The response was immediate. Viscount Stephen Whitthurst and several friends picked up Camille Damon bodily and carried him to the pianoforte. "Here's a volunteer!" yelled Whitthurst. Lady Carlotta Bryce, mother of the famous artist and an excellent harpist, needed little urging to take her place by that beautiful instrument. Lord Edward Ridgley, who played the violin well, said good-naturedly that he'd "give it a try," and in no time an orchestra was assembled.
With the help of two of his gentlemen, King George regained his feet. "And I shall lead you, ladies and gentlemen," he proclaimed, beaming. "By Jupiter, but this is a jolly party!"
A sturdy bench was carried forward, His Majesty was lowered onto it and, after a short consultation and some small disagreements among the musicians, Damon called something to the King, and George bellowed, "Take your partners for the waltz!"
Another guest chose that moment to put in an appearance. Lady Godiva trotted through the welter of skirts and pantaloons. Whether she supposed that the one individual seated alone must be her god, it would be difficult to guess. Suffice it to say that she made her way to the bench and sat beside it, facing the dais.
Comparison was inevitable. Scores of dainty fans fluttered up to hide convulsed faces; countless linen handkerchiefs smothered chortles of mirth. Cold with horror as Mitchell Redmond led her to the floor, Josie darted a frenzied glance at Devenish, who was preparing to return to the lower areas and assist his unfortunate housekeeper. He returned her look with some puzzlement, turned in the direction of her nod, and gave a gasp. The royal temperament was uncertain at best. If George decided he was being mocked, he could be merciless—as he'd been in the case of poor Brummell. Devenish started to run. Even as he reached for the pig, King George raised his arms to start the volunteer orchestra, saw Lady Bryce's horrified expression, and glanced down. He gave a startled yelp, and the baton Damon had passed him fell from his hand.
"S-sir," stammered Devenish, seeking frantically for a logical explanation, "I cannot tell wh-why, but this animal is a pest and, whenever we have company, seems to delight in seeking out the most distinguished of our guests and attaching herself to him. I pray you will forgive this—er, intrusion."
Through the following absolute hush, not a soul moved, and Devenish held his breath, waiting for the wrathful explosion.
Lady Godiva wriggled and uttered a tentative snort.
The King's staring eyes blinked. He looked narrowly at Devenish's pale, tense face. Suddenly, he chuckled. "No, no. Let her stay," he said, reaching down to pat the pig's head. "What's her name?"
"Lady Godiva, Your Majesty."
George laughed. The gentlemen-in-waiting laughed. The guests laughed. And Devenish could breathe again.
"You little varmint," said the King, as Lady Godiva smiled up at him, "damme if you ain't fatter than I am!"
Peering at her brother's face, dimly illumined by the carriage lamps, Lady Isabella asked, "Is it stopped bleeding, love?"
"Yes," replied the Viscount thickly. "But—by God, if that bastard has broke my nose… !"
"Never say so! Taine, you—you mean to call him out, of course?''
For a long moment there was no answer, the only sounds the plodding of the horses' hoofs and the rattle and squeak of the chaise as it followed the narrow, moonlit ribbon of the road.
Fontaine said in a thoughtful drawl, "No. It would interfere with my plans."
Isabella closed her eyes briefly. Emboldened by this unhopedfor decision, she next asked, "Whatever did you do to cause him to knock you down?"
"I accused him of compromising his ward." Fontaine chuckled faintly. "To say the least of it."
She gave a despairing wail. "Then I am quite undone! He'll never come near me again!"
Unmoved, he continued to dab cautiously at his nose and pronounced it unbroken. Isabella began to weep and he snapped impatiently, "Oh, be still! Why you should want the block is past understanding! Aside from his looks, the fella's scarce a great matrimonial prize. He's as hot at hand as he can stare, and will likely be tumbling into disasters for as long as he draws breath. He cannot walk straight, which is enough to turn one's stomach. His fortune is not large. And as for that disgusting old pile of his— Egad, Bella! It would drive you distracted inside a month! Certainly, you'd have to turn off every single freak he calls a servant! A fine beau you've chosen! Take your noble lamebrain and be thankful!"
