Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 09] - Logic Of The Heart

by Veryan, Patricia

  "Attractive! 'Tis not his looks, but his looks I dislike!"

  Susan chuckled. "Oh, Starry, you wretch, you must not speak of him so. Andy thinks the world of him, and likely I have misjudged the gentleman. He was the very soul of courtesy—so kind and all consideration towards me. Besides, only think how these consignments help us. Andy says if it keeps up—"

  A sudden shrill outburst sent both women's glances to the head of the stairs. Susan gave a gasp of fright. "The Trents? Heavens! Do they visit him often? Have they brought his affianced?"

  "This is the first time they've showed their noses since they browbeat you into letting Montclair stay here!"

  "Good gracious!"

  "Just so! And as for Miss Trent," the little woman sniffed disparagingly, "her ladyship likely judges this an unfit atmosphere for her pure daughter. But I judge it most odd. One would suppose a newly engaged girl should brave any atmosphere to be at the side of her betrothed when he is in such straits."

  "I think all at Longhills 'most odd,'" said Susan with a sigh. "Only listen to her. You'd best find the Bo'sun. He must get that horrid woman away before she sends Montclair into a relapse again! I'll—" A heavy step behind her brought her spinning around with a guilty yelp.

  At the foot of the stairs stood the Bo'sun, wearing a greatcoat and carrying a pair of crutches and a large medicine bottle.

  "Welcome home, ma'am," he said breathlessly. "All shipshape?"

  "Yes. But it was chancy putting in to our dock, George. It's not an easy river."

  "True. But ye'd best stir your stumps, Mrs. Sue. We've company."

  Susan nodded to the upper floor and pulled a wry face. "So I hear."

  "And more arriving," he said, running an eye down her. "Let me get your boots, ma'am. You'll want to change out of those breeches before you see the nobs, I expect."

  Mrs. Starr hurried off, calling for Martha to help Mrs. Sue.

  Unceremoniously, Susan sat on the stair. The Bo'sun put down his burdens and pulled off her boots, then took up the valise and followed as she scurried up the stairs.

  Two minutes later Martha brought hot water, and with lightning speed Susan washed, Martha brushed out her long hair, a pale lavender gown trimmed with ivory French braid replaced shirt and breeches, and ivory sandals were slipped onto her feet.

  "My cap!" she gasped, sliding a carved Indian ivory bangle onto her wrist.

  "Oh! Your poor nails, missus," moaned Martha.

  Susan glanced regretfully at her ragged fingernails. "I know, I know. I was hoping to get the tar off, but—yes, that one will do, Martha. Quickly!"

  She all but ran along the hall, hearing London voices downstairs that were drowned, as she went into her bedchamber, by Lady Trent's shrill voice.

  Sir Selby and his wife sat beside the bed. Susan welcomed them politely, but aside from a vague impression that his coat was grey and that my lady wore an elaborate puce gown that made her look sallow, she scarecly noticed them. Her attention flew to Montclair, and her pulses gave the little leap that was so stupid and that had spurred her decision to accompany her brother on the voyage to Devonshire.

  He was clean-shaven again, and she was shocked to note how the lack of the beard emphasized the gaunt hollows in his cheeks. A sudden eager flush stained those cheeks; the dark eyes lit up, the amber flecks glowing. He said in a firm voice that surprised her, "Here is my intrepid rescuer come back, and—"

  "And Mrs. Henley will be wanting her bedchamber restored to her," interposed my lady, smiling the smile that seemed as if taken from a box and glued over her sneer.

  Susan's heart was pounding. They wanted him to go home. Did he want to go? She searched his face and found only that warm smile.

  "I fancy you think it past time we should relieve you of your burden," said Sir Selby. "I hope you have not been plagued to death, ma'am. We have brought our coach and shall carry my nephew off, so—"

  "Your pardon," interposed Montclair, watching Susan. "But unless my presence here is a great inconvenience, I would prefer to delay leaving until I feel stronger."

  "Now, now, dear lad," purred Trent. "We must consider others. And I think we have imposed upon Mrs. Henley sufficiently."

  Susan shook her head. "It has been no imposition, sir. And I would be sorry to see Mr. Montclair leave us before he is well enough to stand the journey."

