Logic of the Heart

by Patricia Veryan

  “Surely, the reward would scarce justify the cost, sir.”

  “Most assuredly—it would, ma’am.”

  She regarded him steadily, wondering why she was so weak-kneed that she could not resist that tentative smile.

  His good hand was stretched out imploringly. “Forgive. Please. I had no right to say that about Monteil.”

  In some magical fashion she floated back to sit beside him. “He has been very kind in finding work for my brother,” she explained. “The income means a great deal to us. Now why do you scowl so?”

  “I was thinking that I am an additional charge on you. I hope that my uncle has—”

  “He has, so do not fret on that account.”

  His hand found hers. He asked softly, “About what may I fret, ma’am?”

  Staring down at their clasped hands, she felt dreamily content, and answering a foolish question as foolishly, murmured, “I don’t really know. But—you said you were coming to seek me.”

  “So I was! And it is a decidedly fretful matter! Whatever is Lyddford about, to allow you to be accosted by every passing ruffian?”

  She knew she should free her hand. While thinking about it, she blinked at him and said, “Whatever do you mean?”

  “I saw you talking to two gooseberry bushes on the drivepath. It made me positively uneasy to see you bothered by such unsavoury creatures.”

  Laughing, she recovered her wits, drew away, and said, “Oh, you must mean my two new workmen.”

  “Good God! You were never bamboozled into hiring those two rogues?”

  “Those two rogues, sir, are veterans wounded on the Peninsula while fighting for their country.”

  It was a sore point with Montclair that he had been unable to join up. He said irritably, “And I suppose they gulled you into believing they are starving and unable to find work.”

  “I am not easily gulled,” she said, a frown coming into her eyes. “And if you doubt there are such men, sir, you should have a closer look at those who tramp the roads these days.”

  He well knew the bitter fate of many soldiers and sailors who had fought gallantly for England and returned to face rejection and starvation, but he argued contrarily, “Even so, there have been many kind souls robbed and murdered by ex-servicemen. If Lyddford needs more men, he should have the sense to appoint Deemer to handle the matter, not expect a woman to know how to deal with such fellows.”

  Bristling, she retorted, “I have been obliged to deal with the world for some years, Mr. Montclair, and am quite a good judge of character, I promise you!”

  “You certainly summed me up fast enough,” he countered with a grin.

  She chuckled, and somehow he was holding her hand again. He said softly, “Perhaps it is a good idea to have some more men about, so long as they’re reliable. I cannot like you being left so short-staffed here when Lyddford is away on his boat. If any unsavoury varmints should come prowling—” A troubled look came into her eyes. His own narrowed. He demanded, “What is it? Have there been such occurrences?”

  She hesitated, then told him of the man who’d been watching the house in the middle of the night. “I’ll own,” she admitted, “I was quite frightened. You may be sure we lock the doors now.”

  “Good God,” he muttered. “I’d best leave here as soon as maybe.”

  “Why? You cannot know that he was here because of you.”

  “I’ll warrant you did not have such spies hanging about before I came.”

  “Did you have them at Longhills?”

  “We’ve a small army of servants there to make short work of any intruders.” He brightened. “There’s the answer, by Jove! I’ll send for some of my people. You need inside help as well, with all the extra work I bring you. Only look at these poor fingernails.”

  Susan snatched her hand away, and well aware of what Andy would have to say to all this, said, “I enjoy working in—in the garden. And we will require no more help, thank you just the—”

  “Fustian! Do you say you would prefer to have those two grimy vagrants loitering about the place rather than allow me to bring my well-trained servants here? Now that is plainly ridiculous!”

  She stiffened. “I must ask that you abide by my decision, Mr. Montclair.”

  “It is a foolish decision, and I most certainly will not be bound by it! You shall have extra help, madam, so pray put your pride in your pocket.”

  Unaccustomed to such high-handed intervention, and knowing she must put a stop to this at once, her chin tossed upward. “You do not rule here, sir! And since you find me ridiculous, foolish, and prideful—”

  “Er, well—I didn’t mean that exactly, but—”

  “—you will doubtless prefer to make arrangements to be taken from such an unpleasant atmosphere, as—soon as may be.” And with her head high, her hair swinging behind her, and her heart heavy, she left him.

