Devenish commanded that Josie was not to learn of it, and said he very much doubted it had been one of their own people. "Likely, one of the temporary servants," he said grimly, "and I doubt we'll ever know who it was."
"But… but—why, sir? I can think of no one we have turned off these past years who might harbour a grudge. Should we have the constable in?"
He was so distraught that it became necessary for Devenish to invent a suspicion of a friend of Claude Sanguinet who had chosen this method of revenge, and sent the old man off, bristling with wrath that such evil schemes had been brought against his beloved master.
Left alone, Devenish stared frowningly at his boots. It was very possible that the little fantasy he had invented for Wolfe was the true answer. He was not without enemies, but he knew of few men who would resort to such dastardly means of exacting vengeance. Claude's adherents would. His frown deepened as Elliot Fontaine's face came to mind, but he had not really quarrelled with Fontaine until the ball itself, and the business of implanting an agent in the house and poisoning the champagne must have been planned in advance. Little certainly disliked him, but the very thought of someone as straightforward as the Squire resorting to such underhanded methods was laughable. Old Wolfe's absentmindedness had saved the day, certainly, for without the extra order they would very likely have run short of usable bottles. And had the lackeys not crept back there to have their own party—! It did not bear thinking of! Josie's ball might well have gone down as the disaster of the season. He could imagine how devastated the dear little soul would—
"Villain!" accused the "dear little soul," sweeping into the study with a swish of taffeta and a whiff of Essence de Printemps.
With a guilty squawk, Devenish swung his legs from the desk top, thereby depositing a good half of the contents on the floor. He rubbed nervously at a scratch his spur had left on the mahogany, and jumped up. "I didn't—" he began, but was quelled by one small hand tossed imperiously into the air.
"Didn't me no didn'ts," decreed Josie, with what he was wont to term her "Empress of Elves" air. "You most certainly did!"
"Did what, your Imperial Majesty?"
She fixed him with what she supposed to be a basilisk stare. "I heard a carriage."
"Did you now?" he said admiringly.
She stamped closer, her brows drawn down, her eyes shooting sparks. Devenish retreated until he fell into the chair once more.
"Who?" she demanded, standing over him.
''You mean—whose.''
Her jaw set and her small hands lifted, fingers crooked.
"Now—Josie… !"
"Was it Elliot Fontaine?"
The laughter left his eyes and he stood again. "It was not. Won't you sit down?"
"Are you and Elliot going to"—her great eyes searched his face—"to meet?"
"I sincerely hope not. Josie, if you will sit—"
She clasped her hands together. "Then, you did not call him out?"
"No such thing."
"Thank heaven," she breathed, and stretched out one hand. He took it and on the instant her grip had tightened and she was inspecting the skinned knuckles. "You told me you scraped this."
"Ow!" Trying unsuccessfully to free himself from her clinging fingers, he mumbled, "I did."
"On what, you wicked, deceitful creature?"
"Oh, I don't know—some sort of thing. What matter? Now, if you—"
"Tell me! You attacked him, didn't you?"
"I—er, wouldn't say I—attacked him, exactly. One doesn't attack a slug. One merely—"
Tears glistened in her eyes. "Dev—for heaven's sake!"
"Now, don't cloud up, for Lord's sake. I sort of—ah, levelled him." She threw her hands to her mouth, gazing at him with such tragedy that he added a feeble, "Just a little bit."
She sank into his chair and, relieved, he sat against the edge of the desk, but almost immediately she sprang up again so that he had, perforce, to come to his feet once more.
'' Why must you be forever rushing from one end of England to the other," she demanded rather unjustly, "fighting and brawling and—"
"The deuce, Josie! I've scarce left these hallowed halls this past—"
"You couldn't wait to ride off with Tris and Jeremy and the rest, to help Mitchell when—"
"Good Gad! Did you expect me to stay home and twiddle my thumbs while Claude slaughtered poor Mitch?"
"You could have let the others go, but—no!" With a wild gesture, she cried, "You know you are not as—as able to—"
His face bleak, he interjected a stiff "I am still—I hope—a man."
