DamonUndone

by JayneFresina

  He shrugged and concentrated on shuffling the cards, because he was not ready to tell her that story yet. Perhaps he never would. "Tomorrow, if you're well enough, you can show me Serenity's room."

  "Why?"

  "You want to know where she's gone, don't you? Five minutes in her room and I can tell you not only where she went, but with whom."

  She pursed her lips, a sultry gleam in her eye.

  "Do you want to wager?" he demanded.

  "I thought you didn't gamble."

  "Ten shillings says I can tell you everything within...three minutes of entering your sister's room."

  "Fine. Ten shillings, Mr. Know-All. I'm too worn out to argue with you."

  "Splendid." He paused. "If I make it in two minutes or less, you have to promise me that amiable mute you once dangled tantalizingly before me."

  "Now you're just being foolish."

  "I'm never foolish."

  Her eyelids drooped as she settled deeper into her pillows, and he thought how pleasant it truly was to sit quietly with her for once.

  Before too long, however, the maid returned and Edwyn Mortmain came to show him to another guest room that had been prepared in a far wing of the house.

  "Had we been expecting another guest, the bed would be better aired, Mr. Deverell. Nobody has used this room in years, but there is a fire lit. I hope you will not be too uncomfortable."

  "Worry not about me," he assured his host. "I am grateful for any bed tonight."

  "You've traveled many days?"

  "Almost a full week."

  Mortmain shook his head. "To travel in winter is always a trial, but I only go so far as London once every few years, in the spring, when a visit to my great aunt can no longer be avoided."

  "And this time you had the good fortune to meet Miss Piper while you were there."

  "Yes." A thin, fretful sigh, more agitated than thankful. He tried a wilted smile that couldn't quite lift the corners of his eyes, only his lips— and that a tentative procedure which seemed almost afraid of itself. Although he'd begun to walk back down the passage, he stopped and turned back. "It is a change for us here at Darkest Fathoms to have any guests. My brother...Roland...died many years ago. Now there is no other family left. Just my father and I, and, of course, my great aunt in London." He sighed. "She won't come farther north than Biggleswade. Says the cold bothers her joints."

  "I see. Well, I come from a large family myself. Sometimes I think to be left alone would be pleasant."

  "Is that so?" He nodded slowly. "The grass is always greener, as they say..."

  He realized the fellow must be lonely living in that ruin with nobody but his father, and echoes in the walls, for company.

  "Well, good evening, Mr. Deverell." Mortmain finally lurched away into the darkness with his solitary candle.

  Left alone in the room Damon paced restlessly for some time before he finally laid his head down and slept. He dreamed that night of a child running along wet sand and himself chasing it, never quite catching up, until, at last, he did.

  She turned, laughing, hair blowing in her face. And it was Nonesuch.

  * * * *

  For two days Pip was laid low with her cold and a twisted ankle, so there was no chance of her showing him her sister's room. Deverell spent hours at her bedside, entertaining her with cards, chess and readings from the newspaper. He also insisted upon twice daily dosings of his green stew, which were likewise administered, under his orders, to her sister.

  "Are you not wasting your time here with us?" Pip said to him one morning. "What about your lady friend?"

  "I'm afraid I'm stuck here in the snow," he replied nonchalantly as he opened the newspaper and casually put one booted foot up on her bed. "So you must tolerate me a while longer."

  "God help us."

  "Isn't God responsible for the weather? Not much use asking for His help then. Since He keeps throwing you and I together for His own devious sport, He clearly has a perverse sense of humor."

  It was not too objectionable to have his company to protect her from mournful Mortmains, so she said nothing more— not even about his uncouth boot heel on her bed cover— and let him read to her an article about fishing. Possibly the dullest article ever, but somehow he made it interesting.

  Damon Deverell made everything interesting. He could probably get her excited about cricket, she thought wryly.

  He passed along bulletins about her sister's improving health and amused her with comical imitations of the Mortmain conversation at breakfast— which she was, of course, missing. He even took Grumbles Junior out to release some energy in the snow.

