Redmond also slanted a glance to Devenish, but that young Corinthian appeared totally unaware of the faint tension in the air and directed an apologetic grin towards Tristram Leith’s thoughtful countenance. “Wasn’t in Gloucestershire. And I know it’s devilish bad form to drop in on you unannounced like this, Tris. Tell the truth, I didn’t think you and Rachel would be here.”
Rachel said teasingly, “Or you would not have come? But how unchivalrous, Dev!”
Devenish’s immediate attempt to absolve himself was interrupted by a flurry of barking from the gardens, interspersed by some irate feline yowls, so that it became necessary for Rachel to ask that a lackey be sent to quiet Brutus. “I fear he is chasing the cats again,” she explained. “It is all bluster, you know. I don’t believe he has any other intention than to prove himself superior.”
“I do hope not,” said Charity. “It would be dreadful were he to hurt one of the kittens, and Little Patches has a tendency to be slow.”
Tristram pointed out soothingly that cats could usually take care of themselves. “Don’t worry, Charity. Little Patches will soon show our warrior Brutus that she’s a lady to be reckoned with.”
“Quite a kitty Cleopatra, in fact,” said Rachel, with a fond glance at her husband.
“I can see that Romans are highly regarded in this house,” murmured Redmond, turning his wineglass idly on the tablecloth. “Your sister was speaking of Nero earlier today, ma’am.”
Amused, Rachel said, “You do not surprise us, Mr. Redmond. Charity has a deep interest in history.”
A spark awoke in Redmond’s bored eyes. “Do you indeed, Miss Strand?” He turned to Charity. “Any particular period?”
“I find it all fascinating,” she replied, and seeing the immediate sardonic twist of his lips, added hurriedly, “As little of it as I know, that is. But I cannot say I hold Nero in high regard. If the chroniclers are to be believed, the man was a monster. Only look at the hundreds of people he caused to be slain. Even his own mother!”
“But he appears to have been manoeuvred into that, ma’am, by a jealous woman.”
“And I suppose he was also manoeuvred into the sack of Colchester and the slaughter of the Ninth Legion!”
Redmond’s brows lifted. “You do indeed know your history, Miss Strand. Consider, though, how much easier it is to view the past with objectivity than to apply the lessons it teaches. One shudders to imagine what future generations may think of our contribution to the march—or shuffle—of civilization.”
“They ought to think jolly well of it, I’d say,” Bolster put in heartily. “Rompéd old Boney, didn’t we? And a fine state the world would b-be in had he prevailed. Cannot deny that, Mitch!”
“I can deny that our victories were accomplished by reason of any inspired leadership from London. If we won in France and Spain it was because Wellington out-generalled Napoleon. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Leith nodded, but said in his calm way, “However brilliant Old Hookey may be, and however deeply the free world stands indebted to him, he had to be appointed before he could fulfil his destiny, and—”
“And do you credit that appointment to the inspiration of the idiots who bungle their way through Whitehall?” sneered Redmond. “Or to the shrewd guidance of our exalted ruler, perhaps? Good God! If our descendants look closely at poor Prinny, they must judge us a fine set of knock-in-the-cradles!”
Deeply patriotic beneath his mild exterior, Lord Bolster sat straighter in his chair and put down his wineglass. “I fancy there are many worse m-men than Prinny, Mitch.”
“Then let us pray they do not occupy a throne.”
Also annoyed by these caustic remarks, Devenish said, “The man has his faults, certainly, but he has been villified by a particularly vicious Press, who chose to completely overlook his good points.”
“Oh, do pray elucidate,” said Redmond with his mocking smile.
Devenish flushed. “I have personally known him to be kind, generous, knowledgeable on many subjects, a connoisseur of—”
“Of women?” sneered Redmond. “That certainly! Nor could anyone deny his generosity, especially when applied to his table and his architectural atrocities.”
Devenish’s eyes smouldered, noting which Leith intervened lazily, “I fear Redmond knows our Prinny’s faults too well for us to effectively champion him. Shall we concede the royal gentleman to be sometimes unwise, but—like the rest of us—not all bad?”