Josie was extremely afraid, wherefore she ignored the danger signals and rushed on. "You are a child! A naughty, headstrong, undisciplined little boy who cannot be left an instant but what he is—"
He said quietly, "I think that will be about enough, please."
"Well, I do not think it nearly enough! Only look at that awful business with Valentine Montclair! There was no cause for you to—"
"Val is my friend, and they came damn near snuffing the blockhead. For heaven's sake, Josie, you know very well a man don't stand by and—"
"One might suppose you the only man in all England, sir! Merely because you limp a little, you seem to think you must prove yourself with every shift of the wind!"
"Now, by the Lord Harry! I—"
"You deliberately provoke Sir William on every possible issue! It is a miracle that business has not ended in one of your ridiculous duels!"
"Well, it has not! And if all this harangue is out of spleen because I knocked down your precious roue Elliot Fontaine, I can only say your judgement is fair and far off, my good girl!"
''I think it not so far off if I judge you to have a Sir Galahad fixation, my good Gaffer!" And seeing the tightness to his jaw and the thin line of his mouth, she continued hastily, "Do you ever give one thought to what your quick temper and recklessness do to—to my peace of mind?"
"I have been very patient with Little. But, by God, I'll not have a guest in my house— Well, never mind. But if you crave a title, you would do well to set your cap for—"
"Set… my cap?" She said furiously, "Dev, you deserve to be scratched! And if truth be told, I believe your quarrel with Elliot came about purely because of his devotion to me!"
"Oh, do you? In other words, you say I am lying in my teeth! Well, be comforted, ma'am. Slippery Elliot ain't about to call me out."
She said, worried still, "He might not, were I to ask it, for I know he—"
Devenish caught her wrist and jerked her closer. Through clenched teeth he said, "You will not—go near the carrion! Do you hear me?"
Stunned by a rage she had never before witnessed, she stared at him, then, suddenly drained of emotion, she wrenched free and half-turning from him, said, "He has never laid a hand on me, Dev."
"God help him if he does! Besides, there is not the need for you to cast yourself at his feet in a lovely bit of melodrama to save me."
She gave him a reproachful look, but she had wounded him more deeply than she guessed, and he went on acidly, "You are flattered by the notion that Fontaine admires you. It so happens that his sister is—er, fond of me. Now, if Elliot wants you, and Bella wants—er, likes me, what a flat he would be to call me out. And the lascivious lord ain't a flat, whatever else!"
The coldness in his voice was making her knees shake. She said tremulously, "Oh. Well, Dev, if you think him not the proper husband for me, I—"
"Husband!" He laughed mirthlessly. "Open your eyes, child! If he wants you, it's not as his wife!"
He had intended to imply a criticism of my lord's character. To the overwrought girl, however, his words pointed up her own ineligibility. As hurt now as was he, she said, all prideful disdain, "How fortunate I am, to have a more sincere admirer. John Drummond has no such base motives."
"True," Devenish muttered, immediately deflated. "John's a good boy."
"A good catch for me, I think you mean."
> He hesitated. "Why—yes. I would give him my blessing."
"You are too kind, sir. I suppose it would please you to think I care for him."
Looking as pleased as a man treading up the steps of the gallows, he said, "Every father wishes that for—for his daughter."
"Indeed? Then your wish is granted, Papa. I told John that I love him!'' And with a toss of her chin and a swish of her skirts, she crossed to the door.
All day Tuesday, Josie kept herself so busy that the hours flew past. On Wednesday, wanting only to avoid Devenish's cool courtesy, she told Klaus to have the bays put to her new phaeton, and drove out alone. Her desire for solitude was thwarted when John Drummond rode from the Nailsworth road, waved joyfully, and galloped up, pleading to be allowed to join her. He tied his well-mannered chestnut on behind and took the reins as he climbed into the vehicle beside her.
''I am rather surprised that Dev allows you to drive out unescorted, Josie."