  A useful sort of person to have about the place. He had his faults, but then nobody was perfect, as she had often observed.

  Pip stood at her chamber window, wrapped in a blanket, and watched him chase the dog about, tossing snowballs and landing on his backside more than a few times.

  The sky outside her window brightened, and the snow began to clear.

  There had still been no word from Serenity, but now she knew her sister was with Jonathan Lulworth she couldn't be concerned. If her sister must run away with anybody, she supposed Jonathan was the best man possible. Why should Pip be the only sister to have recognized his worth? It hurt, however, that neither had told her. They had let her go on visiting him on the moor, chatting away, making a nuisance of herself. All that time, that summer and autumn, Pip had imagined she was his most eagerly awaited visitor, when, in all likelihood he'd been waiting for her to leave.

  She thought Jonathan was her friend— had even wondered, once or twice, whether she was in love with him. Whether she might like him to kiss her the way the Dangerous Mr. Damon Deverell once did. And Serenity had encouraged her in these thoughts, teasing her about the vicar and her fondness for his company.

  Mrs. Trotter, the world's surliest housekeeper, had tried to warn her off, but Pip, being stubborn, had refused to listen. It was very hard to find oneself so abysmally misled. By one's own self.

  Jonathan would never have removed her shoes to make her comfortable, or sat on her bed and fed her stew. He was much too proper. And probably afraid of her.

  Which was why she listened to Jonathan's advice, she realized now; he never disagreed with her, but told her what she wanted to hear. Damon Deverell, on the other hand, told her what she needed to hear, not what she wanted. That was why she was so reluctant to accept his help when it was offered.

  Pip smiled as she watched that fearless, sarcastic young lawyer fall hard on his behind again in the snow.

  He was quite despicable, but thank goodness he'd found her again.

  How long would she have him at her side? How long could he stay?

  She dare not ask.

  And over he went again. Ouch, that one had to hurt.

  * * * *

  "Perhaps you'd like to take a ride out today, Mr. Deverell?" Mortmain caught up with him in the passage. "Now that the lanes are passable, I can show you something of the countryside. I confess, being forced indoors by the weather these past few days has made me desperate to get out again, and the horses need exercise. The lane that stretches around the bay is mostly cleared. Naturally, closer to the coast we have more temperate weather than they suffer on the moors."

  Damon agreed at once to go riding, for he too felt the frustration of being imprisoned by the snow. Amongst other things.

  As they rode out that day Damon found his host glad of new company. The farther they traveled from the house, the more friendly and less formal the conversation became. When Damon asked if they had society nearby, Mortmain explained that he and his father had led solitary lives for some twenty years.

  "When both my mother and brother died, it left us with quite a hole in our lives," he told Damon, "and we've never quite managed to fill it. I must say, having the Miss Pipers as our guests has certainly made a change and livened things up." He laughed nervously, and Damon guessed it was a sound not often heard. The poor chap needed practi
ce. "I have great hopes that, after the marriage, my wife will settle in here and...well, I suppose she will decorate the place and shake out the dust. The house is already much more cheerful than it used to be."

  Christ, thought Damon, they must have been bloody grim before. "So you have very little society here? I wondered if there were other local families with which you dine."

  "No. You and the Miss Pipers are our first guests since my mother passed away. We are not...accustomed to lively society...well, I daresay you have seen how we live at Darkest Fathoms. It is very difficult to get my father in a temper to withstand the invasion of guests. He rather lost the will to entertain when my mother passed away. Indeed, some days he refuses to let the curtains and shutters be opened, let alone to think of inviting strangers in. He...grieves for her still."

  "Yes, I see."

  "But once I have a wife, it is my dearest hope that we might let the sun in more often." Again the sad attempt at a smile.

  "Miss Serenity will return soon, I'm sure," Damon said, a perfunctory conciliation.

  "Yes, yes. I expect so." But there was just as much enthusiasm in that reply as there had been in the assurance offered before it.

