"Utterly selfish," put in Nanette, smiling into the flash of Harry's irked glance. "But then, one can never rely upon old people."
"Have you noticed that?" Nerina asked, amazed at such perspicacity. "It is a sad truth, is it not? To be old must be very unpleasant. I shall die young."
Harry protested against this gloomy pronouncement but was ignored as Nerina went on to remark that old people were not beautiful. Disregarding Nanette's ironic grin, Harry said staunchly that Lady Nerina must be lovely when she was eighty, and doubtless would be surrounded by flirtatious old gentlemen. His effort, alas, was not well received. Papa, said Nerina, much shocked, found flirting disgraceful. She was not 'that kind of girl and hoped she had not given Sir Harry a false impression. "And yet—oh, my! How could you but harbour such thoughts of me when I am unchaperoned in this dreadful place!"
Her patience at an end, Nanette exploded, "Oh, for heaven's sake, stop sniffling and behaving like such a stupid! You have your maid and your groom, and are scarce ruined because you speak with friends in the parlour of an inn!"
"N-No, but Papa will not think so! He has such great plans for me, and if I am disgraced I shall never receive offers from anyone above a mere baronet and Papa will be furious! Oh, I wish I had never left Ann's and come here!"
Nanette slanted an hilarious glance at Harry. His answering grin went slightly awry, seeing which she said crossly, "Then return to Ann at once, you foolish girl! I am indeed sorry that I asked you to meet me here!"
At this, Nerina burst into tears. Harry muttered a scolding, "Be still, vixen!" and hastened to drop to one knee beside the grieving Beauty. He took up one small hand and, patting it, said kindly, "Dear lady, I beg you will not so distress yourself. Miss Nanette spoke in haste, but meant no harm, and—"
"I meant every word!" hissed Nanette under cover of the dainty sobs.
"—and if you will but give me the name of your groom, I shall have your carnage called up and you can soon be on your way home," he finished.
"It—it is… Roper," my lady said unsteadily, lifting tear-drenched eyes devastatingly to his. "Thank you, Sir Harry. You are—s-so good."
He stood, bowed, and turned to the door.
"Even if you are a mere baronet…" giggled Nanette as he drew level with her.
He glared but was undone as her eyes slowly crossed and her chin lolled. Battling a laugh, he whispered, "Shrew!" and stalked past.
When he returned, the two girls were seated side by side on the sofa, chattering happily. They both stood when he came into the room, and having embraced Nanette and vowed to "say exactly" as she had been instructed, Nerina turned to Harry and extended her hand. "I hope you will forgive me if I was silly," she smiled sunnily. "I am not a clever girl, you see."
He bowed over those delicate fingers. "You are delightful, my lady. And it has been my very great pleasure. If I can ever be of service… I beg you will call upon me."
"You may have to call quite loudly," Nanette advised helpfully. "Especially if he is posted to India."
Harry regarded her without appreciable rapture.
"Oh," said Nerina. "Have you bought a pair of colours, then?"
"Not—ah—yet, ma'am."
"If he cannot, he will likely enlist," offered Nanette.
"In… in the… ranks?" gasped the Beauty, one hand flying to her throat.
"It is—possible, my lady," nodded Harry, his palms itching to box someone's ears.
"How… dreadful . . .!" said his Golden Goddess.
Chapter X
It was peaceful beneath the oak tree, but although he was seated comfortably enough, Harry frowned, for the echo of a mocking laugh rang in his ears, and pale eyes haunted him. Sanguinet had tried to kill him, beyond doubting. Why? Because of his duel with Mitchell? Thank God old Mitch was alive! The intensity of that emotion brought with it the recollection of his searing anguish. Only a sadist could deliberately cause another human being such a depth of grief… Some dawn, with a Manton in his hand, he would avenge that piece of savagery! Some dawn—and not too far hence . . !
