Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 01] - Some Brief Folly

by Patricia Veryan

  Hawkhurst said mockingly, "Mr. Hawkhurst prefers that you light the lamp."

  There was a touch of steel under the lazy drawl, and reacting instinctively, Buchanan started to obey, then flushed and stood very still. Hawkhurst uttered a soft chuckle, and Buchanan's mortification deepened. Well acquainted with that mulish look upon her brother's face, Euphemia quickly lit the lamp. Hawkhurst strolled over to the bed, placed a hand very lightly on Kent's forehead, and scanned the child narrowly. Turning back to them, he murmured, "I wish you may leave. But I confess myself a coward and shall not risk Archer's wrath."

  Buchanan looked ready to explode with indignation, but Euphemia, who had been absently contemplating Hawkhurst's thick, and artfully tumbled hair, now asked a swift, "Not fever, surely?"

  "He is very warm, ma'am, and I'd wager is in no condition to—"

  The door again opened, and Lady Bryce drifted in. She also had changed her dress and was elegant in a gown of rose-pink crepe with a fine diamond choker about her throat. When she saw the group gathered in the bedchamber, she gave a scandalized gasp. "Hawkhurst! Are you run mad? And the girl in her nightrail!"

  "No, is she?" He turned his quizzing glass interestedly upon Euphemia as if seeing her for the first time. "So she is, by Jove! And I, alas, thwarted by the presence of her admirable brother." He sighed and, allowing the glass to swing from its black velvet riband, shook his head reproachfully at Buchanan.

  Euphemia's attempt to hold back a gurgle of laughter was not quite successful, but her brother's face remained set and grim. Infuriated by Hawkhurst's raillery, Lady Bryce drew herself up. "Most amusing," she observed scathingly. "And I quite apprehend that Miss Buchanan is accustomed to continental manners, but I do assure you that such—"

  "No, pray do not moralize at me, dear Aunt," he smiled. "You will have me in a quake, and you know I am long past saving. Place your confidence rather in this intrepid young officer, and draw comfort from the fact the lady is known to be—ah—'Unattainable' and thus doubly safe—for tonight, at least, since I've guests arriving momentarily." Euphemia had again to stifle a smile, but my lady's face took on an aghast expression. "Guests… ?" she said feebly. "But, Garret, you can not!"

  "Put them off at the last minute, d'you mean, ma'am? You are perfectly right, and I understand your reluctance since you so enjoy company."

  "You become," rasped Buchanan, rigid again, "offensive, Mr. Hawkhurst."

  "Do I? Then the more reason for this." Hawkhurst proffered the weapon with a flourish. Pale with anger, Buchanan stood motionless. Hawkhurst put up his brows and surveyed him with wicked enjoyment. Euphemia stepped swiftly between them, took the weapon, and, holding her breath, slipped her finger through the trigger guard and essayed the spin that Harry Smith had taught her in Spain.

  "By… God… !" breathed Hawkhurst, admiringly.

  "Be warned, sir," she said with feigned severity and then, laughter leaping into her eyes, asked, "Are you not terrified?"

  "Do you know how to fire it?"

  "I outshot Lord Jeremy Bolster in a match at Fuentes de Onoro."

  He bowed low and straightening, one hand held over his heart, admitted, "Ma'am, I acknowledge myself terrified." With a twinkle, he added, "And here I'd fancied the shoe quite on the other foot."

  "Oh, no," said Euphemia gravely. "I have three brothers, you see, and am thus well accustomed to little boys who think it fun to be naughty."

  Buchanan, looking from one to the other, was rendered speechless.

  His stunned eyes never leaving her face, Hawkhurst murmured, "Well, that properly drove me against the ropes!" and with a bow, left them, closing the door softly behind him.

  Sir Simon flung his good arm about his sister and whirled her around. "Romped, by Jupiter!" he exulted. "You properly vanquished our Bluebeard, Mia!"

  Euphemia smiled. But she thought, I wonder…

  Mrs. Graham came to Kent's room soon after Hawkhurst's departure and offered to help with the "poor little page." Euphemia took an immediate liking to the untidy lady and, promising her brother she would now retire, sent him weaving off to his room, so exhausted he could barely set one foot before the other. Mrs. Graham observed happily that it was "just like dear Army" to have such delightful children and launched into a vignette about the gallant Colonel that left his daughter weak with laughter. She realized gratefully that this aunt was a very different proposition to the other, and when she left Kent's bedside, it was without a qualm.

