"That's another thing," said Devenish. "I used to find Lord Valentine at his harpsichord every time I came. I don't think I've seen him in that music room once since the fight at Highperch. Nor has Mr. Vaughan."
"He doesn't have time, sir. Since you two gentlemen left, he works all the hours of the day and often far into the night as well."
"Works? At what? Never say he means to add on to this overgrown hut?"
The steward grinned. "Not exactly, sir, though he does intend to rebuild the family Chapel. It's the land, mostly. He wants each of the estate labourers to be given a cottage and a small acreage so as to grow his own crops. He has been going over the parcels and approving sketches for the cottages. And he's consulting with surveyors and engineers to get that swamp drained at Amberly Down. He means to have the stream rerouted so it flows as it did before the flood. Our tenant-farmers have had a lot of trouble with standing water in their fields."
"But—surely all that's your job," said Devenish, frowning.
"Right you are, sir." Yates added wryly, "And his lordship consults with me about it. Constant! Fair wears me out, he does! I don't mind hard work, Mr. Devenish. But—he never stops! It's almost as if—he doesn't dare to stop…"
"Hmmn," said Alain Devenish.
Sir Selby Trent was thinner and wore a dejected look. The afternoon sun was slanting golden lances across the gleaming floors of the Great Hall, and he glanced around with a faint sigh for vanished dreams. "It is a sad thing," he said reproachfully, "when a gentleman has to petition for a talk with his own kin."
"Isn't it," said Montclair, waving him to a chair, and marvelling that this devious scoundrel wore blacks and had the gall to affect that ill-used air. "I'm glad you came, sir. I have wanted a word with you before you leave."
"We will depart as soon as is humanly—perhaps I should have said humanely possible. But for the time being, my—my poor son…" Trent pressed a kerchief to his eyes.
"About Barbara," said Valentine firmly.
Sir Selby blew his nose. "My dear wife is fetching her," he sighed.
"As head of the family, I'll not stand by and see her forced into marriage with the likes of Dennis Pollinger, whether—"
"I wonder you can bring yourself to speak to my husband so rudely, when our beloved son lies on his bed and will likely never walk again." Lady Trent's shrill voice was an instant abrasion to Montclair's nerves, and he thought she looked like a bird of prey as she came into the room clad in severe blacks, as was her daughter.
He stood, and said with icy courtesy, "Good day, madam."
Barbara gave him a look of anguish. He smiled at her, and added in a very different tone, "I've missed seeing you, little one."
She gave a helpless gesture. "Val—I'm so sorry—"
"Do not dare to apologize!" cried my lady militantly. "When I think what we have suffered from all the lies and hypocrisy that have been circulated about us, and—"
"Enough!" His temper flaring, Montclair interrupted, "You know perfectly well what I could have done—and for the sake of our family, have not done. I have nothing to say to either of you, except insofar as Barbara is concerned."
"I had hoped you asked to see us out of Christian charity," murmured Sir Selby, blinking his pale eyes.
"You should have known better," snapped his wife. "Well, I at least shall not mince words. Whatever was done, Valentine Montclair, was done in an effort to save the family name. You may well look ashamed," she added, as Montclair's face reflected his astonishment. "You supposed we did not know how you lusted after that trollop at Highperch!" She overrode his infuriated attempt to speak by the simple expedient of raising her voice another decibel or two. "A fine scandal it would have caused had you brought her here as your wife! My dear son was wrong, I'll admit. But if he caused you to feel a—er, a trifle indisposed, it was only—"
"A trifle indisposed, madam," thundered Montclair, causing her ladyship's eyes to goggle as she drew back a step. "Do you fancy me to be a total fool? I was being deliberately poisoned before ever Mrs. Henley moved here! You and your son conspired to bully the lady into keeping me at Highperch, and then sent over poisoned medicine. There is no doubt in my mind but that I was meant to expire there so that the widow and her family could be made the scapegoats, thus killing two birds with one stone! That's why you stayed away; why you kept my servants away, not even permitting my man to come to me! You wanted no possible connection made between yourselves—and my death!"
