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

by Patricia Veryan

  The conspirators promptly embraced one another. "Me first!" cried Dora like an eager child. "Please may I, Colley?"

  He bowed gallantly, and Euphemia was led through the weirdest display she had ever beheld. Dora's art came in all sizes and in every shape imaginable. Exclaiming dutifully over a squidgy blob with two apparent brooms protruding from its middle, Euphemia did not dare attempt to identify it, but her careful remarks were evidently satisfactory, for Dora clasped her hands in an ecstasy of delight. "And which one," she asked breathlessly, "… do you like best?"

  Euphemia scanned the contorted collection and fixed upon the one object she felt safe with. "The—" she began, nodding to the dragon, but, chancing to catch a glimpse of Colley over his Aunt's shoulder, was saved in the nick of time by his frantic gestures, and corrected hurriedly, "Oh, dear, how difficult it is, for they are all so very interesting. Won't you tell me about… this one?"

  "Sampson?" laughed Dora, placing a fond hand upon her maligned creation. "So you recognized him, did you! Naughty doggie! On one of his raids, of course!"

  "You've certainly caught the spirit of the beast," Euphemia admitted, biting her lips to restrain a grin. "How Lord Gains would like to have this."

  "Oh, no! For no one else has ever seen any of it! Save for the one piece I bribed Parsley to pop into the music room."

  Euphemia's mind's eye at once engaged in a fast review of the adornments of that charming room. Her uncertainty becoming apparent, Bryce said, "The gentleman who so shocked my mother."

  "Adonis … ?" Euphemia gasped. "But… but he's not at all like…" She gestured feebly at the grotesques.

  "Well, he was one of my earliest efforts," Dora apologized, fortunately misunderstanding the flabbergasted look on the visitor's features. "I do think I've come quite a way since then, if I say so myself. Which I shouldn't, of course. But I can tell you now that what you saw Colley and me hauling up here so 'furtively' in the dead of night was a piece of stone for my new project. Not," her eyes sparkled mischievously, "a body, my love! Did you see this one?" She indicated an apparent banana pierced with many toothpicks. "I was shaping the clay when I sneezed and most of my hairpins fairly whizzed into it, but I do think it adds to the effect, don't you? I simply covered them with clay, you see…" Euphemia's eyes were rather misted, and she dared not look at Colley, the mischief in the boy's face having already almost proved her undoing. She was spared commenting on the "effect" as Dora added blithely, "Enough of me! Now, Colley will show you which of us is the real artist!"

  The youth staunchly denied this, but his aunt had spoken truthfully. In only a moment Euphemia apprehended that here was a great talent. The first work Coleridge shyly presented for inspection was dark: country folk beginning to drift homeward from a fair, the moon high in the sky, and flares being lit in the booths behind them. At first, the people seemed to be indistinguishable from the background, but they gradually materialized to such incredible reality that she could all but reach out and touch them. The next painting was of a storm and a lonely sheepdog herding his flock, with wind blowing the snow into a great vortex about them, the cold seeming to creep from the canvas, and the dog's devotion vividly apparent. Many paintings followed, each seemingly better than the last, until, flushed with pleasure, Coleridge led her to the easel at which he had been working when she arrived. It was a nearly completed portrait of Hawkhurst. The boy had painted it with love, capturing the strength of the man, yet managing also to show the humorous quirk to the shapely lips and the smile in the grey eyes. He had chosen to portray Hawkhurst in his uniform, a Light Dragoon. Euphemia stood entranced, staring and staring, until her eyes grew blurred and the lump in her throat choked her. She did not hear Colley leave, but when she looked up, blinking away her tears, he was gone, and Dora's pudgy little hands were clasped, her face ecstatic. "Oh, my dear," she said tremulously. "You do love him! I was sure you did!"

  Euphemia tried to speak, but could not, so instead walked into those outreaching arms, and when she had been kissed and urged to the nearest chair, she dried her tears and asked the reason for all the secrecy. "For you both have such really astonishing gifts! Hawkhurst would be so proud!"

  "Alas," Dora said ruefully, "I fear he would instead be furious! He never has had anything but scorn for poor Colley's ambitions. And, if he knew I had encouraged him, and spent such a great deal of money upon our hobbies… Oh, my!"