"My 'noble lamebrain,' " she retaliated, wiping fiercely at her tearful eyes, "is six and sixty, has no hair, and Waterloo teeth!"
"Ah, but you would be a duchess, m'dear! And such a rich one! Certainement, you could find l'amour elsewhere."
"Oh, but you are hateful!" she cried fiercely. "I love Dev! Can you not understand? I love him, and I want him!" And in response to his derisive snort, she said in a flame, "Laugh then!But consider, dear brother, you've a lust for his wretched foundling, and you may be sure she never will glance your way now. He is sure to tell her what you said."
Amused, he murmured, "No, do you think so? I doubt it. Whatever his faults, the fool is a gentleman. Besides…"He paused, and in a little while went on with a slow smile, "There is, my beautiful, more than one way to skin a cat."
Chapter 14
On Monday morning the east wind was keen, and Josie went shiveringly downstairs to find Lady Godiva huddling by the bottom step, trying to keep warm.
"Poor little thing," she said, bending to caress the pig. "We shall have to make you a coat, my dear, to keep out the cold.''
She glanced up as the door opened and an icy gust swept across the Great Hall. Devenish came in, the collar of his long riding coat turned high, and his cheeks aglow. He snatched off his high-crowned hat and flourished it at her, two cats and a kitten rushing past him and racing for the kitchens.
"Slugabed! I suppose now the last of your guests is gone, you mean to rest on your laurels while the rest of the world labours."
"But of course," she said, dimpling a smile as she tripped over to take his hat and coat and hand them to the lackey who was perfectly capable of performing that small task, and knew better than to attempt it. ''Where have you been? And have you eaten breakfast?''
"I've been out with Little. We had a look at the access road and I think are agreed on a just sharing of more permanent repairs."
"Oh, splendid!" She clung to his arm and accompanied him to the breakfast parlour, where a bright fire sent flames licking up the chimney and the air was fragrant with the smells of coffee and toast. The table was set, a footman sprang forward to assist with chairs, Wolfe lurched in, followed by a maid bearing a laden tray, and Josie busied herself with coffee and cups. When the servants left them alone, Devenish said with a sigh, "Jove, but it's nice to have the old place to ourselves again."
"Yes, I know. But—oh, it was a wonderful ball, wasn't it, Dev? Everything went so well, and—" She saw his stupified expression and laughed merrily. "Well—all things considered… No, really, the King was so kind, and—"
"Kind! Do you realize, my girl," he said, waving a crumpet at her, "what we went through, getting everyone's belongings moved, and rooms cleaned and ready for the royal crew, only to have Prinny say airily at the last moment that they 'must be getting back to Berkeley now'? Good Gad!"
"Yes, dear, but the poor soul thoroughly enjoyed himself, and the musicians seemed fairly well recovered by the time they left. And only think how Guy was vindicated!"
Slicing some tender ham, Devenish grinned. "True. Our Guy became quite a cause célèbre, and well past due!"
"And Faith as proud as though they were already wed."
He paused, slanting a quick glance at her, then went on carving.
She held out her plate and he deposited some fine slices upon it, then served himself, adding two eggs from the covered tureen.
"Well?" he said mildly. "Why scowl at me? I said not a word.''
"You looked a whole chapter! Dev, he is exonerated! Surely you can see he cares for her. Sir William can no longer object."
''Can he not? Guy would object. And it is no use for you to try and trick me into quarrelling with you, because I don't intend to do so. You're much too pretty this morning."
She tried, but could not restrain a smile. "How wicked of you to so efficiently spike my guns, sir."
"Isn't it. But I've done it and will now turn the conversation in another direction." He laid down his knife and leaned to put his hand over hers. "Happy, little one?"
"Yes. Oh, Dev—so very happy. Thank you, thank you! I felt— like a princess!"
He smiled. "You looked like a princess. Winning every man's heart, and—"
She leaned to him, her eyes like stars. "Did I, Dev? Every man's?"
He took up another crumpet and began to butter it. "Well, not Prinny's perhaps, but he is so besotted by Lady Conyngham,that—"
"Wretch," she scolded. "I did not mean the King. Can you guess who—I did mean… ? Before you take a third crumpet, that is."
