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

by Veryan, Patricia

  A week had passed since Miss Trent's visit. It had been a productive week. The Dainty Dancer's cargo was all safely stowed in the cellar, and for two days Andy and the Bo'sun had been busily mending sails. This morning Andy and Senor Angelo had taken the barge to the boatyard near Avonmouth for some much needed work on the tiller.

  By mutual if unspoken consent, neither Susan nor Montclair had referred again to the possibility of his returning home. Nor had Dr. Sheswell or the Trents put in another appearance, and although Susan was well aware that this could only be a respite, she was grateful for the present peace.

  She became aware that a pair of dark eyes watched her, and averted her own hurriedly.

  "Must you always work?" drawled Montclair lazily. "I think I never see you but you are busied at some task. Yet you fly up into the boughs do I dare offer to bring only two of my servants here to help you."

  "I like to be busy, sir," she argued. "And besides, I expect your maids have too many tasks already."

  He smiled. "More probably it would be the first time they really earned their pay. We have dozens of 'em loitering about Longhills, doing very little."

  "A typical male observation," she said in amused chiding. "With a house as gigantic as yours, the poor girls likely slave from dawn to dusk, polishing and dusting and mopping and scrubbing, and—"

  "And the butler standing over 'em with a heavy whip, no doubt! Is that how you envision a maid's life at Longhills, ma'am?"

  She laughed. "Not quite that grim, but I fancy your aunt knows how to keep your servants well occupied."

  "Well, that's truth, at all events." In spite of his light tone the laughter had left his eyes as it always did when his family was mentioned, and there was a hardening to the pleasant line of his mouth. Susan folded the tablecloth she had repaired, lifted a yawning Welcome from her sewing basket, and put the tablecloth in. During these weeks of his illness she had come to know every nuance of Montclair's voice, every expression of the very expressive countenance, and through these last few summer days they had chatted in an ever deepening rapport and said much more than mere words. She had struggled to convince herself that whatever his peculiar relationship with Miss Trent, it was none of her affair. She enjoyed him for his whimsical sense of humour and his easy way of conversing with her. He never ignored her remarks; he solicited and listened to her opinions— and if he frequently argued with them he did so as one would argue with an equal, not with the amused tolerance toward an inferior intellect that was so often shown females by gentlemen. Indeed, in some ways she felt as comfortable with him as though she'd known him all her life. And in others— She snipped that thread of thought and said quietly, "Mr. Valentine, you do not— that is to say, there does not appear to be a great depth of affection between you and the Trents."

  "Your first impulse was correct, Mrs. Sue. I have no love for them—save for Barbara, of course."

  "Of course." A spark of resentment lit her eyes, but she went on. "Was your mama excessive fond of them?"

  "She scarce knew them. Lady Marcia was sister to my father. He could not abide the lady, and being a very forthright gentleman, told her so to her face during one of their less civilized quarrels. For years afterwards the two families were estranged."

  "How dreadful. Were all communications at an end, then?"

  "Yes." He said dryly, "It was an exceeding peaceful time." He saw her brows arch, and added, "You are wondering, I think, why my mother appointed Sir Selby as Geoff's Administrator? Her own brothers both had died young, and my papa's surviving younger brother suffered a bad accident many years ago, as I told you. Mama was ill, and she knew that Geoff—" He checked, frowning, then said with his half smile, "Well, he's one of those charming men who always manage to, er— He's a bit of a scamp, and, er—"

  'A family trait,' she thought, but inserted shrewdly, "And expert at resting all his responsibilities on the shoulders of others."

  Montclair said in a troubled way, "No, really he is the best of men, but—he simply cannot tolerate my uncle. Now that he is of an age to end the Trust and take control, I am sure he will return very soon."

  "But meanwhile," she pursued, "your uncle, having been made Administrator, is able to follow his own course while your brother keeps out of the country?"

  "Not where I can help it," he said with a sudden fierce scowl. "The deuce of it is, legally he does not really have to heed me. I think the only reason he bothers with me at all is for fear I might appeal to my great-uncle Chauncey. He was my mama's favourite uncle, and is a grand old fellow. He wields no real authority in this instance, sad to say, and lives mostly retired in Wales now, but he is still a power to be reckoned with, and my uncle Selby treads very softly around him." He smiled nostalgically. "You may know of him since your family was Navy also. Admiral Lord Sutton-Newark."

