“A little, perhaps.” Susan looked after Montclair, her eyes sparkling. “But he has a surfeit of pride, and you meant well, monsieur.” She saw Valentine pause in the corridor and start to turn to them. “Indeed,” she went on, smiling at the Swiss, “you came very deedily to the rescue, sir.”
Monteil’s eyes took on the brilliant gleam that was alarming, and even as she knew that she dared not flirt with this man (for whatever reason), he stepped very close, seized her hand, and pressed it to his lips. “To have been of some small service to the lovely widow is its own reward,” he murmured.
With a snort of disgust Montclair wrenched around and proceeded towards the stairs, his crutches slamming so hard at the floorboards that it was a wonder they did not go right through.
* * *
Susan’s guilty hope that her Swiss admirer would soon depart proved a vain one. The fact that she was not an unmarried damsel but a widow with a child made it quite convenable for her to entertain a gentleman in her home, and Monteil was aware of it. He was not a difficult guest, for he was sophisticated, erudite, a world traveller, and his conversation was fascinating. She suspected he was going out of his way to entertain her, and after her earlier encouragement, could scarcely blame the gentleman. As the afternoon slipped away he still showed no inclination to leave, and with the dinner hour not so far distant, she felt obliged to invite him to stay. He accepted as though she’d offered him a priceless gift, and Deemer showed him to a hastily prepared bedchamber where he might rest and refresh himself.
Not ten minutes later, Valentine rang his bell, and Martha brought Susan a message that if it was convenient, this evening he would like to take dinner downstairs. ‘He probably thinks it improper that I should entertain the gentleman alone,’ thought Susan, amused. But she was relieved also, and retiring to the chamber she occupied until her patient left, she dressed herself with great care.
She selected a gown of dark pink satin that she’d not worn since Burke had taken her to a dinner party in honour of the betrothal of Camille Damon and the Lady Sophia Drayton. That had been two years ago, just before poor Burke’s disgrace had burst upon them so devastatingly. Waistlines had dropped since then, and the pink satin still had the high-waisted look. She knew it became her, none the less, and with her hair swept up into gleaming coils on her head, and little curling tendrils beside her ears, she hoped their guests might not notice the somewhat outdated style of the gown. She added an enamelled clasp to her coiffure, and fastening the dainty garnet necklace that was a legacy from her mother, felt as excited as if this was a very special party. She discovered that she was singing softly, and she knew very well why.
He was not betrothed to poor little Barbara Trent! Far from bullying and abusing the girl into an unwanted marriage, he had fought her parents in an effort to spare her. He loved Barbara, but as one loves a dear cousin—not as a sweetheart.
Humming, Susan went down to the kitchen. Starry had left strict instructions with Martha and Deemer before she left, and the tantalizing aromas testified that dinner was well under way. Grateful that she had been spared most of the work, Susan thanked the busy cooks and went off to prepare the dining table. By the time she was finished it looked charming, with fresh flowers brightening the big table and crystal and silverware sparkling. Pleased, she went into the withdrawing room to await her guests, hoping that Starry would get back soon.
It had been a long day, and she fought a tendency to become dreamy. Montclair dominated her thoughts. She reminded herself sternly of his many faults. He personified the artistic temperament with his fiery angers and lightning changes of mood. He was argumentative and cynical and far too full of pride. But—she had also seen a tenderness in his eyes that awoke a frightening emotion in her own heart; he was all gentleness with little Priscilla, who fairly adored him, and he was brave also. When his loathsome cousin had sent him tumbling into that chair, she’d been sure he would be rendered quite helpless, and the memory of how efficiently he had wielded his crutch, and with what a thud Sir Dennis had met the floorboards, made her chuckle.
Valentine was fond of her, she knew that. Fond—or grateful for what she had done; and he was angry because he probably thought Monteil had offered her a carte blanche. She sighed faintly. Even if he didn’t believe the worst of her, should anything happen to his brother before Lord Geoffrey set up his nursery, Valentine would become Baron Montclair, and a fine uproar it would cause if his lordship stooped to wed the notorious Widow Henley. She was shocked then to realize how far her dreams had carried her, and her heart sank.