Startled, he looked at his plate and the crumpet still remaining. He felt his face become hot, and Josie said with a sigh, "I suppose it is asking a lot of you. At your advanced age."
"To remember my manners and not be a glutton?" he asked, flustered.
"No. To guess whose heart I have won."
"Oh," he said, concentrating upon his abundant crumpets.
"Never mind, dear," said Josie, watching him from under her lashes. "I will give you a hint. I received another offer at the ball."
He began to butter his recent addition again. "Jeremy said he thought you might have. Young Drummond, eh? He's a—er, jolly fine lad."
"Lucinda Carden says that 'lad' is a word belonging in the stable."
"Yes. Absolutely right. Well, then. I'd think John is—er, just what any girl would—ah, wish for."
"But then," she murmured, obligingly moving the rack of crumpets closer to his hand, "you know so pitifully little about my wishes, don't you, Papa?"
"No. I mean—yes. That is to say—don't you fancy him?"
She was silent. "He is, as you say, everything any girl would wish for.''
"Oh, absolutely." He bit rather savagely into his first and neglected crumpet. "Salt of the earth."
"And," she mused, "he says he—cannot live without me. A girl likes to hear that. I tell you, so you'll know."
"Hum," he said, eyeing her uncertainly. "I can understand that she might." He sighed, saw her swift, bright glance, and blurted out, "Poor—Lyon. The boy adores you."
"Yes. But—so does the man I have chosen."
The man she had chosen. "He does," he said. "I mean—he does? Well, he would, of course. Have you—er, told him? Of your decision?''
"You dropped a piece." She pointed to a scrap of ham. "Thank you." And having waited through an interval while she smiled so dreamily he could have strangled her, he said, "Well? Have you?"
"Have I what, dearest dodderer?"
"Told young Drummond."
"Good gracious, of course not! A girl does not accept an offer the first time she's asked."
"No. I suppose not." He smiled cheerily. "You pretty creatures love to keep a fellow dangling."
"It is more than that, Dev. John must consider carefully. His papa will likely be difficult because I am such an—an unknown quantity.''
Rage blazed in his eyes, and the hand on the napkin he had just neatly deposited beside his plate clenched itself.
"Besides," Josie said demurely, "I have to think of… you."
He started. "Me?"
"Well, of course, you great silly. Who's to look after you when I am off somewhere being a young matron?''
Staring at her, he thought, 'My little Elf… a young matron…' And he said in an automatic response, "Isabella."
Her mischief routed, she said irritably, "Oh, for heaven's sake! Do be serious!"
"I am perfectly serious. The fact that you do not admire the lady has kept me from—ah, declaring myself, but since you are in a way to being comfortably settled, I can now be frank."
She snarled, "What a pity you cannot also be truthful!" His only response being a sigh, she enquired with malice aforethought, "Are you feeling not quite the thing? You look sick. Or sickening. I cannot be sure which."
"Do you know," he said with a dreamy look, "Isabella says my hair drives her to distraction?"
She glared at the fair, rather windblown curls. "I can see why it might. Perhaps did you have the grey streak dyed it would not so offend."
"And that my eyes," he went on, keeping them lowered so as not to reveal his mirth at her excellent riposte, "are blue as the Spanish skies." He blinked at her soulfully.
"Does she so? Well, of course, I would not know, never having been to Spain. Is she Spanish, then? I'd fancied she might have gypsy blood. La, but with a scarf around her head and big gold earrings—"
Here, Devenish succumbing to shouts of laughter, she sprang up and ran around the table to tug at his hair until he begged for mercy.
She sank to her knees beside his chair and, laughing with him, said, "Wretched, most evil of men! You were teasing me. It was all a fudge, after all." She took up his hand and held it to her cheek. "Own it, you villain. You have not the least interest in that predatory creature."
His expression changed. Despite all his stern self-lectures, his hand seemed to turn of its own volition to caress her velvety skin. With a real effort, he said, "Bella cares for me, my Elf. She is beautiful and much admired, and is, besides, a sophisticated lady. I think we will deal very well together. And now that I—"
She jumped up and hissed, "Now that you are free! Is that it? You are rid of me at last!"