  "Yes indeed. I have heard my grandfather mention that name, and with great respect. Did you ever appeal to him?"

  "Lord, no," he answered indignantly. "A fine booberkin he would have thought me! Unable to deal with such a one as Selby Trent!"

  "That is nonsensical! Your brother is older than you, and he could not deal with the man! And Sir Selby has all his retainers, his wife, and his son marshalled against you, and opposes your every wish. I should think—"

  Curious, he interrupted. "How did you know all that?"

  She hesitated, then said rather airily, "Oh, Senor Angelo is acquaint with Miss Trent, you know, and she—"

  "Has babbled all my secrets, has she? Wretched chit!" He checked, then added with a sober look, "No, I must not say that. She is a darling, and heaven knows has much to distress her. I only pray we may deal well—"

  "Mr. Val! Mr. Val!" Priscilla ran from the house, her skirts flying, her little face alight and well sprinkled with flour.

  Montclair grinned, and shifted on the chaise, sitting up and reaching his good arm to her. "What makes those lovely eyes sparkle so, Lady Priscilla?"

  She giggled ecstatically, and ran to be hugged. "I'm going to Tewkesb'y with Starry an' the Bo'sun to get my new specs, and Bo'sun George says he might buy me a ice. An' you know I is not a real lady."

  "Bless my soul!" he said, smiling into the bright little face. "How you have deceived me! Now tell me what you've been up to with Starry that smells so delectable."

  "Oh, we've been cooking. We din't have much time, 'cause Bo'sun George is waiting to drive us, so I must go and put on my bonnet and mittens quick. But I cooked you a special biscuit for your dinner, Mr. Val. Wait till you see it! It's 'normous, and I poked hund'eds an' thousands of currants into it, 'cause I know you like currants."

  "Indeed I do. I can scarce wait 'til dinner time. Faith, but I'm glad to know you're such a good cook. If you do decide to wait for me, and accept of my offer, I'll eat well!"

  She squealed with delight, jumped up and down twice, bade them both a hurried farewell, then went racing back inside to get ready for the long-awaited journey to Tewkesbury.

  Montclair leaned back, watching the flying little figure. "What a sweet child she is," he murmured, fondly.

  "Yes," agreed Susan, watching him. "And what is all this about offers, sir?"

  He chuckled, and turned his head lazily against the chaise to look at her. "Not quite what you might think, ma'am. I am honoured to inform you that your daughter is prepared to sacrifice herself on the altar of matrimony, and has selected me as a possible mate."

  "Good—heavens!"

  He sighed and said in tragic accents, "You do not approve! Alas. However, there is a stipulation, so do not worry yourself unduly. Mistress Priscilla considers marriage very silly, and only for old people."

  Susan laughed a little uncertainly. "That is not exactly a stipulation, is it?"

  "No, but her reluctance to enter such a state is balanced against her need for a rich gentleman, and I had to tell her I have neither title nor a great fortune." Susan tensed at this, a frown coming into her eyes, but far from being an expert in the ways of women, he
did not see this danger signal, and blundered on. "She is very sensible, and says that she cannot marry anyone who has less than a hundred guineas."

  "Oh." In a clipped voice Susan remarked, "Well, I fancy you told her you are betrothed, which put an end to that nonsense."

  "Certainly not! Why should I? Now tell me, ma'am, seriously. You have instilled the proper values into her, I'll not deny. But what do you mean to do with her? She is exceptionally bright and should be educated, for—"

  "For what?" she snapped, annoyed with him on more than one count. "The Marriage Mart? Hah! With our reputation to aid her, she'd not get one toe across the threshold!"

  His smile faded. "I had not meant to imply that."

  "Then what had you meant to imply? You must know that is all women are considered good for in these days. A girl must be educated, certainly. Up to a point. She should speak French and some Latin. She must know her Bible and be able to read the globes. She should sketch nicely, paint, and play the pianoforte tolerably well, and a good singing voice is an asset. And above all, she must be well bred up to know her place in the world, which, as you yourself remarked, is to be a conformable wife and turn a blind eye to her husband's little affaires de coeur!"

