Cherished Enemy

by Patricia Veryan

  A burst of laughter startled her. The colonel said, “Jove, but you’ll be a magician can you achieve that, Victor!” and the doctor looked at Rosamond with the whimsical grin that so evil a man had no business possessing. She made herself smile in response, and in her mind heard again his words to Charles … “Well, I am here. And there’s not a damned thing you can do to be rid of me! I warn you, Albritton. Be careful. Be extreme careful!”

  * * *

  Rosamond’s intention to confront her brother with what she had learned was thwarted when Dr. Victor begged that she accompany him to the barn and view the completed structure he referred to as “Trifle Towers.” She had no wish to be alone with him, but Charles had escaped somewhere, and the doctor persisted, blithely overcoming every objection she raised until, her father sending a puzzled glance her way, she capitulated.

  The moment they were out of earshot of the others, Victor’s demeanour underwent a radical change. He became grave and withdrawn, pacing beside her, his spurs softly jingling, the sun throwing his shadow before him. She noticed, as she had done several times, that he was seldom without his sword. A light dress sword today, but serviceable, she had no doubt. She thought, ‘Death walks very close to him,’ and tried in vain to be consoled by that fact.

  The silence became nerve-racking. She murmured, “You are very quiet, Doctor.”

  “The wind has changed,” he said. “I wait to discover its new direction.”

  She glanced at him curiously.

  He shrugged. “On Thursday I was Dr. Heartless; Friday, Dr. Liar; yesterday, I dare to think—Dr. Desirable…’Tis an interesting game, if nothing more. What is the mask I must wear today, I wonder?”

  “We might try no mask at all, but simple truth,” she riposted daringly.

  “By all means. Were you deep in love with Hal Singleton?”

  “Oh!” Indignant, she halted and turned to face him. “That is not what I meant!”

  “Is what I meant. Come now—play fair. This is your game. If I must answer, so—”

  “You never answer,” she cried, forgetting her decision not to antagonize this man. “At least—not with veracity. You told me that you did not fight at Culloden. You said that what you told the ensign and Captain Holt was untrue. Yet you spoke to my father as if you had really been in the battle!”

  “One can be in a battle without taking an active part, you know. Have you forgot I am a doctor?”

  Her lip curled. “Do you say you were there to treat the wounded? Yet your scabbard shows much wear.”

  “How unkind in you to remark it.” He gave her a sorrowful look. “I bought it at second hand.”

  ‘Stuff!’ she thought, and resumed the attack. “And you took a bayonet wound. Or so you claim. I suppose you will say ’twas inflicted by one of your patients.”

  “Some people,” he said regretfully, “dislike physicians. That was why I was so glad you overcame your own aversion to me.” He sighed and added mournfully, “Yesterday, at all events.”

  Before she could guard her tongue, the words were out. “You were not so glad you managed to stay awake!”

  His hand gripped hers and pulled her to a halt. Moving to stand directly in front of her, he said softly, “I am awake now. Rosamond…”

  The grey eyes that could be hard and cold as steel again held the wistful longing that wrought havoc with her. His mouth was curving to a smile of such tenderness … She thought, ‘Dare I try again? If I can make him really care for me, would he have mercy on Charles?’ Loathing his touch, dreading his closeness, she made herself sway towards him. His hands held both her arms now and, very gently, he was drawing her nearer.

  “You are much too lovely, little Sussex lassie,” he said huskily, and bent to her.

  Rosamond closed her eyes to blot out that ardent face. His lips brushed hers and a flame burnt through her. She could have wept with frustration because her wretched body must be so weak; that her stupid heart must pound and her pulses leap and every tingling nerve betray her. She was only acting. This man who held her was vicious and evil. His lips were at her ear … so soft—so devastating … She gasped, and in desperation tried to visualize Hal Singleton’s comely face. Succeeding, with an effort that left her knees trembling, she whispered, “Dr. Victor … are you really fond of—of me?”

  “D’ye suppose I’d be doing—this … were I not?” he murmured, kissing her temple.