“You may concede what you wish,” said Redmond. “I shall hold to my belief that the man is a nincompoop! A womanizing, hedonistic spendthrift who is so absurd as to have become a public laughing-stock and thus disgrace his country throughout the world. England would do very much better without the silly fellow!”
Pale with anger, Devenish rasped, “You go too far, sir!”
Alarmed, Charity glanced at her sister.
Rachel smiled serenely and laid down her napkin. “Gentlemen,” she said, standing as Bolster sprang to pull back her chair, “I do believe we shall leave you to your”—she smiled mischievously at Redmond—“your patriotic discussions.”
As his lordship ushered the two ladies to the door, Charity heard Devenish declare hotly, “Mrs. Leith was right, by God! Far from being a patriot, you speak treason, Redmond!”
“Gammon,” sneered Mitchell Redmond.
Chapter 5
The morning dawned bright, with a slight breeze ruffling the treetops and an invigorating crispness to the air. Walking downstairs shortly after eleven o’clock, Charity adjusted a crocheted shawl of fine white wool about her thin shoulders, her thoughts turning backwards. The gentlemen had seemed all amiability when they’d come into the drawing room last evening, and if the treasonable debate had continued after she and Rachel had left them, they’d been at pains to give no hint of it. The balance of the evening had been without incident. Tristram had asked her to favour the gathering with some songs, and she had done so, very conscious of Redmond’s polite attention and of the inadequacies of her true but small voice. Alain Devenish had made his excuses and retired before the arrival of the tea tray. It was unlike that exuberant individual to go early to bed, and she and Rachel had worried over such atypical behaviour. Between them, they’d decided that Alain had spent most of the day travelling and had then been exposed to Mitchell Redmond’s abrasive personality, either of which was sufficient to drive any man to his bed.
Lost in thought, Charity had not realized she was standing at the foot of the stairs until, from behind her, the object of her concern enquired, “Something wrong, m’dear?”
Without turning around, she smiled and reached up, and as Devenish took her hand and stepped down to join her, she answered quietly, “I don’t know. Is there?”
The morning sunlight, streaming in through the front windows, gleamed on her curls, and the simple bonnet framing her fine-boned features seemed to emphasize the intrepid tilt to the small head. Devenish thought, “How daintily feminine she is in that pretty blue gown,” and suddenly envied the man who would one day call her wife. He answered lightly, “Do you mean—with me? Lord, no. You’d not credit the changes my new steward has wrought at Devencourt. It is really a charming old seat, Charity. You must come down and—” The quick pressure of the fingers he still held stopped him.
Her eyes had always been her best feature, but they also were her most betraying. The searching anxiety they now revealed touched Devenish’s susceptible heart. “Dev, you know very well what I mean,” she said, faintly scolding. “Had you a—a special problem to discuss with my brother? I know your visit was not planned, but why would you have expected to find Justin here?”
Contrary to what he had told Leith, Devenish had come to Strand Hall because of a nagging premonition of trouble. If it hadn’t been for the fact that his blasted leg had been jabbing at him like fury all day yesterday, he would have snabbled old Tris at some point after dinner, to see what he could learn. Now, however, he opened his blue eyes very wide a
nd said, all innocence, “Oh, gad! Never say I’ve intruded upon an invitational?”
“Dev!” Charity began, then laughed suddenly. “Oh dear. I did make it sound so, didn’t I? It is not, of course. And even if it were, you are always welcome. But I want to know what you are about, if you please.”
How like her, he thought, vastly amused, to make so rag-mannered a demand of a guest. But he was pleased that she felt him to be sufficiently one of the family to do so. She was worried, bless her heart; fretting perhaps because her sister looked a trifle out of curl. He’d heard that Rachel was experiencing more than her share of problems with this babe. Heaven forbid he should say anything to cause her more grief, or to add to Charity’s concern. He did not want Charity worried. In fact— His earlier thought returned. She would make some lucky man a very nice little wife.… With typical impetuosity he answered, “If you must know, miss—to ask for your hand.”
Staring at him, her lips a little parted with shock, Charity was both bewildered by this sudden proposal and amused by the faint dismay that now crept into his eyes. She reached out for the hand she had relinquished. It was quite steady and gripped her own with firm assurance. “Why, how very dear,” she said softly. “Thank you, Alain. But, you see—I cannot accept.”
