' brother come."
Was she mistaken, thought Rachel, or had she for the first time glimpsed a bitter irony in his eyes? Before she had a chance to decide, he bowed and left her.
The messenger from Dinan brought word that Guy was to go at once to Sanguinet Towers, Claude's great house in Kent, and attend to some pressing problem there. Guy declined to explain the precise nature of the difficulty, but that he was vexed was very obvious. He grumbled in his uncertain English, "This is honteux! That is to say—"
"Disgraceful," Rachel supplied.
"Oui. Dis-grass-fool that I must you abandon. Here. Alone!"
Alone?" she laughed. "I have Sister Maria Evangeline and my dear Agatha. Between them, I shall be very well chaperoned, a coup sur !"
And so, ever gallant, Guy carried Charity off, promising to bear her safely to Strand Hall before himself proceeding to Kent. Rachel waved farewell from the front steps, then returned to her room having every intention to remain inside and work at her tatting. The sunny morning proved irresistible, however. Agatha, who was still recovering from the effects of their Channel crossing, had fallen into a doze in her chair. Rachel did not disturb her. She donned her prettiest bonnet, the poke a foam of lace dyed to the exact pale blue of her muslin gown, and, having draped a white lace shawl across her shoulders, took up her sunshade and went downstairs.
As she passed the desk, the clerk glanced up, smiled, and nodded politely. She thought, however, to detect a mild surprise in his eyes. He likely thought her fast to walk out with neither footman nor abigail. What would Sister Maria Evangeline think? She hesitated, frowned, but finally capitulated and, sighing, turned her steps instead to the rear of the inn, and the pleasant, sequestered gardens.
The sunshine was warm now, and she put up her parasol and started along the walk. Rounding a bend shielded by tall hollyhocks, she came upon a slender gentleman of middle age, intent upon planting a salute on the cheek of a plump lady who giggled coyly as she made a show of warding off his advances. They both were startled by Rachel's sudden advent and became blushfully intent upon a clump of hydrangeas they vociferously admired as rhododendrons. Her eyes sparkling with amusement, Rachel strolled on and, following this capriciously curving path, next encountered a tall gentleman who sat with hands loosely clasped between his knees, apparently absorbed by the progress of a stream of ants across the path.
Rachel halted, her heart for some odd reason commencing to pound erratically. The soldier was clad in a passably fitting brown jacket, rather snug beige breeches and glossy topboots. He had discarded the bandages, and his dark hair was so arranged as to fall across his brow, hiding the head wound. He glanced up. A brilliant smile banished the glumness from his eyes even as it snatched Rachel
's breath away. He sprang to his feet, exclaiming, "Miss Rachel! I heard you had left Dover! Oh, but this is famous! May I walk with you? Or— should you prefer to sit here, perhaps?"
Flattered, but strangely offstride, she gave him her hand. Instead of shaking it, he stared down at it for a second, then raised it to his lips. It was not an unfamiliar gesture, yet she began to tremble.
He lifted his head, looking at her gravely; saying nothing, yet saying so much.
"Where do you want me to put the tray, sir?"
Startled, he glanced to the parlourmaid, then took the heavy tray from her hands.
"Oh, sir!" she exclaimed shyly. "I can do that!"
"And very well, I've no doubt," he smiled, "But you must admit that I'm just a trifle larger than you are."
She giggled, her head uptilted as he towered over her. "A trifle! Oh, my, but you're a proper caution, sir! Will ye be wanting another cup and saucer for the lady?"
He turned to Rachel. "May I beg that you spare me a few moments? I've something marvellous to tell you."
Turning a deaf ear to conscience, Rachel said, "We-ell…"
And thus, very soon, the little maid having provided another napkin and plate as well as the cup and saucer, Rachel handed the soldier his tea and told him he looked "vastly better. Indeed, I had not thought to see you up and about so soon."
"Were it not for you and Sister Maria Evangeline, I doubt you'd have done so," he said earnestly. "She provided me these clothes, bless her! I mean to repay her, of course, but how she ever found 'em, I cannot fathom." His grin flashed, and he added with a twinkle, "I'm not exactly an easy fit."
Rachel chuckled. "I believe that! Now—what is this 'marvellous' news?"
He set aside his cup and said in a voice that rang with excitement, "My name! Part of it, at least!"
"Oh!" Rachel clapped her hands in delight and came near to upsetting the tray balanced on the stone bench between them. The soldier laughed and righted it, and she cried an impatient, "Tell me—do!"
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 02] - Feather Castles Page 5
