"That his own reputation may ruin Coleridge?" asked Euphemia.
"Why, how well you have come to know us in these few days, my dear." Dora made a convulsive grab at her tumbling crocheted shawl, and then paused to try and disentangle it from the holly branches in the great Chinese urn beside the music room. "Yes, partly that. And partly—well, Hawk was in the military, and—"
The rest of her words were lost upon Euphemia, who could almost hear a sneering voice say, "How those military rattles dazzle the ladies…" Why on earth would he make so contemptuous a remark if he himself had worn a scarlet coat? Baffled, she said, "He was? Why, I'd no idea. What was his regiment?"
"Oh, my… Now, was it the 52nd? Or was that poor Harry Redmond? No, I think it was the 43rd. Or was that Colborne?"
"Redmond was a Light Bob, ma'am. And had Mr. Hawkhurst served with John Colborne, I would have met him, I do believe—or heard tell of him."
"Oh, but this was several years ago, child. Gary fought in a battle, I know. Bustle or hustle, something or other. It was soon after his wife and son were… er—And so he bought a pair of colours and went. I was sure he would be killed, as he hoped to be, the poor soul."
A pang pierced Euphemia. "You must mean Bussaco," she said in a shaken voice. "Goodness, but you are trapped. Allow me to help. Was he wounded?"
"No. Is it not always the way? His friends said he was in the very thickest of the fighting, but not so much as a scratch. Such a disappointment it must have been! But then he was needed here, and the Admiral demanded he come home. He has often spoken of how splendid his comrades were, and I think that is why he wants Colley to join up. He hopes it will make a man of him."
"Lord Bryce is a man," frowned Euphemia, finally extricating the shawl. "We cannot all be the same type you know, dear ma'am. Nor have the same interests. Your nephew should really—"
"No more an accident than Prinny is a postulant! I tell you, Buck, it was a deliberate attempt at murder!"
The familiar male voice held Euphemia rigid with astonishment.
Dora clapped her hands. "Thank goodness! We have more company. Carlotta will be happy! Ah, you have freed me, my dear!" She flung her shawl exuberantly about her, then, pulling down the end that had whipped about her mouth, cried, " 'Free as nature first made man, ere laws of…" Now how does that go? 'Ere laws of serving people'—or something, 'began.' " And, with a whimsical giggle, she trotted and tripped her way into the lounge.
Following, Euphemia saw two young men standing beside the fire. One was Simon, and at the sight of the other her heart gave a leap of joy. "Leith!" She moved swiftly to greet this good friend, and with a glad cry he strode to take her out-stretched hands, press each to his lips, and scan her, eyes bright with adoration. "What a very great pleasure to find you here, Mia!"
"A pleasure shared," she said warmly and, tugging at the unfamiliar blue of his sleeve, asked, "A promotion? Are you now one of the great man's 'family'?"
"He's deserted for a confounded staff officer!" laughed Buchanan. "Dreadful!"
"I think it splendid! And indeed Wellington could have done no better! But—how surprised I am to see you here. Are you acquainted with Hawkhurst, Tris?"
"Scandalous, ain't it?" drawled a cynical voice.
Euphemia glanced to the side and could have sank, as Hawkhurst, who had been sprawled in a wing chair by the window, stood lazily.
Leith's shrewd eyes flashed from one to the other. Euphemia's cheeks were scarlet. He had seldom seen her off-stride, but now her customary poise, her ability to smooth over the most awkward of moments, seemed to have deserted her. Inwardly troubled, he bowed in his gallant way over Dora's hand, then dropped a kiss upon her cheek in the manner of a very old friend, answering her eager questions with the regretful news that he could stay a very short time. He'd come with dispatches to the Horse Guards, must return to France in the morning, and had detoured here for only a very brief visit.
"And will not tell us any news," fretted Buchanan, "until we are all at luncheon!"
"Savage!" Euphemia chastised, making an outward recovery, although her heart still pounded unevenly. "Tell us only this—have we lost any good friends?"
She had expected that he would at once set her fears at rest, but momentarily he looked grim, and she exchanged a swift glance with her brother. More welcoming cries interrupted their discussion, as Bryce and his mother entered. Leith seized the young man's hand in a firm grip, pounded briefly at his shoulder, then whirled the Lady Carlotta off her little feet and planted a healthy kiss on one warmly blushing cheek. "Rogue!" she laughed happily. "Oh, how very glad I am to see you again! And looking splendidly, as usual, though I think you would do better to stay with your red uniform my dear, much more dashing than that dull blue! Do you overnight?"