  "I am very sure you would," smirked my lady, unable to restrain her waspish tongue.

  Sir Selby frowned, but his attempt to speak was halted as Montclair lifted a thin hand. "Mrs. Henley is not one to hide her teeth," he drawled. "Did she wish to be rid of me, she would say so."

  "I am not sure whether that is a compliment or an insult," said Susan, smiling at him.

  "And it is all of a piece," snapped my lady. "My poor nephew is in no condition to know what is best for him, and—"

  A loud male voice cut through her words. "Your pardon, ma'am."

  My lady did not care to be interrupted at the best of times. This was not the best of times. She sprang to her feet and whirled on the intruder in a passion. "How dare you burst into a sickroom and—"

  Her husband's quick eyes had noted the small staff one of the two newcomers carried. "Are you gentlemen from Bow Street?" he asked, silencing Lady Trent with a gesture.

  A short, sturdy, moon-faced individual with a pugnacious stare and cold dark eyes grunted, "Yussir. Orficers o' the law. I'm 'Obkins, hand this"—he jerked a thumb at his meek associate—"is Limmer. Both desirious o' a word or three with Mr. Montclair, we his. Hif you don't hobject, that his."

  "But my dear man, of course we do not object," said my lady, all gracious condescension. "As you may well imagine, our most fervent prayer is that the vicious would-be murderer of our beloved nephew should be seized and hung with the greatest dispatch."

  The smaller Runner coughed and pointed out with a timid bow that they were unable to guarantee this happy result. "The murderee not having become one, good and proper like, and the law getting so gentle and kindly with evildoers, that the villin might get off with transportation. But apprehend of him we will, m'lady."

  "To which hend we got some pertinent questions for to hask," growled his partner.

  "Well, we shall not delay you," said Trent. "We were in fact just taking our leave."

  "Uncle," said Montclair. "I should very much like to see Barbara."

  "But of course, Valentine," said my lady soothingly. "Tomorrow, poor dear boy. Tomorrow morning."

  "Come, my love," urged her spouse. "We must not impede the progress of justice. Good day to you, nephew. Mrs. Henley." And with a firm grip on his wife's elbow and a rather sad smile, he moved smoothly from the room and closed the door.

  Mr. Hobkins stared pointedly at Susan.

  "Mr. Montclair is a long way from being recovered," she said. "Please do not tire him."

  This evidently ruffled the Runner's sensibilities, and he observed that he was very sure that Mr. Montclair was "more hanxious than hanyone to see 'is wicked attacker brought to justice. Heven," he added with a grim nod, "hif there's them has haint hanxious! Not by so much has a whisker!"

  Susan was still mulling over those ominous remarks after she had received an ecstatic greeting from her small daughter and Priscilla had gone off with Martha to change her wet shoes and be de-muddied.

  Andrew hurried down the back stairs, looking, Susan thought, endearingly handsome in a brown velvet coat and cream pantaloons, and presenting a very different appearance from the unkempt sailor who'd slunk into the house after the Trents departed.

  "I think they suspect us," she told him.

  "The devil!" he gasped, paling. "Of not having gone to Town?"

  "Of having a hand in the attack on Montclair," she went on, accompanying him into the withdrawing room.

  "What fustian," he said scornfully. "As if they'd entertain such a cork-brained notion after you risked your neck to climb down to the poor fellow. Besides, they questioned us all when first Montclair was brought he
re. By Jove, but they did, and a sillier set of gudgeons I never hope to see!"

  She crossed to the sideboard to pour him a glass of wine, and was attacked by a ferocious Welcome who had managed to get the lower cupboard door open and evidently regarded the shelf as his lair. The little cat sprang out, waving his arms to terrify her, then tore off, whiskers bristling and tail held sideways, in high triumph. Laughing, Susan rustled her skirts at him. "Yes, Andy," she said. "And between your threatening to throw them in the river if they didn't stop pestering us, and Angelo confusing them with his incomprehensible answers, I wonder we weren't clapped up then and there."

  Lyddford tossed himself into his favourite chair and chuckled unrepentantly. "Don't do to bow down to a trap, love."

