Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 11] - Give All To Love

by Patricia Veryan

  "Wanted you to amputate that white thatch, I'll warrant," said Devenish with a wink at Josie.

  "You're out there, Dev. He wanted me to look at his—dog."

  "Dog?" echoed Josie, incredulous. "Whatever did you say?"

  "Be dashed if I see anything remarkable about that," said Devenish, at once indignant. "Animals need doctors just as badly as do human beings."

  Josie pointed out smilingly, "We have a very good farrier in the village."

  "Farrier, my eye! What we need are veterinary surgeons. I doubt there are a hundred the length and breadth of England!"

  "Well, we've some fine veterinary schools now, at least," said Lyon. "Will someone pray tell me how we came to discuss this deficiency?"

  "You started it, "Josie accused, but with her fond gaze on Devenish. "You dared to say the fatal word—dog. You might have known 'twould set old Rat Paws off!"

  They all laughed, and Devenish said, "Mea culpa, as usual! Do go on, Lyon. What about the aged gent's animal?"

  "Well, I looked at it, of course. Poor creature had a small twig that had somehow worked down into its ear. I was able to get it out. Much thanks I got!" He held out one badly bruised hand.

  "You'd likely bite someone had you a twig in your ear," said Devenish. "Were you reimbursed for this work of mercy?"

  "Not a sou. But—do you know—" Lyon's gaze returned to the fire—"before I left, the old fellow suddenly asked if my name had always been Cahill."

  "Did he, by God!" Devenish sat up straighter.

  Josie said intently, "Then he knew you, Lyon?"

  "So I thought. And I'd a feeling I'd seen him somewhere before. But Belmont called for me, and when I went back, the old gentleman was gone. He'd left me a note, though." He took a slip of paper from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to Devenish. "Oddest thing."

  Unfolding it, Devenish read aloud the message that had been inscibed in a neat, rather spidery hand. " 'You think not to have been paid. You have eased the suffering of the one being on this earth that I ever have loved. Payment will be in keeping with the value of your help. Lavisse.' Hum…"

  "Quite correct, dear Gaffer," said Josie. "The thoughtful grunt."

  He grinned at her absently. "Lavisse… Is it familiar to you, bothersome child?"

  She shook her head.

  "Lyon!" Guy hobbled to join them, his cheeks aglow from the cold. ''Bienvenu, mon fils!"

  Lyon jumped up and they shook hands, the brown eyes and the hazel ones warm with the affection they shared.

  "How well you look, sir!" Lyon said gladly. "This Devencourt air must agree with you. And you are walking so much easier!''

  "All thanks to my so clever investment in yourself.. Do you know, Lyon, I really think that very soon I shall be able to manage with just the cane."

  Josie murmured. "You would seem to progress as rapidly as Dev retrogresses."

  Guy looked embarrassed, Devenish was apparently absorbed by his wineglass, and Lyon directed a shocked glance at his beloved, amazed that such an unkind remark could have issued from the lips of so kindly natured a girl.

  There was little time for reflection. Guy was full of questions about his stay in Town, and then Lady Godiva came trotting in and took up residence at Devenish's feet, this prompting a joint recital of the fall of Sir William and the subsequent events. Josie, Devenish, and Guy all collaborated in the telling, and the tale became so amusing that the air rang with laughter and the time flew.

  At five o'clock, Devenish and Guy excused themselves and went upstairs to change their clothes. Lyon was alone with his love, but his attempt to declare himself was foiled, Josie saying that she also must change. The best he could do was to obtain her promise to meet him in the bookroom in an hour's time and to accompany him on a short walk before dinner.

  Josie was not one to keep a gentleman waiting interminably while she decided which bracelet to wear, and he had been in the bookroom for only ten minutes when she entered, wearing a rich grey velvet cloak over her full-skirted evening gown of blue silk, and with sapphires sparkling in her ears. Lyon shrugged into his redingote and led her out through the French doors.

  The early evening was chill, with vapours swirling listlessly about, but the air was fresh and clean, and Josie, who had been in the house most of the day, was only too pleased to take Lyon's arm and walk along the drivepath towards the distant lodge gates.

