Never Doubt I Love

by Patricia Veryan

  He stood very still, very silent.

  Had Zoe looked up and seen the expression in his eyes, so much would have been changed. But she did not look up, and after a moment that was hideous for both of them she managed to say in a voice that shook, "Please—take me back now."

  Cranford rallied. "No! Willy-nilly, you come with me, ma'am!"

  Looking squarely at him then, she was dismayed by the grim line of his mouth, the hard glitter in his eyes, and she backed away. "Perry! You—you cannot force me!"

  "We'll see that."

  "No!" She danced back a few more steps. "Have some sense, do! You cannot bundle me into some hired carriage in broad daylight!"

  He paced forward, his chin jutting. "Florian and my coach are up on the road."

  She looked up the bank and saw the waiting carriage. "But—" she gasped, "but that would be an abduction! You cannot mean it! Perry, we are in the middle of Town!"

  "True, and I'll own I do not relish the prospect. But if I must, I can always claim you are my wife and are gone demented."

  "No! Please! Be sensible! I have only to scream…"

  "Yes, and every man within earshot would come running, I've no doubt." Despite the deep ache of his hurt, he managed a smile, and said persuasively, "Zoe, you would hate it, you know you would. There would be a dreadful scene, and—"

  Even as he spoke so earnestly, he had been moving closer to her, and now he sprang.

  Not for nothing had she climbed and hiked and joined in her brother's sports. She uttered a little squeal and, despite her wide skirts, darted nimbly aside. Cranford was very fast, however, and caught her wrist in a grip of steel.

  She whimpered, "Ah! You're hurting me!"

  Instinctively, he relaxed his hold.

  She wrenched free, ducked as he scowled and his hand shot out again, and then pushed with all her strength.

  She suffered a rending pang as he staggered, tripped on the uneven bank and fell heavily. But with a stifled sob, and a renewed chorus of hoots from the river spurring her on, she gathered up her skirts and fled.

  She caught a glimpse of Florian jumping from the box of the carriage and running down to help his master. People in carriages were staring in astonishment. Two apprentices halted, and drew back, gaping at her as she ran past. She could have wept with embarrassment and the fear that at any instant Peregrine's coach would overtake her, and she gave a relieved sob when she saw a vacant chair coming towards her.

  The chairmen were Irish, and they eyed her askance when she waved them down. Some pedestrians watched her curiously, and the sidelong glances of her prospective bearers informed her that they were looking for her servant. She told them in a low and urgent voice to please hurry as she must get home before she was missed. This appeared to strike a responsive chord in both Hibernian hearts. Their eyes brightened; one made a great show of opening the door and ushering her inside, and the other took up his poles and called cheerfully, "Sure, and ''Tis an affair o' the heart!"

  She told them to turn up a side street, and only after several minutes passed with no sign of pursuit did she direct them to Yerville Hall. Her hopes to return as unobtrusively as possible were dashed when her bearers sang lustily all the way to Half Moon Street. She managed to attract their attention at that point, and was able to quiet them by calling to them that she did not wish to be caught entering the house. They all but tiptoed the rest of the way.

  It was a horrible journey. She was distraught with the fear that Peregrine had again injured himself when he fell: heaven knows, she had never intended he should fall so heavily. She knew also that if she had been recognized by anyone driving by the river she would be quite ruined. The thought of what Lady Buttershaw would say when she heard of the incident made her feel sick with fear, and she began to imagine that the occupants of every passing carriage were staring at the shameless wanton who had shared that passionate and very public embrace.

  As they drew nearer to Hyde Park, she struggled to compose herself. She tidied her hair, and considered the manner of her return. If she alighted, alone, and from a sedan chair, there would be no escaping an uproar. She tried to think of a way to avoid such a disaster. When they turned into the square she was surprised to see the front doors of Yerville Hall standing wide. Luckily, she had some cash in her reticule, and she paid off her chairmen before they reached the mansion. They whispered encouragement and smiled at her as fondly as if they'd been assisting at an elopement.

