Any reference to his astonishing good looks irritated him, but this was one woman who could do no wrong in his eyes, and he merely said, “Fudge! I am vastly content to have none of them at my feet!” He led her to the sofa before the glowing fire. “Come and sit down for a moment and talk to me. Gad, but motherhood agrees with you, lovely one!”
“I am very fortunate,” she said, smiling at him. “But how comes it about that you have eluded all the traps set for you, my dear?”
He chuckled. “Traps, is it? I wish I might see some.” Her brows lifted in faint mockery, and he went on quickly. “No, really, Yolande, I’ve no wish to marry. I’m perfectly happy as I am. It’s been a busy seven years, keeping an eye on my Elf, bringing Devencourt up to style—more or less, and managing the estate and the farms and so forth.”
She had seized upon the one word that mattered and, leaning forward, put her white hand on his sleeve and asked with fond intensity, “Has it, Dev? Are you happy?”
He covered her hand with his own and replied as intensely, “Yes, love. I thank you. These have been very good years for me, so do not be reproaching yourself.”
She had to turn away and found the room suddenly rather blurred.
“Tell me now,” he said, a shade too heartily, “how’s old Craig? And what of my namesake? He must be—good Gad! Is it—five? Surely not!”
“You know perfectly well it is, since you never miss his birthday! And Jonas Craig is three, and baby Stuart almost a year. And all healthy and strong, thank God! And now, sirrah, what is this I hear about Don Juan Devenish and the string of broken hearts he trails behind him? Let me see now…” She held up one hand and began to count off, “There was Brenda Smythe-Carrington—”
“Who married Owsley,” he said imperturbably.
“And Deborah Grey, who they say went into a decline, and—No! Do not interrupt if you please! And Mary Lipton. And—who was that fiery, jet-haired creature…?”
“Never heard of the lady.”
“Isabella Scott-Matthias! Now, she almost had you, Dev, no use denying! And I hear whispers that she still—”
“Peccavi! Peccavi!” Laughing, he limped over to a sideboard and poured two glasses of wine. “I have only sherry, I fear, but I’d as soon not order up ratafia, if you will forgive me, Yolande. Josie will be back soon, and I’d be grateful would you keep your promise before she arrives.”
“Oh, of course. I was forgetting the time.” She accepted the glass he brought her, and noted that he favoured the right leg still. If the old wound was responsible for the lines in his face and the silver slash in his hair, she thought fondly that it had not soured his disposition. She raised her glass in response to his toast to their reunion, sipped her wine, and then remarked, “I can scarce wait to see your little ward. Josie must be quite grownup by now.”
“Oh, yes—or so she thinks. And a scamp, I can tell you. Leads me a pretty dance. The young fellows in Gloucestershire are mad for her.”
Yolande suspected that Dev was looking at his ward through the doting eyes of fatherhood. The last she’d seen of the girl she had been no more than average in looks. Still, a year or two could work wonders at that age. “Is that why you engaged a companion for her?”
“Oh, so you heard about that, did you?”
“Mama wrote me of it. I was never more shocked! Poor child—I wonder she didn’t murder you. Was she very naughty that you must go to such lengths?”
“Lord, no. Josie’s never been naughty, bless her. Only…” He paused, staring fixedly at her bonnet lying on the side table. “Well, as you said, she’s a young lady now, so about two years ago, I persuaded Mrs. G. to come to us. She’s sister-in-law to Uncle Alastair’s wife, so…” he shrugged.
“I appreciate your feeling obliged to provide Josie a chaperon, but—Pandora Grenfell? Really, Dev!”
He gave her a little-boy grin. “A bit awe-inspiring, ain’t she? Puts the fear of God into me, I don’t mind telling you!”
“I can believe it! Whatever inspired you to hire such a dragon?”
