by Sandra Heath
She did not know what Petra, Countess of Lowndes, looked like, but she must be very poised and beautiful; when set beside such a woman, Bryony St. Charles would indeed look plain and provincial, with her hair in ringlets when it was the thing to wear it either short or pinned up into a Grecian knot. Her gown, considered so elegant in Liskillen, would have been in London two summers ago; Petra would not have dresses two summers old....
Kathleen had gone to look out of the drawing-room window, and now she suddenly called, “Miss Bryony! I believe the carriage has come from Polwithiel!”
Bryony joined her at the window, and for a moment it was as if it was dark again and she could see the fleeing cloaked figure, but then the daylight was there once more and she saw the magnificent dark green coach drawn up beneath the window, unable to proceed into the courtyard because of the crush of stages already there. Its lacquerwork gleamed in the morning sunlight, the coachman and footmen wore handsome livery, and the crest upon the door panel was the Calborough phoenix.
At that moment someone tapped on the door of the room, and Kathleen hurried to open it. The landlord was there and he cleared his throat almost reverently. “Lady Delphine Calborough’s compliments, and will Miss St. Charles join her in the dining room for a dish of tea before setting out for Polwithiel Abbey?”
Bryony swallowed. So great a personage had come to meet her? “I will be down directly,” she replied, her heart sinking.
The dining room seemed to be deserted. There was no longer anyone at the white-clothed tables and the lingering smell of breakfast seemed somehow to add to the feeling of emptiness. Sunlight streamed blindingly in through the windows, which gave out onto the harbor and the forest of masts. As she glanced around, a dainty figure stepped out of the dazzling light. “Miss St. Charles?” The voice was soft and light.
“Lady Delphine?”
Delphine smiled. She was small-boned and very beautiful, her heart-shaped face framed by short dark curls, and her brown eyes so very large and lustrous that they seemed almost melting. She wore a very high-waisted, long-trained gown of such sheer white muslin that it clung revealingly as she moved.
The cashmere shawl draped so elegantly over her bare arms was black, with a border pattern picked out in vivid reds and golds, and was extremely fashionable indeed, it being very much the thing to wear a startling contrast with one’s pale gown. A small flowery hat rested at a rakish angle on her dark hair, and the little feet peeping from beneath her hem were encased in white satin bottines tied on with ribbons over flesh-colored stockings. She was a vision of stylish fashion and she made Bryony feel more gauche and green than ever.
A white-gloved hand was extended to Bryony. “I do hope that I haven’t called at an inconvenient time, only I stayed overnight with friends nearby and it suddenly occurred to me that it would be sensible for me to convey you back to the abbey.”
“You are very kind.”
Delphine gave a little laugh. “It isn’t at all kind, it’s extremely selfish. You’ve no idea how glad I am that you will be staying at Polwithiel for a while, for I’m absolutely dying of boredom down here in the wilds. I would much prefer to be in Town enjoying the Season, but Mother is cross with me and Felix is positively furious, and so I’m down here in disgrace. Your presence will make all the difference.”
Delphine smiled again and then indicated a small table in a corner by the cold, empty fireplace. “Shall we sit down? I’m told that the Black Boar’s tea is tolerable, if not exactly Fortnum and Mason.”
The landlord had evidently been hovering somewhere nearby, for the moment they adjourned to the table he appeared with a tray which he set down with exaggerated care, inquiring obsequiously if there was anything else he could do. Delphine gave him a cool, dismissive look which caused him to hastily withdraw, leaving them entirely alone.
Delphine sat forward, lifting the lid from the teapot and sniffing the contents. “Ah, it seems that we do indeed have China tea of acceptable quality. I cannot abide poor stuff.” She poured two cups and held one out to Bryony. “Now then, you must tell me all about yourself.”
“There really isn’t a great deal to tell.”
“Surely there must be something,” replied Delphine with a laugh, “or have you lived all your life in a little box out of which you have only just crept?”