"Just a hasty drop-in, I'm afraid," he said fondly, flashing an amused glance at Buchanan's hilarity as he set her down.
"And never," his dark eyes turned to Euphemia, "more pleased than to find the lady I mean to make my wife visiting you also."
Bryce looked surprised. Euphemia blushed and felt a surge of irritation. Dora shot a troubled look at Hawkhurst's still face, and Carlotta, her eyes frankly dubious, scanned the tall girl without appreciable rapture and murmured, "Dear me… another surprise."
"A magnificent one!" Coleridge said with real enthusiasm.
"Well, you crusty old misogynist?" grinned Leith. "What have you to say to that?"
Hawkhurst had wandered over to the window and stood with his back to them, but he turned with a bored smile and shrugged, "I wish you happy, of course. And for myself, I wish my lunch. Can we go in? Or are we all—? Ah, I see that my sister is not yet—" And he broke off, staring at the girl who had come shyly through the door to pause on the threshold.
Stephanie's pale hair that had been bland in those thick braids had come to life, and the glow of the firelight danced among the short curls clustering about her ears. The fullness of those curls broke and softened the rather long line of her face. Her pale brows and lashes had been very subtly darkened, and the eyes that had been so nondescript as to elude notice had gained new depth and brilliance. She would never be a Toast, but Euphemia had spoken truly: her light was no longer hidden under a bushel. However shyly, Stephanie glowed, the added colour in her cheeks, the pale golden gown, and the amber velvet riband about her hair, transforming a somewhat insipid girl into a most attractive young lady.
"Good… God… !" gasped Bryce.
"By Jove!" Leith exclaimed in delight. "Euphemia, my beautiful, have a care! Do you not set the date, you're liable to find me in the toils of this enchantress!"
Stephanie's dismayed glance at her new friend discovered such an amused look that she relaxed again and laughed down at Leith who had fallen to one knee to clasp her hand and kiss it. "Behold me at your feet, you vision," he grinned and, standing, added, "Egad, Stephie, the last time I came you were a shy schoolroom miss. Now, look at you! A Beauty, no less!"
"Faithless wretch!" scolded Euphemia.
"He's right, though, dashed if he ain't!" Coleridge Bryce crossed to give his cousin an impulsive and rare hug. "You look much better, Stephie. Don't she, Mama?"
"Very pretty," Lady Bryce acknowledged. "Indeed, how even our clever Miss Buchanan could achieve such miraculous—"
"Absolutely beautiful!" interposed her sister-in-law quickly. "I shall embroider you a new shawl, Stephanie. I've a piece of silk very close to that shade of amber. It will look delightfully."
Leith's eyes had returned to Euphemia, only to find her watching Hawkhurst, a faintly challenging smile on her lips, but her eyes anxious. And, noting how studiously that individual avoided her gaze, his unease was heightened.
Stephanie, meanwhile, having thanked her aunt for the kind offer and, being a little flustered by reason of all this attention, turned to her brother. "Gary… ? You are not vexed?"
"I bow to our so adept modiste," he said, throwing Euphemia a slight bow, though his glance barely flic
kered in her direction. "And also, I claim the right to lead our Beauty in to luncheon."
Although he was longing to claim Euphemia, Leith's manners would not allow it, and he escorted Lady Bryce. Buchanan was not loath to escort Dora, whose gaiety and good nature he felt compensated for her unfortunate taste in scent, and Coleridge offered Euphemia his arm with so gallant a flourish that she was able to laugh despite a heavy-heartedness that was as unusual as it was confusing.
When they were all seated around the table, Leith was at last badgered into informing them that Wellington had scored again. Another splendid victory, the Battle of St. Pierre had been won against apparently hopeless odds. Cheers rang out at this, and everyone sprang up, while Hawkhurst, his face flushed and boyish, proposed a toast: "To Lord Wellington, and our magnificent fighting men who will soon drive Boney back where he belongs!"
"Do tell us of it, Leith," Buchanan urged as they resumed their places. "Has the rain stopped over there?"
"It rains like the Flood still. And old Soult caught us fairly at the Nive, which was so blasted overflowing the Beau had to split us into two sections. But he felt we would prevail, and we did, by God!"