He returned his gaze to the bonnet. “Josie’s a complete innocent, you see. Impulsive as she can stare, full of joy and gaiety. The most generous, kind-hearted girl. It would never occur to her that people might—might think…” He reddened, coughed, and went on bashfully, “I expect I’m not a very fatherly type. And—living out there at Devencourt most of the year—”
Aghast, she interposed, “Oh, Dev—you cannot mean it? Surely no one, knowing you—If ever I heard anything more ridiculous! You always have been the very soul of honour!”
“Thank you, m’dear. But—tongues do wag and—” He met her gaze squarely and said with quiet gravity, “You see, I won’t have Josie touched by anything like that.”
Yolande had known this man all her life, for they had lived on adjoining estates and were distant cousins, but this was an Alain she’d never seen, and that brought her an odd sense of confusion. “I see,” she said slowly. “Well done, Dev!” And, standing, “Oh, look at the time! May we see the evidence now, if you please?”
He led her into his ward’s bedchamber, opened the clothes press, and began to rummage around on the upper shelf.
Yolande ran her eye over the line of dainty gowns. Pale pink, a delicate orange, cream, white. She asked, “Is she still as dark, Dev?”
“Oh, yes. Very.” He lifted down a large package and laid it on the bed.
“And—her eyes?”
“Very dark brown, with the loveliest flecks of a light hazel—almost amber when she’s happy. In fact—” He checked abruptly, and opened one end of the package. “Here’s the stuff she bought. I know it’s for her Christmas gown. What d’you think?”
She was thinking of a lovely Spring morning in 1816, when she and Devenish had stood in the grounds at Park Parapine and she had asked him to name the colour of her eyes. And of how furious she had been when he’d said they were blue. Resentment touched her. At once ashamed of such greed, she touched the rich pink velvet thoughtfully. “Have you found anything?”
“Went over to Rundell and Bridge this morning, as a matter of fact. Here, I’ll show you.” He restored the pink velvet to the clothes press and closed the door, then took a jewel box from his breast pocket and handed it to her.
Yolande opened the case and gave a gasp. The pendant was splendid, the great ruby flashing fire from a chased gold setting. “Oh! It’s lovely, Dev! Only…”
He prompted anxiously, “Only…?”
“If Josie was about ten when you rescued her from those wicked men, she must be seventeen now, but—”
He sighed, taking back the case and gazing down at the ruby. “She didn’t look ten to me. Eight or nine, more like. But—she insists she’s older. Perhaps she is. Sometimes, she’s just a babe. And sometimes—as wise as time.” He smiled wryly. “She tells me she is much older than me, the minx!”
“Of course. In some ways all women are older than their men.”
Devenish replaced the box in his pocket. “Well, that don’t apply to us, considering I can give her fifteen years, even if she’s eighteen! Now—enough philosophizing, my good girl. What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing at all. It’s beautiful, but—has she any pearls, Dev?”
“Hum.” He tugged at one ear thoughtfully. “She has a pearl pendant. Do you mean a rope?”
“Yes. The ruby is very striking, but—”
“I see. Rushing my fences, am I?” He grinned at her anxious face. “You’re a good soul, Mrs. Craig Tyndale. I shall exchange it tomorrow.”
She started to the door, then turned back. “Dev—you can do me a favour, if you will.”
“If I will! Name it, lovely one.”
She blushed and said hesitantly, “Well, Craig has been casting around for something to—er, to give me for Christmas. And—should he chance to mention it, you might—drop a hint…”
“Rascal! Tit for tat, eh? What am I to tell your doting slave? The Pavilion? Windsor?”
“Silly creature! No, but—that pendant might—”
He laughed delightedly, seized her in a strong hug, and swept her off her feet. “So you did like my gift after all! You shameless—”
“Oh!” gasped Yolande. “Put me down, Dev!”
He glanced around. The outer door stood open and Josie was watching them as one stunned, every vestige of colour drained from her face.
Aghast, he restored Yolande to her feet. “Josie,” he gulped, his face as red as hers was pale. “I—that is, we—”
“Yes,” said Josie in a rather faint but firm voice. “I—saw.” She put her packages on the bed and, stripping off her gloves, walked to the two who waited in frozen silence, and held out her hand. “Good evening, Yolande,” she said brightly. “How very unexpected to find you … here.”
