He stood watching her, and her initial joy gave way to alarm. She ran quickly down the steps. "Oh, my dear! Whatever is it?"
He stared at the hand she extended, and backed away uneasily. The glance he slanted at her was guilt-ridden. He said with uncharacteristic diffidence, "I wish I knew. My father tells me that my—er, conduct last evening was little short of disgraceful. I've a vague recollection of visiting you at your cottage, though if I did indeed, it must have been very late."
Ruth felt cold suddenly. "Yes. Of course you came."
A tremblingly embarrassed smile, and he asked, "Do I owe you an apology, ma'am? I must own I was—very drunk."
'Very… drunk… ?' Fear was smothering her happiness. But she was mistaking his meaning—that was all. He could not be saying what he seemed to be saying. Surely, he had not been "very drunk" when he had crushed her to him and kissed her with such dear passion? Surely he had not been "very drunk" when he had stammered his way through his enquiry as to whether she might have "the least interest in a rather dull dog of a fellow." Clinging to hope, her voice trembled when she said, "It does not offend a lady to know she is loved."
He groaned and threw a hand over his eyes. "Oh—egad! Then my conduct was indeed disgraceful! I beg you will accept my most humble apology. Lady de Brette and I set the date for our wedding last evening, and—and I collect I was—ah, celebrating too unrestrainedly. 'Tis unforgivable, I own, but—I do ask your forgiveness for—whatever nonsense I may have uttered."
He had half-turned from her during this disgraceful admission, and stood with his head downbent. Gazing at his dejected figure, those awful words seemed to echo and reecho in Ruth's mind. "… Set the date for our wedding… Whatever nonsense… nonsense…" Her thoughts would not seem to move past the terrible fact of his duplicity. He had implied that he loved her. He had kissed her, and all but declared himself. She thought achingly, 'All but…' And it was true that with his white face and those dark smudges under his eyes, he looked quite ill. Johnny, the dearest and best of brothers, had sometimes looked like this after a riotous evening with his friends. Was that all last night had meant? Nothing more than that strong spirits had weakened his resolve and caused him to say the things he had for so long fought against saying? Despairing, she could see again the tender light in his eyes, hear the husky voice declaring that he often stood gazing up at her window "like any moonstruck halfling."
She said slowly, "No, Gordon. You do not have my forgiveness."
His head came up. He turned to her with a wary look.
She went on, "There is nothing to forgive. Why you would try to have me despise you, I cannot know. But you will not succeed. You were not, as my brother would have said, 'above par' when you came to me last night." He started to speak, but she went on, "Oh, you may well have taken too much wine later, but that does not change what you said then. And it will not change… my heart."
For a moment he stood very straight and still, his eyes fixed on her face. Then he said harshly, "Nor will it change the fact that I am to be married next month. I'll not deny I am attracted to you. I seldom drink to excess and when I do so, brandy has a way of making all my problems appear of small account." His smile mirthless, he added, "An unfortunate illusion because with the dawn comes the light of reason, and reason says that I cannot draw back from my betrothal without scandal and dishonour. Even were I willing to tread that path, my father would never approve my union with a lady who—forgive if I am blunt—who seems to find it difficult to refrain from telling falsehoods."
It was as if she had been struck and she could not at once respond.
He went on deliberately, "I must admit I was shocked by your callous disregard of the feelings of your major." His eyes narrowed. "Or is he another of your fabrications?"
Ruth found that her lips were trembling. She whispered, "Yes."
"I see. I rather suspected it. May I know why he was created?"
Shrinking from the contempt in his voice, she answered, "You thought I had set my cap for Sir Brian."
He nodded slowly. "Yes. Well, I must tell you that my father desires that you finish your work by the end of the month, if possible. If not, he will—he will find another artist."
So she was to be turned off, after all. And only last night when she had asked if she was to be sent packing, he had said "God forbid! I could not bear it!" She felt as if she was drowning in tears, but managed with an effort to say that she quite understood.
Chandler grunted and stalked away, remarking over his shoulder that it would be better for all concerned if they did not meet again. At the door he glanced back. "So I will say good-bye, Mrs. Ruth. And—wish you well."