When the servants had withdrawn, Hawkhurst murmured, "Casualties… ? Or can you speak of it?"
"Unbelievable." Leigh's face darkened. "Worst I ever saw. 'Auld Grog Willie' had every member of his staff downed, one way or another. Never fear, Hawk, Colborne's unhurt, and looks quite himself again, though he carries that shoulder a trifle crooked these days." He turned rather reluctantly to Euphemia, who was striving not to look astonished yet again. "I'm sorry, lovely one, but… your admirer, Ian McTavish of the 92nd. And Johnny Wentby of the Gloucesters—you'll recall old John, Hawk? Bob Grimsby, who wrote that ode about your eyes, Mia, and—"
She said on a choked sob, "Dead… ? All—dead?"
"McTavish, I'm afraid. And right gallantly. Wentby also. Grimsby lost his leg, but might pull through. And indeed, war is no game for children. You of all people know that, m'dear."
"But you play at it as though it were!" sniffed Lady Bryce, who had also been fond of the dauntless Major McTavish. "All your riding and hunting and careering about over there… as though you'd not a… care in the world!" She wiped at her eyes, quite forgetting to be dainty about it.
Euphemia was so shattered she was finding it difficult to maintain her composure. Leith went on talking easily, turning the conversation to lighter aspects of Wellington's brilliant advance and, as he did so, unobtrusively placed one hand over Euphemia's small fist, tight clenched on the tablecloth. Hawkhurst noted that kindly gesture, the easy assurance with which it was accomplished, and the grateful, if quivering, smile that was bestowed upon Leith in return. For a moment he stared rather blankly at his good friend. Then he concentrated on his plate and for the balance of the meal said very little.
The contribution he might have made to the conversation was not missed. Leith, a superb raconteur, soon had them all in whoops with his tales. Carlotta, who very obviously doted on him, was happier than Euphemia had ever seen her, and Dora, her rich sense of humour easily aroused, laughed until the tears slipped down her round cheeks.
Through it all, not once did Stephanie appear to glance in the direction of Lieutenant Sir Simon Buchanan. And, through it all, the troubled eyes of that young gentleman rarely left her face.
"So here you are! What luck! I feared I'd not find you alone." Leith strode across the music room to join Euphemia, who was leafing through a pile of music.
"I have promised to sing at the rectory party tonight," she smiled as he pulled a chair close beside her. "You come with us, I hope?"
"I wish I might, but I must be at the Horse Guards first thing in the morning, and the weather looks a bit grim. Mia, I simply must talk with you. Can I persuade you to join me for a gallop before I leave?"
She would not have refused him under any circumstances, for always the dread that she might never see him again haunted her. But the thought of a ride today was doubly welcome, and she stood eagerly. "Lovely! I will go and change. I promise to be very quick."
"Oh, I know that," he said cheerfully, accompanying her into the hall. "You are famous for not keeping a gentleman waiting above three hours whilst you change your bonnet."
"Wretch!" she laughed. "Own up, Leith. That very quality is what won your heart, is it not?"
"But, of course. Above all else I demand promptitude in my wife!" The words were as light as ever, but there was a wistful quality to his smile, and Euphemia's eyes wavered. "You run along," he urged, "and I'll ask Hawk for the loan of a couple of hacks. I wonder where he's disappeared to. He was with the boy after luncheon, but—Oh, there they are."
Curious, Euphemia followed him into the library where Hawkhurst and Kent had their heads together over a fine old book of wild animal engravings. Kent's small face was aglow with happiness. He threw her a beaming smile and pointed to the book. She admired it dutifully, her heart warming towards the man for his kindness. Leith meantime had begged the loan of two horses, and Hawkhurst was already crossing to the bellrope. "Had you to ask, bacon brain? I'll tell the grooms to saddle them for you immediately. But you'll not ride Sarabande, and so I warn you."
"Graceless villain," Leith chuckled.
"Dare I beg, sir," Euphemia asked teasingly, "for a mount with a little more spirit than the gentle mare you allotted to me the last time I rode?"
She had turned her most winning smile upon their host, in the hope that this might constitute a start toward repairing the gulf between them. Her effort was lost.
Two eyes of solid ice regarded her as from a great height. "I fear, Miss Buchanan," he drawled, "that you shall have to let me be the best judge of my undoubtedly poor selection of cattle."