* * *
“More coffee, darling?” Josie held the pot poised above her guardian’s cup, and yearned to pour the contents over his curly head.
Well aware that he was still in disgrace, Devenish peeped at her over The Gazette and declined the offer.
“As you wish.” She walked with her light, springing step to the small table in this comfortable parlour, replaced the pot on its tray, and returned to perch on the arm of his chair. “Now, why,” she asked mildly, “are you glowering, sir? Did that beefsteak pie we had for dinner upset your tummy?” She reached out to rest her dainty fingers on his brow and smooth away the faint lines there.
He jerked his head away. “Was I glowering? My apologies. Only—you should not address me so.”
“Address you? Oh—you mean ‘darling’?” Her eyes round and guileless, she asked, “Why? Is it not a word signifying affection? And what more natural than for a daughter to feel affection for her Papa?”
“Hmmmn,” said Devenish, and retreated into his newspaper.
“Well, dearest ancient?” persisted Josie, folding down the top of the page and viewing him over it.
He sighed and lowered the newspaper to his knees. “In the first place, it is not a term usually employed towards a—”
“A very tottering old gentleman?” she interpolated, twining a strand of his hair into an elf lock.
“No,” he answered, and watched hopefully for the dimples that usually flickered beside her mouth when he took her to task. She glanced up, met his eyes, and smiled. After a moment, Devenish recollected himself. “Moreover” he said sternly “you were not … Josie, will you stop giggling when I’m trying to talk to you?”
“My apologies, dearest.” She stood, skipped across the room, and took down the mirror from above the hearth. “Only see how lovely you look.”
He glanced frowningly at his reflection. Small ringlets hung down all across his forehead. “Good God!” he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation.
Josie laughed. “Now you’ve made it worse. Oh, very well, if we must be grim, I’ll behave.” She set the mirror aside and knelt at his feet, hands folded in front of her. “I know, dear sir,” she sighed, “that I am a great trial to you. ’Tis small wonder that you seek consolation in the arms of—”
“I did not ‘seek consolation’ with Yolande! I told you—”
“That she was panting with desire—”
“I said no such thing!” he gasped, horrified.
“—to see my pink velvet,” she finished demurely. “That was what you said, was it not?”
“Yes— No! That is— Oh, dashitall, child—”
Wrath flared in her eyes. “Do not call me that! I am a woman! Why must you always—” She flung around to present her back to him.
He reached up and with one lingering finger touched the lace ruffle that edged her neckline, and after a moment, said gently, “But you are my child. My very loved daughter, and—”
She sprang up and leaned over him with blazing eyes and teeth that gnashed so that he drew back, blinking. “Wretched! Most odious … youth! Oh, how I would like to—to scratch you!” And her hands came up, the fingers clawed and taut with her rage.
Standing politely, Devenish sighed for the second time. “Why are we quarrelling so? If it is because you found me—er, holding Yolande, I told you how it came about.”
She drew a long, hissing breath, then walked to the fireplace and stood staring into the flames. “Yes, I know. And I am not shocked because you were in the bedchamber with a married lady, if—”
Angered now, he snapped, “You go too far, miss! I have the greatest respect for my cousin’s wife, and—”
“Oh, I could tell how much you respected her. Although, I would have thought you proceeded about the business … hind end foremost, as it were.”
“Hind end—what?” he stammered.
“Foremost, Papa. Indeed, it might have proven less taxing—especially for so aged and infirm a creature—to have lifted the parcel down, instead of lifting her up. N’est-ce pas?”
“I wasn’t lifting— Well, what I mean is—”
She turned to him. “What do you mean? Not that it is any of my … affair.” She saw anger flare in his blue eyes and added rather hastily, “It is only that I worry for you—lifting such a weight.”
He grinned at that. “No cause, m’dear. Yolande weighs hardly anything.”
Her brows lifted. She sat on the hearth seat and said in a brittle voice that should have warned him, “Does she not? I had thought her rather—fat.”
