Parfit Knight

by Riley, Stella

  ‘Lawks!’ said Broody, scoring a bull’s-eye on his lordship’s nose. ‘Clear for action?’

  ‘He’s behaving very badly now,’ observed Philip irritably. ‘He keeps spitting seeds at me.’ And watched without apparent pleasure as his sister succumbed to helpless laughter. ‘It isn’t funny.’

  ‘Y-yes it is,’ said Rosalind unsteadily. ‘I should have t-told you about that. It’s a game.’

  ‘A game? Oh wonderful! And what am I supposed to do – spit back?’

  ‘Yes.’ Rosalind dissolved afresh.

  ‘And who,’ asked Philip ominously, ‘was responsible for teaching him this little habit? Or no – don’t tell me.’ He leaned back in his corner, chin on chest. ‘I have a feeling it’s going to be a very long journey. And when it’s over, I’ve a mind to send my lord Amberley a small present.’

  ‘Oh?’ quivered his sister appreciatively.

  ‘Yes.’ Philip fixed Broody with a stare of pleasurable anticipation. ‘I’ll give him a parrot.’

  *

  Rosalind’s first day in London was spent in a determined attempt to become familiar with the geography of her brother’s house and so well did she succeed that, by evening, she could confidently travel between her bedchamber and the parlour and negotiate the stairs without help. Returning home to dine, Philip found her ensconced before the fire in his favourite chair, still clad in an afternoon gown of blue dimity. With diabolical cunning, he asked if she intended changing for dinner only to be told that, having already climbed more stairs that day than a bell-ringer, she had no wish to add to her score unnecessarily. ‘So I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with me as I am,’ she told him cheerfully.

  Philip subsided on to a sofa he’d never liked and wondered gloomily if this sort of thing was why some men preferred not to marry.

  The following morning brought Rosalind her first two visitors and, since Lord Philip had already retired to his club, she was forced to receive them unassisted. Surprisingly, she found it a good deal easier than she had expected and even enjoyed it. Mistress Isabel proved to be much as Philip had described her but with an air of gentle warmth, while her mama was an irresistible blend of placid good-humour and outspoken vagueness.

  Neither lady paid any undue attention to their hostess’s blindness and when Lady Linton rose to go, she smiled absently upon her and said, ‘Dear child – I shall so enjoy chaperoning you! For with so much beauty – and not to mention the money – you are bound to be a success. I don’t suppose,’ she asked hopefully, ‘that you would like to marry Robert?’ And then, without waiting for Rosalind to reply, ‘But of course you wouldn’t. I am quite sure you have too much sense – and Lord Philip too, I expect. No one with sense would take Robert. I wouldn’t myself. Now … what was I going to say? Ah yes! We have an engagement for tomorrow evening and hoped that you might be persuaded to join us. I can’t quite remember what it is but Isabel will no doubt tell you and I must leave her to do so for I shall be late for my fitting with Phanie. And that would never do, for her gowns are quite ravishing and she is perfectly aware that I can’t pay for them.’ And, on this obscure utterance, her ladyship drifted away into the hall, entirely forgetting to make her goodbyes.

  Isabel gazed after her ruefully and said, ‘I am sorry, Mistress Vernon. Mama is a dear – but just a little eccentric.’

  Rosalind laughed. ‘Please don’t apologise – I think she’s delightful. But who on earth is Robert?’

  ‘My brother.’ There was a marked lack of enthusiasm in Isabel’s tone and, realising it, she proceeded to change the subject. ‘The engagement that Mama spoke of is Lady Crewe’s assembly. Do say that you will come.’

  ‘I – I don’t know. Philip mentioned it last night but everything is moving so very fast and I’m not at all sure that I’m ready for it,’ confessed Rosalind, carefully understating a condition that closely resembled pure panic. ‘And then there is your mama to be considered. Philip told me that he asked her to chaperone me but I’m persuaded that she will find it very tiresome.’

  ‘No she won’t,’ announced Isabel candidly. ‘Mama never does anything she dislikes so she won’t accompany you anywhere she would not have gone anyway. And her notion of chaperonage consists of handing one over to the hostess – whoever it may be - and then vanishing into the card room from which she only emerges in time to call for the carriage.’

  ‘Oh.’ Rosalind was faintly stunned. ‘Is that usual?’