Wolfgang, who had been snoozing with his head on her slipper, leapt up and darted from the room, yipping frantically, and a few seconds later she heard the Bo’sun’s voice in the front hall, and Priscilla came dancing in, the dog leaping beside her.
Susan stood and the little girl flung herself into her arms, squealing, “Mama, Mama! I getted my new specs and I c’n see better than anybody. Do you like them? Look, Mama!” She tilted her small head upwards, posing, her eyes huge with excitement, and her cheeks bright as two roses.
Putting off the crumpled bonnet, Susan admired the new spectacles, and the child gabbled on. “We had the loveliest time, Mama. Bo’sun George buyed me a ice, and I only dripped a teensy bit on Starry’s dress, an’ there were so many people, an’ we seed the Abbey, which is big, an’ the Bo’sun said we went past Bloody Meadows, but I din’t see no blood, and Starry was cross with him for using bad words, which he said he wasn’t, but she wouldn’t talk to him no more, I mean any more, an’ he got sad, so I had to ask her to please make him not sad, ’cause I like him better when he’s not sad, don’t you, Mama? And—oooh! You look beautiful!”
Priscilla’s admiration was echoed by Mrs. Starr, who hurried into the room apologizing profusely for their late return.
“We have an unexpected guest,” said Susan.
The little lady threw a darkling glance toward the ceiling. “So I heard, Mrs. Sue.”
“Did you also hear that the gentleman rendered us a great service?”
Mrs. Starr sighed. “Aye. So we must be properly grateful, I collect. Well, dinner will be ready on time, I promise you.”
“It smells magnif’cent,” said Priscilla. “An’ I’m hungrier than a hogsbody!”
“Priscilla! A well-bred young lady does not use such ugly expressions!”
The child laughed merrily. “The Bo’sun’s not a young lady, Mama!”
“Just as I thought,” exclaimed Mrs. Starr, scandalized. “That man wants for manners, Mrs. Sue!”
“No, he doesn’t,” said Priscilla. “He wants you, Starry. I heard him tell you that by the sausages today, an’ you said—”
“My gracious, what will the child say next?” gasped Mrs. Starr, and fled, very pink in the face.
Susan struggled to suppress a smile, and watching her anxiously, Priscilla said, “Mama, Bo’sun George really did say that, an’ I don’t—” Glancing to the side, she interrupted herself. “Mr. Val! Did you see … my…?” her words faded into awed silence.
Propped by his crutches, Montclair stood in the doorway. For the first time since his arrival he was formally dressed in a brown tailcoat, cream waistcoat, and fawn pantaloons, and contrived to look elegant, despite the splints, and the fact that he was obliged to wear a slipper on one foot.
He gave a rather embarrassed grin and said, “Deemer valeted me. Ma’am, may I say you look—”
His words were drowned by Priscilla’s squeaks. “Oh,” she cried hilariously, “you look so funny in your evening dress, Mr. Val, with your pan’loons all torn, an’—”
“That will do!” said Susan, in a tone she seldom employed to the child. “Apologize to Mr. Montclair at once, and then you may go to your room!”
Shocked and frightened, Priscilla’s lower lip trembled as she offered her apologies, then ran from the room with a muffled sob.
Montclair frowned. “I fancy she did but speak truth, ma’am. I must indeed look f
unny, and she is only a child, after all.”
Wishing she had not spoken quite so harshly, and all too aware of the reason, Susan said, “She must learn it is not proper for a child to speak so, but I wish I had not—” She smiled wryly. “But it does not do to turn about, you know, when the damage is done.”
“Or the good,” he said with an immediate answering smile. “I am very sure she will exercise more caution the next time, and—who knows?—she might feel obliged to tell my uncle his—er, nether garments looked ‘funny,’ and then the fat would be in the fire!”
Grateful for his whimsical lightness, Susan chuckled.
Montclair made his clumsy way closer to her and said in a caressing tone, “Do you know how lovely you are when you laugh, Mrs. Sue?”