"Oh, Dev is very forward-thinking, you know. I do not drive very far, of course. Only to the villages and once or twice to Cirencester, but then he goes with me, and takes the reins before we reach town."
"So I should hope!" He tucked the rug tighter around her, and thus missed the irked glance she shot at him. "Are you sure you are warm enough? The wind is from the east, I think."
Her irritation fled in the face of his solicitude. She said teasingly, "Well, you may be glad of it, sir, for had it not been, your Aunt Pandora would have been with me, and there would not be room for you, for I could scarce ask her to get down and ride your horse."
He chuckled at the thought of such a scene, and dropped his hands so that the team came to a trot. "I send the elements my thanks. Certainly, I had not thought to be so lucky as to find you alone." He slanted a glance at her but, unable to read her expression, went on, "I had no chance to finish what I was trying to say to you at the ball."
She lowered her lashes. "And—have you come all the way back to Devencourt for only that reason, John?"
He said fervently, "I would journey to the other side of the world for that reason."
"I see. You have—perhaps, spoken with your papa?"
He nodded, looking crestfallen. "It is the most infamous thing, but—confound it, I'll not be bound by such antiquated notions!" He drew up the horses again, secured the reins around the ring, and turned to take her hand. "Dev said he approves of me. I think you are not averse to me, and I am deep in love with you, Josie. Will you be my wife?"
There would be no home for her here, once Dev had married his glorious Isabella… She thought wretchedly that this was a very unkind reaction to his heartfelt declaration, and said, "My dear friend, I am indeed very fond of you, but—John, you must see it is impossible. Even were I willing to marry against your father's wishes, how would we manage? Do you mean we should go to Gretna Green? I think Dev would not like that."
"No, of course not," he exclaimed, horrified. "As if I would suggest such a thing! We would be fairly disgraced. But—I could get a special licence, I think."
She looked at him doubtfully. "Do you know how?"
"No." He bit his lip. "I've never done so before, and— Oh, Lord! What a stupid thing to say! As if it were something one does every quarter day!"
"I'm sure you could manage it," she said kindly. "Only—I simply could not enter married life in a clandestine way. I would feel ashamed."
"Yes, of course you would." He raised her hand and kissed it tenderly. "You are everything that is good and I respect you the more for your principles. Oh, curse it all! Here is Mrs. Bliss coming up! Josie—I adore you!" He untied the reins. "Never fear, I'll find a way for us."
"But, John—I have not—"
"Hello!" called Faith, waving gaily. "What a lucky chance! Do you go to the village? May I ride with you?"
"Indeed you may, ma'am," said Drummond with unfailing courtesy. "The more the merrier."
It was rather disconcerting, thought Devenish, going through the great pile of bills on his desk, that a simple ball could cost so very much! Not that the old coffers would collapse, of course, tout he'd have to tighten the girths a trifle for the next few months. Although Josie must have a fine wedding, of course… His hands stilled, and he stared numbly at the statement he held upside down. Had anyone asked him if his day could get any more dismal, he would at that point have answered an unequivocal No. But, glancing up, he saw that he was mistaken.
Lyon stood in the doorway, watching him coldly.
"Welcome." Devenish stood, but the younger man made no attempt to shake hands, walking a few steps closer and halting again.
"I've come to say my goodbyes. I am returning to Town and will likely remain there on a permanent basis."
His voice was flat and hostility glared from the dark eyes.
Devenish replied, "I rather fancied you would. Belmont thinks you've a brilliant career ahead of you, and it's natural enough you'd wish to be in London. I expect you want to see Josie. 'Fraid she's out just at present. Will you take a glass of wine while you wait?"
Lyon refused politely, but he occupied the chair indicated, and Devenish sat at his desk, very conscious of the tension in the room. "Guy will miss you," he said, longing to restore their friendship.
"Yes. And he will be lonely. I'm sorry for that."
"Perhaps he won't be too lonely. It would not surprise me if we were to have an interesting announcement very soon."
His smile was not returned. Looking squarely into his eyes, Lyon said, "It would surprise me. Guy is too decent a man to offer for so lovely a lady in his condition."
