Never Doubt I Love

by Patricia Veryan

  A muscle rippled in Peregrine Cranford's jaw. Yesterday's appalling tragedy and his subsequent battle with the Bow Street blockheads had been nightmarish. He'd hoped today would be better, but he had not dreamed when Great Uncle Nugent desired him to call upon a distant relation that he would become the victim of so tiresome a lady. The "tour" of the innumerable historical artifacts in this gloomy saloon had taken a full hour, during which time he'd made a really heroic effort to appear interested. He had thought then to escape, but had been thwarted at every turn, and was now trapped with a glass of sherry in his hand and a strong sense of ill usage in his heart. He declared that he found it not in the least difficult to "get about," and was further irritated to be the recipient of a sympathetic smile and a murmured, "So brave! So uncomplaining!"

  "Furthermore, ma'am," he pointed out, "the rain stopped half an hour since, and the sun is shining. As I said, the general desired me to call and present his compliments, which I have been pleased to do."

  "Thus so kindly granting me the pleasure of your company, dear cousin Peregrine," she trilled.

  So far as he could unravel the family connection, the general's late wife, Great Aunt Eudora, had been second cousin to Lady Buttershaw's mama-in-law. To name him "cousin" in so proprietary a fashion was, he thought aggrievedly, taking advantage of the situation. Further appalled by her coy glance, he lied that the "pleasure" had been all his, and rather pointedly set down his glass.

  "Ah, but you are eager to leave me," she said, pouting a little. "Alas, alas! And just as I was trying to summon the courage to avail myself of dear Nugent's generous offer."

  He thought, 'Heaven help us all! Now what?' and lifted his brows in faint enquiry.

  "How well you do it!" She gave his wrist a playful little rap with her fan. "Such a proud tilt to your handsome head; so haughty a droop of your lips. Every inch the proud aristocrat. Disdain conveyed, yet with not a word uttered that might give offence! I have seen it practised by la fine fleur de la société and I will tell you that—aside from August Falcon who is a master of the art—I never saw it done better! Which is remarkable in so young a man!"

  His face flaming, he said, "Ma'am, I assure you I meant no disrespect, but—"

  "But I bored you with our family history, and then irked you by referring to your affliction, and like all proud men you do not like your wounds touched, no?"

  The glittering eyes that bored at him, and the smile that made her upper lip appear glued to her teeth held more of triumph than amusement. Almost one might have heard the ring of crossing swords; a duel she had won—thus far, at least. He met her regard steadily and evaded in a cool drawl, "I believe you referred to an offer the general had made?"

  "And I am properly set down. Bravo!" Her laugh set his teeth on edge. She said in that too-loud bray of a voice, "No, my fine gallant. You did. Never say you have forgot, naughty one. The general commanded you to be of service to me. That was what you told me, I think?"

  "But, of course, ma'am." Dreading her answer, he enquired, "Have you a commission for me?"

  "Just a very… teensy one. But—No! Not for the world would I interfere with the far more important demands on your valuable time! So you are free to go." She sighed. "Even though our visit has been sadly brief. "Or so it has seemed to me, at least."

  It was neatly done and without a shred of sincerity, for she knew perfectly well he was bound to follow his great-uncle's wishes. He said, " 'Twould be my very great pleasure to serve you, ma'am. Indeed, the general would be vastly put out did I fail you. Providing, of course," he added as a last resort, " ''Tis within my power."

  "Ah! I knew breeding would prevail! Bless you, dear boy! I feel sure you will not be overset in granting my wish, and you will bestow a great favour upon an unhappy child, besides!"

  That didn't sound too bad; he liked children. Brightening, he desired to know how he might be of assistance.

  " 'Tis an all too common tale." She shook her head mournfully. "A second marriage; an unwanted child. Neglect. Unkindness. All cunningly concealed, of course, for the family is prominent in the county society. But I saw, for there is little escapes me, I promise you!"

  He had no doubt of that fact, and began to wonder uneasily if he was expected to adopt some unfortunate waif.

  "I rescued the poor little gel," my lady went on. "Brought her to Town and have provided for her. But she is lonely, and has lost all her friends, of course. I promised to take her for a drive this afternoon to see some of the city. And now, I am summoned by an ailing dependent and must disappoint her. She will be heartbroken. I was wondering…" She fixed him with one of her arch smiles.

