Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 01] - Some Brief Folly

by Patricia Veryan

  "I had no such intent, sir! Truly, I—"

  "You had best not have! I may be only an old ex-sea dog now, but I've still a name in this country that all your indiscretions cannot mar. I honour the Thorndyke name, and, however little it may mean to you, I'll not see you strip both respect and fortune from the estate! God knows I've little use for that puppy, Bryce, but there may be hope for him, and I'll not stand by and watch you reduce him to inheriting a great house he'll not be able to afford to maintain!" Jabbing one finger at the silenced young man, he barked, "I give you six months, Garret. And that is five months longer than I should allow you!"

  "And then, sir?"

  "Do you continue with this insane folly, much as it would pain me, I shall have no alternative but to judge you… mentally incompetent." He heard Hawkhurst's gasp and clenched his fists, forcing himself to continue. "I shall take steps, therefore, to have Belmont certify you as such… and remove you from control." Shattered by the stunned white face, the horrified disbelief in the eyes of this young man he could not stop loving in spite of everything, he went on, "These past three years you have frittered away more funds than most men see in a lifetime—but twenty-five thousand in three months? No, sir! That is too much to be dropped at the tables, or charmed from your pockets by your flashy ladybirds! Call an end to it! Or… be warned! I shall!"

  He snatched up his cigarillo, shoved his chair clear, and, stamping to the door, grated, "Come. I have said what I came to say, and your lovely guest has sufficient backbone to carry out her threat and refuse to sing for us. Now, there's the type of girl for you, Hawkhurst! Not that she'd give you a second look, of course, for she's been properly bred up, I don't doubt. Indeed, I wonder that fine brother of hers did not remove her from this notorious den of yours—page or no page!"

  He flung the door wide and, having received no answer, glanced back. His grandson was still sprawled at the table, a hand across his eyes. For an instant the old gentleman's shoulders sagged. For an instant his proud head was bowed also, and he submitted to the lash of heartbreak.

  Hawkhurst pulled himself together somehow, started around, and saw that dejected figure. A slow, admiring smile curved his lips. It had hurt the dear old fellow to do this. That knowledge strengthened him immeasurably. He turned quickly away and, making quite a noisy procedure of pushing back his chair, faced his now recovered grandparents with his chin as high, his eyes as bored as ever. And, sauntering to his side, thought, "… now there's the type of girl for you, Hawkhurst… Not that she'd give you a second look…"

  "Now if you ask, what did he do

  In such a situation?

  Why, sirs, he did what you'd do too.

  And did it with… elation!"

  Her heart pounding at such daring, Euphemia lifted her hands from the keys of the pianoforte and stole a glance at two astounded faces. They had both looked so strained when first they came in, but perhaps she had gone too far.

  The Admiral slapped one hand on his thigh and gave vent to a howl of mirth. Hawkhurst, his brows raised, but laughter brightening his weary eyes, crossed to the piano and murmured, "You brave girl! How often have you sung that piece of naughtiness?"

  "Never, I do assure you," she said, looking up at him mischievously. "Buchanan would be most shocked. But, I thought… well, you seemed—"

  "Yes. You're an angel. It did wonderfully."

  His hand came out as if to touch her cheek. His eyes held that special tenderness that made her heart twist painfully, but then the Admiral came to join them, and Hawkhurst drew back.

  "By George, ma'am, but you are one in a million!" laughed Wetherby. "Fear not, we shall keep your secret. Our Wellington would enjoy hearing that!"

  "Oh, he has, sir. But, not rendered by me, I promise you."

  The door flew open, and cries of welcome rang out. As the family hurried in to greet the old gentleman, Euphemia detected love in Dora's eyes, anxiety in those of her sister-in-law, and an affectionate respect on the face of young Coleridge. Stephanie, straightening her hair nervously, looked flushed and quite definitely pretty. And Simon… Dismay touched her, and she crossed to where he hesitated just inside the door. "Does your shoulder pain you, dear?"

  "No, no. I feel perfectly fit, thank you. And do not seek to defend by way of attack, Mia. Where were you? I'll have you know, my girl, that, had it been any but Leith, I'd have been after you with a loaded musket to say the least of it!"