  They rode on for a while in silence, both looking out over the bleak, churning sea. "Your father's marriage was a love match then, it seems, Mortmain."

  "Indeed. They were fortunate." The fellow turned his head and looked at Damon. "You will be as fortunate too, it seems."

  "Me?"

  "With Miss Epiphany. I saw the way you looked at her and she at you."

  He took a deep breath. "What? I didn't— was it so obvious?"

  "Unmistakable. I envy you."

  Damon tried to get his thoughts straight. "You think she...Epiphany...has feelings for me?"

  "Did you doubt it, sir, when she let you carry her to bed? Her ankle did not bother her all day. Until you came."

  "Is that so?" He was amused. Amazed. So many things.

  "Miss Serenity never looks at me that way." A few more lines scored Mortmain's already pained visage. "Of course, I have so little to offer a young lady such as she. She is lively, and I am not. Can such a marriage be happy?"

  Damon looked out over the grey sea and took a deep breath of salty air. It reminded him of his home on the Cornish coast and he thought suddenly of how he would like Epiphany to see it one day. But...."Miss Epiphany Piper has no desire to marry. She is dead set against it and values her independence greatly. Besides," he rubbed his thigh with one hand, "I have complications now in my life that I could not ask her to take on."

  "But Miss Epiphany seems a brave young lady. I cannot think there is much that would leave her daunted."

  Smiling slightly, he turned his horse along the path.If Epiphany had grown fond of him and was willing to put aside her sword, he would have to tell her everything about Elizabeth, of course. There was nothing else for it. And Edwyn was right; she was brave. To the point of recklessness.

  After a few more minutes of silent riding, he said, "I thought I had friends nearby, and had hoped to call upon them, but I've been unable to find the family. The Grosvenors. They had a daughter, Elizabeth, who would be a little older than you perhaps. She married a Stanbury some years ago and moved south. You do not know them?"

  "Grosvenors?" The other man considered the name and shook his head. "There is no family of that name hereabouts. Mortmains have been here in Whitby for centuries, and I can name all the aristocratic families in the county— it is important to keep record of these things, even though we do not socialize. You must be mistaken, I think. But I will ask my father. He would know for sure."

  Damon nodded. After a while he said, "I've been fortunate that nobody is ever in haste for me to marry." It was the one expectation his father had never had for him.

  "Really? How very pleasant that must be."

  Chapter Twenty-One

  They were playing chess in her room when the noise of a new arrival alerted Grumbles Junior from his sprawl at the foot of her bed. The dog leapt down, barking savagely and running to the doorway, where it sat, ears pricked.

  "My dear Pip, Lord Mortmain tells me you are stricken and lying ill abed. I should have been sent for!" Bertie Boxall strode into the room and stopped dead at once, faced by Grumbles Junior, ready to attack, and the sight of Master Grumbles sitting by her bed with his feet up on it.

  "What the devil—?"

  "Bertie," she exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

  Damon did not put his feet down immediately, although she'd seen him tense at the first word out of the other man's mouth. He moved his bishop first, and only then did he look over at the door, where the dog held Bertie at bay, growling impressively.

  "Grumbles Junior, be quiet!" she shouted. "Friend not foe!"

  Of course, he did not listen to her. Damon put two fingers in his mouth and whistled, whereupon the dog lurched from side to side once more, and then returned to the bed where it sat beside Damon's chair, still watching Bertie intently.

  "Deverell? May I ask, what you are about? Sitting in my fiancée’s bedroom in this casual manner? I ought to call you out, sir."

  "Your fiancée?" His hard gaze flew to Pip's face.

  She shook her head, irritated. "Don't be silly, Bertie. We're not engaged as you well know."

  He walked forward into the room, until Grumbles Junior gave a low growl. Damon patted the dog's head and whispered a "Good boy."

  Bertie looked rather pale and worn, she thought. "Why have you come all this way? In this weather?"