  She shivered, but managed somehow to cling to a vestige of sanity. “Then … won’t you help me…” she pleaded. “I so need you.”

  “Yes. I rather thought that was why I was allowed all this sweetness and surrender.”

  With a muffled squeak of wrath, Rosamond sprang back, pushing at his chest. He chuckled mockingly. She felt cheapened and vulgar and, worse, knew that her face was scarlet and her eyes tearful. Mortified, hating him, she forgot caution and, conscious only of the need to strike back, drove her hand hard across his cheek. “Do you prefer this?” she demanded, her voice shrill with fury.

  He thrust back a lock of hair that had been jolted across his forehead. “At least, ’tis an honest reaction.”

  “Honest! Much you know of honesty! I think you have not spoken an honest word since you came!”

  “Then set me an example. Answer my question.”

  She glared at him. The marks of her fingers were bright against his skin; he was regarding her with a perfectly horrid grave smile. And it was all so crushingly hopeless. She felt drained suddenly, jerked her head away and started to walk on, saying in a stifled voice, “He was one of the finest men I ever knew. Brave, kind, impeccably honest—”

  “Ouch! Was your marriage arranged by your parents?”

  “I was given the right to decline, but did not. Do you think, having been given the choice, I would have agreed to be his wife did I not love him?”

  “Yes. If he had what you wanted.”

  Again incensed, she whirled to face him. “How dare you!”

  He flung up one hand. “I’ll not let you hit me again, Miss Rosa. Be warned. And I fail to see why you should fly into the boughs because I speak truth. Unless the marriage is arranged in the cradle and such details handled before the betrothal is announced, all women want something from the man they agree to marry. And rightly so, since they give their lives into his keeping. Freedom from debt; a title; protection; a nice home; children, perhaps. What did Singleton offer that you would have wed him without being in love with him?”

  “I did not say that I was not,” she panted, livid.

  “You evaded. That, of itself, was my answer. For a lady to think her man brave, kind, and impeccably honest is all very well, but it would not do for me.”

  She laughed contemptuously and said with biting scorn, “Most definitely not! On all three counts!”

  His lips tightened. His hands shot out and before she had a chance to move he was holding her arms bruisingly. A whiteness was around his mouth now. His eyes seemed to shoot steely splinters into hers and she was both afraid and exhilarated, and could not look away. He said very softly, “The lady I wed will take my name because she will be as deep in love with me as I shall be with her. She will give me her heart—not merely a tepid affection! She will take me to husband for what I am; because she’ll know that without me her life will be sad, and that she could not love any other man in such a way. What you so nobly offered was a substitute for love! Bloodless, passionless, cut and dried, promising a lifetime of kind and insipid dullness! Oh, I don’t doubt that you cared for Singleton. Indeed you must have. But I wonder you did not stop and look into the future before awarding yourself as a consolation prize instead of—”

  Rosamond’s cry of rage interrupted him, and he caught her wrist as her hand whipped up again, and held it so strongly that she flinched. Through his teeth, he said, “The prospect of a mariage de convenance has always appalled me, and I thank God that my sire is a gentleman of modern notions and does not demand such a procedure. Still, ’twould be a sight mor
e honest than your solution! The lady for whom I offer had best not suggest so melancholy a compromise, by God! Nor expect a paragon of virtue in her husband!”

  “Nor get one!” Almost dancing with wrath, she stamped her foot at him, her fingers crooked and yearning to claw his cynical leer. “How dare you—of all men—sneer and sully the beautiful r-relationship that Hal and I enjoyed? How dare you? And as for your high and m-mighty requirements—a fig for them, sir! Much chance you have of ever finding a lady who will accept your horrid self! Because of what you are!”

  For a moment she thought she was going to be shaken, or struck, or strangled, he looked so murderously angry. Then his expression eased into a maddeningly enigmatic smile and he released her. “Just so. You are perfectly right, and I apologize. I had no business criticizing what Lieutenant Singleton had evidently found acceptable. It just seemed from all I’d heard of him, that he deserved— No! I have apologized. I shall say no more of it, so do not seek to again come to cuffs with me, Miss Albritton. Your brother watches us, I see, so pray let us continue to Trifle Towers.

