Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns

by Patricia Veryan

  Chapter XI

  When the explanations and introductions had been made Vaughan was invited to stay for tea. In the absence of their groom he took his mount to the barn and tended to its needs with the swift efficiency learned by all those who had been members of the Duke of Wellington's dauntless cavalry.

  When he returned to the house the younger ladies and the pile of washing had disappeared somewhere. Mrs. Cordova was in the kitchen and offered a curtsy so deep and flourishing that he was taken aback, but with the paint removed from her face, she looked far less frightening. Despite her odd appearance he was astonished to find a lady of Quality working in the kitchen, but there was no doubt that this was a very unconventional household. Mrs. Cordova seemed not at all disconcerted by his presence but bustled about making preparations for tea, and chattering endlessly about his uncle, John Moulton, of whom she spoke very highly. Enquiring after Lord John's bride, Lady Salia, she smiled nostalgically at the tea strainer, and murmured, "She was of the gypsies, I know, but such a beautiful creature." Before he could comment, she burst into song. "She has healing hands of green. But through my window she's not seen!"

  He had not the faintest notion of how one responded to such odd behaviour and was murmuring a feeble, "How—ah, nice," when to his great relief Miss Warrington reappeared and ushered him into the drawing room. She had changed for dinner and he thought her very pretty in a white gown trimmed with red velvet. A moment later her sister arrived, and his breath was snatched away. In a gown of primrose and gold, with a golden fillet threaded charmingly through her dark curls, Miss Fanny was so dazzling that he was scarcely able to respond properly when Mrs. Cordova left them, saying she had to "make some necessary repairs."

  ''You must think me a proper cloth-head," said Vaughan, taking the cup of tea Fanny offered. "I can only plead that I should have recognized Miss Warrington at once save that the light was rather dim, and—er—"

  ''And one sees what one expects to see," said Marietta, adding a log to the now merrily blazing fire. "You could not have expected to see me here, and considering the way I was dressed I'm not surprised that you were confused."

  Miss Fanny's big hazel eyes laughed into his as she proffered milk and sugar. A dimple flickered at the corner of her mouth reminding him that he was staring again and had not replied to her sister's remark. He said hurriedly, "You are very kind, Miss Warrington. I'll confess I'd not known you had removed from Town."

  ''We have suffered reverses, you see," explained Fanny in a frank, unspoiled way that he thought enchanting. "We lost our own home and in fact this house is only leased."

  ''I would never have guessed," he declared staunchly. "Leased homes are so often rather stark, whereas this is perfectly charming." And indeed, now that the candles were lit and firelight warmed the room, it was very different. So different that had he been offered the choice of any mansion in the land at that moment, he would have wanted to be nowhere else.

  'It is a nice house," said Marietta, taking a seat nearby. "But I can appreciate what a great shock it was for you to come upon my aunt's—er, 'friends' in a darkened room in the middle of a thunderstorm."

  ''Oh, a very great shock," said Fanny demurely.

  He grinned. "You had a jolly time laughing at my consternation, Miss Fanny. If I had suffered a heart seizure, you'd have been sorry!"

  ''How could I help but laugh?" she countered. "You looked so funny, and clearly feared you'd wandered into a mad-house."

  ''And indeed we would have been very sorry," said Marietta, quite aware of the becoming blush on her sister's cheeks and the mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "I promise you the figures were not made with the intent of alarming people, but to console my aunt. She misses her friends, you see."

  Fanny said, "I expect you think it odd that she pretends they're really here, chatting with her."

  It seemed to him excessively odd but he said heartily, "Now that I see them in a better light I have to say the likenesses are remarkable. Miles Cameron especially. You'll have to make a change though; Miles was promoted. And about time!"

  This news was received with delight. "He's a charming gentleman," said Marietta. "A close friend of your cousin, Lord St. Clair, unless I mistake it. Were you all at Waterloo?"

  ''Lucian and Miles were. I was knocked down at Quatre Bras, so can't claim the distinction of having survived the big battle." He paused, a far-away look creeping into his dark eyes.

  Marietta was reminded of just that same haunted expression in Diccon's eyes when he'd spoken of Waterloo.

  Fanny said earnestly, "I think most people think of Quatre Bras as being a part of the battle. You may be sure we are all very proud of the men who fought for us so bravely."