Bryony smiled. “I’ve lived at Liskillen all my life, which to some no doubt would amount to being incarcerated in a box.”
“But not to you.”
“No, I love it very much.”
Delphine’s brown eyes rested quizzically on her for a moment. “Do I detect a regret at having left?”
“No, you detect a slight nervousness about what lies ahead.”
“Nervousness?” Delphine was obviously taken aback at this confession.
“Why, yes, would not you be?”
“Ah, but I know Sebastian—he is my cousin, and so I would know what lay ahead, wouldn’t I? But I suppose I can understand your trepidation, for you do not know what an angel he is. You’ve stolen a march on a large number of ladies, Miss St. Charles. In fact you’re the envy of the female monde.”
“I am?”
“Surely you have realized what a great catch you’ve snapped up?”
“I hadn’t given much thought to any possible rivals,” replied Bryony, thinking of Petra.
“I believe several are at this very moment engaged upon sticking pins in your effigy, as the savages are said to do.” Delphine giggled. “So, Miss St. Charles, you must not be apprehensive, you must be positively triumphant! Each time you feel trepidation encroaching, you must remind yourself of your defeated rivals and do a little gloating—it’s positively sovereign for the self-esteem and confidence.”
Bryony couldn’t help laughing. “I will endeavor to remember your advice, my lady.”
“Oh, Delphine, please,” insisted the other immediately, “for if you are to marry my cousin then you will be my cousin too and I could not be formal with so close a relative, especially one I know I will like.”
“Then you must call me Bryony.”
“Of course. Now then, what were we talking about? Oh, I cannot remember. Let us talk instead about the tuition you are to receive from Mother. I’m afraid you will find her rather a dragon. She’s very strict about anything to do with etiquette and so on and she’ll eat you alive if you fail in any respect. Oh, don’t look so worried, perhaps I exaggerate a little about your being eaten alive. I believe she will freeze you to death first with one of her Gorgon looks.”
Delphine smiled. “I’m only teasing you, but truly she is very tyrannical about form, and my advice to you is that you learn very quickly and do not require many things to be repeated. That way, you and she will get on famously. And if you feel like screaming at the end of the day, well, I will always be there to listen, and so will Felix—if he can be prized away from his wretched salle d’armes.”
“Salle d’armes?”
“Well, actually it is part of the quadrangle conservatory, but it is well equipped enough to provide for an entire crusade! My brother prides himself on being one of England’s finest swordsmen and every moment he has free is spent practicing. He has taken instruction from Mr. Angelos, who is considered to be the greatest master in the realm, and he has trained his unfortunate valet to spar with him.”
“And is the duke one of the finest swordsmen in England?”
Delphine shrugged. “I suppose he has to be, but I am no expert, and anyway at the moment I’m far too cross with him to dream of telling him anything even remotely flattering about his prowess with the sword. He is the finest something in England at the moment, however.”
“And that is?”
“The finest catch.” Delphine smiled. “He and Sebastian are considered to be the most handsome and eligible gentlemen in circulation at present, and with Sebastian almost removed from the arena—well, my brother has the stage to himself.’’
“Oh.”
Delphine studied her for a
moment. “You still seem a little withdrawn, Bryony. I do trust that my chatter about Mother hasn’t upset you.”
“Oh, no, of course not!” said Bryony hastily.
“I’m so glad, because although the tuition might not be a pleasant experience, there are other diversions which most certainly will be. There is the Polwithiel summer ball to begin with. It’s a very grand occasion and everyone who’s anyone in Cornwall battles to receive an invitation. No doubt you’ll be able to sport one of your new ball gowns when they all come to cast their curious eyes over you.”
“New ball gowns?”
“Why, yes, haven’t you been told anything? Really, it is very bad of Sebastian not to say. He has agreed with your father to provide you with an entire new wardrobe, as part of his wedding gift to you. You, Bryony St. Charles, are fortunate enough to be receiving personal attention from London’s most fashionable couturière, Madame Colbert.”