The contempt in his voice was unmistakable. Devenish felt his face grow hot and suddenly, although he fully shared those sentiments, he was both embarrassed and enraged. He said sharply, "Mrs. Bliss is no child. If she cares for him—"
"If she does, it may well be an affection based on pity." And wanting only to hurt this man, Lyon went on ruthlessly, "The best type of woman is so often willing to sacrifice herself. And a clever man can trade on his infirmity." He saw shock come into the blue eyes and, with pleasure that was also a pain, knew his barb had gone home.
For a moment Devenish sat very still, staring at him. Then he said coolly, "Let's have our cards on the table. You mean me—no?"
Lyon sprang up, his rage and disappointment boiling over. "All these years," he snarled, "I've honoured you for your care of a homeless child." He gave a wild laugh. "What a joke! When all the time, you—"
"Have a care," interposed Devenish very softly. "You appear to find three and thirty a great age, but I assure you I am not too infirm to knock you down, my nasty-minded cub."
"Nasty-minded? Blind, more like! When I think of how cleverly you managed to convince everyone she was 'too young' to marry! How cunningly you contrive to run off any man interested in her!"
By this time Devenish had also stood, and faced him, his fists clenched at his sides, his head a little lowered. Lyon knew that stance of old, and didn't care. If Devenish struck him, he could drive his own far more powerful fist into that disgustingly handsome face, which would afford him tremendous gratification. He swept on passionately. "When she told me how you moaned about your age and your feebleness, I was shocked, for I thought it was your selfish way of keeping her tied here all her days— waiting on you hand and foot as you've trained her to do."
"Now—by God!" gritted Devenish, pushing his chair aside.
"Which only shows you," Lyon went on, "how stupid I was! How incredibly gullible! You brought that innocent child here 'to protect her' you said. 'To give her a chance in life.' Pah! A chance for what? To do what she always thought you wished? She's not sufficiently well-born to be your wife, but you desire the sweet innocent! So you groomed her to be the perfect mistress, while you brayed to the world of your nobility, and—"
With a muffled growl, Devenish sprang. Lyon's fist shot up, but Devenish was very fast and struck first. Lyon staggered back, vaguely astonished by the power the slighter man could
muster. Devenish was after him like a wild man, his face suffused, his eyes narrow slits of wrath. Lyon steadied himself against the bookcase, then leapt to meet that headlong charge.
A faint scream sounded from the hall.
Devenish's poised fist checked and, dreading lest Josie should be witnessing this ugly brawl, his head jerked towards the sound.
For Lyon, there was only rage and hurt and the need for vengeance. All sense of fair play lost, he threw a right jab with all his strength behind it. From the corner of his eye, Devenish saw the knotted fist whizzing at him. He leapt aside, but swift as he was, he could only partially deflect that mighty blow. His upflung arm was slammed aside, and Lyon's fist caught him glancingly along the jaw. Hurled back, he crashed into the end of the desk. Pain jabbed a vicious spear through his leg, and he sagged helplessly.
Before Lyon could press his attack, however, someone was between them: a crouching ferocity, her face twisted with hatred, a dagger gleaming in one upraised hand.
"Vicious, thankless murderer," hissed Mrs. Robinson as she confronted the halted Lyon. "After all he's done for you! It was him got Lord Belmont to take you—did you know that? Mr. Guy wanted it and paid for it, but it was the master went to his lordship to plead for you! When Lord Mitchell was in Paris three years ago and the master found out how your governor was being hounded, it was him found your new house, and got the other gentlemen to help persuade Mr. Guy to move here. Couldn't do enough, he couldn't. Small thanks that you think such evil of him in your nasty, filthy mind! That you'd raise your wicked hand against him!"
Very pale and stiff, Lyon said, "Madam, I think—"
Devenish, who had watched this exchange with dulled incredulity, now intervened breathlessly. "Thank you, dear lady, but—I can only hope… Dr. Cahill will think better of… what he said."
Lyon flashed a seething glance at him.
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 11] - Give All To Love Page 22