  ‘For Mama it is. But don’t worry. Your brother has promised to escort us and I know a number of agreeable girls who will be present. And, if you will permit me to say it,’ she added shyly, ‘you are so very pretty that the gentlemen will probably be falling over themselves to gain an introduction. Please come, Mistress Vernon!’

  Rosalind was inclined to regard the latter part of this speech dubiously but it was somehow impossible to disappoint Mistress Dacre so she threw caution to the winds and said lightly, ‘Well, I suppose one has to start somewhere and you are so kind that I can scarcely refuse. Thank you – I will come.’

  Isabel smiled. ‘I am so glad.’

  ‘But only on condition that you will call me Rosalind – for the truth is that I would very much like to ask you to look at my evening gowns and tell me whether or not they are hopelessly unfashionable. And I really can’t do that if we are to be formal.’

  ‘Thank you. I shall be delighted,’ replied Isabel, flushing a little. ‘And if – if you should wish to visit a mantua-maker, I’d be happy to take you to Phanie. For Mama is quite right. Her gowns are much the nicest.’

  ‘And shockingly expensive?’ teased Rosalind.

  ‘Well, yes. They are a little dear.’

  The violet eyes gleamed wickedly.

  ‘Splendid,’ said Rosalind with relish. ‘If I’m going to do this thing at all, I may as well do it in style. And, as your mama pointed out, I am well able to afford it.’

  ~ * * * ~

  NINE

  Exquisitely gowned in cream silk, delicately embroidered with lilac over a matching petticoat, amethysts at her throat and in her hair, Rosalind sat on a cabriole-legged chair at the edge of Lady Crewe’s ballroom and grew more tense with every minute.

  It was noisy; a cacophony of differently pitched voices and laughter, footsteps and scraping chairs, all set against the continuo of my lady’s hired orchestra. It was so crowded that, having arrived safely at her seat, she did not think she would dare leave it again with even the strongest arm to guide her. And the rooms were stuffy. Scents of ambergris, cassia, heliotrope, musk and lavender battled with those of cosmetics, hair-powder and perspiration. Rosalind knew nothing of brothels of Turkish seraglios – but she didn’t think that those places could smell any worse than did this noble company.

  And then there were the introductions. Several young gentlemen had made a point of greeting Lord Philip and were duly presented to his sister only to become constrained either by the discovery that Mistress Vernon was blind or by his lordship’s hawk-like surveillance. And, at the end of an hour, Rosalind had the greatest difficulty in distinguishing one of them from another.

  Two of Isabel’s ‘very agreeable girls’ had been so embarrassed by her disability that they had not known what to say, while the third had had asked so many patronising and impertinent questions that Rosalind had finally lost her temper and delivered a snub. This had served the purpose of ridding her of Mistress Hawley but had called forth a low-voiced but nonetheless annoyed reproof from Lord Philip. Rosalind raised sardonic brows and informed him that neither for him nor anyone else was she prepared to be treated like the freak at the village fair – after which they maintained a state of frigid neutrality thoroughly unnerving to Mistress Isabel.

  On the other side of the ball-room, a striking figure paused in the doorway and scanned the company without noticeable enthusiasm. Tall and well-proportioned, the gentleman was exceedingly elegant in a full-skirted coat of bronze silk over a gold brocade waistcoat; diamonds sparkled in
his cravat and on the buckles of his shoes; and, in defiance of fashion, his thickly powdered hair was tied back with long, bronze ribands. His cheekbones were high, his complexion pale and the heavy-lidded eyes set beneath narrow dark brows glinted with faint mockery. The gentleman had what might be called Presence … and something else; something which caused at least three young ladies to sigh audibly and a couple of older, married ones to lose the thread of their conversations for a moment.

  Newly arrived and already wondering what had possessed him to accept Lady Crewe’s invitation, the Duke of Rockliffe’s gaze rested briefly on Lord Philip and his betrothed before focussing more particularly on Rosalind. His Grace experienced a mild flicker of interest. Finally, entirely without haste and exchanging occasional greetings as he went, he threaded his way across the room. A new face was always intriguing; and, of course, if would not do for London to think him unaware of its latest beauty.

  He came to rest beside Lord Philip and made an elaborate bow. ‘My lord … Mistress Dacre.’ He cast a glance of mild enquiry at Rosalind then looked back at Philip. ‘It is quite abominably crowded, is it not? But then, it always is. My lady Crewe is a notable hostess.’