"No—never that." He pushed back his chair and stood, reaching for her hands, but she jerked them behind her and faced him, breathing tempestuously.
He said, "I'm not getting any younger, Josie. It is past time I was setting up my nursery. And Isabella is—very much of a woman."
She was breathlessly still for a moment. Then, "Only think." she said with a bright smile, "we shall be starting married life at the same time—you and I. Whoever would have… dreamed it." And she turned and walked quickly from the room, leaving him to sit down again and stare blankly at the coffee pot.
After some while, there came a new arrival. Cornish stood beside the table, his face wooden, and a silver salver in one muscular hand which he thrust out while gazing at the top of the curtain rod.
Devenish reached rather wearily for the card, then turned about, glancing up also. "What're you looking at?"
"A 'igh point, guv."
"What the deuce are you talking about? What high point?"
Cornish lowered his gaze. "Crikey! If it wasn't giving me a crick in me perishin' neck! But that's what 'e says you gotta do, 'Stare at a 'igh point,' 'e says. Somethink to do with a cove called Dicky Rorum."
A quirk disturbed the stern set of Devenish's lips. "And who is your instructor in decorum?"
"That there lump o' ice—Finlayson. 'Im what Mr. Wolfe brung in."
Casting his mind back, Devenish recollected that Josie had said something about a very frigid footman. "Oh—is that the pale fellow with the light eyes?"
"Ar. Sticks out, they does. Like a perishin' flounder."
"Hum. Well, he's gone, so forget him and do not be staring: at my ceilings. It unnerves me." He glanced down at the card in his hand, which contained the name of the vintners who had provided their vast quantities of champagne.
"No, 'e ain't gone, Sir Guv. Young Mackey took ill with the grippe, so Wolfe kept 'im on. Finlayson treats the old duck like 'e was a bitta dirt, so Wolfe's proper took with 'im. Cor!"
Frowning at the card, Devenish said, "Why am I given this?"
"Cos Wolfe's proper doddipolled, poor old cock. Arst if you could see the cove."
Devenish groaned. "Very well, Sir Elegance. Ask Wolfe and Mr.—er, Short to step into my study."
Mr. Short, who was indeed short, was outraged. He could, and did, supply copies of the original orders and waybills
in support of Mr. Wolfe's orders. He was quite willing to take back any unused crates—or at least, he had been willing to do so, until Mr. Wolfe had "cast such a haspersion on the fair name of Messrs. Short and Brinkley!" The champagne, he averred, his square face becoming mottled with indignation, had been in perfect condition when it had left their warehouse, and furthermore, it was clear to see that the tainted bottles in Mr. Devenish's cellars were not tainted at all, but had been deliberately tampered with after they had been delivered. "Hi do not know why, sir," he said huffily. "Hi can only say has our company his one has serves the noblest of England's families!"
This declaration reinforced the unease that had gripped Devenish since the apparent "spoilage" had first been detected. It was very likely, he thought grimly, that whoever had poisoned the champagne had also soured the cream. A nasty little plot to turn Josie's party into a disaster. The tainted wine bottles had been put at the back of the cellar so that whoever was responsible could serve the ugly brew at the most effective moment, and to the most distinguished guests. The thought that the King would quite logically have been chosen to be made ill brought sweat starting onto his brow. He controlled his dismay, however, and set himself to placate the offended tradesman. Mr. Short, bristling, encountered the full force of an engaging grin, and was scuppered. The interview proceeded on a far more agreeable plane. By the time Mr. Short departed, having been plied with his own champagne and convinced a disgruntled servant must have been the culprit, he was in an extremely mellow mood, expressed his disgust at so heinous a crime, said he hoped Mr. Devenish would "go very 'ard on the villin," and promised to take back as many crates as had not been tampered with and were not needed.
Wolfe returned, having handed the vintner over to Mrs. Robinson, to find the master leaning back in his chair, his riding boots irreverently propped on the littered desk top. Wringing his hands, the butler was near tears as he said he had feared just such a scheme, but had no least notion as to which of the servants would have done such a dreadful thing.
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 11] - Give All To Love Page 21