  "The deuce!" growled Montclair angrily. "When did I ever make such a gauche remark?"

  Barbara had said that of him, and her confidence must, of course, be respected. Susan evaded hurriedly. "I suppose you will deny that what I have said is truth. But the fact remains that Priscilla will have a vastly better chance of making a good match is she kind and stupid, for a clever woman is considered a threat and unfeminine!"

  "Indeed?" he drawled with a curl of the lip. "So your plan for her future goes no further than finding her a wealthy husband! There are more important things than money, you know."

  Stung by his scorn, and driven by hurt and the need to strike out at him, she snapped, "Easy said when you have plenty, but odd as it may seem, I've no ambition to see her marry into poverty and live in a garret."

  She had stood as she spoke, and taken up her basket.

  Struggling to rise also, Montclair reached for his crutch and responded irritably, "Not that, certainly. But this preoccupation with a good marriage—or in other words, a wealthy one—is—"

  "Gauche, I suppose," she interrupted, glaring at him. "Then pray tell sir, what other course suggests itself to you?"

  "Lord save us all, ma'am, the child has an excellent mind. Unlike most predatory females she might be content with an average man—even a man with no title and an honest occupation!"

  Predatory females! "Oooh!" gasped Susan, infuriated. "Shall I tell you what this predatory female prays for, Mr. Montclair? Shall I?"

  He bowed precariously, and said at his most cynical, "I am all ears, ma'am."

  "Which are precious small of comprehension," she riposted. "I pray, sir, that the day may dawn when the height of a female's ambition is not merely to find a suitable mate!"

  Quite as angry as she, he jeered, "Then what shall be the height of this legendary creature's ambition, Mrs. Henley? To enter a nunnery perhaps?"

  "To have," she said through her teeth, "some interests of her own! To perhaps be permitted to voice an opinion and not hear it tolerantly sneered at! To be permitted to hold an opinion without being thus judged a bluestocking!"

  He said hotly, "If ever I heard such stuff! I'll have you know, ma'am, that my mama was exceeding well read! Why, she probably read two or three books a—a day! And discussed 'em with my father! And as to females holding opinions—good God! Have you never listened to my aunt? The woman holds sufficient opinions for a regular army of—"

  "Mrs. Sue!" called Martha Reedham from the back step. "Company!"

  "How very well timed," said Susan with quelling dignity. "Your pardon, sir."

  "Oh—hell!" Valentine gave her his tentative grin. "Sue—please don't rush away angry with me. What the deuce are we quarrelling about? You know I want only the best for Priscilla. I'm just clumsy about the way I say it, I collect."

  Her antagonism vanished as swiftly as his mood had changed. She said with a flash of dimples, "Very clumsy. So I shall rush away, and leave you to ponder your misdeeds, Mr.—" She started off, glancing at him over her shoulder.

  "Mr.—what?" he demanded.

  "Valentine…" she said provocatively, and hurried to the house guiltily aware that she was as naughty a flirt as he; and that he was smiling after her.

  Chapter 13

  It was several seconds before Martha's anxious muttering penetrated Susan's preoccupation. She halted then. "What did you say?"

  Martha wrung her apron. "I says as it's them nasty genelmen again, Mrs. Sue. Mr. Junius Trent, and his friend what puts me in mind of a fat snake."

  "A poisonous one," muttered Susan. Once again, Trent had timed his visit well. Andy and Angelo were gone, and the Bo'sun had just left for Tewkesbury with Starry and Priscilla.

  She told Martha to fetch the two new men who were repairing the stable roof. Glancing to Montclair who was coming awkwardly towards them, she rejected the half-formed thought that he should come with her.

  "I'd best help Mr. Montclair up the steps first," said Martha, turning back.

  "No! Just hurry and do as I told you."

  The kind-hearted girl looked shocked. "But—Mrs. Sue, he won't be able to get up by himself. Not on them crutches."

  "I hope not," said Susan in a low grim voice.