  “Women!” snorted Montclair.

  * * *

  Susan gazed blankly at the book, not seeing the little house and the elves climbing cheerfully in and out of the many windows. Outwardly, she was calm. Inwardly, she trembled still. Never with Burke had she felt that wild surge of excited anticipation. Never had Burke’s touch made her skin shiver; never had that glow come into his eyes that made her heart feel scorched so that she longed to be hugged closer … to be kissed and caressed.

  A tremor raced through her. She could deny it and hide it from others, but she could no longer deny it to herself. She was falling in love with a man who could only bring her heartache. Of all the men she’d known she had been so foolish as to single out Mr. Valentine Amberly Montclair, who was hopelessly far above her socially, and far too proud to marry beneath his own rank. A man who had at first been overwhelmed by gratitude, but who was fast recovering his quick-tempered arrogance as well as his health, and had now very obviously decided to amuse himself by flirting carelessly with the notorious widow while awaiting the arrival of his highly born love. If she did not overcome this weakness it would surely destroy her every happiness. Montclair must leave! One word breathed to Andy, and he would be gone, and she would be safe. Yes, that was her only hope. She would speak to her dear brother. Soon. But—not today.

  She thought wistfully of how gallantly Valentine had borne his suffering. How seldom he had complained, or asked the smallest consideration. How inexpressibly dear had been the light in his dark eyes just now, the tenderness in the deep voice … Tenderness from a man who had wanted to run away with poor deceived Miss Trent.

  Priscilla said plaintively, “Hasn’t you done lookin’ at them yet, Mama? You been lookin’ an’ lookin’ and you get drearier an’ drearier, an’—”

  “Oh!” gasped Susan, returning to the warm and fragrant kitchen, and her patient little daughter sitting beside her at the immaculately scrubbed table. “I am so sorry, darling. Mama was sleepy, I expect.”

  “You din’t look sleepy, Mama. You looked drearier an’—”

  “Yes.” Avoiding Mrs. Starr’s sharp eyes, Susan said hurriedly, “Er, well. Where was I? Oh—this is the tale of five small elves…”

  12

  With typical inconsistency the weather reversed itself. Sunday morning dawned fair and bright, the sun beaming down upon the drenched meadows, flooding Highperch Cottage with radiance, and turning the river into a diamond highway.

  Montclair awoke refreshed from a good night’s sleep, cheered by the feeling of reviving strength, but in a black humour. Deemer came to tend to his needs and shave him. The mild little man was agreeable but, as usual, uncommunicative. Montclair thanked him profusely for his kindness, and Deemer left, murmuring shyly that he was only too glad to help anyone in trouble. “Always provided,” he added with a sudden sharp look, “that they don’t bring trouble down upon those I care about.”

  Montclair smiled, and said nothing, but he was irked. He’d gone out of his way to express his gratitude, and the fellow had turned on him. If these people didn’t have enough gall for an army! H
ere they were living in his house illegally, and they had the confounded brass to set him down when he’d done nothing. Only look at the widow, sulkily avoiding him yesterday and again today, having chosen to behave as if he’d attempted to rape her, rather than simply just holding her for a minute … Her hair had felt like cool silk, now that he came to think of it … And her skin was so clear and fair … And very likely she was Imre Monteil’s fancy piece. He scowled. The sooner he was back at Longhills, the better. At least, he knew where he stood there.

  He reached for the crutches. It was difficult to fasten the strap about his right arm, but he struggled stubbornly, and at last was hobbling about. Twice he almost fell, and after half an hour he was not only worn out, but both his head and his leg were aching fiercely. Still, he lowered himself awkwardly onto the chaise longue before the windows with an exclamation of triumph. He had managed alone. He had got himself across the room and back, having had to bother no one!

  Exultant, he leaned back, catching his breath. The breeze blew the curtains inwards, and brought with it the fragrance of blossoms. A swift flashed across the open windows and a blackbird was singing a glorious Sunday hymn. Montclair’s ears perked up to those liquid notes. He wondered who played the organ in church on Sundays these days. For the past ten years, since he’d turned seventeen, it had been his pleasure to perform that small duty whenever he was in Gloucestershire. He looked down at the splinted and bandaged right hand, wondering if he would ever again be able to play competently. Once more he tried to move the fingers, but they were stiff and useless. Surely, after all these weeks—

  “It’s not p’lite to pay no ’tention to a lady when she comes calling,” announced a prim little voice.

