Give All to Love

by Patricia Veryan

  Guy said quietly, “We should have anticipate it, mon cher. My sorrow is that this lady has been trapped in the er, coil, also.” He looked regretfully at Faith. “You should have been wiser, Madame, to have go with the Earl.”

  She smiled at him. “I choose my own friends, Monsieur.”

  “Is something the matter?” Coming to join them, Josie asked anxiously, “Dev—the poor Chevalier is not worse?”

  “No, no. And how does it come about you are not dancing?”

  “I will be delighted to remedy that defect.”

  The smooth voice brought Devenish’s brows twitching angrily together.

  Josie cried, “Lord Elliot! And Lady Isabella—welcome!”

  Devenish bowed over Isabella’s hand. She caught a brief glimpse of rage in his eyes, then they were veiled and he was apologizing for not having greeted them at the door. He had little opportunity to say more. Those who knew my lady well knew of her waspish disposition, but she was a very beautiful woman, her rich figure clad tonight in a striking gown of blue-green brocade, cut so low as to attract every male eye. Within seconds, she was surrounded. She was a little vexed, because her passion for Devenish was genuine, but she was as vain as she was lovely, and to be blatantly adored by these distinguished gentlemen could not fail to please.

  Keeping an eye on Fontaine and Josie, Devenish was buttonholed by the Duchess of Banbury, and by the time he escaped that garrulous lady, he was unable to discern his ward. A hand gripped his shoulder and he found Mitchell Redmond beside him.

  “Dashed fine party, Dev.” The grey eyes scrutinized him keenly. “Nothing amiss, is there?”

  “No, my Tulip. I was looking for Josie.”

  “She was here a minute ago. Saw her with Fontaine, over—What the deuce? There is something wrong!”

  Devenish forced a grin. “Stop being a nanny, damn you. How’s that wooden head of yours?”

  “Not so wooden as you think, my lad. Don’t much care for our Viscount, do you?”

  Through gritted teeth, Devenish replied, “No.”

  “If you look at him like that, he’ll be charred around the edges before the night is over. Best come with me. There’s a gentleman wants a word with you.”

  Chapter 12

  Monsieur le Chevalier Émile de Galin was seated on a love seat in the east hall, talking with Lord Coleridge Bryce. The artist’s fair young face wore an entranced expression and, amused, Devenish thought that he might have guessed Colley would soon be drawn to this man’s side. Dropping a hand onto his lordship’s shoulder, he asked with a smile “Well, Monsieur, has he yet bullied you into sitting for him?”

  De Galin gestured deprecatingly. “I can but be flattered to have won the interest of an artist so notable. Lord Bryce is most kind.”

  “And if you will kindly go away, Dev,” grumbled the “most kind” peer, “I may yet convince the Chevalier to allow me to paint him.”

  “No, Colley, I cannot have you bullying my guests, you know. Are you aware that Lady Scott-Matthias has arrived?”

  Bryce rose at once, for he was an ardent admirer of the beauty. “I am bribed into leaving you, sir. But do not be imagining yourself safe. I shall not be so easily vanquished.” With a dramatic bow and a grin, he went away.

  Devenish took his place. “I believe you wished to see me, sir? I trust you are feeling yourself?”

  The grave dark eyes fastened upon his face with an odd intensity. “It is my desire, Monsieur, to be with you very—how is it?—above the board. Since arriving at your house I have sustained a great shock. You will, I pray, forgive my inexcusable behaviour, and allow that I may call upon you within the few days.”

  “It would be my pleasure, but we can have a talk tomorrow if you will consent to overnight with us.”

  “Merci beaucoup, but that is, I regret, not possible. Would Thursday next be convenable?”

  They agreed upon a time and then the Chevalier was captured by the Countess of Carden, and Devenish returned to the ballroom in search of his ward.

  Josie, however, had been taken in to supper by John Drummond, who had noted the way both Cahill and Fontaine looked at her, and had decided to allow no grass to grow under his feet. Having shepherded his lady to a small corner table of the noisy dining room, he saw that she was comfortably seated, and hurried to gather two plates of delicacies. Returning with his spoils, he told her that this was far and away the jolliest ball he ever had attended.