  White and shaking, sick with the fear that her unruly temper may have further jeopardized Charles, enraged because the evil Jacobite had managed to have the last word, and scourged by the knowledge that her own traitorous heart had again betrayed her, Rosamond longed to run away, and dare not.

  They had heard Trifle ever since they left the house, or would have, had either one of them been conscious of anything save the other. By the time they reached the stables the noise was deafening.

  Charles, coming to meet them, shouted, “I don’t think he appreciates your efforts in his behalf, Rob.”

  “I’m not surprised,” said the doctor drily. “I am not properly valued at Lennox Court.”

  Rosamond lifted her chin and walked, blindly, to inspect the kennel. Leaping against the long chain that secured him to the base of his new home, Trifle greeted her with exuberance. Her muffled “Get down!” was wasted and she was obliged to stay out of distance, which was about ten feet.

  She blinked her eyes clear and had to admit it was a sturdy kennel and quite attractive with its steep pitched roof and wide eaves, and would perhaps save the foolish puppy until he could be taught not to excavate her father’s rose garden. If ever.

  Watching her bleak expression, Charles said uneasily, “I think it is pretty well for an Unmitigated Disaster.”

  She bit her lip and answered a rather hoarse “Yes.”

  “Were I a dog,” he went on, “I’d be jolly glad of it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Rosa,” he stepped closer, lowering his voice, “you haven’t said anything? He looked—rather odd.”

  She glanced around. They were alone. Victor was some way across the lawns, striding towards the house like a man marching into battle. “No,” she said quickly. “But, Charles, I must know why—”

  “Here you are,” trilled Mrs. Estelle. “Oh, is it not the dearest little house, baby dog? Look, Charles—Rosa, only see how he loves it!”

  Rosamond stifled a groan of frustration.

  Indignant, Charles cried, “Trifle! Stop that, you uncouth varmint!”

  “Oh dear,” murmured Mrs. Estelle. “What a good thing Dr. Victor is not here!”

  “Yes,” said Rosamond with feeling.

  12

  It was as well to keep one’s eyes and mouth closed whilst one’s hair was being dressed, wherefore, as Addie strove with pomatum and powder, Rosamond sat meekly in the powder closet enfolded in her powder wrapper, and fumed in silence.

  For Charles’s sake she should not have lost her temper with the doctor. But what reasonable being could have remained calm in the face of so savage and unprincipled an attack? What right had he to ask her the question in the first place? In fact … why had he done so? What was it to Dr. Arrogance whether she had loved Hal or loathed him?

  “Try not to jump about, please, miss,” sighed Addie.

  Rosamond sat still again, and compressed her lips. And what did it matter? He was an unqualified villain and had not a vestige of justification for his cruel remarks. Well … a vestige, perhaps. The veriest teensiest vestige.

  She had been perfectly honest with Hal. Always he had known that while she loved him dearly, she did not believe herself in love. But he’d said with his understanding smile that hers was such a romantic nature that perhaps she expected more of such a state than was actually to be expected of it. The fact that she loved him at all, he’d declared with typical humility, was enough for him, and he had vowed his own love so strong that, sooner or later, he would win her to a like devotion.

  Because of her deep affection for him, this had seemed very probable. It had never occurred to her that in bestowing her hand upon him she had done him a disservice … Disservice, indeed! Why did she even bother to consider the opinions of a Jacobite?

  “Miss…” moaned Addie.