  There was a great deal of noise coming from the entrance hall. In considerable apprehension Zoe crept up the steps. The air reeked of burnt feathers. A large lady lay on the floor in a swooning condition. Arbour was using a silver salver to waft fresh air from the open doors. Hackham was placing a cushion under the victim's head, and footmen and maids hovered about, while half a dozen ladies and gentlemen, morning callers, Zoe deduced, were offering loud and conflicting pieces of advice. Zoe was able to slip inside unnoticed just as the butler was so ill-advised as to make the sensible suggestion that an apothecary be sent for.

  "I will not have quacks in the house," roared Lady Buttershaw.

  "But my dear ma'am," protested an elderly and agitated dandy, "if the poor creature has suffered a seizure of the heart…"

  Zoe said, "She more likely needs to have her stays loosed."

  Her words brought an immediate silence and the onlookers stared at her with shocked expressions.

  "Vulgar!" decreed Lady Buttershaw. "But the gel may be in the right of it. Arbour! Refrain from flapping about in that stupid fashion. Help Hackham carry Mrs. Fryhampton into the scarlet saloon. You gentlemen must take your naughty eyes away and allow the ladies to deal with things. As they usually do," she added in an undervoice.

  Fortunately, Zoe's remedy proved efficacious, the embarrassed victim was conveyed to her coach, the guests were provided with a tasty morsel to gossip over, and Zoe's scandalously solitary return home had gone unnoticed.

  Despite that piece of luck, she was close to tears, and felt crushed by her various worries. Hoping to be left to her own devices for the rest of the day, she was told to change her dress quickly and join Lady Julia and her friends for luncheon. It took all her resolution to appear cheerful, when she was sure her heart was breaking, but somehow she contrived not to disgrace herself, and to join in admiring the little watch that was now all put back together, and ticking steadily. When the leisurely meal ended, she was asked to play the harpsichord and sing some country airs for the gathering, and the afternoon was far spent before she could escape.

  She went to her bedchamber at last, but had no sooner settled down for a good cry than Gorton came to tell her there were more guests expected for an early supper, and they were all to go on to a concert at the Convent Garden Theatre.

  Only yesterday, the prospect of such a treat would have delighted Zoe, but now she would have given a great deal to be left alone with her misery.

  Both their ladyships joined the group, which also included Lord and Lady Coombs, Mr. Smythe, Sir Gilbert Fowles, Lord Simmers, and the Honourable Purleigh Shale. Zoe was escorted by the latter gentleman, a fortunate circumstance, since he said very little and although apparently admiring her, seemed pleased when she did not maintain a flow of conversation. What they lacked in gregariousness was more than made up for by Lady Buttershaw, whose voice was never still and who maintained a constant flow of instruction regarding the theatre, its appointments, and its predecessors.

  Despite Zoe's intense unhappiness, however, when they entered the fifteen-year-old building its magnificence drove away every emotion but wonderment. From their box she could look down upon a great crowd of people who stood in the pit throughout the performance. They were well dressed, but not well behaved, for it seemed to her that they ignored the music altogether, and spent the evening in hailing friends, and engaging in talk, flirtation and laughter. The three galleries were crowded with more elegantly attired ladies and gentlemen, many of whom were scarcely less rowdy than those in the p
it. The glare from the huge ring-shaped chandeliers over the stage, which held as many as three hundred candles, awoke a thousand gleams and glitters from the jewels worn by the ladies, and the cravat pins and rings of the gentlemen. Zoe's attention was caught by an especially brilliant necklace in a box across the theatre, almost opposite to her own. She was surprised when the lady bowed slightly, and her heart gave a spasmodic lurch when she recognized Maria Benevento, with Sir Owen Furlong beside her, impressive in full-dress uniform.

  Zoe glanced swiftly at her companions. Like Lord Coombs, the Honourable Purleigh had indulged himself at table, and they both kept nodding off to sleep. Lady Buttershaw and Lady Coombs were appraising the throng through their lorgnette fans, and providing a running critique of the attire and reputation of the various leaders of the ton who were present, much to the delectation of Sir Gilbert and Mr. Smythe. Lady Julia was in deep conversation with Lord Sommers. Hiding behind her fan, Zoe managed furtively to beckon to Maria, who gazed at her for a moment, then nodded. From that moment Zoe scarcely noticed the efforts of the musicians, which indeed could scarcely be heard above the din. Maria would come to her, she was sure, but if they were to speak she must find a way to escape the box.