  Ineffably relieved, Cranford said, "If I would conduct her about? Why, 'twould be a pleasure, ma'am." He stood. "Would half-past two o'clock be convenient?"

  Zoe sat at the escritoire in her bedchamber and frowned over the notes she'd made. Lady Buttershaw's instructions that she must give a clear account of what she'd seen of yesterday's accident had begun to worry her, and she'd realized that some of her recollections were hazy at best. In an effort to organize her thoughts she'd written down her impressions, and now, reading over what she'd written, she was troubled.

  Watching her, Gorton asked, "Is it that you are still too overset, Miss? Perhaps you should not go out driving this afternoon."

  Zoe's brow cleared. "Oh, no. Thank you, Elsie, but truly I am feeling much better today, and besides, 'twill take my mind off. . . things. There is so much I long to see, and Lady Buttershaw promises to take me to St. Paul's, and the Tower, and Westminster Abbey, and Convent Garden, and—all the places I have so looked forward to seeing!"

  Gorton laughed. "La, Miss! You'll never see the half of them in one afternoon! But Ay had best get you changed now. Her la'ship told me particular as you was to look your best. Likely you'll be meeting up with more of her friends on your way."

  Zoe said nothing, but as her wrapper was replaced with an underdress of white embroidered in blue, and then a charming robe à la Française of powder blue silk was thrown over, she could only pray that she was not to be presented to more "prospects."

  When she'd nervously admitted to having been unimpressed with any of her alleged suitors, Lady Buttershaw had tightened her lips to a thin line and taken a deep breath, as though girding herself for battle. Convinced that she was to be dealt a harsh scold, Zoe had been reprieved. She was, Lady Buttershaw advised, "an ungrateful gel, which might be expected of one with no knowledge of the ton, or of proper behaviour." She'd been packed off to bed then, and had fallen asleep almost at once, awakening briefly for a drowsy hour and a light supper, and then sleeping through the night.

  She had been overjoyed this morning, when Lady Buttershaw had sent her footman with news of the afternoon sightseeing drive, "to make up to poor Miss Grainger for her terrible ordeal yesterday." She'd also felt a twinge of guilt. She had supposed when she'd been brought to Town that she was to enjoy the life of a cheap drudge. Instead, she had been given her own maid, provided with every luxury and comfort, asked very little of in return, and now, so astonishingly soon, it had been decided that a suitable husband must be found for her.

  She experienced a stirring of unease. It was rather odd, she thought, that a comparative stranger should go to so much trouble in her behalf. Unless… perchance Lady Buttershaw and Papa's new wife were not such strangers as she'd supposed. Could this entire affair have been planned between them with a view to marrying her off so as to permanently remove her from Travisford? And, good gracious, there was her naughty imagination at work again! How uncharitable of her to entertain such suspicions. It was far more likely that Lady Buttershaw and her sister had decided that Miss Zoe Grainger was a hopeless country bumpkin who would not suit them, and sooner than send her packing were taking this means to provide for her. Behind her odd humours and that dreadful temper, Lady Buttershaw must hide a warm heart, for her intention had been kind, and she very likely considered that she had been repaid with rank ingratitude. />
  'But I wonder if any one of those gentlemen dreamed he had been chosen to wed a "country bumpkin," ' thought Zoe with faint amusement. True, several of the "Prospects" had been lavish with their compliments, but her innate common sense had told her these were rank insincerities and she'd paid them no heed. She was very sure none of them was in the slightest interested in her, so it was as well that she had found not one of my lady's friends to be either warm-hearted, witty, charming, or in the least degree attractive. Certainly not to be compared to her beloved brother, or to the gentleman she had encountered on the stairs of the Three Horse Inn. Even the murderous doctor might be judged comely by anyone unacquainted with his depraved nature, and he had a vital and manly way about him, which was more than could be said for l.ady Buttershaw's collection of—

  A knock at the door interrupted her musing. Hackham advised that a gentleman had called, and could Miss be so good as to come down now.

  "It must be the man from Bow Street," said Zoe, glancing instinctively into the mirror. She was given pause by the sight of her reflection, and exclaimed, "Goodness me! I do look nice!