  In her room she was delighted to find that one of her valises had been recovered, for her own nightgown was laid upon the bed, and a middle-aged, buxom abigail was in the process of hanging her favourite riding habit in the press. Her name, she said, was Piper, but would Miss mind called her Ellie, for she felt "that embarrassed" to be called Piper. However named, she was the soul of kindness, her concern over Euphemia's stiff movements resulting in her insistence that she massage her charge with a liniment that left Euphemia tingling all over and her aches and pain so much lessened that she fell asleep before Ellie could give her the powder Dr. Archer had prescribed. Her last drowsy memory was of the abigail closing the curtains around the great bed.

  "W-won't-move a step! P'fer t'talk out here! Free blasted country, ain't it?"

  The words were slurred and had not been spoken very loudly, but Euphemia was blessed with sharp hearing, and she was awake at once. For an instant she could not think where she was, but then a deeper voice said something she did not catch. Hawkhurst's cynical countenance sprang into her mind's eye, and she sat up, listening.

  "Know it," the first and decidedly drunken speaker proclaimed. "M-mother told me all-l-l 'bout it. Prob'ly sound 'sleep by now, 'tall events, so no reason you should get so up in th'boughs. You cannot force me to go inside!"

  So this must be Lady Bryce's "languishing offspring." Moved by curiosity, Euphemia drew back the curtains and slipped from the bed. The heavy drapes were wide, as she had requested, and she crept cautiously towards the lighter square of the windows, shrugging into her dressing gown.

  "Do not dare use that tone to me, you wretched puppy! Were you not well foxed, I'd show you what I can force you to! Get inside at once! I'll not—"

  " 'f you s'anxious to go inside—why was you standing 'bout, leering up at… her windows? Good fer goose, is—"

  "Damn you! Will you keep your voice down!"

  Through the lace undercurtains, Euphemia saw a half moon shining fitfully between racing clouds, revealing a wide terrace edged by a low balustrade, and with shallow steps leading downward. She caught a glimpse of tree-dotted lawns, flower beds, statuary, and the gleam of ornamental water, but her attention held on the two men below her. Hawkhurst and a tall, slender youth who gave no appearance of being cowed as he swayed before his cousin's rage. She could not see his features, but discerned that his hair was lighter than his mother's and that he either had almost no neck at all, or wore a jacket with grossly exaggerated shoulders. Grateful that she had required Ellie to open the casements slightly, she leaned nearer. She did not quite hear what the boy muttered, but the tone was defiant, and Hawkhurst, his voice low and restrained, rasped, "While you are under my guardianship, my lord, you'll do as I say! You were not with the Fortescues, for I saw them in Reading, and—"

  "Spying on me, coz?"

  The slim figure swayed. Hawkhurst's hand shot out to grip the cravat, and Bryce was wrenched forward. "Do I ever judge it necessary to spy on you, bantling, I'll sooner kick you all the way to the Horse Guards—where they may succeed in making a man of you! Meanwhile, I've no need to resort to such means. I know damned well you were with young Gains!"

  "M'friends are my own!" the boy retaliated, struggling vainly to free himself from his cousin's firm grip. "Y'ar'-not—"

  "I cannot but marvel that Max Gains allows my cousin within a mile of his precious brother!" Hawkhurst released the youth so abruptly that he staggered.

  "Lord Gains, at least, d-don't int'fere with Chilton's friends!"

/>   "Does he not? Perhaps, since Chilton had sufficient gumption to serve his country, he has some—"

  "Y'think I'm 'fraid!" Bryce put in savagely. "Well—ain't! Not 'fraid of getting killed—which is what y'want."

  Euphemia caught her breath. There was a moment's total silence, through which Hawkhurst stood as if frozen.

  "No! Hawk!" There was sudden anguish in the young voice. "I d-din't mean—"

  "Well, I do mean," Hawkhurst overrode icily, "to ensure that Dominer shall never fall into the hands of a dainty, effeminate milksop!"

  Bryce swore. His fist clenched and swung upward, only to be caught in a grip that made him gasp. "And, furthermore, Colley," his cousin went on, "do you ever take my match bays again, without my leave, I am liable to strangle you without waiting for Boney to take you out of the line of succession!" He flung the boy's arm down and started away, but Bryce caught at his sleeve and said humbly, I… I did ask, Hawk. And you made no answer. I thought—"

  "Devil, you did! Your question warranted no answer. God knows I've told you often enough! I collect you took 'em to show off to Chilton."