  When the first half of the program ended, her problem was solved. Lady Buttershaw and Lady Coombs went off with Mr. Smythe and Sir Gilbert to visit friends. Simultaneously, Zoe saw Maria and Sir Owen leave their box. Lord Sommers took Lady Julia out "for a breath of air," and Zoe was left with the Honourable Purleigh, who was snoring softly, and Lord Coombs, who was snoring loudly.

  A moment later, Maria slipped into the box. "My poor sweet," she whispered, her amused gaze on the male occupants. "What enlivening companions!"

  Zoe sprang up and took her hand eagerly. "Thank you, thank you! I prayed you would manage to come!"

  "Your prayers were answered, my dear. Sir Owen stands guard outside and will warn us if your ladies return. But we must be quick, for should the Buttershaw find me here, there will be a fuss and she will raise her great voice, which you will not at all like. Tell me why you are so agitated."

  "It is for Lieutenant Cranford," Zoe whispered, with one eye on the sleepers. "Have you seen him since this morning? He fell, did you know?"

  "I knew, but I did not know you knew of it. Were you perhaps together at the time? Or did you chance to witness the—er, incident?"

  "Yes. Well, that is—" Zoe burst out distractedly, "Oh, Maria! 'Tis my fault that he fell, and I have felt so wretched and been so anxious for him."

  "Nonsense! How could it be your fault?"

  "We quarrelled, and—and I was angry, and—Oh dear, oh dear! I—I pushed him!"

  Maria's eyes opened very wide. "You did? My gentle Zoe? But how is this? I had understood he fell while walking along the riverbank."

  "Yes. He had taken me out in a boat. And—and—oh, I dare not take the time now to tell you the whole, but—he… kissed me!"

  Maria's eyes danced. She asked roguishly, "Where?"

  "Full on—on the lips!"

  "So I would expect if he knew what he was about. I meant—surely, he did not perform this wickedness in the boat?"

  "No. 'Twas on the bank, where everyone could see. And the sailors and the—the bargees were laughing and shouting at us, and—Oh! 'Twas dreadful!"

  Vastly titillated, Maria said, "Shocking! If ever I heard of such a thing! He must have been mad!"

  "Well, he was. What I mean is, he was exceeding cross, and lost his temper, and seized me like any—any cave man!" Zoe sighed wistfully.

  "Hmm. Why was he so cross with you?"

  The Honourable Purleigh snorted and moved slightly, and Zoe answered hurriedly, "Because I would not do—something he wanted me to do."

  "Oooh!" breathed Maria. "This Peregrine Cranford, he is not the man I thought him! A gentleman would not behave in such a way. And if he did, would feel honour bound to offer for the lady's hand."

  "Yes. Well, he did offer. And that's when I pushed him down the bank."

  "Because he—offered for your hand?" Maria blinked. "I can see that you were insulted because he kissed you. But surely, in offering for you he made things right."

  "He did not mean it," sighed Zoe. "He was very kind to offer, because, as he said, it was de rigeur. I refused, of course, and he asked if I would accept him if he said he—loved me."

  "But how charming! You did exactly right to push him, my brave one! Me, I should have struck him! With my shoe! You must see him no more! Never!"

  "Oh. I mean—no. Of course not. Only…"

  A glance at the woebegone little face made Maria's lips twitch. She prompted, "Yes, my Zoe?"

  "He fell so hard. I have been fairly beside myself with anxiety. Has Sir Owen mentioned it at all? I pray he was not injured again?"

  "No, no. He is of steel, that one. I fancy his pride was hurt, for Sir Owen tells me he is rather—ah, I have not the word… um—" She scowled darkly.

  With a wan smile Zoe supplied, "Surly?"

  "Si! That is the one! But—"

  There came a flapping of the curtains at the rear. Zoe gasped, and Maria said, "Ah, that will be my faithful Owen. I must go. I will meet you in the park on Monday. Now never fret, my little friend. Your lieutenant he will soon recover his good humour, and likely be calling to take you to church tomorrow."