  Touched, Vaughan flushed and stammered that although his own participation had been minimal, there were countless splendid fellows who deserved such accolades.

  ''No such thing!" Mrs. Cordova surged into the room clad in an impressive purple gown and a turban in which a single rather threadbare feather soared skyward. "Lucian St. Clair never tires of telling people that you saved his life," she went on, "and very nearly lost your own in the process. One cannot like a braggart, but false modesty is tiresome."

  Vaughan had stood politely when she entered. Red as fire, he wished the floor might open under him, and said with an embarrassed laugh that it was hard to know where one began and the other left off. And maligning the cousin who was as close to him as a brother, he added, "Besides, St. Clair is a very frippery fellow, ma'am. I'm not eager to go about claiming responsibility for his continued existence!"

  Viscount Lucian St. Clair's exploits had won him widespread admiration, and at this they all laughed.

  Fanny said, "I am going to guess that is why you are in the neighbourhood. Lord Temple and Cloud was also at Waterloo, and is a friend of yours."

  Grateful for this change of subject, Vaughan sat down again. He had not met Temple and Cloud, he said. "I intruded on you so rudely because I thought this was a manor called Lanterns. Am I very far off?"

  ''About two miles," said Fanny, puzzled.

  ''You are on the Lanterns estate," explained Marietta, passing a dish of warm scones. "But this is the dower house."

  ''Do you mean to call on Lord Temple and Cloud?" asked Fanny.

  In the act of reaching for a scone, Vaughan paused, looking at her curiously. "No, ma'am. Should I?"

  Marietta said, "I understood you to say you had mistaken this house for the manor. I believe there is no one else there, unless perhaps you are calling on Micah MacDougall."

  Relieved, Vaughan exclaimed, "Oh, good! If Mac's there, Diccon must be somewhere nearby." The scone was light as a feather, and he was about to compliment the cook when he saw their exchange of glances. At once apprehensive, he said, "Something is wrong, I collect. Never say Diccon has met with another accident."

  ''Oh, several," said Fanny.

  Watching him over the rim of her teacup, Mrs. Cordova said, "That disturbs you. Are you close friends?"

  ''I think not," Fanny interpolated. "When Mr. Vaughan arrived he called the Major a traitor."

  Vaughan said tersely, "Your pardon, ma'am, but I said 'trader,' not 'traitor.' And we are indeed friends. Is he badly hurt this time?"

  Marietta answered, "Fortunately, not," and hid her surprise that even his friends did not know of Diccon's title.

  Less tactful, Fanny exclaimed, "But if you are his friend you surely must know that Diccon Paisley is Lord Temple and Cloud?"

  Vaughan stared at her speechlessly. Then laughter gleamed in his eyes. He said, "Miss Warrington, I think someone has been hoaxing you."

  Mrs. Cordova sighed. "I fear you are right, Mr. Vaughan. On more counts than one."

  ''Of all the chawbacons!" exclaimed Vaughan stretching his cold hands to the kitchen stove at Lanterns. "How could you not have expected it would pass to you? After your great-uncle's death surely you realized it was a possibility?"

  Diccon tilted his chair backward, se
ttled his spurred heels on the kitchen table, and regarded his friend drowsily. "With one great-uncle, one uncle, and two cousins between me and the title, why should I suspect that illness would claim two, the war another, and a hunting accident the last?"

  ''Even so, anyone who turns down a proud and ancient title such as yours should be placed under strong restraint!"

  ''Did you gallop all the way from Town to give me that unwanted opinion? Or have you joined the ranks of treasure hunters?"

  ''Treasure?" Vaughan sat straighter. "What treasure? I demand that you tell me at once!"

  Diccon groaned and appealed to MacDougall, who was busied with potatoes at the sink. "I can't bear it. You tell him, Mac."

  The Scot obliged, inserting several pithy opinions of his own which made Vaughan chuckle and Diccon swear. When the tale was told however, Vaughan's eyes were alight with enthusiasm. "What a jolly good hunt we'll have! Is that why you're here, Major, sir?"

  ''Oh, no," said Diccon mildly. "I came to murder my mama so as to get my hands on my inheritance. Past time, wouldn't you say?"

  MacDougall threw down the potato and waved his hands in the air, muttering a furious burst of Gaelic at the ceiling.