  "At last, I have you all to myself!" he said triumphantly. "I've waited and waited, for I have so much to say to you."

  She said, "It is nice, isn't it? We all are so proud of you, Lyon. Can you stay for the ball, or must you go home first?"

  " 'Fraid I must. I shall have to pack, and I've a few patients to look in on before I come. However, I've already had a few words with Dev, and—" He checked. "Josie, how long has he been using that cane?"

  Her chin set and for a moment she did not reply. Then she said, "A few days. If he remembers." She frowned darkly. "It is all fudge, Lyon, and done purely to convince me of his age and decrepitude.''

  Much shocked, he asked, "Why should he wish to do so? To keep you with him? I cannot credit that he would be that selfish!"

  ''It is only amazing how much less infirm he is when Isabella Scott-Matthias is about! You'd scarce believe the transformation."

  "Is she about, then? I fancy her ladyship stirs up the neighbourhood! She's certainly a glorious sight."

  "She is interested in stirring only one gentleman. She and her brother were invited to my party, but I doubt they'll come after the contretemps with Sir William. My, but they left in a flame."

  "I fancy Dev was glad enough to see him leave." He frowned suddenly, a suspicion striking him. "He thinks Fontaine has a tendre for you."

  She smiled faintly and, noting his expression, enquired, "Don't you like Lord Elliot either?"

  "I think him a well enough fellow, but—perhaps Dev's dislike is justified. He's not one to take people in aversion in the usual way."

  "Well, he has this time. As a matter of fact, they were so mutually enraged at one point that I really fancied they would come to cuffs."

  Lyon whistled softly. "I'd not like to see Dev go out with a man of Fontaine's reputation. You must try if you cannot calm him, Josie."

  She said nothing, her brow furrowed.

  Cahill clapped a hand to his head. "What a pudding head to so waste my opportunities!" He halted, faced her, and, nerving himself, said in an unsteady voice, "Josie, I am going along quite well in my profession. I'll never have the fortune of a Fontaine, or of John Drummond, for that matter, but in a year or so I could give you a comfortable life, and— Well, Dev has come to think you are old enough to wed, so will you make me a very happy fellow please, and—and say you will marry me?"

  It was done! He pulled out his handkerchief and mopped his sweating brow.

  "Poor Lyon," she said, both touched and troubled by this clumsy proposal. "What an ordeal for you. And how very dear to be asked such a question by one of whom I am so fond, and who is, I suspect, fond of me…"

  "Oh, Lord!" he groaned, clutching at his hair. "How could I be such a blockhead? I knew I'd spoil it! But, surely you know—" He took her by both arms. "Of course you know. I've been in love with you for years and years."

  She detached her arms and took his hands instead, saying gently, "I think perhaps I did know, my dear friend. And I am indeed most deeply honoured, but—"

  He paled and jerked away, interrupting harshly, "But you do not want me." His eyes were bright with anger and there was a bitter twist to his mouth.

  Josie knew that look and said, distressed, "I want you and always shall, for my loved friend, but—"

  "There is not the need to sugar-coat it, I thank you. I'm gallows-bred, I know."

  "What a horrid expression! As if you are, Lyon. And if it were a matter of birth, my own is no better than yours."

  Standing half-turned from her, he growled, "I doubt that. Whoever your parents, they were likely of better quality than mi
ne. Besides, you've the chance to raise yourself far above my station. I was a fool to hope—"

  "No, no!" She caught at his arm, and said tearfully, "Lyon, please do not be so unhappy. I care for you deeply, for you are one of my dearest friends. It is just—I have no plans to marry yet. But—but when I do, it will not be for wealth or rank or social position, but because I love with all my heart and soul. And am as loved in return."

  He was not greatly surprised, for he had sensed she did not return his devotion, but he had clung to hope, and it was very obvious that for him there was none. All his pride in his really splendid achievements crumbled to dust. For the first time he wished that Guy Sanguinet had never taken him up; that he had been left in the gutter, where at least he would have been with his own kind, and not inspired to aim for the impossible in life. A life that now loomed ahead in cold emptiness.