  Susan carried over his wine. "Well, these aren't the same men. Quite a different proposition to the pair who came at first."

  "All tarred with the same brush, pox on 'em." Lyddford raised his glass. "Here's to my excellent first mate pro tem! Truly, I don't know how we'd have managed without you, Mrs. H."

  Blushing with pleasure, she asked, "Was I really a help? You surely would have contrived better had the Bo'sun been aboard."

  "Oh, surely," he agreed with a grin. "But only think how disappointed Imre Monteil would have been! Be dashed if ever I saw a man's face glow as his did when we came ashore at Clovelly! He has a tendre for you, my girl! And he's a rare catch, do you fancy him. Rich as Croesus, I hear. Faith, but who could doubt it? That yacht of his must be worth more than everything we own, even if you was to include Highperch."

  "But I do not fancy him," she said quickly. "Though I cannot but be grateful for the work he has sent our way. Even," she added with a thoughtful pucker of her brows, "if I don't quite understand his need for us."

  "Perfectly obvious. He cannot bring his dashed great yacht upriver. The Dainty Dancer is flat-bottomed and far more manoeuvrable."

  "Well, I know that, silly. But why must he come up-river? There are many other places where he could moor his yacht safely and store his cargo."

  Lyddford shrugged. "He wants to store it here. He likes Highperch. Means to buy it, y'know. Made me a most generous offer. Don't look so worried, you foolish chit. This ain't my house."

  "No, and it may not be mine, either. But—if it was— Andy—you wouldn't wish me to sell to him?"

  "Why not? The sum he offered would buy us a jolly nice home in Town. And certainly, this place needs a great deal of work."

  Susan stared at him in dismay. He met her regard gravely, but his eyes danced, and she threw a cushion. "Oh, you horrid creature! You are teasing! A house in Town wouldn't provide us a dock for The Dainty Dancer—at least, not a dock we could use!"

  He fielded the cushion laughingly, lifted a cautioning hand, and glanced to the open door. "You must not murder me, Mrs. H. We've Runners in the house, don't forget."

  She stood. "Yes. And Montclair was sufficiently exhausted after his loving relations left. I must find the Bo'sun and send them packing!"

  "Cluck, cluck, cluck," jeered her brother, raising no objection when Welcome raced back in and took possession of his lap.

  Susan smiled, and hurried out, taking care to keep her face turned from him, and irked by the awareness that she was blushing.

  The men from Bow Street were firing interminable questions at Montclair, and Dodman, representing himself as the sick man's medical advisor, promptly called a halt to the interview. Mr. Hobkins was affronted, and relieved his feelings by accusing Montclair of knowing very well who had tried to put a period to him, and of "deliberately pertecting 'im hor them what done the foul deed." The vexed Bo'sun relieved his own feelings by offering the Runner an extremely uncomplimentary assessment of the silly gumps now posing as representatives of law and order, whereupon the irate Runner took himself off, his meek associate slanting an amused wink at Dodman as he was escorted from the room.

  Susan wandered closer to the bed. Montclair was watching her with an oddly speculative expression. Flustered, she glanced at the crutches propped against the chest of drawers. "You are looking very much better, sir," she said. "But not ready for those, I think."

  "I've been here for over a month, Mrs. Henley. It is time I was up and about."

  She moved a little nearer and smoothed the pillow. "You have had a very bad accident. One does not recover quickly from shock and loss of blood, sir. Nor do broken bones heal in a month."

  "Still, my uncle was right. I have imposed on you long enough. Besides, there are things at Longhills requiring my attention."

  She sat down on the bedside chair and pointed out demurely, "But you—er, do not feel strong enough to travel."

  He chuckled. "Strong enough to travel as far as the windowseat, ma'am. Indeed I look forward to it more than you can imagine. And speaking of travelling, I understand you were in Town. Did you go on your boat? You look the picture of robust health."

  "Indeed?" she said, her head tilting upward.

  His mouth quivered. "I perceive I have said something dreadful."

  "Not at all. There is nothing dreadful about being— big and healthy!"

  "Then why do you gnash your teeth when you say it?"

  She glared at him, saw the lurking smile, and relented. "Oh, very well. I suppose every woman prefers to be thought of as small and dainty—even when she is—"

  "Tall and graceful, and serenely beautiful as any goddess of ancient Greece?"