His fingers clenched over an unfamiliar object. He glanced down and discovered he held Lady Nerina's dainty handkerchief. His grim countenance softened. Had there ever been a more bewitching little vision? So sweetly feminine; all gold and pink, and daintiness personified. And how loyal, that despite her fears she had ventured to try and help her friend. Looking back, he was forced to the reluctant admission that she had seemed a little more preoccupied with her own predicament than that of Nanette. Yet who could do any less than worship so exquisite a Beauty . . ?
He was, he suddenly apprehended, ravenous. Diccon had said he would come at twelve o'clock, but it must surely be much later than that. He glanced up and his nose all but collided with the piece of crusty bread, well-buttered, and topped by a slice of ham that Nanette thrust at him. Her eyes, beyond this superb offering, held scorn, seeing which he at once politely declined. She shrugged carelessly and sank her white teeth into the feast. Harry, his mouth watering, turned away.
"Bought it at the inn," she explained rather indistinctly. "I wonder you did not think to do so. Unless—now that you've properly met your Goddess, you intend to moon and sigh and waste away for love."
For once he was able to bite back his furious response. He fixed her instead with what he hoped was a cool stare—somewhat marred by the sight of her second onslaught upon her lunch.
"Had a cousin who did that," she mumbled. "He fell madly in love with an actress—quite beneath his touch, of course, and his papa would not hear of his wedding her. Poor lad would eat nothing for three days! He went about reading Byron—even tied a kerchief around his neck instead of a neckcloth." She gave a callous trill of laughter and almost choked. "I thought it hilarious!"
Longing to throw her to the nearest crocodile, Harry said at his iciest, "Really?"
"So did his papa," she nodded, recovering her breath. "And the actress—well, she was fairly in stitches."
"Is that so?"
She confirmed the fact, quite cheerfully unfrozen although she should by rights have been severely frosted by this time and, waving her lunch with apparent nonchalance under his haughtily elevated nostrils, shrugged, Of course—he was only thirteen at the time…"
Between her mischievously dancing eyes and the memory of just such a youthful passion, Harry burst into a laugh. "Wretched little shrew! You may count yourself fortunate there are no alligators lurking about!"
"May I? she giggled. A ray of sun slanted across Harry's face, and watching him, the mirth faded from her expression. "And—what did you think of Nerina?" she asked idly.
He sighed. "That she is as lovely, as gentle, as sweetly mannered as any man could desire." His eyes became wistful and, after a moment, no response being heard, he glanced up and into a withering glare.
'"Desire… pah!" she said with scathing contempt. "How ghastly to be a man! To be everlastingly and totally—"
"Motivated by lust—no?" Harry interpolated, immediately ablaze with righteous indignation.
Her chin lifted, and with a droop of disdainful eyelids she sneered, "If the cap fits…"
"If you did but know," he grated savagely, "how I had to struggle to restrain myself from stripping the clothes from her—right there in 'the parlour!"
"Good God!" gasped Nanette, horrified. "If you ever hope to win her, do not dare to make so crude a remark within her hearing!"
"Of course I would not," he said, flushing with guilt. "Do you take me for a flat? I am aware she is a perfect lady."
"I see." She put down her lunch and with a fluid movement stood beside him. "And you are also aware of what I am—eh, Captain Sir Harry Redmond?"
The tone was one he'd not heard before. He was on his feet in a flash and, catching her by the shoulders, shook her gently. "You infuriate me when you speak so cynically of men. But I meant no disrespect to you, little one."
"Why should you respect such as I?" How high her head was held…
how prideful the glint in her hazel eyes, and with what quelling scorn did she speak now. "I am a wanton, who roams the countryside with two strange men; and had I a reputation to start with, it is certainly trampled in the dust by now."
The ice in her tone struck to his heart, but the knowledge that he had hurt her was a deeper pang; and in an attempt to win her to a smile again, he teased, "Even if one of your fellow wanderers is—a 'mere baronet'?"
Her mouth quivered responsively. Laughter danced into Harry's eyes, and pressing his advantage, he reached for her hands. "I was properly driven against the ropes, was I not? Forgive me, little one. It was an unforgivable thing to say. I do apologize."