  Priscilla stood at the foot of the chaise longue. She had come straight from church and wore her Sunday best. Her dress, of mid-calf length, was a primrose yellow muslin with a yellow satin sash and three frills at the hem, and under it she wore ankle-length cambric pantalettes trimmed with lace. Her poke bonnet was tied under her chin with a broad yellow ribbon, and on her hands were dainty white mittens. At least they had once been white, but were now rather soiled, probably because of the very large bouquet of spring flowers she carried.

  “Especially, such a very pretty lady,” said Montclair with a smile.

  She looked at him doubtfully. “Am I pretty? Even with my specs?”

  “You are indeed pretty. And your dress, Lady Priscilla, is charming.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Val’tine. Would you like to know ’bout my dress? Mama made it. An’ she sewed my bonnet, too.” She edged closer and stuck out one leg. “These,” she whispered confidingly, “are called pan’lets!”

  “They’re very dainty,” he whispered in turn. “Did you pick the flowers?”

  “Yes.” She thrust them at him, then dumped them in his lap. “For you. Mama says you want cheering up ’cause your lady din’t come.” She sat on the edge of the chaise longue, and Montclair thanked her for the flowers and moved aside to allow more room.

  “Why din’t she come?” asked Priscilla, watching him gravely. “Doesn’t she love you?”

  “Certainly she loves me,” he answered. “All the ladies love me. I am so very dashing you know. Especially just at the moment.”

  Priscilla stared at the white, haggard face, then burst into laughter. “You look awful, sir,” she told him, with the unaffected candour of childhood. “But when you’re well, you’re nice to look at. Are you going to pick Miss Trent for your wife?”

  He chuckled. “She will be a lovely wife for some lucky gentleman. But I think she doesn’t want me for a husband.”

  “Good. Then I’d like to know, please, what your lady likes are.”

  “Do you mean,” he asked experimentally, “which ladies I particularly like?”

  She pursed her lips. “That might do, but if I don’t know them it won’t help much. I mean—d’you like fair ladies or dark ladies? An’ must they be fat or thin? And are you in a great big hurry to get yourself marriaged, or d’you think you could wait a bit? Like ten years, or ’bout. And—‘sides all that,” she added with sudden anxiety, “if it would fill you up with ’gust to marriage a lady with specs.”

  Touched, Montclair took up her hand and kissed the grubby mitten gently. “Do you say you want to marry me, Lady Priscilla?”

  She sighed and burst his bubble. “Not really. To marriage is silly and only for old people. But I’ll sac’fice myself for Mama, if it will help her to stop crying in the night.” She added kindly, “But I do like you, Mr. Val’tine, and I speshly like your eyes, and the way your mouth sort of nearly but not quite smiles sometimes.”

  “Why don’t you just call me Mr. Val,” he suggested. “And perhaps, if I knew why your Mama was crying, I might be able to help without your having to—er, sacrifice yourself. Is it, do you suppose, something to do with your Uncle Andrew?”

  Priscilla shook her head, setting her bonnet sliding. “It’s the same old thing,” she said lugubriously. “Money. You have got lots of money, haven’t you, Mr. Val?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  She looked aghast. “But—you live in that great big house! And Uncle Andy says your coat’s from a wizard, and it must cost lots ’n lots to buy a wizard’s coats!”

  “Well, you see the house belongs to my brother,” he explained apologetically. “I just live there. Er, how much money do you need?”

  “Oh, tubs an’ tubs! A hundred guineas, at least, I ’spect. So Mama can pay the bills and paint the house and have the roof mended. It leaks in Uncle Andy’s bedchamber you know, and makes him shout bad words in the middle of the night.” She added in a reproachful voice, “I never would’ve thought you’d be a big dis’pointment, Mr. Val, but you are. A hugeous one.”