Bryony stared. “You say that it was agreed with my father?”
“Yes. Mind you, men being what they are, it probably slipped your father’s mind.”
“Probably.”
“I’m positively green with envy about the whole thing,” went on Delphine, “for there is nothing I would like more than a wardrobe by Madame Colbert, but she can pick and choose her customers and she said to me that her order book was filled to overflowing. The woman is a chienne—she positively gushed with dimpled delight when Sebastian called upon her, and she agreed straightaway not only to provide you with your wardrobe but also to travel all the way to Polwithiel to discuss it with you. For me she wouldn’t stretch a point, but for my wretched cousin’s flirtatious and knowing blue eyes she stretched it all the way to Cornwall and back! I was miffed, I can tell you, but then I suppose she’s only human and Sebastian can be very persuasive when he chooses.”
He could also be positively disagreeable, thought Bryony, sipping her tea.
Delphine put down her cup and saucer. “So, you will appear at the ball in a dazzling Colbert creation, you will be so lovely and fashionable that you will charm them all.” She smiled. “But of course, it goes without saying that you will have charmed Sebastian before that. You will be meeting him very soon,”
Soon? Bryony was inwardly horrified, for after reading Petra’s letter she found the thought of coming face to face with him quite alarming.
Delphine poured some more tea. “He’s lodging at Tremont Park at the moment. It is the home of the Countess of Lowndes, who is a very old friend of his.”
Was it Bryony’s imagination, or were Delphine’s cheeks just a little pink with embarrassment?
Delphine continued. “You may think it odd that he should stay there rather than at Polwithiel, but the truth is that he and Felix do not get on and he declines to stay beneath Felix’s roof.”
“Oh.”
“He will come to Polwithiel tonight, however, for he and the countess are dining with us.”
Bryony stared at her in the utmost dismay.
Chapter Five
The road to Polwithiel led southwest out of Falmouth, passing through woods where wild rhododendrons thirty feet high were in full bloom. Color was everywhere between the cool trees, and then, as the road rose to the moors, there was even more color, from the bright gold of the furze to the vibrant purple of the heather. From up here it was possible to see the narrow creeks of the Fal estuary creeping fingerlike between the hills, the water almost entirely concealed by the luxuriant trees.
Kathleen did not travel in the carriage, but was instructed to follow behind in the little dogcart hired from the Black Boar Inn. The coach’s magnificent team of grays soon outpaced the little cart, leaving it far behind along the dusty road.
Delphine remained tactfully quiet, having swiftly realized the effect of her revelation about the imminence of a visit from Sebastian. Bryony was glad of the silence, for it enabled her to think a little. Subconsciously she had been hoping that it would be some time before the ordeal of meeting either of them was upon her, but now she had to accept that she did not even have one day’s grace.
The road dipped down into a tree-choked valley and from time to time she noticed the flash of the sun upon water, and Delphine briefly broke the silence to tell her that it was Polwithiel Creek, a long, narrow arm not of the River Fal but of the Helford. Bryony gazed out at the beautiful scenery, thinking how strange it was that the sea could creep so secretly inland, as if it was not satisfied merely with the coast. She was reminded of her geography lessons with Parson McKenna, the stalwart gentleman who had taught her as earnestly as he would have instructed his own son, when she had learned with wonder about the land of Norway and its magnificent fjords. Maybe Cornwall lacked Norway’s ice-capped mountains, but it certainly had a unique magic of its own.
The coach traveled on, following the line of the creek, which gradually grew wider and wider the farther southwest they went, and then she suddenly noticed through the trees to the left the chimneys and roofs of a very large country house. “Are we nearly there?” she inquired in surprise, thinking that they had driven the miles between Falmouth and Polwithiel with amazing speed.
Delphine hesitated, the beginning of a flush touching her cheeks. “No,” she said quickly, “we’re not there yet, although I suppose as the crow flies we are fairly close.”
“Then what house is that? It seems very large.”