Devenish was concious of a deep relief but then, perversely, a rush of disappointment. He was very fond of Charity. He had seen her in suffering and in a nightmare of peril, and she had met both challenges with quiet intrepidity. He thought her a serene and sweet-souled lady who would never serve her mate with selfishness or bad temper. And his own hopes and dreams were dead, after all.… His adored Yolande had been wed for almost six months now. To be precise, five months, twelve days, and about an hour.…
Charity saw his eyes become remote and, guessing where his thoughts wandered, said with feigned indignation, “Well, you might at least protest a little, Dev!”
“Oh! Deuce take me!” he gasped. “What a moment to be wool-gathering! No, Charity”—he moved to possess himself of both her hands—“really, I think it might serve us very well. Only look at it, m’dear. I love and admire you. And you love me.” He grinned at her. “How could you help it?”
With a little chuckle she admitted to this strange failing.
“Well, then,” he said, triumphant, “there you are! Your heart is not given, I think? And—and you lead a rather, er, nomadic kind of life, Charity. Oh, I don’t say you’re not sincerely welcomed wherever you go, but it ain’t like having a home of your own, after all. Devencourt’s not too dreadful. And you know, of course, that you could make whatever changes you would wish. Josie could have a—a mother, and I would be, er, well, it is a trifle lonely. Just now and then, you understand, sort of rattling around the old place. I know that I’m no catch for you. Got this blasted habit of—well, you know how it is with me. Everyone says I’m hot at hand and I think I am. Just a little. Sometimes. Very rarely, nowadays, because I’m getting older. More, er, mature, d’you see, and—”
But the bubble of mirth that Charity had been firmly restraining, burst, and she laughed merrily. Devenish looked taken aback, and repentant, she squeezed the hands she still held, before releasing them. “You are, in fact, entering your dotage,” she declared.
He grinned at her. “No, but I’m serious about this, you madcap! I promise I’d, er, cherish and—and protect you. And you must know I’d not be setting up a peculiar a mile or so away and neglecting you, for I’ve never been much in the petticoat line. And—”
So he really was in earnest. Touched, she placed her hand over his lips. “You love me, my dear,” she interposed gently, “but you are not—in love with me.”
He turned his head almost at once, but for an instant the look of desolation had been so intense that she cried a dismayed, “Oh, Dev, I am so sorry!”
For a taut instant he was silent, then he said in a low and uneven voice, “Pray do not be. I am perfectly resigned, you know. It’s only that … I suppose I had rather got into the way of—of thinking of Yolande as … as…” The words shredded into silence.
Longing to take him in her arms and comfort him, Charity said softly, “Yes, of course. But that is another reason, Dev. You have paid me the greatest compliment a man may offer a lady, and I am—oh, so very grateful. Only—my dear, dear friend, do you see? I could not endure such fierce competition.”
He did see. And she was quite right, for, as usual, he had been thinking only of Alain Devenish. The yearning ache in his breast was fierce again, which served him right. Smiling brightly, he said, “In that event, m’dear, I appoint myself chairman of the Charity Strand Matrimonial Committee. We must find you some splendid young Duke to husband!”
“Oh no!” she cried, laughing but aghast. “Dev! You wouldn’t!” Her eyes slipped past him. “Rachel, you’ll not believe the machinations of this rogue.”
“I’ll own I heard his last remark,” said Rachel, pulling on her gloves as she came down the stairs. She was relieved to see that the faint look of strain had left Dev’s eyes. He looked cheerful and rested, and if she suspected the former to be a pose, she was pleased by the latter. “Have you been bludgeoned into accompanying us on our walk to the village? Charity sets a relentless pace, and so I warn you.”
He smiled. “It would be a joy, lovely one. But to be truthful I’ve already had my morning exercise in trying to come up with your wandering spouse.”
“Oh, what a pity you missed them. Tristram and Jeremy went over to Lord Rickaby’s Home Farm. A long-standing invitation for an early breakfast and a look at some new kind of hedge they are hoping to use as boundary markers.”