  "But he could not know how much talent you both possess! If he saw—"

  "Oh! I would not dare! Although we do plan to surprise him. Someday. When we are ready."

  "You are ready now! Oh, Dora, would you have your showing before we leave? I should so love to see Hawk's face! And the Admiral! They will be totally astounded!"

  Having said which, she must again be hugged and thanked for her dear kindness and asked suddenly, "Does he know you care for him?"

  Euphemia blushed and looked down with a strange new shyness. "I think… he does."

  "And are you willing to forgive his dark past? His terrible sins, his women, his reputation?"

  "I do not believe Hawk has ever—could ever—hurt anyone so savagely," she answered defensively. "And as to his women, why, he was cast out by society. Lonely… striking back, perhaps."

  "Perhaps. For if ever there was a man meant to love and be loved, and instead…" Dora heaved a regretful sigh.

  "But, if you all knew about her and Mount, why did no one tell the Admiral?"

  "We did not know, until it was too late. But when I learned of it, I tried to summon the courage to tell Papa. After the tragedy, he was so heartbroken and so enraged with poor Garret that I actually did manage to write a letter."

  "You did? But how splendid! Whatever did Lord Wetherby say?"

  Dora gave a helpless little moue. "I never sent it. The old gentleman suffered a seizure, and the physician who attended him obviously held Hawkhurst to blame. The rumours—oh! they were thick and terrible then, I do assure you, and the doctor believed them all. He warned Garret that any more grief, any slightest shock, could prove fatal." She shrugged. "I did not dare post my letter. Hal Archer says Papa is healthy as a horse, and it was likely simple dyspepsia, but Garret idolizes his grandfather and has flatly forbidden any of us to speak of it."

  Euphemia said tenderly, "How very typical of him. But what a frightful nightmare it must have been. Was that when his hair began to grey?"

  "Yes. And I wonder it is not white as snow! The wicked newspaper articles and insinuations! The way he received the cut direct wherever he went. And all the while he was nigh distracted with grief for dear little Avery. I was quite sure he would wind up in Bedlam, poor soul, and, even though he did not, it has changed him—beyond belief." She paused and went on with slow reluctance, "I… must be honest with you, sweet child. I cannot think of any lady better suited to be Garret's bride, and I wish—oh, with all my heart—that you might lead him back to life, and love. But…" She shook her head doubtfully.

  Catching a flying hairpin, Euphemia stared down at it for a moment, then asked, "You think I have no chance at all? You think he has forgotten how to live, and love?"

  "Oh, pray do not mistake. Gary is too much of a man to, er, have given up, er—"

  "The companionship of ladies?" prompted Euphemia gravely.

  "Exactly so. But he chooses the type of… ah… lady, who will be easy to discard. I hear he is generous, very generous, to his chères amies. But to love again would be to make himself vulnerable, don't you see? So I think he has locked his heart away, poor dear, as if in some impregnable fortress. That he will never again give anyone the chance to hurt him so terribly."

  Her heart aching for him, Euphemia was silent but could not suppose it to be truth. Dora, with her highly romantic nature, saw only the carefree youth, his reputation blackened, his life blasted. And, to her gentle soul, the inevitable result must be a shrinking withdrawal from any possible repetition of such heartbreak. Euphemia, more worldly wise, clung to her faith in Hawk's stren
gth. He was not the man to allow one buffet from Fate to shatter him so. However Blanche may have enraged and humiliated him, the only way she had been able to really wound him must have been through his little son. Beyond doubting, that loss must have been searing, but many people had suffered such tragedy, and it had not destroyed them. Perhaps Hawkhurst was reluctant to love again, but, if so, it was for some reason other than fear of being hurt.

  "Lord Wetherby encourages the little fellow, Simon," Euphemia pointed out as she seated herself in the parlour adjoining her bedchamber. "But as for his own sake, I simply cannot allow Kent to behave as though he were part of the family. Poor little fellow, he is very good and does not mean to overstep the bounds. He is so sensitive and was quite shattered when I spoke to him. Such a problem, is it not?"

  "I'm sure you are right," murmured Buchanan absently.