Leith threw him an astonished look. Euphemia, feeling as though she had been struck, dropped a curtsey and, her cheeks flaming, murmured, "I am most truly set down, Mr. Hawkhurst."
Ignoring her, he fixed the Colonel with a stern stare. "I may, I am assured, rely upon your discretion, Leith?"
Euphemia could not hold back her gasp of indignation and was reminded of his own total lack of discretion, not only with regard to his innumerable birds of paradise, but in his attempt to force his attentions on her that very morning! Leith, who had never so much as hugged her, seemed momentarily struck to silence by the implication. Then he murmured a wooden, "You may," and, with a somewhat stiff smile, ushered her from the room.
Seething, Euphemia walked beside him to the stairs, mounted the first step, then whirled to look down at him. The handsome face was raised to her, the dark brows lifted enquiringly. How dared such as Garret Hawkhurst cast an aspersion upon the character of this thoroughly honourable young man! Furious, she exclaimed, "Tristram, I am sorry! He is… he is absolutely impossible! How dare he speak to you so!"
He blinked a little in the face of such vehemence, then, a wistful grin curving his fine mouth, said, "No, but Hawk is within his rights, Mia. He is responsible for your safety while you are here, you know."
"The deuce he is!" she flared hotly. "Oh, I know I should not use such terms, but, really, that man is—is the outside of enough!"
And turning, she ran lightly up the stairs, leaving Leith to gaze after her, his dark eyes unwontedly sombre.
Euphemia seated herself at the dressing table and took up her hairbrush, wondering vaguely why Ellie should have looked so worried because she had said she was going riding. She began to brush her hair, her thoughts refusing to leave Hawkhurst. She found it difficult to hold her anger and sighed, recalling what Ponsonby had said of him: "… the most high-couraged youth, the most loyal and truly gallant young man…" A frown puckered her smooth brow, and she thought with a surge of irritation, The most vexing collection of contradictions!
Ponsonby was prejudiced, of course. Only this morning Lady Bryce had complained that Hawk allowed the servants to take advantage of him, and not only overpaid them outrageously but was forever coddling them, heedless o
f how this might inconvenience the family. For example, this evening they were all to be allowed to go to the Christmas party at the rectory. Euphemia sighed and wished that, now dear Leith was come, she would feel a little less miserable.
"… with him, Miss?"
She glanced up, realized that she must seem a total featherwit and, feeling her face burn, enquired, "Your pardon, Ellie? I fear I was wool-gathering."
"I said, you ain't never going riding… with…" The abigail faltered into silence before the sudden chill in the usually kind blue eyes.
"Mr. Hawkhurst," Euphemia said levelly, "is having the horses saddled at this moment, I believe."
Ellie gave a muffled grown and, tearing nervously at her frilled apron, persisted, "Oh, Miss, you been so… so good to me. I know I shouldn't say nothing, but—Oh, Miss! He didn't ought to let you ride with him!"
Anger brought the glitter of ice into Euphemia's eyes. She had become fond of Ellie, but the woman was not a lifelong servant, and for a relative stranger to be so presumptive was unpardonable. "You have some objection to Colonel Leith?" she said frigidly.
To her surprise relief flooded the abigail's broad features. "Oh, thank goodness! I thought as ye was going with Mr. Garret, ma'am."
"Indeed?" The rage that swept Euphemia now made her previous vexation seem trite. She stood and, with chin high and manner regal, said, "You will, I feel sure, explain that disloyal remark."
Ellie shrank away a pace, then bowed her head into her hands and burst into tears. "I shoulda knowed," she wept. "Mr. Garret… bean't the type to… to put a lady's life in danger. I shoulda knowed. It was disloyal!"
Euphemia's knees turned to melted butter. She was vaguely aware of sinking onto the bench and of feeling terribly cold. Like the pieces of a nightmare jigsaw puzzle, she saw again Hawkhurst clinging to the end of that makeshift rope on the cliffside; herself and Kent, hiding in the dressing room and Hawk grumbling, "… if a man cannot shoot straight with a Manton…" to which Mr. Bailey had said anxiously that the Constable should have been summoned; and finally, Leith, as she had first heard him today, "… I tell you, Buck, it was a deliberate attempt at murder… !"
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 01] - Some Brief Folly Page 15