  "I heard that your aunt had died, and I thought I ought to pay you a visit since, as my godmother pointed out, it's been sometime since you wrote." He pouted, glaring at Damon. "Now I see why."

  "Mr. Deverell is merely looking after us, on my father's instructions."

  "As if I'd believe that for a moment. The only person he looks after is himself."

  Damon finally put his feet down and stood. "What's your business here, Boxall?"

  "To visit Pip, about whom I have been greatly concerned and clearly not without cause."

  "Pip?" Damon's hands went to his hips. "Do you refer to Miss Piper?"

  "And here I find her in bed and you, planted at her side most improperly, lounging like the filthy reprobate you are and, no doubt, taking every advantage of a young lady in need of guidance."

  "I'll lounge where I please and if Miss Piper wishes me to go, she'd tell me. I have no fear of her being shy to express a feeling in that regard."

  "What do you know about her? You're just a scoundrel looking to seduce her. If you haven't already."

  "That's none of your business, is it, Boxall?"

  "Oh, but it is. Pip and I had an understanding, before she left London."

  "Did you indeed? With Pip?"

  "It was not quite an engagement, but an understanding that one might occur in the near future."

  "I know something that's more likely to occur in the near future." Damon made his hands into fists and took a step toward Bertie.

  "Excuse me." Pip got out of bed, having heard enough. "Kindly don't talk about me as if I'm not here. Firstly, I am not a young lady in need of guidance. Secondly, there was never an understanding of the sort, Bertie. You and I parted company as friends. Thirdly, Mr. Deverell, you can put your male bravado back in your breeches. There will be no brawling here today. If there were—" She grandly wrapped her aunt's Chinese silk robe around herself. "—you can be sure, I'd start it."

  They both looked at her. Grumbles Junior got up and trotted over to her side.

  "Now I suggest you shake hands," she added primly. "Because I won't have two foolish men in my company, sulking like little boys. I like you both so you may as well be friends."

  Damon gave her a look that suggested she'd just kneed him in an unfortunate place. "Friends?"

  "That's right."

  Bertie gripped his hat in both hands and exclaimed defiantly, "I don't care to be told what to do."

  "Really?" She l
aughed. "But you all expect me to put up with it." She walked past them both to the door, her dog following closely. "I'm going to find some cake."

  "Wait a minute," Damon called after her. "Ring the bell for it."

  "No. I fancy some exercise. And from now on there's nobody to tell me what to do. Now, when I come back, I shall expect to find peace declared in this room. Not my room in pieces." With that she swept out, feeling as if she had just conjured the spirit of Queenie Du Bois.

  And what a wonderful feeling it was.

  * * * *

  Damon was too hot to sit. He and Bertie faced each other in utter silence as the sound of her merry whistling faded down the corridor.

  Finally Bertie said, "I suggest you leave her alone. Or perhaps she'd like to know about Lady Stanbury."

  He rubbed his tight chest through his shirt. "She knows about Elizabeth already, so good luck with that." Apparently word was out. After months of carefully keeping the affair secret, it was all for nothing. Now Elizabeth would need his protection from her husband more than ever.

  "You can have any woman, Deverell. Why are you here chasing her? You don't need the money."

  He grunted, "Believe it or not there's more to life than money."

  "Not to me there isn't." The sallow young man took a flask from inside his coat and swigged from it. "I have debts to pay."

  "Perhaps you shouldn't live beyond your means."

  "I don't listen to you telling me what to do any more than I'd listen to her."

  "Well, go on sinking into that hole then. Soon you'll be too deep for anybody to get you out."

  "She can. She's worth a fortune. They all are, those Piper sisters. But you know that, of course."

  Damon watched him carefully for a moment, flexing his fingers. They'd begun to feel cramped in those fists he hadn't been able to let go of. "I think she's made it clear what she thinks of marriage and of you as a husband."

  Boxall took another swig and burped. "Doesn't matter. I'll sue her for breach of promise. She thinks we're not engaged, but I think we are. She certainly let me act as if I was." He grinned nastily. "Allowed me certain liberties."