  Euphemia glanced at him. He stood with his back towards her, gazing out of the window towards the east and distant London. "Evil creature," she teased. "You've heard not one word of it all. Own up!"

  He at once whirled around and begged her pardon. "I fear my thoughts were elsewhere. Please tell me what you said, and I shall be all ears."

  "No, no. It was of little import." He was rarely so distracted, however, and with a twinge of guilt she said repentantly, "How thoughtless I am. You were violently opposed to our coming here and yet have not once either given me the scold I warrant or raised the least complaint through all these many delays. You are too good, Simon. But I promise you we shall leave the day after tomorrow." And she had to force a smile to hide the terrible sinking of her spirits.

  He stared at her for a moment, then turned back to the window once more and muttered, "I wish you would not place me on so high a pedestal, Mia. Someday you will be forced to admit that I am a most ordinary fellow, with perhaps more than my share of failings."

  "Ten times more, in fact! For, although you are occasionally a fairly satisfactory brother, I consider your taste in horses— and women—thoroughly execrable." She had spoken with a laugh in her voice and was dismayed to see his head lower a trifle, while, instead of an indignant response, there was silence. "I shall miss our new friends," she went on hurriedly. "Even Carlotta. And as for Stephanie—Oh, Simon, I am so very grateful to you for squiring her about as you have done. I know it must have been a bother, and—"

  "Not at all," he said in a polite, if strained, tone. "She is a… a pleasant girl and most sweetly-natured."

  "Yes. And you must admit my meddling has been to some purpose. I know it is presumptuous to say, but she is prettier with her hair dressed so. Do you not agree?"

  "What? Oh, I suppose so." Desperate to change the subject, he swung around. "Must we go to that blasted Musicale this afternoon?"

  "I fear we must, or Lady Bryce will be very hurt." She stood and crossed to his side, saying contritely, "I am really sorry, love. Because I have found such a great joy here, I completely forgot what a total bore it must be for—"

  "You found… what?" He gripped her shoulders, scanning her face intently. "Do you refer to this beautiful estate? Or your new friends? Or—" And he stopped, astounded by the droop of her lashes, and the blush that strained her cheeks. "Good… God! Hawkhurst?"

  She nodded and admitted with a shy smile, "Your foolish sister, who was so sure she would know her 'gentil and strong' love at first sight. Whereas it was, in fact, almost two weeks before she knew that her heart was given at last."

  Stunned, Buchanan released her. "Hawkhurst!" he muttered. "Of all the men you might have had!"

  Anxiety seized Euphemia at this, for she loved him dearly, and, if he really objected, it would be dreadful. "Are you terribly shocked, dearest? He is not what people say of him, I know it, for I could not love such a man."

  "Has he offered?"

  "Of course not! And would never be so wanting for manners, as to do so without first obtaining your approval."

  She had the oddest impression that Simon winced, but in the next second he was directing his boyish grin at her and asking, "And if I refused it, should you give him up?"

  "I would be… very grieved," she evaded worriedly. "But, dearest, you do not really despise him, do you?"

  He sighed and, sitting down in the windowseat, stretched out his legs and stared at his boots. "No. In fact, I cannot help but be drawn to the fellow. But your way with him would not be easy, you know. People would say—" He gave a little snort of cynicism and, to her utter bewilderment, suddenly burst into a shout of laughter. "What strange tricks Fate plays on us," he said breathlessly, "does she not?"

  Euphemia agreed readily, vastly relieved that he had taken it so well, and far more willing to endure his raillery than his anger.

  Not until much later did she realize what it was that her brother had actually found so bitterly humorous.

  Chapter 13

  By three o'clock, the music room was commencing to be comfortably filled. Outside the weather was hazy and frigid, to compensate for which Lady Bryce had ordered the fires at each end of the large room banked high, and between the warmth, the congenial company, and the several mild flirtations that were under way, the room fairly hummed with lighthearted talk and laughter.

  Superb in a robe of ecru lace over blond satin, Carlotta received her guests in the great hall, her nephew beside her. She was aglow with delight at so splendid a turnout in spite of the inclement weather and almost equally pleased by Hawkhurst's appearance. There was no denying the boy was blessed with a splendid physique: his long-tailed, bottle-green jacket was as if moulded to those broad shoulders; the pale green and cream stripes of his waistcoat could offend none; his cravat, which an awed Colley had advised her was known as the trône d'amour, had won several admiring glances from the gentlemen; and those magnificent legs were set off to admiration by pantaloons that might allow him to sit down, were he cautious.