  Rosamond mumbled an apology, and promised to sit so still as a mouse. Frowning, she forced herself to examine her reasons for having accepted Hal. If truth be told, she had become a trifle disillusioned. By the time she had reached the age of twenty she had received many offers of marriage, all of which she had refused. Most of her friends were already doting mamas and had begun to quiz her because she was “too fussy” and therefore still “on the shelf.” Aunt Estelle had worried a little, but Papa was perfectly content with the status quo and made no slightest attempt to push her into a hasty marriage. So she had waited, clinging always to the belief that true love would come and find her. And another year had slipped past while she had met so many gentlemen who admired and courted her, but never one who touched her heart. Sadly, she had become convinced that such a love as she imagined was too rare ever to come her way—that perhaps hers was not the type of nature that could give such passionate devotion. And eventually she had given in to Hal’s gentle persistence because, of all the gentlemen who had offered, he was dearest to her heart and she admired as well as loved him. And because it would make Charles so happy. They were to have been married in the Spring … but then Hal had gone away to fight and die for his country.

  And now—when it was hopeless and bitterly impossible …

  “Please, Miss Rosamond!”

  She shrank into immobility and saw the haughty tilt of a certain fair head. She sneered beneath the powder. How smug the creature had looked; so sure he would captivate Debbie. Much chance he would have with that lovely lady once she knew he was a Jacobite traitor! The foolish man would never win her. Even if he escaped execution—which was unlikely.

  That last thought brought a measure of triumph, but it was a very small measure, swiftly banished. And somewhere deep inside was a quivering pain and the wish that instead of that smug smile he had instead shaken or struck—or even tried to strangle her …

  Or that he had, just once, kissed her properly …

  Addie gave a shriek of exasperation.

  * * *

  Violet Singleton was a faded lady of shy demeanour and frail constitution. She had never been a beauty, and was now inclined to be plump, but in her youth her kind and unselfish nature had won the heart of a very dashing and much-admired hussar. To the astonishment of a great many people, and the disappointment of not a few eligible ladies, Montague Singleton, who might have made a brilliant match, had instead married the quiet and far from richly dowered Miss Violet Carrier. For twenty-three years they had been ideally happy. Then, in 1743, Major Singleton had gone off in what he had said was “an advisory capacity” to the Dutch forces engaged in the War of the Austrian Succession. A few months later, word was received that he had been killed at the Battle of Dettingen.

  His widow had made very little fuss; there had been no hysterics or exaggerated displays of grief. She had simply, as Mrs. Porchester expressed it, decided to follow her beloved, and had begun to slip politely into a decline that would almost certainly have proved fatal had not Colonel Albritton taken matters in hand. He had entered his cousin’s sick-roo
m early one summer morning, and remained there for two hours. Soon after his departure, Mrs. Singleton had roused herself and ordered some solid food, and from that day, her recovery had been assured. It was believed by the family that Lennox had been exceeding stern, for that the lady was much in awe of him was plain to see. She had confided to Estelle Porchester, however, that he was “the most gallant gentleman in the world,” and that he had lectured her “with great justification” regarding her obligations to her children—obligations she was now determined to fulfil.

  When, a scant three years later, her eldest son had fallen at Culloden, the entire family entertained the greatest fears for her sanity. Once again Colonel Albritton had lent the afflicted widow every possible support, and the poor lady was bearing her cruel loss with much more resolution than anyone had dared to hope.

  The Singletons often took their Sunday dinner at Lennox Court and today was no exception. At twenty minutes past four o’clock, Trifle, leaping furiously against the horrid restraint of his chain, announced long and loud that an arrival was taking place, and a rather shabby and gigantic old coach rumbled up the drive-path with Howard Singleton riding escort.

  The Singletons were greeted with delight, and Dr. Victor was presented to the plump little widow, who looked timid and vulnerable, her pale colouring accentuated by her blacks.

  “This is the gentleman I was telling you of, Mama,” said Howard, his earnest young face reflecting frank admiration as he shook hands with the physician. “He has promised to tell us of Culloden.”

  Mrs. Singleton ventured a shy peep at the doctor, blushed faintly, murmured that it would be “too kind,” and was ushered by a solicitous Colonel Albritton to the withdrawing room.

  Charles, bringing up the rear, called softly to his cousin. “Were I you, Howard, I’d talk to Victor in private about the battle. No sense in upsetting your mama with such grisly details.”