"Alas," moaned Sir Selby, burying his pale face in his kerchief once more. "This is Monteil's doing! He has planted the seeds of distrust in your poor confused head! Oh, that you would take the word of that snake in the grass, over that of your own dear relations!"
"Not all, sir," said Valentine, breathing hard. "Only those now dwelling under my roof!"
Taking a new course, my lady threw a hand to her bosom and swayed alarmingly. "My heart… ! I am… going to swoon…"
"You'd best wait until I pull up a chair, ma'am," said Montclair dryly, "so that you may accomplish it with grace."
Her eyes opened wide, then narrowed. She crouched, glaring at him so balefully that for a moment he thought she meant to claw him. "Always, you hated Junius," she hissed. "Only because he was everything you are not! You have caused him to be crippled, and broken a poor mother's heart! And you may think you've won! But you'll not interfere in my daughter's life and so I tell you! She will wed Pollinger. And if you dare attempt to—"
"The Comtesse de Bruinet, m'lud," announced Prospect from the east door.
Lady Trent gave a horrified little scream and her arrogance crumpled. She threw a glance of stark despair at Valentine. "You won't—"
With a flood of rapid-fire French, Madame la Comtesse swept into the room. She had been in Italy, and had but now heard of très cher Valentine's tragic loss. She was accablée de douleur, affligée to learn that he had been seriously injured, and now was so cruelly bereaved. She threw her arms wide and, flushing but grateful, he bent to her embrace and thanked her for her kindness in having come to console him.
But what else should she do? she demanded. Was he not her very dear young friend? And did one not go to one's friends were they in trouble?
Apparently becoming aware at this point that others were in the room, she permitted the Trents to welcome her, but the warmth faded markedly from her manner, and a bleak look came into her eyes. She advised Barbara that she looked unhappy and—with a stern look at Sir Selby—that young people should never be made unhappy.
"But I assure you, Madame la Comtesse," cooed Lady Trent, "our daughter is very joyful indeed. Or as joyful as one might properly be under our sad circumstances," she amended hurriedly. "After the proper period of mourning for my dearest Geoffrey, she will be married to a splendid gentleman."
"Ah," said the Comtesse shrewdly. "Is that the problem then, mon petit chou? Have you not the affection for this allegedly 'splendid' gentleman?"
"W-well, I—" Barbara's shy voice died away, and her eyes dilated as the French doors opened to admit another caller.
"Mices fren!" declared Angelo, beaming at Montclair. He saw his beloved then, and advanced, his eager eyes encompassing only her.
"The deuce!" exclaimed Sir Selby, starting from his chair, outraged.
"How dare you come in here?" shrilled my lady, equally outraged. "Trent, have this person put—" She broke off, her jaw dropping.
The mighty Comtesse de Bruinet had started up from her chair when the Spaniard entered. Now she sank into a deep and graceful curtsy before him. "Your Highness," she murmured.
"Your… what. . . ?" whispered my lady, stunned.
"Good… God!" quavered Sir Selby, staring.
"I'll be damned," muttered Valentine, grinning.
With superb grace Angelo raised the Comtesse and kissed her hand. "My charming Danielle," he said in fluent French. "You are a rascal, and have brought my finest adventure to a close. Vraisemblablement it is time. You will be so kind, madame,
as to present me to these people." And noting her puzzled look, he explained, "They know me, you comprehend, by a different name."
A twinkle came into her eyes. "So you have been up to your tricks again, have you, sir? As you wish. Mesdames et messieurs, it is my honour to present you to Angelo Francisco Luis Lagunes de Ferdinand, Duke of Alberini and Passero, and a fugitive from oppression, even as I."
Montclair's brows lifted. The Duke of Alberini and Passero might be a fugitive from oppression, but if report spoke truly, his royal father had fled his Duchy with a vast fortune, and his palaces in Switzerland and Italy were said to be breathtaking.
From the corner of his eye he saw Lady Trent and Barbara sink into low curtsies, while Sir Selby's hair all but swept the floor. Angelo's amused eyes were on him, and Montclair bowed politely.