He did not wait for her response, but walked outside, not seeing the bending treetops and flying clouds; not feeling the buffets of the wind or the occasional flurries of rain. He felt nothing but the crushing weight of his despair, and saw only a slight young lady with a white anguished face and great eyes that glittered with unshed tears.
Chapter 14
"The thing is," said Chandler, propping up Hercules' right ear and settling his own back more comfortably against the tree trunk, "I was pretty fairly caught, at all events. My beautiful affianced has no intention of relinquishing her claim—not to me, my friend, but to Lac Brillant. The marriage was contracted, the announcement was published. She gave me grounds to draw back in honour, but—at what cost! No, I cannot have that, can I? And I cannot allow a very lovely lady to waste her dear life in useless regret. You see that, do you not?"
Hercules wriggled, cocked his head, and gave a gruff little bark. The ear slipped from Chandler's grasp and promptly bent in half again. Righting it, Chandler sighed. "You're likely right. She would not have been so hurt if I had told her the whole. But she would have… I mean, she might have kept on… loving me. She might have refused some fine gentleman—" His eyes became bleak and his grip tightened, so that Hercules whined.
"Sorry, old fellow." Repentant, Chandler stroked the dog, and was rewarded with a lick and some frenzied tail wagging.
The rain had stopped in the wee hours of the night, but the wind still blustered about on this grey morning, at times rising into gusts that whipped the treetops of the Home Wood and sent wet leaves and twigs and droplets showering down on the man and the small dog who conversed at the foot of the gnarled old beech tree. Oblivious of such minor discomforts, Chandler retrieved the ear and again attempted to make it stand up so as to match its fellow.
"We were right about the major," he muttered. "One of her fibs—rascal that she is…" Here, his voice trailed into silence and his eyes became so wistful that Hercules, sensing something was amiss, leapt up and butted his nondescript head against the god's chin, anxious to be of comfort.
"Thank you," said Chandler. "And you're right again. We must put our heads together. There will be a major—or a captain perhaps, sooner or later. She's so very lovely… isn't she? No—I'm all right, I don't need my chin washed. Very well, I'll stop being a fool… Let us, then, take the—er, dismal view and assume there will be no major for a time, at least. She must have—they must have a roof over their heads. We shall have to see to it, eh? Something legally registered in her name, that no one can take away from her. And an income, my Hercules. We must arrange an income. What do you suggest?"
Deciding that this was a frivolous question, Hercules crouched down panting, then barked vigorously.
"But why should Lady de Brette object?" argued Chandler. " 'Tis none of her affair. Our business arrangement does not entitle her to—" He broke off, his face becoming very red. "Oh, hello, Oakworth. What the deuce are you doing out here?"
"Begging your pardon, sir," said the head groom, his wind-tossed hair conspiring with his eye patch to make him look even more villainous than usual. "Mr. Tummet said as you'd come this way, and I didn't mean to worrit you, Mr. Gordon. But if I could just have a word." He peered around curiously.
"Is something amiss? What are you looking for?"
> "Why, I heard you talking, sir, and I thought—"
"Oh. Well, never mind that." Oakworth, who seldom wore a hat while at work, was wringing one between his bony hands. Wondering if some crisis had arisen in the man's family, Chandler asked, "Something I can do for you, Bill?"
Oakworth's face took on an even more hunted look. He wet dry lips and said haltingly, "I were hoping, sir. Meaning no disrespect, but—well, I thought maybe you could put in a good word for me. With Sir Brian."
"I'm sure you know what you're talking about. I do not. Is my father displeased with you?" Chandler's eyes hardened. "If 'tis a matter of Blue Ruin again—"
"No, sir! It ain't! I've swore off gin altogether, sir. Account o' me bowels cannot abide it. No, Mr. Gordon. It's about that there boy—Jacob. And Miss Nymph. And now, Sir Brian—" Oakworth's voice cracked and Chandler was appalled to see tears come into his eyes. "He's gone and turned me off, sir! And without even a good reference. Sir—I been here all me days… Please ..."