  Vaughan watched Diccon uncertainly, then laughed. "Long past time. I'll keep your ghoulish secret provided you do not give me the room in which the poor lady is buried 'neath the floor' boards."

  Diccon's rare and brilliant grin was slanted at him. "You'd be better advised to go back to Greenwings, Joss. Ti Chiu is fouling our good Sussex air."

  ''Ah," said Vaughan, sobering. "So you know."

  ''Did you come to warn me?"

  ''I did. How did you find out?"

  ''He found me. Broke in here a few nights back and we had a slight tussle."

  More Gaelic rumbled from the direction of the sink.

  ''And you're alive?" said Vaughan, incredulous. "I thought you looked a shade wrung out, but the great lout must be losing his power. Last time we encountered him he levelled… how many of us?"

  ''Six, or was it seven? But I think he came here only for The Sigh of Saladin, not for me. If he'd recognized me…" He shrugged.

  ''It would be a case of 'de mortius nil nisi bonum,' " said Vaughan lightly. "So you want to run me off from a jolly good adventure! Blister it, Diccon! That you have survived to the ripe old age of three and thirty astounds me, but the fact that you're six years my senior don't make you my grand-papa, so stop being a marplot!"

  ''My good idiot, in the spring we spoiled Imre Monteil's scheme to make off with a fortune in stolen objets d'art. We extricated his chosen lady, who is—"

  ''Who is to become Mrs. Valentine Montclair next month. I brought your invitation, by the way."

  Diccon's eyes brightened. "Did you, by Jove! That's good news! Which doesn't alter what I was saying. Between us, we ruined and infuriated a very dangerous man, and he swore vengeance on—"

  ''On all of us. After you let him get away!"

  ''I let him—" Diccon swung his feet down from the table and said indignantly, "Devil take you, Vaughan! I did my damnedest to—" He checked, glared, then said reluctantly, "Well, I suppose you're in the right of it. I did. The more reason—"

  ''For me to tuck my tail 'twixt my legs and scamper off, eh? What good would that do? After they dealt with you, they'd come after me, sure as check! There's safety in numbers, my tulip." Vaughan raised a silencing hand as Diccon started to speak, and added airily, "Besides which, I've a far more compelling reason to stay at your tumble-down ancestral pile."

  Diccon knew that dreamy look. Incredulous, he shook his head. "So soon? Ye Gods! Can I believe it? You've found another 'one and only'!"

  ''I've found the only one, rather. Oh, I know you're not in the petticoat line, but how can you live so near to the exquisite Miss Warrington and not have noticed how glorious she is?"

  For a moment Diccon watched him levelly and in silence. Then he said quietly, "She is much admired."

  ''Admired! She should be besieged by men who would adore her! Worship her! Be honest now—have ever you seen such a beautiful lady?"

  ''Once. A long time ago."

  Remorseful, Vaughan exclaimed, "Gad, what a clumsy clod I am! My apologies, old fellow! I shall say no more about it."

  Diccon gave a dismissive gesture, and there came a muffled grunt from the sink.

  Typically, Vaughan was able to control his exuberance for only a moment, then he burst out: "But having loved, you can understand how I feel, can't you? Those sparkling eyes. The shapeliness of her. The pretty way she has with her little laugh, and her soft voice. Can you wonder that I took one glance— well, very few—and was enchanted? She is a fairy-tale princess, personified!"

  Diccon wandered over to push more wood into the stove, then stood gazing down at it.

  Very quiet now, MacDougall turned from the sink and watched him.

  ''Do you mean to court her?" asked Diccon.

  ''I mean to win her! And I shall! Uncle John and Salia will adore her, don't you agree?"

  ''Yes."

  ''And she will love Greenwings, surely?"

  ''It's a beautiful old place."

  Vaughan glanced at his friend's broad shoulders uneasily. "You have reservations, I think. Oh, Jupiter! Is she bespoken? Have I formidable competition? I'd the strongest feeling that she was as much affected as I."

  Diccon's fist clenched hard. "Of course you have competition," he said harshly, turning to face the dismayed younger man. "You saw her beauty and her gentleness. Did you also have time to consider her courage? Did you stop to think how hard it has been for a gently bred-up girl to be reduced to living in near poverty? To have to juggle duns and try to outmanoeuvre an irresponsible brother and a foolish spendthrift father? I think her greatest fear is that she may not be able to keep them all together, but thus far she has contrived, and managed also to keep a cheerful spirit and not go about bemoaning her lot. She is as valiant as she is beautiful, and she deserves the best, Joss. The man to claim her must offer her comfort and a release from worry and care. And above all—undying love and constancy."