  Martha gave a squeak of fright. "Oh, ma'am! They wouldn't never!" But seeing the cynicism in Susan's face, she panicked and seized her by the arm. "Then you mustn't go in there, neither! Oh, please! Let 'em wait till I find—"

  "Hush! Just do as I say. Quickly!"

  Martha threw a scared glance at Montclair and flew.

  "Mrs. Sue!" called Montclair urgently. "What is it? Who has come?"

  She bit her lip, then replied in a pert fashion, "One of my own wealthy admirers. So do not feel obliged to hasten, sir."

  She had the dubious satisfaction of seeing him check and stand frowning at her, then she hurried up the steps, praying that this not be too unpleasant.

  When she walked into the library, however, both Trent and Sir Dennis Pollinger rose and made their bows with punctilious propriety. Affecting not to notice Trent's outstretched hand, she said coolly, "Have you a message for me, sir?"

  His blue eyes, deepened by the blue of the long-tailed coat he wore, sparkled mischief. "Only the sort to be spoken privately," he answered, then laughed. "No, never look so icy, lovely lady. Came to see my lamentable cousin is all. Ain't that right, Poll?"

  Susan turned her cool gaze on the large and unlovely baronet. His face seemed even redder than the last time she'd seen it, and his brown eyes slid away furtively the instant they met hers. "Right-oh," he said in his harsh voice.

  Susan stepped back as the odour of strong spirits wafted to her. "I can appreciate your anxieties concerning Montclair's recovery, Mr. Trent, but—"

  Pollinger gave a neighing laugh and dug his elbow into Trent's ribs. "Anxious are you, Junius?"

  "Quiet, you clod," said Trent, grinning broadly. "Allow the sweet widow to think the best of me." He took a pace closer to Susan. "Egad, but you're a picture this afternoon, m'dear. And—"

  "And you know all about art, don't you, cousin?"

  Susan bit her lip as the icy voice sounded from the hall. She heard Trent's whispered oath. She'd not dreamed Montclair would be able to negotiate the back steps unassisted, but she turned to see him swing himself into the room. He was slightly out of breath, and the dark eyes fixed on his cousin contained a cold contempt.

  For an instant the room was hushed, the very air seeming to vibrate with tension.

  "As usual, you are in error, dear Valentine," drawled Trent. "I've no more interest in art than in music. Both are fit only for women and old men. I fancy, though, that you're anxious to get back to work on your cacophonous concerto. To which end," a sly smile curved his mouth, "I do trust your hand is bett
er."

  Montclair set his jaw and ignored the taunt. "What do you want here, Junius? Say it and your farewells. I prefer to breathe untainted air."

  A flush darkened Trent's face, but Pollinger laughed raucously. "He don't love you, Junius. 'Tainted air,' he says. Ha!"

  "If you did but know it," snapped Trent, "you fairly reek of whisky, Pollinger! Have your say, for God's sake, and I will entertain the luscious lady."

  "The luscious lady has more diverting entertainments," said Montclair, hobbling closer to Susan.

  "Such as watching you totter about?" grinned Trent.

  "Oh, no. But there are two slugs on the back step who offer her more of interest than do you."

  The glitter in Trent's eyes brought Susan quickly between them. "You said you wished to speak with Mr. Montclair, Sir Dennis. Pray do so. He has already been up for too long, and I am sure that his uncle would not wish his progress impeded."

  The baronet cleared his throat. "Warned you before, Montclair," he brayed. "More'n once, in fact. Getting leg-shackled very soon. Don't like other f-fellas interferin' with my lady. Leave her be or—or I'll be 'bliged to take action."

  "Shall you?" said Montclair, interested. "Well, I suppose there's a first time for everything."

  Junius sniggered. Pollinger, slow-witted and fuzzy with drink, frowned, not quite comprehending the remark. "Toldya," he said, nodding ponderously. "Getting leg-shackled, and—"

  "Nonsense," said Montclair. "She wants no part of you, Pollinger. Faith, but what lady would?"

  Susan stared at him in mute astonishment. The man was a regular Don Juan! Betrothed to Barbara, not above flirting with herself, and apparently also pursuing this horrid man's lady!

  Pollinger's face darkened. "See here! When I warn a fella—"