For an instant she stood there, gazing up at him. Her hands began to tremble in his clasp, and Harry knew a confusing need to pull her into his arms; but she drew quickly away and, sitting down, opened the package she carried and unwrapped another piece of bread, this topped with a slice of roast beef that drew a blissful groan from him as he again sat beside her. "Mademoiselle," he said, accepting the food gratefully, "you are a diamond of the first water!" She chuckled, and they ate together, chatting in perfect harmony until he glanced down at the tight bun atop her head and asked quietly, "Am I forgiven?"
"Of course. Oh, but I have such a dreadfully quick temper, Harry. You must not heed me when I behave so—or you will not like me at all, I… fear."
"To the contrary, miss. I shall heed you. And do you become too—"
"Shrewish?" she prompted.
"Shrewish," he grinned, watching that dimple come and go beside her lips. "Then I shall simply have to box your ears again!"
She laughed. "When you first came into "The Star," you looked more ready to do murder than to box someone's ears."
"I was," he said slowly. "I am. I shall. Though it will not be murder."
"Harry… do not! It frightens me to see you look… Who is this man you mean to fight? Did you see him here? Today?"
He nodded, hesitated, then said, "I have told you of my brother, Mitchell . . ?"
"Yes. Your poor brother who is so forgetful and whom you did not allow to share your troubles but sent back to Oxford as though he were a little child. I think, when he discovers the truth, he will punch your head for this."
His smile was brief and did not reach his eyes. "Probably. Though it seems that he is not at Oxford for he discovered the truth—or some of it, and went rushing off to call out the man he thought responsible. Today, before I came to "The Star," I was told Mitchell had been… killed in that duel…"
He had expected understanding but was unprepared for the tears that filled her eyes, or for the soft cry of pity she uttered, and the arms that suddenly swept around him, to draw his head to her shoulder. "Ah… my poor, grieving boy," she said huskily. "And I have tease and torment you while you suffer such heartbreak! My dear… my dear—I am so sorry! I know—too well what it means to lose someone you love."
It was the second time Harry had been clasped in her arms, and for an instant he did not move, delighting in the sweet, fresh scent of her, the warm softness of her little body. He straightened then and with an awed sense of wonder said, "What a very remarkable girl you are… Thank you, my sweet."
Her lips trembled; a tear slid down, and she gulped, "You are… so brave. I know how much he meant to you."
Gently, he wiped away that gleaming droplet, then pulled her into a hug and, vaguely surprised that this should cause his pulse to quicken, said, "Do not grieve so, dear child. Mitchell is not dead— thank God!"
She all but sprang back and, dashing away her tears, cried furiously, "You have deceived me yet again! Oh, but you are the horridest man alive! I hate you, Harry Redmond! How could you let me make such a great exhibition of… of…" And she stopped, her flushed cheeks paling once more as he watched her gravely. "Dear heaven," she whispered, her eyes dark with new horror. "Someone told you that—by mistake? And you really believed him—dead?"
"I believed him dead, but there was no mistake." His jaw set grimly. "I was meant to believe it, so as to provide entertainment."
Nanette gave a shocked cry, but before she could speak they heard hooves and the rattle of wheels. His cheerful self again, Harry sprang up. "Here's our Diccon at last!" He assisted her to rise and started toward the oncoming cart only to stop uncertainly. A gypsy was driving; a young man, little more than a boy, but with a powerful pair of shoulders and large, expressive eyes, almost as dark as his tumbled black hair. For an instant Harry stood in mute astonishment; then he gave a shout, "Daniel! What the devil are you doing up there?"
The cart halted. With a lithe spring the gypsy alighted, and for a short while the two men alternately pounded at and smiled upon one another. But watching them, Nanette saw that while Harry said a good deal, the gypsy said nothing at all, although he seemed just as delighted by this meeting.
"Miss Nanettte," said Harry. "This is my very good friend Daniel."
She smiled, and the gypsy touched his brow with shy respect.