  Astounded, she felt her cheeks grow hot, and stammered in confusion, "The goddess of fishwives, perhaps?"

  "Touche!" But the reminder caused him to marvel that he had not seen her beauty in the first moment they met. Or that even in that dirty old mob-cap and apron he'd not realized at once that she was a lady of quality. She was watching him curiously, and he shrugged and admitted wryly, "I was wishing I hadn't said that."

  "I wonder if you wish it as deeply as I wish I had not—attacked you."

  He froze, and became perfectly white.

  Susan had lowered her eyes, and not seeing his reaction, went on. "Though you never did return my poor mob-cap."

  With comprehension came a deep sense of guilt. Montclair leaned back and stifling a sigh of relief, lied, "I cannot think what became of it."

  She smiled to herself. "I noticed how thoughtful you looked when the Runners left. Was that what you were worrying about, Mr. Montclair?"

  "No. Actually, I was thinking that it would be nice if you would call me by my name. After all, we are old friends now. Aren't we?"

  Her heart gave a little leap. The gentleman was indeed much better! She said pensively, "Are we? Or is this just a temporary truce?"

  "It will be far from temporary if I have my way."

  Their eyes met and held. It was all Susan could do to remind herself that he was betrothed to Miss Trent and had no business talking to her like this. Even more flustered, she said, "I have been meaning to ask you… I wondered if you have thought— I mean, despite what you told the Runners, do you know who—who tried to—"

  "To murder me?"

  She gasped. "How awful that sounds!"

  "Doesn't it," he agreed, his mouth grim again. "No, ma'am. I know I am not universally loved, but… I'd not realized I was hated."

  "It may not be a matter of hatred, Mr.—" His eyes shot to her. She finished with a dimple, "Mr. Valentine. I read a tale once about just such an attack, and the hero asked the victim's wife who would most benefit by the murder."

  Montclair said wryly, "Very few people would benefit in my case, ma'am. I have some fine horses, a few prized belongings, an inheritance that could be described as comfortable. And—" He paused.

  And what? This house? She felt wretched, and rushed on. "But—but you are your brother's heir—no? If something should befall you…"

  "The gentlemen from Bow Street had the same notion, Mrs. Henley. But my brother is hale and hearty, and so much the Corinthian with his racing and fisticuffs and all manner of sporting endeavours that he will likely outlive me by ten
years at least. Further, he's an exceeding well-favoured man and will likely marry and set up his nursery very soon—if he's not already done so. None of which in the least offends me, for I've not the smallest desire to inherit either the title or estates." He smiled faintly. "Too many responsibilities, and I've other—interests. The next in line after me is my father's younger brother, Hampton. My aunt calls him 'Poor Hampton' because he was so unfortunate as to be severely injured in a riding accident when only eighteen, and although he is the best of good fellows, has never since enjoyed the full possession of his wits."

  "How very sad. But after your Uncle Hampton— then… ?"

  "Then Junius, as my aunt's only son. But—that seems too long a wait, no? And waiting is such a horrid pastime. For instance—I thought you would never come back, Mrs. Sue."

  He had lowered his voice when he spoke her name and said it in such a way that it again became necessary for her to duck her head to hide her blushes. And what utter silliness! The wicked man was flirting with her even as he awaited the visit of his betrothed! A fine respect he held for the Widow Henley! She recovered her aplomb and said coolly, "It is nice to be missed. I fancy you must be anxious to see Miss Trent."

  He did not look in the least set down, as she had intended, but said with a slight frown, "Yes. Starry told me that Barbara had not called."

  "Starry?" Amused, she said, "Now what is this impropriety, sir? If you've formed a tendre for my dear companion, I must warn you that the Bo'sun also has eyes in that direction."

  Montclair grinned broadly. "No, has he? What a nice couple they would make. She is a little darling of a lady. And with hands nigh as gentle as…"—he gazed up at her—"as your own…"

  Heavens, but it was a persistent flirt! Susan had to cling hard to common sense. "Perhaps, since Dr. Sheswell says you may be up a little, we can have you in the chair when Miss Trent comes. You will like that."