“In that case, I shall beat a path to the kitchens and see if some kindly soul will feed this starving rogue. Fair ladies—adieu.” And with a grin, a bow, and a flourish, he strolled kitchenwards.
The sisters crossed the hall, the footman swung open the door, and at once the breeze set their skirts to fluttering.
“Did you mean to take Brutus?” asked Rachel as they trod down the steps and into the brisk freshness of the morning.
“I had thought we might invite him, but you’re right, it would not do, poor fellow. My, how the breeze has come up.”
The dog, so apparently indomitable, harboured a craven and selective dread of shaking aspen leaves, and although there were few aspens on the Strand preserves, the route to the village was not without such horrors. The sisters therefore set out alone, arms linked, as they walked across the park.
Charity was unusually silent and in a little while Rachel said musingly, “So Alain means to find you a husband.…”
“Rachel, I have never been more shocked. The dear boy made me an offer! In the foyer!”
“I know. I’m afraid I was somewhat less than truthful when I told you I’d overheard his last sentence. I was at the top of the stairs when he promised to cherish and protect you. I stopped, for fear of embarrassing him, though goodness knows he picked a very public place for it.”
They looked at each other, and then burst into laughter.
“Wretched boy,” said Charity, wiping tears from her eyes. “I think he spoke in such haste he frightened himself to death! At first, I could not believe he was serious.”
“But he was. And you handled it very nicely, I thought.” Rachel sighed. “Dear Dev. What a wonderful husband he would make if only—” She asked in sudden dismay, “Charity? You told him that he does not love you, but do you love him?”
“Of course I do, you goose. Only not just in that very special way.”
Rachel thought with regret that this dear sister had been granted little opportunity to meet eligible gentlemen, when so much of her adult life had been spent in a wheelchair. She said, teasing, “And what, dare I ask, do you know of ‘special ways’?”
Charity answered with a faint smile, “I know what I have seen in Justin’s eyes when he looks at Lisette. And I have watched you and Tristram and seen how your faces light up if you have been apart a little while and sudden
ly find one another. And I watched all the joy and hope fade from dear Dev when Yolande married Major Tyndale.”
“Yes.” Rachel sighed. “That wretched girl has broken his generous heart. However could she serve him so when they had been promised forever? And yet Craig Tyndale is such a very fine young man. What a—” She clutched at her hood, shivering as the rising wind sent her cloak billowing. “How cold it is getting. Charity, are you warm enough with only that thin shawl?”
“It is woollen and quite warm, fortunately. I’d not thought the wind would become so strong. Is it too chilly for you? Perhaps we should turn back. I can send one of the servants for my braid, or go tomorrow.”
Rachel hesitated. It really was much more chill than she had anticipated, but—“I must not molly-coddle myself.”
“But of course you must. You cannot expect to feel quite as energetic when you are increasing. Come we’ll go home and—”
“We will do no such thing! I will get warm if we walk a little faster.”
Charity protested strongly, but Rachel knew how much her sister enjoyed her daily walk, and they went on. When another brisk gust snatched the hood from her head, however, she said, “Well, that settles me, I’m afraid. You keep on, love, and I’ll go back. In fact—just the thing! You take my cloak and I’ll have your shawl. No, do not argue with me, Charity. It really is getting quite cold. I shall be snug in my parlour in five minutes, and easier in my mind knowing you are cosily wrapped in something warm.”
Charity really was beginning to feel goose bumps on her bare arms and so the trade was made. She watched as Rachel hurried back towards the Hall, then proceeded on her way, joying in the buffeting of the wind against her cheeks, and breathing deeply of the clean crisp smells of damp earth, spiced by the fragrance of newly scythed grass.
She had not gone very far, however, before she was again halted, this time by a small but piercing voice. With tiny pointed tail held high, and minute pink mouth vigorously proclaiming joy at encountering a familiar presence, Little Patches approached. The wind deposited a branch directly in her path, but it was evident that for her the shortest distance between two points was a straight line. To turn aside and avoid the obstacle was not even considered. She gathered her plump self into a crouching huddle, waggled minuscule hips and sprang into the air, only to plop down in the middle of the branch. She uttered a wail of frustration and sat down.
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