Delphine looked positively embarrassed now. “It’s Tremont Park, where Sebastian is the guest of the Countess of Lowndes.”
Bryony gazed at the rooftops, and quite suddenly she wanted to know a little more about the countess. Delphine’s embarrassment could only mean that she knew something of the situation, and Bryony decided to press her for information. “Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but it seems to me that mentioning the countess and Sir Sebastian causes you some discomfort. Is there perhaps something I should know?”
Delphine gave a start at the directness of the question. “No,” she said quickly, “of course there isn’t.”
“I believe you are trying to be kind by denying it.”
Delphine toyed unhappily with the black fringe of her shawl. “I ... I do not know that it is my place to say anything, Bryony, for it is none of my concern.”
“Which reply alone conveys to me that I am right to be suspicious,” pressed Bryony, wanting very much to learn all she could of the woman who had virtually declared war upon the future Lady Sheringham.
“Please, Bryony—” began Delphine, but Bryony was quite determined.
“The countess is his mistress, isn’t she?”
Delphine was quite disconcerted. “How did you find out?”
“It doesn’t matter how, I just want to know if it is true.”
“Yes,” confirmed the other at last, “but I would never have told you had you not insisted so. I find the situation acutely embarrassing and think it very bad of them to be so obvious and lacking in sensitivity at a time like this. When I heard that he was going to lodge with her at Tremont while you were with us at Polwithiel, I was very angry with him. He and I had a dreadful argument and he told me that it was none of my business and to keep my nose out of his affairs. I haven’t spoken to him since and do not know how I shall go on tonight at dinner. To be truthful, I’ve been considering pleading a headache and avoiding the whole thing.”
“Oh, please,” said Bryony quickly, “you must join us, for I shall be lost without you.”
Delphine’s brown eyes were kindly. “If that is truly what you wish ...”
“It is, oh, it is.”
Delphine nodded. “Then of course I will attend. Oh, it really is too bad of Sebastian, for it makes for so much difficulty and embarrassment all round. Mother disapproves, of course, but she disassociates herself from the whole thing by pretending it isn’t going on. Sebastian is her nephew and Petra her neighbor, so great problems and awkwardness could arise between Polwithiel and Tremont if my mother spoke her mind. As to my brother ... well, Felix loathes Seb
astian and isn’t all that fond of Petra, but he takes the view that what they do is their own affair and as long as it does not encroach upon his life at all they can continue to do as they please.
“He says that as your marriage will be simply one of convenience anyway, it is rather foolish to expect love or constancy from either side. So there you have it, and you will know exactly what to expect when you arrive at Polwithiel; everyone knows Petra is Sebastian’s mistress, but no one will mention the fact openly. Discretion is the order of the day; the real sin is to be too careless and force it upon others when they do not wish to know. If you remember that, I suppose you will go on well enough.”
She paused for a moment. “Felix is right about the marriage, you know: it is simply one of convenience. Oh, I know Sebastian is saying that it is on account of the pledge between his father and yours, but everyone knows that that isn’t so. No one knows what his reason is. Or at least, perhaps only a few do.”
“Petra, for instance?”
“Maybe.”
Bryony was quiet for a moment. “He is not the angel you said he was in Falmouth, is he?”
Delphine flushed. “I thought it best and more kind to say it. Sebastian isn’t an angel, but he isn’t a devil either, and it will be up to you to make what you can of what is presented to you. But then, isn’t it always up to the woman to do that?”
Bryony said nothing.
Delphine looked at her for a long moment. “What Felix said about marriages of convenience ...”
“Yes?”
“Well, you will not be approaching it from an entirely innocent standpoint, will you?”
Bryony stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“You haven’t mentioned it all, but there is the matter of you and Mr. Carmichael.”
Bryony’s eyes widened with shock and her heart seemed almost to stop. Her voice was barely audible. “What have you heard?”
“I know only what Mr. Carmichael wrote in his letter to Felix.”
“Letter?” cried Bryony in the utmost dismay. “What letter?”