  A gleam of appreciation dawned in Rosalind’s eyes at the sweetly veiled criticism implicit in the gentleman’s suave tones and she thought that here, at last, was perhaps someone with whom she might enjoy a conversation.

  Philip, who had never before been singled out by the Duke, was startled and a little wary.

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ he said lamely. ‘Just so.’

  Rosalind sighed and Isabel, who knew Rockliffe moderately well, having been at school with his sisters, stepped nobly into the breach.

  ‘Your Grace – I believe you don’t know Lord Philip’s sister, Mistress Vernon? She is but newly come to town,’ she said quietly. ‘Rosalind – his Grace, the Duke of Rockliffe.’

  Smiling, Rosalind extended her hand and felt it taken in a coolly insubstantial clasp.

  ‘Your servant, Mistress Vernon,’ said the Duke softly. ‘I begin to know why I came.’

  ‘Oh?’ The dimple quivered into being. ‘And why was that, sir?’

  ‘I think … yes, I am certain … it was to beg your hand for the gavotte,’ came the smooth reply. And, raising her fingers to his lips, Rockliffe lightly kissed them.

  Quite apart from the obvious problem, this was going too far and too fast for Philip. He cleared his throat. ‘I’m afraid my sister does not dance,’ he began stiffly. ‘You see – ‘

  ‘Philip.’ Rosalind spoke his name with flat implacability. ‘You don’t need to hover over me and I’m sure Isabel must be longing to dance.’

  Amusement lurked in Rockliffe’s heavy-lidded eyes and Isabel directed a level brown stare at him before turning to Philip and responding to her cue. ‘Indeed, I am – and I’m sure we may trust his Grace to entertain Rosalind.’ If there was anything deliberate in her choice of words only the Duke noticed it and, ignoring the faint curl of his lip, Isabel went on, ‘Rosalind – you will not mind?’

  ‘Not at all. I think I should be glad.’

  Lord Philip frowned. He had nothing against Rockliffe but he had a very reasonable dislike of having his hand forced. ‘Yes, but – ‘

  ‘Dear Philip,’ sighed Rosalind, smiling brilliantly. ‘Do go away – or we shall quarrel. Again.’

  And Philip, left with nothing to do but give way gracefully, offered his arm to Isabel and experienced a strong desire to wring his sister’s neck.

  ‘Lord Philip takes his responsibilities seriously,’ remarked the Duke as he watched them go.

  ‘Yes. There’s a reason for that.’ Rosalind held her head up to preserve herself from any suspicion of self-pity and said bluntly, ‘I should perhaps explain that I am blind.’

  The dark eyes widened suddenly but there was no change in the drawling tone as he said, ‘Are you? That is a great shame – for it means you are probably unaware that yours is the most stylish gown in the room. Er … allow me to mention the fact that there is a vacant chair on your left.’

  Rosalind’s mouth quivered. ‘Then will you not be seated, sir?’

  ‘I thank you, madam – I shall be honoured.’ He bowed and, having occupied the chair, withdrew a gold snuff-box from one pocket. Flicking it open with practised dexterity, he proceeded to help himself to an infinitesimal pinch with his usual languid air while his eyes, curiously alert beneath their heavy lids, never left Rosalind’s face. ‘I now know why you do not dance but must confess myself at a loss to know why you are not … besieged. Never say I am your first London acquaintance?’

  ‘No, your Grace. You are not.’ Mischievous amusement rippled through the musical voice. ‘On the other hand, you are the first who is in any way different from all the others.’

  Faintly taken aback, Rockliffe said, ‘I rejoice to hear it. One does one’s poor best, Mistress Vernon and it’s comforting to be assured that one does not … labour in vain.’

  She smiled demurely. ‘I’m sure it must be.’

  ‘It is reprehensively vulgar of me,’ he continued blandly, ‘but I would dearly love to know who “all the others” might be.’

  The violet eyes grew speculative. ‘Would you? How dearly?’

  ‘Enough,’ replied the Duke with his peculiar glinting smile, ‘for you to name your own terms. Or do you think I cannot meet them?’

  ‘On the contrary, sir – I’m sure you can. It is simply that I should like you to describe the gentlemen I’ll name in such a way that I may hope to remember which one is which if I meet them again. I have a feeling, you see, that you have a discerning eye.’

  ‘Naturally. That is why I am sitting here with you.’