  Gorton said indignantly, "Well, of course you do, Miss Grainger! Except that in may opinion you look lovely!"

  Zoe smiled, and collected her notes. "If I do, Elsie, ''Tis all due to your skill, and to this beautiful gown."

  She was reminded of her bruises when she went down the stairs, but she was not as stiff as she'd feared might be the case. A footman ushered her into the morning room. Lady Buttershaw was alone, and stood at the window, looking down into't he street. She was clad in a gown of figured blue and green brocade worn over extremely wide paniers. Not a very wise choice, thought Zoe, for a long drive. Her wig was so high that Zoe could all but hear Travis' amused reaction that the lady was "a proper figure of fun." There was little of fun in the dark gaze that was turned upon her, however.

  "I have brought you here," said her ladyship grimly, "so that I may have a private word before we go up to the green saloon where the gentleman awaits. I am glad to see that Gorton had the wit to dress you in something that becomes you. Although, you are too pale still." Advancing on Zoe, she pinched her cheeks hard. "There. That is some improvement. One can but hope he is not repulsed."

  Indignant, Zoe exclaimed, "I must say, ma'am, I would think it the greatest presumption for a Bow Street Runner to comment on my appearance!"

  Lady Buttershaw stared. "A Bow Street Runner…? Ah, I see what it is! No, you are mistaken. The Runner has not yet arrived. I have instead a lovely surprise, which you do not at all deserve since you chose to turn up your nose at the peerless beaux I selected! Fate has smiled upon you, however. A distinguished and highly placed gentleman, whose wife was distant cousin to my mama-in-law, has sent a relation of his to call upon me. Is a prodigious charming and mannerly young man of insinuating address, splendid lineage, and—ah, comfortable expectations."

  'Oh—no!’ thought Zoe with an inward moan. 'Not another one!'

  "I shall now make you known to him," said her ladyship, hurrying Zoe into the stair hall. "He lacks the polish of my own friends, and has a slight—I may say very trite—affliction. But he has been properly bred up and is a handsome fellow. If you take him in aversion, you have maggots in your head, and I do not scruple to say that I shall be quite provoked!"

  She swept up the stairs, expanding as she went on the subject of her patient and even-tempered nature.

  By the time a lackey was swinging open the door to the green saloon, Zoe's heart was heavy and her only hope lay in the fact that Lady Buttershaw believed this latest "Prospect" to lack the "polish" of the others. He might thus, she thought, be halfway human.

  Her optimism was short-lived. A tall, dark-haired young man stood gazing up at a faded tapestry. He turned to reveal a rather drawn but well-featured face in which a pair of deep blue eyes held a smile that vanished abruptly.

  "You!" growled Peregrine Cranford, his dark brows snapping together over the bridge of his nose.

  Zoe exclaimed shrilly, " 'Tis the horrid doctor!"

  "What?"roared my lady.

  "I am not a doctor!" snarled Cranford.

  "Of course he is not!" agreed Lady Buttershaw, glaring at Zoe. "You must be demented, gel!" She bit her lip, and, with a furtive glance at her "Prospect," mended her fences hurriedly. " 'Mistaken,' is—er, what I mean to say. Now, if we may observe proper behaviour—Miss Zoe Grainger, I present Lieutenant Peregrine Cranford."

  Cranford offered a stiff bow.

  Bobbing an equally stiff curtsy, Zoe said, "How do you do? But, your pardon, ma'am, I am not mistaken! This is the man who was responsible for the death of that poor gentleman yesterday!"

  Lady Buttershaw's jaw dropped and her eyes became glassy.

  "'Twas an accident," Cranford said between his teeth. "As would have been perfectly plain to any but an hysterical hen-wit!

  Zoe countered, "I suppose 'twas an accident at the Three Horse Inn when you threw some poor creature's severed limb at me!"

  Incredulous, he gasped, "No! You cannot have supposed it to be—real?"

  "I am not such a henwit as you hoped, sir! I saw that—that pitiful object all too clearly! And yesterday I saw you as good as murder that poor gentleman!" She flourished her papers under his nose. "As I shall testify for the authorities at—"

  Lady Buttershaw fairly sprang forward and tore the pages from Zoe's hand. "Do—you—dare?” she hissed. "Do—you—dare to imply that any member of the Yerville family, however remote the connection, is a common criminal?" Her small eyes glittered; her features, never attractive, were now so flushed and contorted with rage that she looked almost maniacal.