  "Yes. And—Max was abs'lutely wild about 'em. Said they was th'finest he ever saw."

  "Max knows his cattle." Hawkhurst was silent a moment, then asked, "How does Chilton go on? Do they mean to operate again?"

  Bryce seemed to take heart from this enquiry, stern though it was. "Well, they must, y'know. He cannot rejoin his regiment with that stupid ball in his side. But… oh, Hawk, I do 'pologize. I didn't mean it. It's just—Well, Chilton don't dare come and ask you, but—he'd dearly love to… to buy your bays."

  Hawkhurst snorted and said drily, "I'll lay odds he would!"

  "He's really a very good fellow, y'know. He don't—er— hold it 'gainst you… I mean—'cause of Max's face."

  "Then he's a gutless fribble!" Hawkhurst exploded. "43rd, or no! What's his line of reasoning? All's fair in love and acid? God! You may tell your silly sainted Light Bob that, were my bays twenty years old, sway-backed, half blind, and went with a shuffle, I'd not sell 'em to him for thirty thousand! Furthermore, I've seen him drive, and he's damnably cow-handed!"

  "Cow-handed! Why, of all the—"

  Hawkhurst shook one finger under his cousin's nose. "And you may further advise your good friends at Chant House that, do I find that flea-ridden hound of theirs in my drawing room again, I'll send home his head a la John the Baptist!"

  "Hawk! You never would! Sampson's a good old boy! Hawk…" Bryce reached forth one appealing hand, but his cousin was stalking off. The hand lowered. Once more Hawkhurst's name was spoken in a wistful half-whisper. Then Bryce turned also, put both hands into his pockets and, with shoulders slumped, made his unsteady way in the opposite direction until he vanished into the shadows at the incurving end of the great house that was called the North Wing.

  Euphemia became aware that she was shivering and flew back to snuggle under the blankets. She frowned into the darkness, thinking over what she had heard. There were, she thought, faults on both sides. Hawkhurst's, for attempting to force the boy into a career he did not wish—not every man was suited for military life. On the other hand, Bryce had been very drunk, and she could well imagine Simon's reaction if Gerald had commandeered his horses without a by-your-leave. She decided, however, that the balance of guilt lay with Hawkhurst. It was obvious that Bryce admired him. Even in the dark she had seen that the careless and oddly attractive style Hawkhurst's man achieved, with his thick locks had been copied by his cousin. A little understanding, a grain of tact, and the boy would be butter in his hands.

  She closed her eyes. The man was arrogant and autocratic. Worse, although he had rendered them a service for which she must always be grateful, to the list of his crimes had been added another. He was cruel to animals, and that he would make good his threat against the unfortunate Sampson she had not the slightest doubt. Not that it was any of her affair. Resolutely, she put Garret Thorndyke Hawkhurst out of her mind.

  And fell asleep, wondering why he had been "leering" up at her window…

  Chapter 5

  The following morning dawned bitterly cold, but the skies were clear, and pale winter sunshine flooded into Euphemia's bedchamber. Never a late sleeper, she had been abed for almost twelve hours. Upon awakening, she rang for an abigail, then arose and made her somewhat stiff way to the windows. By daylight, the grounds of Dominer were even more impressive, so that she gave a soft cry of admiration and stood there, just drinking it all in.

  Ellie arrived with a tray of hot chocolate and much concern for her charge. Sir Simon, she imparted, had already gone downstairs. The family would take breakfast at ten o'clock, but there was no one expecting Miss to go down, and she would fetch up a tray. Euphemia refused this kindness, but accepted the abigail's assistance with her toilette and found her very obliging and with a real skill at hair arrangement. Half an hour later, hurrying into the hall in her new cream muslin, with a yellow shawl draped about her shoulders, she slowed her steps involuntarily. Last evening she had been too tired to notice very much, but this morning she could not but be charmed both by the beautiful plan of the great house and the exquisite taste of the appointments. Her feet sank into thick Aubusson carpets laid upon floors that gleamed richly. Here and there, splendid porcelain and crystal were displayed on old chests or tables that were, of themselves, so beautifully wrought she could not refrain from inspecting them more closely. The walls were hung with magnificent oils, mostly landscapes or still lifes, but with an occasional family portrait amongst them, and several proud suits of armour, in excellent states of preservation, stood about impressively. So much beauty, she thought. If only Simon and Kent had not been subjected to such danger, she must be glad she had been able to see it all.