  “I’m very sorry, my dear. But—perhaps by the time you’re old enough to get married I might be able to find a hundred guineas. Would that serve?”

  The small shoulders shrugged. “No, I’m ’fraid. I need it now. People make promises ’bout marriaging sometimes, years ’fore they really do, and I was hoping you and me could make that kind of thing, and then I could have the money. But—I s’pose I’ll have to find somebody else.”

  He gave one glossy curl a gentle tug. “I wish you wouldn’t, Lady Priscilla. Can’t you possibly wait for me?”

  She looked glum. “I’ll try, Mr. Val. But Mama said only yestiday that things was getting des’prit, and if it keeps on like that, I’ll just have to sac’fice to somebody else!”

  * * *

  It was with decidedly mixed feelings that Susan shook hands with Miss Barbara Trent at eleven o’clock the next morning, and ushered her into the sunlit withdrawing room. With uncharacteristic malice she had been prepared to dislike the affianced bride and find in her not one single redeeming feature. Confronted by a pale, troubled little creature with a soft, shy voice, and the expression of a frightened doe, Susan experienced a contrary and irritating urge to hug her.

  “I know how anxious you must be,” she said kindly. “But pray do not be in a pucker. Mr. Montclair is much better. I wish you could go up at once, but Dr. Sheswell is with him at the moment, so instead I shall offer you a cup of tea.” She glanced in sudden apprehension to the door. “Is your mama come with you, ma’am?”

  Lady Trent having announced resoundingly that she would sooner be seen dead in a ditch than to again be under the same roof with “that shameless hussy,” Barbara had escaped that fate. “Mama was unable to come. I brought my personal footman, of course, and your—er, I think it was your housekeeper—took him to the kitchen.”

  Susan stifled a sigh of relief. “May I tempt you to a cup of tea, Miss Trent? I realize it must be distasteful to you to be here, but—”

  Barbara blinked at her. “Because your husband shot himself?”

  Susan’s jaw dropped a little.

  “I can see that must have been very sad for you,” said Barbara. “But I do not perceive why you should be held in contempt because o
f it. Unless you drove him to it. And you do not at all look like a harpy, or—” She stopped, one hand pressed to her mouth, and said in horror, “Oh! I do beg your pardon!

  Susan laughed helplessly.

  Barbara stared at her and thought she had never seen a lady who was more fascinatingly beautiful. And that silvery trill of laughter … How long had it been since she laughed…? “It is—is just,” she stammered, “that I have been so very—distraught of late. And—and so worried about Valentine. I fear my poor mind…” She lifted a hand to her brow in distracted fashion.

  “No, please,” said Susan. “Such candour is refreshing. I assure you I did not drive my poor husband to his death. At least, I hope I did not.” She busied herself with the teapot and handed her guest a full cup complete with sugar and milk as requested. “And of course you have been distracted. I wonder you did not fall into a decline. So newly betrothed and to have Mr. Montclair almost killed on the selfsame day!”

  “Yes,” said Barbara, beginning to forget her nervousness under the spell of such warm kindliness. “It was frightful. Papa and Mama have told me he is past the crisis now, of course, but one cannot help but worry, and—they would not let me come.”

  ‘Because of the notorious widow and this house of infamy,’ thought Susan, irritated. “Well, I’m glad you have come now.”

  “Thank you. My abigail told me Valentine almost died, and—and that you saved his life. How brave you must be.”

  “No, no. I was merely the one who chanced to find him.”

  Barbara said quaveringly, “I believe his head was broken. Is—is his mind…?”

  “Good gracious—no! He suffered a bad concussion, and when he was thrown into the Folly his leg and some bones in his right hand were broken.”

  “Oh! Poor Val! He must be frantic! He is a musician, you know.”

  She looked as if she was about to cry, and Susan pointed out hurriedly that it could have been much worse. “Fortunately he did not suffer any major injuries or compound fractures. The breaks are clean and our Bo’sun says will heal nicely. The gentleman has had a very bad few weeks, I own, and it will likely be a little while yet before he is well again. But his mind is not affected, I promise you!” She was astounded that the poor little creature had known none of this, and impulsively patting her hand, said, “Oh, my dear, how dreadful that you have worried so!”