  Josie thanked him. “I hope Dev shares your opinion, John. I had thought he appeared a trifle harried a little while ago, had you?”

  “I cannot say I’d noticed, but that was probably because I was looking at you, not at your father.”

  She laughed. “Dev is not my father. You know very well we are not at all related.”

  “Well, he has been like a father to you, and I must be eternally grateful to him for rescuing you and allowing you to bloom into the exquisite lady you— Heavens! Have I offended?”

  She nibbled at a cheese puff, and lied, “No. Only you sound like Lord Elliot. Has he been instructing you as to how to captivate the ladies?”

  “I am interested in only one lady,” he declared ardently. “Josie, I must—” Here his ardour got the better of him; the pastry he held shattered and shot over the table. Aghast, he gazed at a large piece that had taken up residence in his lady’s champagne glass. Josie sternly suppressed a dimple and began to chat about the beauteous Lady Isabella.

  “Yes. Very lovely, but—I want to talk about you. No—do not try to turn me aside, I beg of you. Devenish said you were upset and I should not speak, but—”

  “Then I think you should heed him, Cousin John.”

  “I dare not. You are beset on every side.” He reached across the table to grasp her hand and said desperately, “You must know how I feel. I love you, my dearest girl. Dev said I may pay you my addresses, and—”

  She stiffened. “But I understood you to say he cautioned you against—”

  “Only because he thought you were upset. You do not seem to be upset, so—”

  “But I am,” she alleged, grasping at straws. “John dear, I am so grateful for your affection. Indeed, I could not wish to be held in such regard by a nicer boy, but—”

  Frowning, he intervened, “I am almost five and twenty, and—”

  “And kind and gentle and courteous. And will therefore exercise all three qualities, and not persist with—with—”

  “With a declaration that would be unwelcome. Is that it?”

  His face was a little flushed now, his eyes glinting with hurt and resentment. Josie saw several people glance their way, and she murmured, “Hush—you will be heard. And, John—you know very well that your papa would not approve your offering for someone of no family.”

  “I admire and respect my father, and would do all in my power not to hurt him, but in this I must retain the right to decide for myself. Josie, if that is your only objection…?”

  He looked so eager now, and he was such a very nice young man. She pointed out gently, “It is a powerful objection, John. Your parents have been very good to me for all these years since Dev took me under his wing. I have been accepted by them as though I truly were one of the family. Do not now ask me to bring them distress.”

  His attempt to remonstrate was interrupted as Jeremy Bolster, having noted the intensity of their conversation and guessed at its cause, wandered up and warned Drummond he was not going to have the belle of the ball all to himself. “I was obliged to l-leave Mandy at home,” he said dejectedly, “so I cl-claim the right of a lone and l-l- l-l- abandoned guest, Josie, and shall join you.”

  Perfectly aware that Drummond could cheerfully have strangled him, he saw relief in Josie’s dark eyes, and with a covert wink at her, drew up a chair.

  * * *

  “I simply never heard of such a thing, Wolfe,” said Devenish. “You’ve likely had far more experience than I. Is it possible for champagne to become tainted?”

 
The old man had a few ideas of his own, including a suspicion that some of the bottles he had opened had already been opened and cunningly re-sealed. However, to voice his thoughts would only bring more worry down on the head of a man he often wished to be visited by some dire peril so that he might charge to the rescue. Therefore, he said he believed this circumstance was fairly common and, blithely uttering falsehoods that would have curled the hair of any self-respecting vintner, asserted that if the bottles had been improperly cleansed or an error made in the ageing process, customers could be made ill upon imbibing the brew. Devenish left him, somewhat cheered, and went to look in on Cornish. The footman was looking rather owly-eyed and said he’d fair sniffed hisself boozy, but was not going to abandon his task. Devenish thanked him, assured him that his devotion to duty would not go unrewarded, and turned to find Mrs. Robinson at his elbow. The housekeeper warned that they had now run out of room, and if more unexpected guests arrived with the need to remain overnight, it would be necessary that some people share accommodations.

  “Good Lord! Cannot do that,” he cried, appalled. “What about the servants’ quarters?”

  “Full as a squirrel’s cheeks, sir. And I’ve had to put some of our people in the outside servants’ quarters, at that.”