  Mr. Peregrine Cranford did not call to escort Miss Zoe Grainger to church, however, and she joined the retinue that braved a dark and grey morning to accompany Lady Julia to early service at the Parish Church of St. James' off Piccadilly. Zoe had never worshipped in so large a sanctuary. Despite a steady downpour, the fashions worn by the members of the congregation were of prime interest to many of those present, but if Zoe's attention wandered from the sermon, it focused not on fashion but on the splendidly carved pelican above the altar, the exquisite marble font, and the organ case, all of which, Lady Julia imparted later, were carved by that genius Mr. Grinling Gibbons.

  When they emerged, the skies were even darker, and the rain unrelenting. A quiet day was spent at Yerville Hall. After luncheon Zoe tried without much success to write a letter to her father, until she was summoned by Lady Julia to read St. Paul's Epistle to the Ephesians, and then to talk to her of Travisford.

  Several of Lady Buttershaw's friends came to dine, among them Viscount Eaglund and the Honourable Purleigh Shale. Zoe liked the viscount, but his son's sudden bursts of loud laughter combined with Lady Buttershaw's harsh voice to give her the headache, and she was very glad when they all went off somewhere and she was able to escape to her bedchamber. She prepared for bed, then sent Gorton away and sat down to finish her letter.

  It was a forlorn endeavour. Her page faded into a picture of Peregrine gazing down at her with such gentle sympathy; the white gleam of his smile when he'd been overcome by mirth; the molten glare that had been levelled at her when he'd become enraged and swept her into his arms. The memory of his kiss made her heart ache with longing, but then would come despair because he had been trying to protect her, in return for which she had brought him unspeakable humiliation. As brief as had been their acquaintance, she knew him well enough to be aware of his fierce pride. If he ever looked at her again it must only be with, at the very least, dislike. To envision his blue eyes regarding her in such a way brought grief so painful that she could scarcely endure it. But she could envision also her beloved brother, hunted and alone and ill. He would not go near Travisford if he thought his presence would endanger those he loved. But he might try to get a message to her, and if he did and discovered where she was, he would find some way to see her. He might even appear at the front door one day! She shivered. No, she could not have acted in any other way…

  She awoke abruptly. She had fallen asleep at her little desk, and her neck was stiffly uncomfortable. But something had disturbed her. Perhaps one of the animals had escaped again. She carried the candle to the mantelpiece and peered at the clock. Almost twenty minutes past two. Blowing out the candle she took
off her slippers, tiptoed to the door and rested her ear against the panel. Almost at once, she heard a woman laugh softly, and the murmur of a man's deep voice. A voice she had heard before but could not at once identify. It might be perfectly innocent, of course; perhaps Lady Buttershaw had come back with more friends to engage in nothing more sinister than a game of cards or one of the historical discussions that she so loved to dominate. Zoe heard the rustle of satin; the soft click of high heels. The sounds faded; they must be going downstairs. If only she could see who it was, or hear what they were talking about! She edged the door open a crack.

  Her bedchamber was situated at the rear or north side of the mansion, with guest suites separating her from Lady Buttershaw's quarters to the left, and Lady Julia's apartments to the right. Opposite was the open well over the entrance hall, and to the right of the well the Long Gallery stretched all the way to Lady Julia's domain.

  Zoe eased the door wider. It was very dark except where the outside flambeaux cast a glow through the windows of the Long Gallery. The guests might be standing on the steps waiting for their carriage. An efficient spy would go bravely to the gallery and open one of the windows so as to hear them talking. An efficient spy would not stand here shivering, for fear of being caught. And she had promised Peregrine she could be useful.

  She gathered her courage and slipped into the silent corridor, her bare feet making no sound as she ran past the well. The air was sweetened by a whiff of scent; a spicy, alluring fragrance of the type gentlemen loved, and that had probably come from Paris and cost as much as Cook at Travisford spent on a week's groceries for the entire household…

  Thank heavens, she had reached the window undetected! Mercifully, the catch released easily, and she began to open the casement. She gave a gasp of fright as it let out a shrill squeak. In her overwrought state the sound was ear-splitting, but luckily the lady downstairs was laughing, and the squeak appeared to have gone unnoticed.