"He cannot speak," Harry explained. "But he can hear you. He's a splendid fighting man, and hauled Lucian St. Clair out of the river last year when he all but stuck his spoon in the wall… You doubtless heard about it. Dan, I suppose you are acquainted with our Trader. Where is he?"
For answer Daniel drew a folded paper from his pocket and handed it to Nanette. She broke the wafer, unfolded the sheet, and scanned it rapidly. When she finished, she looked pale and worried, and said, "He asks that I read you this last paragraph… 'Harry, I've got some work I must do, and I will not be able to come back for a few days. I know as you will take care of the young lady and Mr. Fox. I'll come up with you by the time you gets to Chichester. Meantime, you'd best keep to the byways, as I think Miss Nanette's father is looking for her very hard like… ' "
"It won't do!" Harry frowned. "Little one, you simply will have to go back with— Now, where in the deuce did he get to?"
Lifting her troubled gaze from Diccon's scrawl, Nanette said a blank, "Your pardon?"
"Daniel—he's gone! Now blast it all, this will not do, ma'am! It was bad enough for you to be traipsing about with Diccon, but…" His words died away, for she looked so very scared all at once, and so little. He said regretfully, "I'm sorry, but I shall have to take you back to Lady Nerina."
"No! Oh, no! Harry—please! Diccon says my papa is close by! I beg of you—do not let him take me back. Please . . !"
"Dear child," he said gently, "be sensible. Lady Nerina was quite right, you know. You are a lady of Quality, and for us to travel alone would most certainly spell your ruin!" And God knows," he thought, "what it would spell for me!"
She clung to the lapel of his jacket, gazing up at him like an apprehensive child indeed. "Foolish one! Why do you think I wear this ugly frock? Why is my hair in this hideous bun, except to prevent myself from being recognized? To make sure that Diccon—or you—shall not be accused of… of…" She blushed and her lashes swept down.
"Compromising you?" And with an impact that was near physical, he acknowledged to himself that she was quite hopelessly compromised.
"Yes. No! Harry—I know you would not harm me."
He patted that small, tugging hand and pointed out with a rather crooked smile that he had boxed her ears. She implored him to be serious and to escort her if only as far as Chichester… She really was very pretty, thought Harry; and several times of late he had fancied to catch a glimpse of something in her eyes that told him she was not indifferent to him. Not love, perhaps, but certainly a fondness. As for himself, he had been in love so many times… Or had he? What was it Mitchell had said? Something about his not having the same 'look' as St. Clair . . ? His love for Dorothy had not been love at all, he knew that now. And Nerina? He admired her, certainly—as one would admire a beautiful painting, or a flower. A flash of defiance asserted, "She is exquisite!" But common sense, recalling her empty chatter and the betrayal of selfishness, whispered, "You love the Beauty, not the girl beneath it…" The th
ought of Nerina coping with life in the train of an army brought a wry grin to his lips. But instantly he could see Nanette, weeping with frustration because his hurts had sickened her… envying Juana Smith for having shared her husband's perils during the war. He glanced down at her, so lost in thought he was oblivious to the angry sparkle in the big eyes, the jut of the little chin. Here was a girl whose furies as swiftly gave way to laughter, whose heart was as warm as her mind was bright and enquiring. They might not love one another, yet life with his 'little shrew' could only be a zestful adventure. If he joined up, the men would adore her certainly, as they had adored Juana…
"Monster!" she raged, stamping her foot with frustration. "You have heard not one word of all the things I have spoken!"
"No," he grinned. He placed one long finger beneath her chin and, tilting it a little higher, said, "Been practicing a speech of my own. Now do stop scowling so, and listen… Little one—you're not in love with me, nor I with you. But it would suit you to acquire a husband, and I must wed sooner or later. I think we might deal quite well together. What d'you say?"
For an instant she stared at him speechlessly. Then her eyes filled, and the glittering drops spilled over. The sweet child was overcome. Smiling his tenderest smile, Harry leaned forward—to be staggered by the hand that slapped across his face with all her considerable strength behind it.
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 05] - Nanette Page 16