The Spaniard winked at him, then crossed to stand beside Barbara. She looked up at him, startled, but adoring. He turned to Sir Selby and said, still in French, and with coldly punctilious good manners, "You would do me great honour, sir, if you would grant me the hand of your daughter in marriage."
"Er— I—" gulped Sir Selby.
"Oh, your Highness!" squeaked Lady Trent, in a transport of delight. "We are honoured. Truly—honoured! Trent… !"
Valentine murmured irrepressibly, "But—what about the 'splendid' Pollinger?"
Ignoring him completely, Sir Selby Trent took his daughter's hand and bestowed it upon the Duke of Alberini and Passero.
The morning was hot and sultry, and by noon Montclair was glad to retreat into the cool house for luncheon. He ate in the smaller dining room, alone as always, now that Dev and Joss were gone, the vast table stretching off before him, the silence seeming to press in. As soon as the Trents left, he thought, he would get some dogs. He'd have done so when their old collie, MacPherson, died, save that Soldier would make short work of any pup he'd brought here. He smiled cynically as he considered the imminent departure of his family. Lady Trent was all benevolence now that her plain daughter had made so incredibly illustrious a match, and Barbara had been allowed to visit her cousin several times this past week. Montclair looked forward to these occasions, for aside from his delight at having a little company, sometimes Barbara would speak of Highperch, and he snatched at each crumb of news from his cottage. There had not been much more than crumbs, however. Susan and her brother had been in Town, searching for a suitable house. Priscilla, said Barbara, was quiet and subdued. "But she always asks about you, Val. I think she must love you very much."
Montclair sighed, then stood, impatient with himself. He was allowing himself time to think, and that was disastrous. He must get to work again. He strode across the dining room and into the hall, and caught a glimpse of Yates's blue coat disappearing at speed around the corner into the Great Hall. His call was unavailing. Irked, he started after the man. He passed several footmen and lackeys, all of whom sprang to attention at his approach, but there was no further sign of Yates. The steward must have been fairly flying to have navigated the length of the big room so speedily. He was not to be seen in the south hall, nor in the conservatory. Montclair thought he heard hurried footsteps in the Gallery, but with a faint smile he took pity on his steward and turned towards his music room.
Jimson (now promoted to be his lordship's personal footman) appeared from somewhere and swung open the door, and Montclair smiled his thanks and wandered to the harpsichord. He let his fingers drift over the keys. Did they really plan to move back into Town? Perhaps it would be as well. The country probably held unhappy memories for her. She was so lovely she'd soon have a score of admirers clamouring for her hand. It was only right that she should marry again and settle down with some lucky fellow… His aimless music ended in a crashing discord, and he hurried outside.
The air was scorching. Deep in thought, he strolled down the terrace steps, hands in his pockets and head down.
"I wish you hadn't of taked so long to come out," said a small wilting voice. "I waited an' waited an' it's so drefful hot, an' I'm thirsty!"
"Priscilla!" he cried, and dropping to one knee held out his arms.
The child ran to hug him, and Wolfgang came panting over to utter a few desultory yelps of greeting.
"Why ever did you not come and knock at the door?" asked Montclair.
Her big eyes slid past him to scan the house with awe.
"It's so grand," she said simply. "We was 'fraid to 'sturb it."
He chuckled, and suggested that they all go inside for a glass of lemonade. This lure was very well received, and a smiling maid conducted the small caller to a room where she might wash her heated face and refresh herself. Jimson was sent hurrying to the kitchen, and when Priscilla returned she was seated at the dining room table where cold lemonade, fresh fruits, dainty finger sandwiches, and a selection of pastries awaited her. A mat was laid down, and much to the amusement of the servants, a bowl of water and a beef bone were offered to Wolfgang.
"Oooh, scrumptious!" exclaimed Priscilla, her eyes lighting up. She wasted no more time on words, but gave her full attention to the meal until she noticed that Mr. Val was watching her instead of eating, whereupon he was pressed to join her. He helped her dispose of the pastries while they chattered merrily.
Jimson went off with a grin and told the chef it was the first time he'd seen the master enjoy a meal since his friends had left.