  Frightened, Zoe stammered, "N-no—I never meant to—But—but, ma'am! This evil person—"

  "Be—silent!" raged her ladyship, only to countermand the order by demanding, "Make your apology—a most humble apology to Lieutenant Cranford at once! At once, I say!"

  Almost as stunned as Zoe, Cranford saw all the colour drain from the young face. She was short of a sheet, but he could not like to be responsible for her being so severely reprimanded, and he started forward. "Pray do not scold her, ma'am. Miss Grainger is sadly in need of spectacles, is what it is."

  "Who needs spectacles?" Holding the tabby cat, Caesar, in her arms, Lady Julia surveyed them from the doorway.

  Lady Buttershaw's baleful gaze darted to her. "Julia, you know very well I do not like your creatures in—"

  "Yes, and I am truly sorry, dear. Only I thought something really dreadful must have chanced. Whatever is amiss? I understood Mr. Cranford was come to take Miss Grainger out driving?"

  Cranford was to take her driving? Still trembling, Zoe was caught offstride by this new horror and could not keep back a shocked gasp. She said falteringly, "To say truth, ma'am, I would prefer not to go out today."

  Lady Buttershaw was rigidly still.

  Cranford, who wanted nothing more than to be gone from this horrid house, thought, 'And that dishes you, m'lady!' His voice icy, he said, "I think we must take into consideration the fact that Miss Grainger holds me to blame for a tragedy, ma'am. I cannot, under those circumstances, ask her to accompany—"

  The door still stood wide. Through it came Cromwell, Caesar's springer spaniel, all ears and big pounding paws. Caesar yowled and struggled to be put down. Lady Julia let him go. Ears back, he tore around the room. Cromwell barked happily and gave chase. Cranford, who had been moving towards the two ladies, tried to avoid stepping on the dog, lost his own footing, and staggered awkwardly.

  Lady Buttershaw leapt to his support. "Poor boy!" she exclaimed throwing both arms around him. "That you should have suffered such humiliation in my house is unforgivable!" She relinquished her hold on the scarlet-faced man, flailed her fan at the circling animals, and with cries of "Shoo! Go away! Begone!" chased them from the room.

  Cranford flung out an arm to steady himself against a chair.

  Zoe's shocked gaze dropped. Clearly, he found it difficult to r
egain his balance, and his right shoe was oddly twisted. She realized that although she had seen him standing upright, she'd never actually seen him walk. A dreadful suspicion came into her mind.

  Mortified, infuriated, and very conscious of her fixed stare, Cranford snarled, "Quite correct, ma'am. The foot that was tossed over the hedge at the Three Horse Inn was mine own. Or at least, what nowadays passes for my own."

  She lifted a repentant face. "Oh, my!"

  Lady Julia said softly, "Lieutenant Cranford fought valiantly for his king and country and was wounded at the Battle of Prestonpans. He is entitled to all our respect." She sat down with Zoe beside her, and waved Cranford to a chair.

  Gritting his teeth, he limped over to seat himself, resigned to endure an excruciating half hour with this wretched young female who would now be tongue-tied with remorse and would cast him the tearfully pitying glances that he found so hard to bear. He risked a quick look in her direction. There was more of interest than pity in her expression; in fact those clear green eyes were scrutinizing him with frank curiosity. Perversely outraged, he thought, 'She even lacks the sensibility to be properly ashamed of herself!'

  Lady Julia said, "Now, pray tell me why you hold Mr. Cranford responsible for a tragedy, Miss Grainger. Has it to do with the sad accident you witnessed yesterday morning?"

  Zoe's mind had been busied with the possible disposition of a certain wig, but she put that question aside. For the moment. "He was driving the coach that struck that poor man," she said.

  Cranford put in, "Miss Grainger states that she saw me racing—which I was not, ma'am! She says that the poor fellow walked in front of my carriage—which he did not! I fear the lady is given to making hasty and unfounded judgments."

  "Hasty judgments!" echoed Zoe, indignantly. "An you were not racing, how came it about that you and that black coach were abreast and travelling at a reckless rate of speed on a crowded city street when—"