  There was a brief pause and then, ‘Your Grace – are you by any chance flirting with me?’

  Rockliffe appeared to consider the matter. ‘I believe,’ he said at length, ‘that I am attempting to do so. Have you any objection?’

  ‘Not in the least,’ she assured him politely. ‘I merely wondered. Please go on.’

  And his Grace finally abandoned his air of languor and gave way to rare laughter.

  Lord Philip eyed them suspiciously as he led Isabel down the set.

  ‘What do you suppose she’s saying to him? Everyone is staring.’

  ‘Yes.’ Isabel spread her skirts and pointed one slender foot. ‘In envy, I expect.’

  As the movement of the dance drew them apart, he had to wait to demand an explanation. Isabel pivoted gracefully round him and said, ‘The gentlemen are jealous for obvious reasons - and the ladies because Rockliffe doesn’t usually seek out unknown provincials and almost never laughs. He’s also the most eligible bachelor in London.’

  ‘Oh.’ Philip digested this. ‘That’s alright then.’

  Rosalind, meanwhile, was tossing names to the Duke and enjoying his responses.

  ‘Viscount Ansford?’

  ‘Oh dear,’ sighed Rockliffe. ‘Really? He is one of the worst-dressed men in London, with a penchant for lilac wigs.’ And, unable to resist the temptation, ‘He altho hath a lithp.’

  She laughed. ‘Oh – that one. Yeth. I remember.’ She paused. ‘And Mr Farraday?’

  ‘Ah. You will always have warning of Mr Farraday’s approach because he reeks of patchouli. One would wonder if he bathes in it – except that one suspects he does not bathe at all.’ Rockcliffe took her fan and plied it gently. ‘Next?’

  ‘Lord Wrensley?’

  ‘I am reliably informed by one of my sisters that his lordship’s hands are like wet fish.’

  ‘H-how very unfortunate for him.’ She tilted her head. ‘One of your sisters?’

  ‘For my sins,’ his Grace sighed, ‘I have three. Happily, two of them are married. The third is still creating mayhem in a boarding school in Bath. Is your inventory complete?’

  ‘Not quite. There was a Mr Sheringham.’

  The fan stopped its lazy motion and a faint frown entered the dark eyes.

  ‘Mr Sheringham is
an acquaintance of your brother’s?’

  ‘It would seem so. Why do you ask?’

  ‘No particular reason.’ The fan resumed its motion but the frown lingered for a moment or two longer. ‘Desolate though I am to disappoint you, I can think of nothing in the least distinctive about Mr Sheringham.’ A pause. And then, ‘May I ask which lady is sponsoring your debut into society?’

  ‘Lady Linton – Isabel’s mama,’ replied Rosalind. ‘I met her yesterday for the first time. She … she’s quite original, isn’t she?’

  ‘That,’ agreed Rockliffe dryly, ‘is certainly one way of putting it.’

  At the far end of the ball-room, Isabel looked towards the doorway and said thoughtfully, ‘What does the Marquis of Amberley look like?’

  ‘Tall and fair-haired,’ replied Lord Philip absently, minding his steps. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I think he’s just come in with Mr Ingram.’

  Philip jerked his head round and trod on her foot. ‘Oh hell!’ he said.

  All tensions forgotten, Rosalind was finding Rockliffe’s caustic wit and indolent manner irresistibly amusing. Then, quite without warning and in striking contrast to his Grace’s drawling tones, she heard a light, crisp voice, close at hand and unmistakeably familiar.

  ‘Oh no, Jack! You must allow me some secrets, you know.’

  And from that moment, the Duke might have been a hundred miles away.

  The shock of surprise drove the blood from her skin while something inside her gave a dizzying lurch that effectively stopped her breath. She was completely unaware that Rockliffe had ceased speaking and was regarding her with an air of detached interest or that, half-a-dozen steps away, the Marquis of Amberley stood rooted to the spot, staring at her.

  Equally oblivious, it was the Honourable Jack Ingram who walked blithely through the invisible barriers saying, ‘Well, Rock? Do we qualify for a greeting or are you ignoring us in the hope that we shall go away?’

  Rockliffe sighed. ‘Hardly. Some things are too much to hope for.’ His gaze travelled to the Marquis and widened a little. Then, after a fleeting glance at Rosalind, he raised one narrow black brow and said mockingly, ‘Amberley, my dear fellow … you look as if you had seen a ghost.’