  The Reverend James Dunning and his wife passed into the music room, to be followed by the Taylor Mannerings and their pretty daughter, Margaret, whom Carlotta had long known to cherish a tendre for Hawk. Incredible as it seemed, almost all those invited had arrived, and when Lord and Lady Paragoy drove up with their party, it wanted only the presence of Mrs. Hughes-Dering to complete Carlotta's triumph.

  Pending the arrival of that grande dame, Mr. Ponsonby and his satellites offered hot rum to the gentlemen and hot mulled wine or cider to the ladies. Accepting a glass of wine from the tray, Euphemia declined either cake or biscuit and, turning to the Admiral, murmured that Lady Bryce must be pleased that so many had come, despite the cold.

  "They came to see you, of course," he grinned, patting her hand. "As did I."

  "Oh, what a rasper!" she teased and, when his bark of laughter had died down, added, "You meant from the start to attend this affair and were probably instrumental in persuading Mrs. Hughes-Dering to come. You want to help Hawkhurst. Come, admit it."

  He chuckled. "I'll admit I have no love for musicales, and normally would have set me sails and upped anchor for Timbuctoo. But since I'd to come on—" he frowned suddenly, "—on another matter, it seemed a good opportunity to try and—Oh, devil take the woman! Why did she invite That Quack?"

  Dr. Archer came up to introduce his sister. He bowed over Euphemia's hand and shot a look of belligerent defiance at the Admiral. The stare he received in return dripped ice and was even more defiant, being aided by the magnifying lens of a quizzing glass. Miss Archer, a tall, angular spinster, rested shrewd eyes upon Miss Buchanan, took in her glowing good-looks, her frank gaze and humourous mouth, complimented her upon her gown of pale amber crepe trimmed with French beads, and moved on, to advise her brother sotto voce that she agreed, "The girl is perfect for Gary."

  Coleridge brought over young Ensign Dunning. An awed Ivor St. Alaban joined them, and Euphemia was quite surrounded by gentlemen when at length Mrs. Hughes-Dering made her entrance.

  That this entrance should be solitary was dictated by the dimensions of the doorway. Unlike the dining a
nd drawing room, the music room boasted only a single door, and Mrs. Hughes-Dering was so vastly fat that no other person could possibly have traversed it beside her. Euphemia blinked at an enormous royal-blue velvet robe over a slip of only slightly paler blue silk and surmounted by a vast turban, the feathers of which shot out to the sides instead of in the customary erect style. Hawkhurst followed this apparition and directed a glance at Euphemia, his eyes gleaming in response to the astonishment in hers. He drew up a large chair for his charge and, having eased her onto it, remained close by as various of her cronies were graciously received. Euphemia was reminded of nothing so much as her governess telling her of the audiences King

  Henry VIII had conducted at Hampton Court and was hard pressed to keep her features sober when Wetherby took her over to make her curtsey to this tyrant of the ton. She straightened to find herself transfixed by a pair of beady eyes almost concealed by rolls of fat and, realizing that the small mouth was smiling, returned the smile. "Armstrong Buchanan's gel, eh?" The voice was nasal and high-pitched. "My late husband was well acquainted with your father, m'dear. Though he was Navy. Great friend of Wetherby's." She directed a chill stare at Hawkhurst and added bodingly, "… else I would not be here."

  "But, how charming…" said Euphemia. Mrs. Hughes-Dering's beady eyes narrowed to slits, even as Hawkhurst's widened and began to dance with mirth. "… that you knew my dear Papa," Euphemia went on smoothly. "You must meet my brother, ma'am. Simon, how pleased you will be. Mrs. Hughes-Dering was a friend of my father."

  Ever gallant, Buchanan made his bow and, at once winning the approval of the fearsome lady, enabled Euphemia to be borne off by a quietly hilarious Hawkhurst. "Rascal!" he chuckled, as he conducted her to a chair. "Must you always twist the tails of tigers?"