  Some of his bitter despair showed in his face, and Josie was shattered. "Lyon," she pleaded brokenly, "do not hate me. You'll find the right—"

  "Oh, spare me! Shall we go back to the house?"

  Head down, half blinded by tears, she started to walk beside him.

  Hating himself because he had made her cry, he yet could not curb his disappointment, and muttered, "I suppose if I were an aristocrat, I'd take it with a smile and tell you not to be distressed and that I'd try again. Well, I won't!"

  "N-no. I would not blame you at—at all if you… never spoke to me again."

  He halted, and with a muffled groan swept her to him. She wept openly and he fought to control his own grief, and even in that painful moment was exultant to hold her in his arms. Somehow, he regained his control, took out his handkerchief, and dabbed clumsily at her tears. "Let's pretend," he said huskily, "that it never happened. Let's pretend I never asked you."

  "All… right," she gulped. And they went on, and did not speak again.

  Devenish was crossing the Great Hall when they walked in. He paused, his shrewd gaze flashing from Josie's averted countenance to Lyon's pale, stony face. He could guess what had transpired and, because he had experienced that agony of loss, he ached for the boy.

  Josie mumbled something and fled to her bedchamber and Fletcher's consoling arms.

  Lyon went silently past Devenish and down the hall to the drawing room, where Guy sat chatting with Pandora Grenfell. The Frenchman took one look at his adopted son's face, and was still.

  "I must get home, sir," said Lyon, with the vestige of a smile.

  Guy said with grave courtesy, "I am sure you know best what it is for you to do. Ride safely, my Lyon."

  Cahill smiled again with that bleak curving of the lips that lent no warmth to his empty eyes and, bowing to Mrs. Grenfell, he stalked away.

  Guy sighed and glanced to the large lady. They had come to understand each other during their work on the tapestries, and a deep friendship had sprung up between them.

  "We sympathize," she rumbled.

  "Merci, Madame. Though—it was not altogether the result unexpected."

  "Naturally not," she said.

  To go down to dinner that evening was one of the most difficult things Josie had ever done. She could not know how wan she looked, nor how that look wrought upon her guardian, but she was grateful that Lyon had gone home, and more grateful that not by word or glance did Devenish, Guy, or Pandora betray their awareness of what had happened. Devenish was in high form, winning a laugh from Mrs. Grenfell by describing an encounter he and Josie and Craig Tyndale had once had with a performing bear, and teasing Guy about his solitary rides. The Frenchman's thin face became quite pink and, forgetting her own sorrow, Josie cried eagerly, "Guy, you have been seeing Mrs. Bliss!"

  Sanguinet's colour deepened. He stammered and evaded, but at last admitted that he had "chance to meet the lady quelque-fois, de temps en temps," this, of course, leading to more teasing until poor Guy begged for mercy. It was all very light and frothy and, as each of them knew, designed purely to bring the light of laughter back into a certain pair of haunted brown eyes.

  By the time Devenish handed her her candle at the foot of the stairs, Josie was much restored. Mrs. Grenfell had already made her majestic way to her bedchamber, and they were alone in the Great Hall. Standing on the second step, Josie hesitated and, looking down at her guardian, began hesitantly, "Dev… I…"

  He said in a very gentle voice, "Do you want to talk about it, dear?"

  She shook her head.

  "Then go to bed with a good book and read until you drop it. Then go to sleep."

  She blew him a kiss. "Goodnight, then." But halfway up the first flight she again turned back. He was still standing there, watching her, and with a flurrying whisper of silks she was beside him again. "Dev—I did not mean to hurt him so!"

  "If you cannot bear to give your suitors an honest answer, my sprat, you will end up with fifty husbands."

  Her laugh was rather shaken. "I have not near that many suitors."

  "You cannot know how that relieves my mind. Even so, I am preparing to be besieged. You must let me know which you favour and which I am to frigidly repulse. Give me your candle and I'll light it again. There. Now, do pray contrive to move less precipitately, Milady Elf!"

  Promising to draw up some Frigid Repulsion Lists, she went upstairs.

  Devenish limped across the hall smiling to himself. The white and the ginger cats stalked him and a black and white kitten bounced along ahead.