  He shook his head worriedly, but told her it was unlikely that any more guests would arrive since it was already half-past eleven o’clock.

  On that optimistic note, he repaired to the ballroom. He was unable to locate Josie, nor could he see Fontaine’s glowing curls. Anxiety seizing him, he wandered along the hall. There was no sign of either of his quarries. He crossed the Great Hall rapidly and turned down the east wing. This corridor was quiet, most guests keeping to the other side of the house. From a small ante room he heard a sudden shriek, however, and a moment later the door flew open and Hortense Barrington, the pretty but rather foolish daughter of a widowed diplomat, made a decidedly precipitous exit. She was pale and agitated, and tugging at the strap of her gown. She blushed scarlet when she saw Devenish, gulped something in a tearful way, and all but ran off.

  Lips tight, Devenish strode inside. He immediately located one of those he had sought, wherefore his concern for the other could be abandoned, but that a guest in his home should be embarrassed was galling. Swinging the door shut behind him, he said a clipped, “Miss Barrington seemed distressed.”

  Elliot Fontaine chuckled and smoothed his rumpled curls. “She’s a silly widgeon, but a pretty one. If her papa don’t keep a tight rein on her, why, all’s fair, eh?”

  “Not,” said Devenish, “in my house.”

  That strangely reptilian movement of the head brought Fontaine’s eyes around to him. “Come on, Dev. Never be so stuffy. I’ll warrant you’ve had your share of slaps and tickles. Josie certainly—”

  “We will not discuss my ward, if you please. Save that I’ll tell you to keep away from her. She’s not for you, Fontaine.”

  The Viscount was taller than Devenish but, oddly, he felt as though the other man regarded him from an immense height. It was an unfamiliar sensation and he was too proud to accept it with equanimity. “Perhaps you will be so good as to tell me for whom you are saving the chit.” His quizzing glass swung gently from one well-manicured hand. His lips curving into a sardonic smile, he added softly, “You are—er, saving her?”

  Devenish caught his breath with a faint hiss. “You’ll explain that, damn you!”

  The Viscount struggled with his own soaring temper. That this man, who had no title at all, should presume to criticize him had galled him for some time, and it was with an effort that he said easily, “Why now, what should I mean? Certainly, I intended no offence. What’s a little dalliance, so long as it’s—er, all in the family?”

  White to the lips, Devenish all but sprang at him. “Do not judge others by yourself, you dirty-mouthed lecher! I have never laid a hand on my ward!”

  His wrath escalating, Fontaine snapped, “You’re very free with your accusations! From what I hear, you’re the one should be more careful where you and Miss Storm conduct your—réservé flirtations.” He clicked his tongue mockingly. “A veneer of propriety at the least, my dear fellow.”

  Quivering with fury, Devenish rasped, “You … lie!”

  Fontaine tensed. It was the ultimate insult and he said with a small titter, “No really, my dear fellow. I did not see it, of course, but I am told it was quite amusing to watch you crawling around on the terrace after dark, with your hand up your ward’s dainty skirts. If that—”

  Devenish wasted no more time on words.

  * * *

  Tristram Leith marched swiftly across the Great Hall, his dark brows drawn into a frown. Dev’s rickety old butler had assured him the master had come into the east wing, but— “Oh, there you are,” he said, relieved. “You should— Good God! Whom have you murdered?”

  His face pale and twitching, Devenish managed a tight smile. “Be a good old lad and find Isabella Scott-Matthias for me, will you?”

  “Why?”

  “Her brother—er, wants her. In the gold ante room.”

  Unconsciously, Devenish was gripping his hand. Moving very fast, Leith grabbed his wrist and removed the left hand from the bloodied knuckles it covered. He said with an exhalation of breath, “Fontaine?”

  Devenish nodded.

  “You triple-damned clod. Have you no social graces? One don’t strike a guest! A fine way to cap Josie’s ball!”

  “I know it. But—blast it all—had it been you, I fancy you’d have broke his greasy neck!”

  Leith’s narrowed eyes scanned the flushed features. The provocation must have been considerable, for Dev was well bred and a good deal less hot at hand these past few years. He sighed. “I’ll second you, of course. When do you meet?”