He looked really earnest, and her silly pulses were riotous because he stood so close and the amber flecks in his eyes were so bright. Faith, but it was enough to make one doubt one’s mental processes! “Thank you,” she said. And returning to the sofa, fighting to be sensible, added prosaically, “Deemer was a valet at one time. The poor fellow is a sort of underpaid major domo now, as you’ve seen, but he valets Andy, and very well, I think.”
Montclair had hoped to sit beside her, but the splints restricted him, and the sofa was too difficult to escape from. With a slight frown he lowered himself onto a straight-backed chair. “Yes, Deemer is a very good man. I feel downright guilty that I’ve taken so much of his time. I cannot think why Gould has not come to me. You’d not object to his presence here, surely?”
For an instant Susan froze. She said, “I must have forgot to tell you, Mr. Valentine. Lady Trent sent word that your man could not come because there is a regular outbreak of mumps at Longhills, and she fears lest you might catch it in your weakened condition.”
He muttered, puzzled, “Yet they were eager for me to go home. At all events, I had mumps as a child, so that is no threat, is it?”
“Er—no. But—Priscilla has not had it, you see.”
He looked at her steadily. “And if it had not been Priscilla, it would have been Starry, or Martha, or perhaps your brother who has not been exposed to the ailment. Any excuse, eh, Mrs. Sue.”
Her heart hammering, she said, “Whatever do you mean?”
“You know perfectly well. Come now, own up. It is very clear that your people are so overworked you have to perform many menial tasks yourself. I am greatly in your debt and most eager to help. I offer you the services of my excellently trained maids, which logically you should accept. Yet you very stubbornly refuse them. Why?”
“Well—that is exactly it, you see,” she stammered. “I quite believe that your maids are excellently trained and—and likely most superior, and accustomed to working in a great house, and—”
“Good heavens,” he exclaimed. “Do you fancy my employees to consider themselves above working at Highperch?”
“Well—no, of course not. But—well, we go along very simply, and—”
“Which will likely be a welcome change of pace for them.” Triumphant, he said, “I shall write a note requiring Gould to bring two girls he knows to be industrious and good workers, which is all we need be concerned with, no?”
“Most certainly not! Sir, there is a great deal more to being a good servant than simply to work hard. I had rather have a somewhat inept girl who is kind and can be pleasant with her fellow workers than—”
He laughed. “Ah—so that’s it! You women with your so easily ruffled feathers! Good heavens, ma’am, all they’ve to do is what they’re told.”
“And how if they quarrel and scratch at each other all day? I suppose you men would not give a button for that!”
“No, of course not. I never saw a group of females yet but what they scratched at each other, however sweetly.”
“Oh! Infamous!” she exclaimed, but was unable to repress a smile.
“Then it is settled,” he went on firmly. “Gould will bring two maids and instruct them that they are coming here to please you and do their work properly. If they don’t, only tell ’em you will report their behaviour to me and they’ll be turned off.”
“As if I would do such a thing to someone else’s servants!”
“Lord above! What a storm in a teapot! Then I’ll tell ’em! But I mean to send for them, I promise you.”
She rose, her eyes flashing. “And I promise you that I’ll have no mumpy servants here! And it is not a storm in a teapot!”
“Dear me,” murmured Imre Monteil, coming gracefully into the room. “Have you put our lovely hostess out of patience with you already, Valentine?” Smiling admiringly at the flushed Susan, he advanced to bow over her hand. “Vraiment, but I cannot wonder at it. Any man who would babble of teapots to a goddess deserves her contempt.”
His eyes smiled up at her above the red lips that were touching her fingers again, and she could have wept because by his very intervention and his unfortunate choice of words, this foolish discussion suddenly took on the aspects of a major quarrel. Before she could speak, however, Montclair had taken up the gauntlet.
“Then I must pay heed to your babblings, monsieur,” he said stiffly. “I had not thought to have earned Mrs. Henley’s contempt, but no doubt the lady finds your wit more endearing than my poor efforts.”
“I did not say I held you in contempt, Mr. Montclair,” began Susan.
“But of course, for you are too gently kind to make such a remark, even if you felt it,” inserted the Swiss, bowing her to a chair and drawing another as close to it as was possible. “For myself I count it an honour and a privilege to find a topic that will please so enchanting a lady.”