  Two days later John Drummond arrived from Park Parapine, escorting his sister Rosemary to the ball. Josie and Mrs. Grenfell were visiting an ailing pensioner in Devendale Village when the Drummonds arrived. Devenish, who had been engaged in a rather bewildering discussion with Wolfe regarding the numbers of cases of champagne that had been ordered, hurried to greet these, the first of the guests to arrive. Rosemary, always struck dumb when she was near Devenish, blushed and stammered and amused him with her obvious hero worship. John, who had never seen his sister behave so, was as amazed as she was overawed, and told her audibly to stop being such a figure of comedy. Devenish gave the embarrassed girl into the hands of Mrs. Robinson and took John into the bookroom. The young man lost no time in enquiring when Josie would return.

  Devenish looked at him thoughtfully. "Within the hour, I fancy.''

  "Oh, good," said Drummond with a sigh of relief. And then, in new anxiety, "Does Fontaine stay here, Dev?"

  Lifting the white cat from his chair, Devenish snapped, "Certainly not!"

  Drummond saw the flare light up those incredibly blue eyes.

  "My apologies. I only meant—Well, I suppose I should approach you first, Cousin."

  'My God!' thought Devenish. 'It's a deluge!' "Regarding my ward's friendship with Lord Fontaine? I'd not thought your acquaintanceship with Josie of such duration that you would seek to influence her friendships."

  Reddening, Drummond said, "No! Of course not, only—Well, I did see her often when you brought her to Sussex before I went abroad, and—I've a great admiration for her. In fact—er, it is my hope you will allow me to address her with—ah, regard to… to her becoming my wife."

  His voice positively squeaked on the last rush of words, and Devenish took pity on him. "I would have not the least objection to your doing so—" He heard the breath of relief, and added, "At some future date." The green eyes, so reminiscent of Yolande's, scanned him anxiously. He went on, "Josie has been most upset of late by the—the sad experience of a friend to whom she is very attached. I think it would be in your best interests, as well as hers, if you did not speak of this until—at least after the ball."

  A beaming smile lit the rather sober young face. "Whatever you wish, sir. I'd not dream of adding to her distress. I'm only glad you do not object, after my sister—" He broke off, biting his lip in an agony of mortification at having blundered into such a morass.

  Devenish, who had been thinking that every time one of these young bucks called him "sir" he felt a hundred years old, laughed. "No, no, do not be embarrassed. Yolande is de
ar to my heart, and always will be, as are all your family. Speaking of which, John—have you discussed this matter with Sir Martin?"

  Drummond's lips tightened and the smile left his eyes. He said slowly, "Yes. I expect you may guess that he does not approve."

  "I expect you may guess that fact infuriates me."

  From what Drummond remembered of this fire-eater, it took very little to infuriate him, but he nodded. "I can, indeed. Papa is a very good man, but—well, old-fashioned."

  "And you mean to go ahead, over his objections?"

  The earnest eyes met his steadily. "I do. I—my regard for Josie is such that I cannot be swayed by what I consider to be unwarranted prejudices."

  Although they had grown up on neighbouring estates and were distantly related, Devenish had seen little of John Drummond. His own activities since leaving University had kept him so occupied as to preclude anything but an occasional encounter at family holiday gatherings, and the eight years that separated them inevitably resulted in a minimum of shared interests. He found now that he liked this young man very well. There was an indefinable air about Drummond that met Devenish's ideal of the true gentleman: strength, coupled with good sportsmanship; an impeccable sense of honour; an obligatory gentleness towards all creatures weaker than himself. But…

  Watching him, Drummond said apprehensively, "You have reservations?"

  "I wish I could say I did not. Certainly, I approve of you as a candidate for my ward's hand. Only—I know her, perhaps better than anyone knows her. And I doubt she would wed against the wishes of her prospective parents-in-law. Especially if they are people of whom she is very fond."

  "I know. I've worried about that also." Drummond said with a sigh, "In which case I can only hope that, if Josie will have me, we can win my father over. I know he likes her. It's just her lack of background he—er, objects to. Even so… I do not see how he can resist the sweet soul."