  “We—er, did not discuss it.”

  “Asleep, is he?” Leith’s grim mouth twitched. “By Gad, but he’s not the only one. That’s why I came seeking you. Don’t ask me how, but your musicians must have dipped into your wine cellar. They’re considerably hors de combat, my deprived host!”

  “Oh, my God! All of ’em?”

  “’Fraid so. I suppose we could have party games the rest of the night.”

  Devenish groaned. “Where are they?”

  “At the lieu du crime.”

  Devenish started away, then checked. “Tris—about Fontaine.”

  “I’ll be your aide-de-camp, old boy.”

  Devenish smiled his thanks and hurried off, wrapping a handkerchief around his broken knuckles. As he turned into the hall leading to the lower stairs, a lackey sprinted from the west wing. Apprehensive, Devenish slowed.

  The lackey panted. “Trouble, sir! Come quickly!”

  “What a novelty,” muttered Devenish, and followed.

  * * *

  Josie noted when she returned to the ballroom that the musicians had left the dais and that those guests who had not already gone in to supper were milling about, renewing acquaintance-ships or conversing amiably. The room was comfortably warm, not unbearably hot, as was often the case at such gatherings, and despite the temporary lull, everyone seemed happy and well pleased. Moving among these friends, chatting with this one, being teased by the other, grateful for the variously fond, admiring, or complimentary remarks that came her way, she looked ever for a certain curly head and did not find it. Lady Louisa Drummond, with a rather searching glance, told her that she was quite devastatingly pretty tonight.

  “Thank you, dear Aunt,” said Josie, taking her hand. “And you need not look so worried.” She lowered her voice. “John did offer, and I was able to refuse without making him too dreadfully unhappy, I believe.”

  “Oh, my dear child! You know that it is not— I mean, we do not— That is … well, Dev said he had warned John off.”

  “I believe he did, but—”

  She was interrupted by a sudden disturbance at the rear of the large room. Her heart sank as she recognized a stentorian voice, and she excused herse
lf and hurried towards it.

  Sir William Little boomed, “You will do as you’re told, my girl! And at once!”

  Faith Bliss said, low and angry, “I am of legal age, William!”

  Trembling, Josie felt a hand on her elbow. Devenish, his eyes fixed on the far scene, was beside her.

  “Stay here,” he said firmly, and made his way through the curious crowd as Sir William bellowed that he fancied he was still the head of his house.

  Breaking through, Devenish saw that his neighbour, wearing evening clothes under a caped coat, had entered by the simple expedient of walking in through the terrace doors. Mrs. Bliss, very pale, stood facing her incensed brother, and Guy, a little flushed and his eyes bright, was close beside her.

  “… quite aware that people are staring,” roared Sir William. “Likely they feel just as I do!”

  “What a fellow you are, Little,” drawled Devenish, “to cause a scene at my ward’s ball. If you have something to discuss with your sister, allow me to show you to a room where you may be private.”

  “Aye, you’d like that I do not doubt,” snarled the Squire, turning on him. “A fine thing that you’ve encouraged this damned traitor to lure m’sister away against my wishes, and—”

  “Pardon, Monsieur,” Guy’s voice cut icily through that accusation. “You have neither the right to name me traitor, nor to remark that Mrs. Bliss I have lured. Neither of these things I have done!”

  His face dark with passion, Sir William boomed. “I make my apologies to you, Miss Storm. As for you, Devenish, by God, but you number some dirty dishes amongst your friends, sir!”

  A ripple of excitement was followed by an expectant hush. All interest in the dance had faded, but an odd shift was taking place among the guests. Jeremy Bolster and Harry Redmond, conspicuous in their military scarlet, quietly ranged themselves near Guy and Faith. As if taking up the gauntlet, Lord Ridgley, the Earl of Harland, Lord Westhaven, Sir Ivor St. Alaban, and Lord Owsley drifted closer to Little. From the corner of his eye, Devenish saw Justin Strand and Mitchell Redmond striving to come through the throng. He thought, ‘All we need is a pitched battle at my little one’s party!’ And he said with spurious calm, “What you think of my friends can scarcely be of interest to the rest of us, sir, and—”