"Of course I dismissed me man!" Sir Brian frowned across his desk. "I'll not tolerate impertinence in my servants, Gordon. Particularly when that impertinence is turned upon Lady Nadia. For Oakworth to have allowed the child to appropriate the mare, and then try to lie his way out of it was downright disgraceful!"
"Your pardon, sir. Jacob had my permission. In point of fact, Oakworth was reluctant when I ordered him to saddle up Miss Nymph for the boy."
Sir Brian stared. "You did? But Nadia said— Why on earth did Oakworth not explain?"
"When he attempted to do so, he was accused of insolence. The mare needed exercise and Jacob was eager to ride with me. I saw no harm in it."
Troubled, Sir Brian muttered, "No, of course. But… from what Nadia said, I thought…" He looked up at his tall son. The grey eyes met his own as steadily as ever, but of late they held a lacklustre look and a suggestion of a deep weariness. There were lines in the strong face, besides, that made the boy look older than his years. "Dash it all," he said. "You've been working too hard, Gordie."
"Oh, I think not, sir. Lots to be done, you know. And with this confoundedly unending gale—"
"Never mind about the gale. Sit down for a minute. I've wanted to have a word with you." But after Gordon had obediently settled himself into a chair beside the desk, there was a brief silence before Sir Brian said slowly, "Cousin Bertha left this morning. I fancy that will not grieve you."
"The lady has never been unkind to me, sir. Although, she is a meddler." With a shrewd glance at his father's face, Chandler added, "What has she been saying to trouble you?"
"That you are unhappy in your betrothal. And that you have interests in another direction." He saw Gordon's hand grip spasmodically at the arm of the chair, and his heart sank. "Ah. It is truth, then."
A brief pause, then Chandler said expressionlessly, " 'Tis the custom for marriages to be arranged, after all. And these days, one seeks elsewhere for the—ah, tender emotion."
Sir Brian watched him. The smile did not reach the veiled grey eyes, and the knuckles of the hand on the chair arm were white. Shock and guilt rushed in upon him. He drew a hand distractedly across his forehead, then said in a frantic rush of words, "My dear boy, I know you think— That is— 'Fore God, all I have ever wanted is happiness for both my sons! Your brother's wife is a delightful creature, and I thought— Well, Nadia is so very beautiful, and I had hoped— But I am not blind, you know! At least, I may have been in the past, but I had never before been shown that side of the woman. I could scarce believe my eyes! I was quite taken in, I suppose. And now—this business with poor Oakworth… It begins to look…" He gulped, "Oh, dammitall, Gordie! What have I forced you into? Whatever can we do?"
Chandler sprang up. The smile reached his eyes now, and he moved quickly to grip the hand his father stretched out to him. "Do not be in a taking, sir," he said firmly. "I think Nadia's beauty has caused her to be a little spoilt, perhaps.
She has many good qualities. Certainly, she is fond of you. At all events, there is nothing to be done at this late date, and likely we shall live together happily enough if I—" Interrupted by the thunderous boom of the wind rushing around the side of the house, he exclaimed, "The devil! I must go and have a word with Swinton. I'm afraid we're in for a proper gale, and I'm not easy about the loft roof over the stables."
With an affectionate grip of his father's shoulder he was off and striding rapidly down the hall. He felt warmed by the real caring that had been revealed to him, and amused by the awareness that Sir Brian witheld a display of affection until he believed it was needed. His own self-sufficiency may have inhibited such a display until now, when he had evidently been judged vulnerable.
He looked far from vulnerable when he found his betrothed and her omnipresent brother taking coffee in the morning room and reading The Spectator. Nadia was clad in a primrose yellow robe battante edged with swansdown, a matching riband was threaded through her curls, and she looked so lovely that for an instant Chandler stared at her as one might gaze at a work of art. Giving himself a mental shake, he said curtly, "A word with you, madam."
The Spectator jerked. She put it aside and turned briefly alarmed eyes to him.
"Understand me," he went on. "We may have an arrangement—"
"One you dare not try to wriggle out of," purred Lord Vincent. "We have your signature on the marriage contract."