  "Then you would have wasted your shot." She squeezed the hand she held. "Foolish one, did you think I would be so gauche as to elope? Or that Tristram would be so ungallant? He offered again, and I sent him away saddened, which worries me so." Simon's face darkened. He did not like her to dwell on the possibility of casualties, and therefore she went on brightly, "Admiral Wetherby and I have been going on famously, though he's predictable as any volcano."

  "So I've heard. Hawkhurst looks a trifle green about the gills. Have they come to blows already?"

  "I fear so, though I—Oh dear!"

  It was very plain that hostilities had broken out anew. Hawkhurst looked grim, Wetherby appeared about to explode, and Coleridge, very pale, all but trembled.

  "Sent down?" roared the Admiral. "Why, in God's name? Or dare I hazard a guess? You were defending your cousin's 'reputation,' eh?"

  Carlotta threw a shocked look at her son, and the boy reddened to the roots of his hair.

  "Is that true, Colley?" Hawkhurst snapped, his face rigid.

  Bryce floundered helplessly. "Well, I… er—"

  "Oh, no!" wailed Lady Carlotta. "Is it never going to end? How much more grief must we all suffer?"

  Those awful words seemed to hang on the air through the breathless pause that followed. Longing to scratch her, Euphemia instead slipped back to the piano bench and began softly to play the Spanish ditty she had sung earlier. The Admiral slanted a glance at her, the rageful glitter fading from his eyes. His gaze lowering, he stared, began to grin, then clapped a hand over his mouth. It was too late; all eyes had followed his. Dora went into a peal of mirth, Bryce chortled gleefully, and they were soon all convulsed.

  From beneath the rich brocade of Euphemia's stylish gown, a sturdy riding boot was clearly visible upon the pedal. She had completely forgotten the fact, but it proved heavensent, and her wry explanation that she tended to be forgetful sent Wetherby into new whoops.

  Vowing he also was forgetful of his manners, he demanded that Sir Simon be presented and next commanded cheerily that they all gather around the piano "and sing together, as we was used to do!" And thus, very soon the gracious room rang to the happy sounds of music and song, and a merry time they made of it.

  Hawkhurst's aching head was not helped by the music, however, and gradually he eased back from the glow cast by candles and firelight and seated himself in a shadowed corner, watching the pleasant scene. Euphemia was hidden from his view by the singers gathered about the piano, and he told himself sternly that it was just as well. She had been a friend, indeed, and, save for her, this evening would have ended very differently. But to allow his interests to wander in that direction must be the very height of folly!

  To try to sleep was useless. Euphemia put on her dressing gown and curled up in the windowseat. It was very cold, and she wondered absently if it would snow tomorrow. After such an incredibly crowded day it was astonishing that she was not exhausted, but there was so much to think on. The fiasco with Sampson, Leith… dear Leith, Stephanie's sweet face, the formidable, yet lovable Admiral Wetherby—and Simon's preoccupation. The kind, patient boy was longing to be gone from here. She was torn between the desire to please him and the dread of leaving Dominer. Above all, to know that Hawk stood in danger was terrifying. If she lost him, so soon after finding him… She shivered.

  Perhaps she could speak with Maximilian Gains. The man had ample reason for seeking vengeance, but she found it impossible to picture him so mercilessly tormenting an enemy. Unhappily, there were other men who probably had reason to hate Hawkhu
rst: irate husbands, men who still cherished fond memories of the lovely Blanche, men who—

  She stiffened and peered incredulously at a closed chaise that loomed into view like some macabre ghost vehicle, with no clatter of hooves or grating of wheels to accompany its progress. A chill whispered down her spine, and then she saw that the chaise was not on the drive but was being driven across the lawns! She stared, petrified. There was something horribly sinister about the inexorable progress of that silent, slow-moving chaise, creeping upon Dominer in the wee hours of the morning. And, even as she watched, it vanished from the field of her vision.

  Staying for neither candle nor slippers, she ran to the door, wrenched it open, and sped wildly along the corridor. A lamp set on a teakwood chest lit her way, and she ran on to the next window. The draperies were closed. Grasping them with hands that trembled, she opened them a crack and peeped out.