"What a hugeous big house," said Priscilla, looking about with interest. "Do you wish it was yours, Mr. Val?"
"It is, now. Do you like it?"
"Not if it makes you sad."
He smiled at her. "Why do you say that, Lady Priscilla?"
"'Cause your eyes got painy when I asked if you wanted it. But it's drefful lovely to hear you call me Lady P'scilla 'gain." She tucked a very sticky hand in his, and said intensely, "I've missed and missed you, Mr. Val, an' I telled Wolfgang, an' he said"—she lowered her tone to one suitable for the 'Fierce and Invincible Guard Dog'—" 'If Mr. Val won't kindly come an' see us, we must go an' see him,' so here we are."
He took up her small hand and kissed it, stickiness and all. "I'm very glad you're here. I've—missed you, too. And… everyone. Is your mama well?"
She considered this while attending to a cheese tart. "Sometimes," she said, muffled. "When she comed home with Uncle Andy, I thinked she'd been crying, but she says she's just tired. Are you tired, Mr. Val?"
"Me? No! Never! Why do you ask?"
"All the grown-ups seem to be tired. Mama's tired. An' the Bosun's tired 'cause he's been painting so much. An' Starry said she was tired of always giving him the same answer to his question, so he said, 'Then why don't you give me a yes instead?' So she did. An"—her eyes grew very round and she said in a dramatic whisper—"D'you know what, Mr. Val? He kissed her! Right in the Still Room! I saw him! An' Starry put her arms all the way round him! An' he's so old! Older than you!"
He laughed and ruffled her hair. "Love doesn't stop because we get old, my lady. If you'd care to come and see some more of my house, I'll show you a picture of my grandmama and grandfather who were deeply in love 'til the day they died. Would you like that?"
"Oh, yes please, Mr. Val!" She nodded so vehemently that the cheese tart in her hand shattered, and he helped her remove a piece of pastry from her hair, sending her into whoops of mirth when he said it was the first time he'd ever gone on a pastry hunt. One of the maids took her off for repairs again, and he was standing at the window musing on how much brighter the afternoon seemed because she was here, when she came running eagerly back to him.
He knew that she must have slipped away without permission, and that he should really take her back at once. But he ignored conscience and invited Wolfgang to join them. The little dog wagged his tail but declined the offer, evidently deciding his guard duties could be postponed until he had dealt with the bone.
The Grand Tour encompassed the first floor only, but took some time. The innumerable chambers through which they passed were all approved of, and Prisc
illa said of Lord and Lady Colwynne Montclair that they looked as if they were happy people and she could believe they'd loved each other very much. She found the "indoor garden" most to her liking. "Though it would be nicer," she said, surveying the conservatory critically, "if you let some birds come in to the trees and bushes. They're too quiet." She lowered her voice to a confiding whisper. "The whole house is quiet. Hasn't you found yourself a wife, Mr. Val?"
He led her to the windowseat in the front bay of the Gallery, and sat beside her. "I've found the lady I'd like to have for a wife, Lady Priscilla. But I don't think she wants me, and at all events, the world won't let me have her."
Still holding his hand, she gazed up at him. "Why?"
He answered slowly, "Oh—because it's a funny old world, my lady, and I must—play by the rules."
She threw both arms around him and gave him a strong hug. "Poor Mr. Val. I heard the Bo'sun say he wouldn't be in your shoes for any 'mount. Though I don't think your shoes would fit him, you know, 'cause the Bo'sun's a dear, but he's got awful big feet. I'll have to tell him it's not your shoes that's giving you pepper." She frowned thoughtfully. "Starry says I'm not to say your name to Mama, so I 'spect Mama won't like it, an' we'll have to keep it very secret 'tween us. But I'd best sac'fice for you. Then at least you'd know you had a lady—somewhere. Would that help?"
He said in a rather husky voice, "Yes, my dear. Indeed it would. Is that why you came all this way on such a hot day? To sacrifice for me?"
Her little face clouded. She pushed the spectacles up her nose and looked at him in sudden deep tragedy. "No. I—I comed to say—goodbye."
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 09] - Logic Of The Heart Page 33