His jaw dropped. “Fat?” he squawked. “Yolande?” He threw back his head and gave a shout of laughter, then sat down again, wiping his eyes and never dreaming how close he was to being thoroughly clawed. “Scamp! Fat, is it? Oh, Jupiter!”
She smiled, revealing an amazing expanse of white pearly teeth. All clenched. “I was only … funning. Truly, she is lovely as ever.”
Devenish said with faint nostalgia, “Yes. Quite the most beautiful woman I ever saw.”
“And so—warm natured.”
“Indeed she is.”
“How sad,” she said viciously, “that she chose another gentleman.”
His smile died and his hands clamped very tightly over the arms of the chair, but he said nothing.
At once, she was repentant, and with a muffled sob flew to throw herself onto his lap as she had done when she was a child, and cling to him, weeping. “Dev … oh, Dev! I am so sorry! Oh, why must I say such things? I don’t … mean it, you know I don’t! Only—I am sometimes … so afraid.”
He recovered himself with an effort, and stroked the soft curls that tickled his chin. “Of what, my little one?”
She shook her head, speechless, and after a moment he said quietly, “Josie dear, are you unhappy because we are going back to Devencourt? It is lonely and isolated there, I know.”
“Yes,” she said with a sniff. “It is.”
He frowned worriedly. “I should have packed you off to a seminary for young ladies, where you would have made friends.”
Appropriating his handkerchief, she gave a little kitten-blow of her nose, dried her eyes, and sat up, quavering, “How could you send me to a seminary, when I was a foundling, primed for the Flash House, and must have disgraced y—”
She had felt him tense and now one hand clamped over her mouth and his eyes were a narrowed glare. “Do not ever say that again!” Her own eyes widened. He went on, low and furiously, “You were a sweet, unspoiled, half-starved victim of man’s greed and savagery when I found you.”
Josie mumbled something and he removed his hand although his eyes still blazed at her.
“And fought for me very bravely,” she said humbly.
“Never mind trying to turn me up sweet. I kept you at Devencourt because—” he paused.
“Because—what, dearest?”
He settled back again and, Josie promptly cuddling under his chin once more, stroked her hair absently, his thoughts turning backward. “Selfishness, pure and simple,” he said with a guilty frown. “Uncle Alastair was getting himself leg-shack—er, I mean, married. It was time for me to leave him
in peace at Aspenhill and move to Devencourt. Besides which—”
“Besides which, you were lonely and miserable,” she put in and, feeling him tense, went on forlornly, “Not that I could do much to cheer you, poor dar—Papa.”
Devenish thought a good deal, but he said lightly, “You kept me so busy I’d no time to be lonely. What with your pranks and your creatures, and filling my poor house with oddities! I wonder my hair is not snow white.”
“Brute!” She sat up at once. “You know perfectly well that you love every single one of them.” Her eyes became very tender. She leaned closer. “Every … single … one.”
Again, he resorted to the death grip on the arms of his chair, but managed, “If you refer to Lady Godiva—I deny it unequivocally!”
She squealed, and plunged at him, her strong fingers seeking the place in his ribs that was his weakest spot.
“No!” He dodged desperately and snatched at her flying hands. “Josie—do not! I warn … you … Ah!” And he writhed, laughing helplessly as she tickled him without mercy.
Stopping abruptly, she drew from his inner pocket the prize she’d found. “Oh! Dev—what is it?” She fumbled at the clasp of the leather case. “Is it for me? May I—”
“No!” He grabbed for the case, but already it was opened and his ward’s eyes very wide as she gazed at the magnificent ruby. Furious with himself, he snatched the case away. “By the Lord Harry, a man has no privacy!”
She stood and stepped back. “I’m sorry, Dev,” she said quietly. “I had no right to pry.”
“Huh!” he grunted, standing and tucking the case back into his pocket. “I’m glad you realize it. Well, my Elf, it’s nigh ten o’clock. Best get to bed. We must make an early start in the morning if we’re to reach Gloucester by Thursday.”
Give All to Love Page 2