  The ghost chaise had halted at the far end of the North Wing, and two figures—a tall man and a woman muffled to the ears in cloak and hood—had alighted and were struggling to drag something from inside the vehicle. That they could barely manage their large burden was apparent, and, having at last succeeded in removing it, they bore it with difficulty to the unoccupied section of the great mansion, where Hawk was wont to entertain his "personal friends." Not once during their efforts did the conspirators appear to converse. Their movements were sly and furtive, and it was very apparent that they went in dread of making the slightest sound. At the last instant, as though he sensed that they were watched, the man darted a look up at the windows. The moonlight, pale though it was, struck his face. Euphemia's heart sank. It was the very person she had suspected, yet so hoped it would not be. For the moonlight revealed the tense features of Lord Coleridge Bryce.

  Dominer was early astir the following morning, as preparations for the afternoon's Musicale got under way. At nine o'clock, Hawkhurst stood before the window in his aunt's bedchamber, a hand in his pocket, and one shoulder propped against the wall. He frowned into the gardens below him, then turned to meet Carlotta's bland smile and said, "Go to her head? Why should it, ma'am? Stephie's no different now than ever she was."

  Carlotta settled back more comfortably against her pillows and, having sipped her chocolate daintily, agreed, "Why, of course she is not, love. And so I said to Dora. 'Then why,' says she in her clever way, 'why do the beaux all cluster round her now? And why was she gone from the party for half the evening (though where I cannot guess) and come back looking downright moonstruck?' Not that I would listen to such stuff, you know, Garret. Any more than my dear Colley would listen to those who said such dreadful things about… you."

  He put up his brows at her mockingly and knew he should pay no heed to her prattling. But Stephie had seemed rather jumpy last evening, now that he came to think about it. And there was a difference about her of late—an inner light and yet a hint of sorrow, withal. By heaven! If some wet-behind-the-ears young Buck was daring to attempt to fix his interest with her…

  Carlotta, sorting through her morning pile of correspondence, fluttered a sly glance up at him and, seeing his eyes darkened and his jaw set into that horrid hard look so often turned upon poor Colley, knew she had him and returned smugly to the letter in her hand.

  "Was that all you wished to say to me, Aunt?"

  "What, dear? Did I ask you to come, then? I do not seem to recall… Oh! How clever of you to remind me, for I had quite forgot. Guess! Only guess who I met at the rectory last night!" She paused breathlessly and, his eyes holding only that familiar look of polite boredom, did not wait for his response but divulged triumphantly, "Mrs. Hughes-Dering!"

  "What, old Greg Hughes' sister? How very dull for you! The woman was ever a rabid social climber as I—"

  "Social… climber!" Carlotta fairly clutched for her vinaigrette and, having revived herself, gasped out, "She is a Leader of Society! A Power to be reckoned with in Town, Or in Bath! All evening I catered to and smiled at and fawned upon the odious old hag. And finally she agreed—yes, she actually agreed to come to my Musicale!"

  "Good God!" he uttered, aghast.

  "Yes," she nodded, misinterpreting his reaction. "I do not doubt that she knows your dear Grandpapa will be there, and the Buchanans also. Such a coup! Though I will admit I all but went down on my knees to her!"

  "You did?" he grinned. "A little too much wine, dear Aunt?"

  She gave a small shriek and denied that alcohol had ever touched her lips. "Which is more than could be said for my poor sister-in-law! One glass of ratafia, and Dora is positively tipsy."

  Hawkhurst's grin widened, for he was well aware of the fine Madeira that filled Dora's pretty Chinese decanter. "You are the essence of virtue," he acknowledged, sauntering towards the door. "And, if your saintliness will stretch so far as to endure Monica Hughes-Dering for above two minutes, you will have my admiration, ma'am, if not my company. I shall see you when the affair is over, and do trust all goes well."

  "Hawkhurst!" Her scream brought his hand from the doorlatch as though it had been red hot, and he spun about, crouching slightly, eyes narrowed, and every inch of his frame poised for combat. Nothing had changed in the luxurious bedchamber, however, and, straightening, he said an irked, "Gad, madam! What ails you? I fancied three assassins with drawn swords at my back!"

  "What did you mean?" Carlotta whimpered. "You do intend to come? You must! It is vital! For, if Mrs. Hughes-Dering receives you, perhaps others will."

  "She is far more like to give me the cut direct. The old lady loathes me, and well you know it. I've no objection to your entertaining her, but I refuse to be set down in my own home!"