“Such as buying my house?” drawled Valentine, his eyes glinting unpleasantly. “Is that why you’re always hanging about Highperch?”
Susan said hurriedly, “I told you, sir, that Monsieur Monteil has been so kind as to put some business in my brother’s way.”
Deemer came in with a laden tray. Accepting a glass of Madeira, Valentine waited until the butler had gone out again, then said, “I gather this—er, ‘business’ has to do with Lyddford’s boat?”
“But how astute.” Monteil beamed at him. “And I did warn you I meant to offer again for Highperch, you know. Although…” he tugged at his lip, his dark eyes flickering from one to the other, “I am unsure at this point as to which of you so charming people I must approach in the matter.”
Susan held her breath. Montclair said with a curl of the lip, “There is, I believe, an old adage which says, ‘When in doubt—do not.’”
“Is there?” The Swiss looked impressed. “This, I have not heard. Merci, mon cher. Always I am grateful to learn more of your language.”
Montclair inclined his head in the slightest bow. “And I, in turn, would be interested to learn what your business with Lyddford has to do with Highperch, monsieur.”
Susan put in uneasily, “My brother moves cargo for Monsieur Monteil.”
Valentine’s eyes held steady on Monteil. “Cargo…?”
The Swiss laughed. “Ah, dear my friend, you must not take this simple thing and weave it into the so fascinating Gothic romance. I am closing my London house, and this cargo consists of some of my personal effects, merely. Nothing more sinister than that, I promise it.” He waved one of his long hands in a deprecating gesture. “But if your perfervid imagination conjures up images of my involving Lyddford and my dear Mrs. Henley”—his fingers rested lightly over Susan’s hand on the arm of her chair—“in gun-running, or the slave traffic, or something equally wicked, you shall come with me into the cellar and inspect my crates.”
Susan moved her hand almost at once, but the possessive way in which the Swiss had patted it, the proprietary implications contained in both words and gesture, plus Monteil’s continuing air of amused condescension, had fanned the flame of Valentine’s hot temper. He said tersely, “I feel sure that I must have mistaken you, monsieur. Certainly no one calling himself a gentleman would store his effects in the home of an
other, without so much as a by-your-leave.”
Susan had long judged Imre Monteil a dangerous man. Now she read a deadly menace in his very immobility as he sat there, leaning forward slightly, his unblinking gaze fixed upon the younger man. There could be no doubt but that he rated his pride high. Montclair as obviously sought a quarrel: there was an icy hauteur in the tilt of the dark head, the disdainful droop of the eyelids, the scornful twist to the mouth. Experiencing the sensation that she sat between two smouldering volcanoes, she tried to think of something to say to ease the tension.
And then, incredibly, a look of dismay banished the glare in the jet eyes of the Swiss. “Do I offend?” he asked anxiously. “I assure you, Valentine, that Lyddford gave his permission.”
“And it is purely a temporary arrangement,” gulped Susan, as relieved as she was astonished.
“Prior to your taking possession of Highperch Cottage, Monteil?” sneered Valentine.
‘Oh, you idiot!’ thought Susan. ‘Why must you antagonize him?’
“No, no!” The Swiss looked crestfallen, and said sadly, “Ah—but I have been the great fool to have supposed that as my friend you would not object. I quite comprehend the imposition. My crates shall be moved at once. Madame Henley, is it within the realm of possibility that your new men could tomorrow begin to carry my belongings down to the dock to await your brother’s return? I am devastated to so inconvenience you, but not for an instant longer must I impose on poor Valentine’s good nature!”
Wishing with all her heart that “poor Valentine” was confined to his bed (preferably under strong restraint), or that Monsieur Monteil had gone upon his way, Susan was irked to have been put in so uncomfortable a position. “There is not the need, monsieur,” she said. “Since the courts have yet to rule on the matter and we live here now, my brother’s word is all that is required. Besides, my new men are—”
“Resting, no doubt,” interrupted Valentine savagely. “You’ll get little work out of them, I’ll go bail, for all your much vaunted ability to judge men.”
Logic of the Heart Page 25