Chandler gave him a disgusted look. "I have already instructed our chaplain to have the banns called." He paced closer. "I will not go back on my given word, however disgracefully it was obtained, but—"
"I mislike your tone, sir," declared his lordship, standing and putting up his quizzing glass.
Chandler marched to open the door. "Out."
"Do not dare speak to my brother so," said Lady Nadia indignantly.
"You may walk out of this door, de Brette, or be thrown through it. Make up your mind. You have to the count of three."
"You tread on very thin ice, I remind you," said his lordship, forgetting to lisp and with rage glaring from his dark eyes.
"One…"
"Oh, very well, Vincent," said my lady. "He'll not dare abuse me."
De Brette hesitated until the count of "two." The look in Chandler's hard eyes convinced him then, and he sauntered out.
My lady rose and demanded haughtily, "Well? What have we to discuss?"
"Nothing, ma'am." Closing the door, Chandler walked over to face her. "I am not come to discuss, but to state. In exchange for one hundred pounds and your signed receipt for that sum in full payment of a debt owed you by— another lady, I have agreed to make you my wife. You should understand however, that I have no intention of living 'under the cat's foot,' nor—"
"Oh! How dare you?"
"—nor of having my people bullied and intimidated by your shrewish tantrums."
With a squeal of wrath she flew at him, hands clawed.
He caught her wrists, but she was strong, and one sharp nail raked his cheek. "Cat, indeed," he grated, and shook her hard. "What you need, my fancy feline, is a damned good spanking!"
Never in her pampered life had my lady been shaken. Dizzied with fury, she spat out, "Brute! I can still destroy her! Much good that note would do you if I told any prospective employers about her infamous brother!"
Chandler frowned, and she tore free and, cherishing her wrist, went on spitefully, "What? Did not your strumpet tell—" With a squeak she darted behind the sofa. "One more step, and I shall scream the house down!"
He halted, eyeing her with grim distaste. He looked strong and dangerous, and her heartbeat quickened. Truly, she had never realized how very good looking he was. And, Lud, but it had been thrilling to be handled so roughly. She said in a softer voice, "But I shall keep my word, Gordon, and not betray her secrets, unless you are—very cruel to me."
He foresaw a life of blackmail, and said with contempt, "Much anyone would care about her brother."
"No? Not even if he was Captain Jonathan Armitage?
You've a short memory! 'Twas the talk of…" And she stopped, his astounded expression causing her to exclaim, "Why, you really did not know! That sly little jade! I had thought that was how she obtained the position, by bragging of her almighty papa!"
His eyes blank with shock, Chandler recollected what Jacob had said about the painting of King Arthur, and he remembered now who had created that famous work of art. Greville Armitage! So his lovely Ruth was the daughter of that genius… And the sister of Jonathan Armitage!
Lady Nadia took a tentative step from behind the sofa. "I will be good, dear Gordon. Truly, you will not have to be ashamed of your bride."
He scarcely heard the words, nor saw her wistful little smile. 'Yet another fib,' he thought. 'Or at the least, a truth concealed. My God! How many more?'
These two days had been anguish for Ruth, her heartache so intense that she could scarcely endure it. But she fought tears, determined to hide her grief from the twins. She had issued strict orders that they were no longer to approach the other buildings, and that whichever was "Jacob" for that particular day must venture only into the garden or the woods. Their protests were milder than she had expected, partly because Thorpe was now thoroughly afraid of Lady Nadia and had no wish to encounter her wrath for a third time. Grace was steeped in gloom, and wept at the slightest provocation. Ruth's attempts to discover what distressed her were met only with tears and sighs, this lachrymose behaviour doing nothing to lighten her own burdens.
She was isolated now when she worked in the chapel. Neither Gordon nor Sir Brian ever came in while she was there, even her clerical admirer only glancing in occasionally to offer a sad smile and a shake of the head that conveyed his sorrow for her sinful nature. The only person to visit her was Mrs. Tate, who would bring her a cup of tea and a biscuit sometimes. If the housekeeper was aware of the reasons behind Ruth's dismissal she gave no sign of it, but would chat pleasantly of "Jacob" and how much she missed having him about the house.
Ask Me No Questions Page 26