  Astonished, Vaughan exclaimed, "Be dashed! Who'd have suspected a fire-eater like you to spare a thought for such things? I'm glad you approve. At least…" His brow wrinkled suddenly. "I think you approve. Was that a low lance you just hurled? About—constancy? I may have fancied myself in love a time or two, but—"

  ''Or a dozen!"

  A frosty note came into Vaughan's voice. "You have a list, perhaps?"

  ''Devil I do! But from what I've heard there was a beauty in Spain—something to do with a bullfighter, I think St. Clair said. And several other 'one and onlys' whilst you were in the cavalry. Then came the beauty Rich Saxon eventually married—"

  ''Felicity Russell," said Vaughan, grim-lipped now, and coming to his feet to stand very straight, as though in a tribunal. "And Alicia Wyckham, whom I would have wed, only she changed her mind. I know now that I gave my heart to not one of those lovely creatures. Nor did any of them suffer at my hands, I promise you. Can you claim as much?"

  The flush drained from Diccon's face leaving him very pale. For a moment the guards were down and his eyes betrayed him. He ducked his head and turned away. "No," he said in a hoarse half-whisper. "You are—perfectly right and—"

  But Vaughan had seen that stricken look, and with a muffled exclamation he sprang to clap an arm about the other man's shoulders. "I had no right at all! I'm a hasty-tempered, brawling maggot-wit and don't deserve my friends. You know my faults and naturally fear for the lady… and—" Glancing past Diccon, he encountered MacDougall's eyes. The Scot, he knew, had always liked him, and the glare that was scorched at him now struck like a physical blow and shocked him into belated comprehension.

  He drew back, and looking at Diccon's averted face, demanded, "All right. Let's have cards on the table. Who else courts the lady?"

  Diccon sat down and said wearily, "Among others, my stepbrother, Blake Coville."

  ''Deu
ce take it! Is that make-bait lurking about here?"

  ''Yes. And about her. And there are a couple of other fellows. Neither fit to wipe her shoes, but one has money. Her father favours Coville." He gave a short and bitter laugh. "Thinks he's plump in the pockets."

  ''Ain't he?"

  ''He was. But he's a gamester. I suspect he's under the hatches. I doubt Sir Gavin knows that. At all events," he forced a smile, "you are the most eligible bachelor, Joss. I wish you— the best of luck."

  ''You lying rogue!" growled Vaughan. "You do nothing of the sort! You love her yourself!"

  Diccon linked his hands between his knees and stared down at them, saying nothing.

  MacDougall growled and strode forward, the long paring knife glittering in his hand.

  ''And your Scottish humbug knew it!" accused Vaughan bitterly. "Are you going to let him slit my gizzard with that potato peeler, Diccon?"

  ''Don't be a fool. He wouldn't dream of it."

  ''Aye. I would, that," argued MacDougall his aspect fiercer than ever. "Sooner than let this pretty stripling come 'twixt yersel' and the lassie!"

  Vaughan uttered a strangled howl. His face flaming with rage, he leapt at the Scot. "Damn you! How dare you call me—"

  MacDougall sprang to meet him, the knife flying upward.

  In a lithe uncoiling, Diccon was between them. A twist and a heave, and Vaughan hurtled across the table and took it down with him. Diccon's fingers clamped around the Scot's wrist. "Drop it!"

  All the fierce pride of his fighting clan was in MacDougall's blazing eyes. The grip around his wrist tightened inexorably, but he would not release the blade. Diccon said softly, "Please, Mac." A smile crept into his eyes and he added, "He can't help it, you know. I think the poor cawker was born in a volcano."

  MacDougall had never been able to resist that half-smile. He grunted, and the knife clattered to the floor. "It's yersel' means tae step aside wi'oot a fecht, then, is it?"

  ''I've never had the right to address Miss Warrington, much less fight for her hand."

  ''Mon, ye addrrress her every time ye look at her!"

  Vaughan crawled back into view, and peered blearily over the edge of the table. "That was a deuced fine… toss, Major, sir," he panted. Where'd you—where'd you learn it?"