  Proceeding to her destination, she found Kent's bedchamber and slipped inside. A comely young maid was seated beside the window, mending tablecloths. She stood and bobbed a curtsey as Euphemia entered. The little boy was still sleeping, she said. Mrs. Graham had gone to bed at six o'clock, but Mrs. Henderson, the housekeeper, would come up shortly, being that she was a fine nurse.

  Euphemia thanked her and trod softly over to the bed. The child was deep in slumber, his thin cheeks flushed. His forehead felt hot and dry, and, recalling what Hawkhurst had said, she left strict instructions that she was to be called at once if Kent awoke. Returning to the hall, she tried to convince herself that she was worrying needlessly. He was probably simply recovering from exhaustion, on top of which he may very well have caught a cold.

  She closed the door gently and stood for a moment, her hand still upon the latch, staring blindly at a splash of sunlight on the carpet.

  "Do not grieve, dear ma'am. He will soon be well again. Dr. Archer is really superb, you know."

  The gentle voice caused her to look up at once, and, like her brother before her, she thought, What very kind eyes. Miss Stephanie Hawkhurst was wearing a shapeless beige wool gown this morning, and a shawl, beautifully embroidered in shades of cream, gold, and rust, was fastened to her bodice with a handsome antique brooch. Smiling, Euphemia put out her hand. "You must be Miss Hawkhurst I am very beholden to you for your care of my brother. He has had an unpleasant time of it since he was wounded."

  "How do you do?" A soft hand clasped her own briefly, and an unexpected twinkle danced into the hazel eyes, as Miss Hawkhurst murmured, "Army Buck's daughter. Will you accompany me downstairs? I had thought to have breakfast served to you in your room, for I am sure you must be very tired still."

  "Not at all. I slept like a log, in fact. And I see Mrs. Graham has been telling you of my dear Papa."

  Dismayed, Miss Hawkhurst said, "Oh, nothing to his discredit, I do assure you!"

  "Too late, my dear!" Euphemia slipped a hand in her arm and said in her friendly way, "Your aunt already told me a tale about my father, some of which I'd suspected, and all of which I found delightful!"

  Miss Hawkhurst breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness you a
re not stuffy! I was afraid from what Hawk said—" She felt her companion stiffen and added hurriedly, "Oh, dear! Only that you was a fine figure of a girl, able to snare any— er—that is… Well, you know," she floundered, "I am not clever, or in the least fashionable, and I do not know how to… to—"

  "Go about catching a husband?" asked Euphemia, smiling, but with a glitter in her fine eyes that would have at once alerted her friends. "Well, if your brother told you I am still able to snare offers, even at my age…"

  "Oh, he did!" said Miss Hawkhurst, disastrously eager to make amends.

  "Ah. Why then he was right." Euphemia's teeth were a trifle more noticeable than usual as she uttered that confirmation. "Did he also tell you, perhaps, that I followed the drum with my father and have a wide acquaintanceship among the military set?"

  "Oh, is that what he meant by 'military rattles'? I thought… Is something wrong?"

  "By… no means." Euphemia's titter was uncharacteristically shrill. "Only, I trust he does not think me too set up in my own conceit."

  "I am sure he does not. In fact, he admires you, for I heard him tell Dr. Archer you did not want for sense and were probably waiting until you found one who had come…" Her innocent brow puckered. "Something about socks."

  "Hose?" gasped Euphemia. "Hosed… and shod?"

  "That's it! Someone who has come hosed and shod into the world. Does that mean a soldier, Miss Buchanan?"

  Fortunately, they had by now come to the head of the stairs, and Euphemia's dazed expression and sudden clutch at the magnificently carven railing were easily explained away. "Not… exactly…" she uttered. So he took her for a fortune-hunter, the abominable wretch! "My, but your lovely home quite… overwhelms me." And, by the time they had reached the ground floor, she had regained her aplomb, outwardly, at least.

  Miss Hawkhurst led her across the splendour of the Great Hall and into a cherry breakfast parlour, where were gathered Dr. Archer, Buchanan, Lady Bryce, and a young exquisite who could only be Lord Coleridge Bryce. Euphemia, who had gained no very clear picture of him by moonlight, was astonished to find, instead of the sulky boy she had expected, an open-faced youth with fair skin and hair, a chin faintly reminiscent of his cousin's, and a wide, shyly smiling mouth. The gentlemen stood as they entered. Dr. Archer drew out a chair for Euphemia, Bryce performed that office for Miss Hawkhurst, and Buchanan told his sister that she looked a bit more "The Thing" this morning.