  Carlotta sat straighter, leaning forward as she launched into an impassioned plea that he oblige her in "this one teensy instance" and, seeing the steel unyielding in his eyes, pointed out that he owed it to his poor sister. "For years," she moaned, "we have lived here as though stranded in a desert oasis. Oh, I know the local people have taken pity on Stephie, but— consider, Hawk! If my Musicale is well attended and a success, we might, we just might begin to be accepted again!"

  He moved back to the bed and stood frowning down at her. She looked so desperately anxious, her hands tightly gripped, her eyes fixed imploringly on him, and his expression softened. "If it is this important to you, my dear, I shall open the London House, and you can—"

  "Oh, can I not! A grand reception we would receive in Town, with every door closed to us! I would stand no more chance of getting Stephanie a voucher to Almack's than of being invited to Carlton House!"

  "To the contrary." The familiar cynicism slipped back into his eyes. "You would merely have to affect an abused manner, and the ton would fairly crush you to its bosom! More victims of my savage infamy! Lord! You'd be so smothered with solicitude, you'd likely become reigning Toasts."

  It was a possibility, and she considered it carefully. But, "It will not serve," she wailed. "Stephanie would die before she'd permit any criticism of you! Oh, Hawkhurst, this is our one chance—don't you see?"

  "If you believe that, believe also that you will fare a great deal better sans my presence!"

  "But, no! If you do not attend, Mrs. Hughes-Dering is sure to put it about that you were ashamed to face her."

  "Much I care for that. She may think what she chooses. Now, resign yourself, I beg, dear lady. I shall gladly stand the huff, but suffer through a combination of Monica Hughes-Dering and the Broadbent girl's cacophonous spasms… ?" He gave a snort of repugnance, "Be dashed if I will!" and again trod towards the door.

  My lady promptly burst into tears. Hawkhurst lengthened his stride and cravenly wrenched the door open. Her sobs were heartrending. He gritted his teeth and swore softly at the ceiling, but then turned back again. Even the sound of the closing door did not shut off the waterworks, as he'd fervently hoped. Scowling, he retraced his steps until he stood reluctantly beside her. Still she wept, her slender shoulders shaking.

  "Oh, for heaven's sake!" he growled. "Mada
m! Aunt… ? Devil take it, you make me out the complete villain!" He sat on the bed, pulled her into his arms and, patting her shoulder, pleaded, "Do not, I beg of you! Do not. Oh, very well, blast it all! I'll pay court to the preposterous woman!"

  Dabbing at her eyes and sniffing in a most unladylike fashion, Carlotta blinked up at him and choked, "You—you… will? And… will be n-nice to her?"

  "If you insist." His smile was rueful, but his eyes very kind. She thought suddenly that he really was a charming young man when he chose to be and, wrapping him in a hug, said joyously, "Oh, Garret, thank you! Thank you! We shall see our little girl achieve a brilliant match yet!"

  Wiping teardrops from his new jacket as he walked down the hall, Hawkhurst was undeceived. If Carlotta thought of Stephanie at all, it was the least of her concerns. Her main hope was to fight her own way back into the favour of the Society that had rejected them all. His steps slowed. Poor soul, he'd never guessed she missed that life so much. And with a pang he admitted at last that he missed it himself, that to walk into White's and be looked upon without the total revulsion that had greeted his final appearance in that venerable club would be a heady triumph indeed—and, of course, utterly impossible. He sighed. Still, if Carlotta so hungered for it, and if it would make Stephanie happy, the Countess of Carden was loyal still and would help, he was sure. And certainly Tristram's erratic but noble father, Lord Kingston Leith, could be of assistance.

  Walking on, his face became grim and hard. Carlotta was right. Stephanie deserved a brilliant match, and would have one. But if some slippery young Buck was courting her without daring to have begged his leave… may God help him!

  Chapter 12

  "I'd be very much obliged to you, Buck," murmured Coleridge, his eyes upon Stephanie as she stood at the brink of the hill, looking down upon Lord Gains' fine old home. "I shouldn't be above twenty minutes at the outside, but I really must have a word with Chilton. He's not quite up to the knocker since he came home, you know, and I'd… er, there's something I've to discuss with him. Quite important."